We walk along the pathway toward the beach in silence.
When we get too close to the shore, Maria says, “It’s so strange to compare this place to the beach in Chicago. Snow versus the sweltering sun. It’s freezing here,” she remarks, wiggling her hips and shoving her gloved hands into her jacket pocket.
“Do you want hot chocolate? There’s a guy at the resort who makes the best hot chocolate.”
“That sounds like the perfect idea,” she nods eagerly.
We turn toward the resort, and she puffs out a wisp of smoke as she lets out a heavy breath. “How often do you come here?” she asks, watching the wisp fade.
“Not that often.”
“Why did you choose this place?”
“Because it’s far away from everything and everyone,” I shrug.
“Isolated?” she asks.
“Exactly. Sometimes I need that. I just need to escape everything,” I murmur.
When I glance at her, she’s got her head tilted to the side, watching me carefully.
“And because it’s beautiful,” she smiles after a while, and moves to walk a little closer to me.
I put my arm around her shoulders. “You get used to the cold,” I tell her.
“I don’t want to. It’s lovely.”
At the resort, we walk into the entertainment area, and I find Kiko poking at the fire in the living room.
“Kiko,” I grin, hurrying toward him. “How are you, my friend?” I ask.
He stands up and pulls me into a hug. “Art, my man, it’s been months. Where you been?”
“Here and there,” I smile.
“Is this Mrs. Art?” he teases, smiling at Maria.
For a moment, I trip over my words. “Uh, yes, it actually is,” I reply.
“Oh wow. A lot has changed since I last saw you,” he grins, pulling Maria into a hug, too. “Welcome to Whale Cove. If you need anything, just ask,” he says.
“Thank you,” Maria giggles, stepping out of his friendly embrace.
“Actually, my friend, we came here for your famous….”
“The hot chocolate! I knew it! Come on, I’ve got a whole jar of marshmallows with your name on it.” He shoots an amused look at Maria. “This man and his marshmallows. I’m telling you, he doesn’t even leave room for the hot chocolate in his mug.”
Maria giggles and scrunches her nose at me. “Is that so? Oh my goodness! Actually, I remember that!”
“You do?” I ask, confused.
“Yes, the one Easter you ate so many you were complaining about a stomachache for an hour afterwards.”
My heart clenches and beats a little harder. “Yeah, I remember,” I mutter.
I remember that Easter very well.
Clearing my throat, I push the memory from my mind.
