I follow Ollie from the pub. He pauses for a moment when we step outside as if unsure where to go.
“Let’s do the waterfront, yeah?” he says, more to himself than to me. He turns, and I follow, trying to make sense of his body language. Is he happy to see me? Part of me thinks yes, but the other part—well, I’m not so sure. He looks stressed out, like he’s fighting not to look at me.
The street slopes down as it runs toward the sea. My knee, used to the flat terrain of Florida, aches a bit after the long flight as I make my way down the hill. Ollie must think of it too, because he stops suddenly, and I nearly run into him. He gives me his arm but doesn’t say anything. I grab on to his elbow, and he walks a bit slower.
Cobh is breathtakingly beautiful. Ollie’s shown me pictures. He once gave me a tour of the town using Google Earth. But it’s different actually experiencing it. The water is visible here, a wide expanse of blue as far as the eye can see. The cathedral towers above concrete houses in candy colors. If I weren’t so occupied with Ollie, I’d revel in the view more.
The road turns to brick as we pass into Pearse Square. It’s bustling with tourists and locals.No wonder Ollie ended up in yachting, I think as we pause at the bottom of the square and wait to cross to the other side of the street, where the road runs alongside Cork Harbour. I knew Cobh was a seaside town, of course. I can’t even think of the name without hearing Ollie’s voice in my head saying,It’s pronouncedcove, notcob.I nearly say it aloud, but decide against it when I glance at Ollie, who seems to be drowning in his own thoughts.
I let go of his arm, tempted to step behind him and karate chop thetension right out of his shoulders, but then I notice the monument beside us.
“You never showed me this,” I say. I reach out to touch the stone around the plaque. Ollie watches me, an uneasy look on his face. “Well, that’s depressing. This was the last port of call for theTitanicbefore it sank.”
“I know that.”
“Of course you do.”
Great backdrop for your grand gesture, the voice in my head says.
The street clears, and we cross to the other side. We walk along the sidewalk beside the harbor. Ollie has his hands in his pockets, probably fidgeting with his saint medals.
We pass into a small brick park right in front of the water. There’s so much to see—a large gazebo, flags from various countries waving above the railing that separates the promenade from the sea below, a brick fountain, a cannon. People occupy benches or lean against the railing to look out at the sea and the boats in the distance.
Normally I’d be giddy with excitement, eager to see and touch everything. But this isn’t a normal Nina and Ollie adventure to blow off some steam.
Ollie stops behind one of the empty benches. He pulls his hands from his pockets and braces himself on the back of the bench, staring out at the water. I know he feels me watching him. He clears his throat, and I realize he’s waiting for me to say something.
“How are you?” I say.
Ollie raises an eyebrow.Really, I came all this way just to start with that?
He sighs. “I’m...” He lets the words trail off and shakes his head. “Fuck, Nina, I don’t know.”
I’ve imagined a million different ways this could go, but none of them started like this. I brush my fingers along the back of his hand, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. “I made a mistake,” I say.
Ollie nods, and his gaze flicks over me before returning to the sea. He shifts on his feet, looking unsure of what to do with his limbs. I follow him as he wanders over to the railing and leans against it. He doesn’t look at me when I stand beside him.
“What was the mistake?” he says.
As if he doesn’t know. I stare out at the harbor too, wondering what he’s looking at with such concentration. “Letting you go, of course.”
Ollie rocks back and forth on his heels. He looks as if he’s having an argument with himself in his head. I watch him and wait for him to touch me, or give a sigh of relief, or tell me he forgives me and we’ll be okay. But he doesn’t give me any of that. He gives nothing.
“Ollie?” I say when I can’t take the silence any longer.
“I’m thinking,” he says. He turns away from the water and walks back over to the empty bench. He sits down and clasps his hands together between his knees, not looking up at me when I sit beside him. Instead, he stares down at his hands, one leg bouncing up and down with nervous energy.
We sit in an awkward silence for what seems like another eternity. I watch groups of people walk past us, laughing and talking. I watch the boats out at sea and feel glad I’m on land.
“Ollie,” I say when I’ve run out of things to stare at and he still hasn’t spoken.
“Why?” Ollie lifts his head. He pulls his hands apart and rests against the back of the bench, looking all casual and annoyed, like he sometimes looked at me from the crew mess table when we were in the middle of an argument about last-minute menu changes.
“Why was letting you go a mistake?” I say.
“Nah. Why’d you change your mind?”
“Because I miss you.” I take the hem of his shirt between my fingers. He pretends not to notice, but I feel him tense beneath my touch. “I’m miserable without you.”
