“It’s rather a long story.”
He eyes me when we slow outside the grounds, waiting to hear it.
“A great deal has happened, but we needn’t speak of such things today.” I steer us toward the cobbled street and we walk together, hurrying away from that place.
He frowns. “You’re still keen for him though, aren’t you?”
I laugh, then ponder that question. I think back over our ill-advised adventure across the Cornish coast. The swim, the picnic, the brooch…a night in a cave, another in a church…the tearoom. Him dancing me about. Tending my wounds. Beckoning me with his charm. Brimming with desire.
I start to say yes, but then that big, tight ball of the unknown hardens. There’s a dark cloud obscuring that narrow window of time between my first life as AJ’s wife and my second, on Newlyn’s shores. “I’m not certain I know who he is. We’ve not known each other long, you know—” Except that isn’t true. I’ve known him for years. Apparently.
His forehead is creased. “You’ll not get to know him by staying apart. Perhaps he should come with us.”
I bite my lip. “Not just yet.”
He frowns, confused.When people enjoy one another, they marry. I know that’s what he’s thinking. I can see it in a glance. Marriage according to my seven-year-old. Love isn’t quite that simple, though, is it? It’s nuanced and chaotic and sometimes painful.
At the station, Cecil clutches the bench. “What comes next?” Hope is in his eyes. Hope and trust.
I touch his cheek with one gloved hand. “What would you like to come next?”
“I don’t know.” He looks up at me for a moment, his face haggard as his eyes search mine. “But you came back.” His voice is soft. After our hasty flight, his brain is finally catching up with his body.
“I’m afraid I cannot take you back to Lady St. Laurent’s house.” How desperately he needs rest and home. If only I could give it to him.
A very Cecil smile appears. “Wherever you take me will be home.”
I smile wide and slide my arms about him again. That’s what love is. Promises kept, embraces lavished without reservation, and simple presence.You don’t have to be afraid of the dark anymore, little one.His ears still stick out. His expression still looks a touch haunted.The world’s still dark. But you’re not alone in it anymore.Love stands in the gap between this boy and aloneness. And now it is going to bring him to the one place his soul needs most. “How about a holiday to the seashore? I know just the place.”
Chapter 45
It’sjustasrobustand vivid on the second visit, my Cornwall. The moist sea air carries salt and voices and the cry of gulls, pulling at me. Pulling me toward the bright-blue water. I’ve taken the train all the way this time, since I have precious cargo with me—the sort with very short, very tired legs. We took the sleeper, with a changeover at St. Erth, but Cecil woke early and planted his face on the window, eager to see it all.
I lead him by the hand onto the platform and through the cobbled town, and he exclaims over every lovely thing along the shore. My heart thrills as I introduce two of my deepest loves to one another. At last I lead us along the winding coastal road, up and down the cliffs along the edge of the earth. I cannot remember how to reach Dunn Cottage from this route, so we happily become lost on the footpath.
“So did you find it?” he asks.
“Find what?”
“You went out looking for something. You said it in your letter.”
“Right. I did, didn’t I?”
“So did you find it?”
I pause on the rocky outcropping that looks over the endless Atlantic. Restlessness still tugs at my soul. “I think I’m still looking.”
We happily scale the cliffs and boulders, enjoying the misty rain that starts and stops into the afternoon. Then around five, we crest a ridge and I see a familiar figure on the distant headland. AJ is braced against the wind with sleeves rolled above his elbows, hands thrust in his pockets, breeze ruffling his shirt, blowing the material flat against his body. He’s staring so intently at the waves, so unmoving. He isn’t himself—something has come over him, like a trance.
What is he staring at?
I lift my hand to place it on Cecil’s head—I delight in doing that often—but he’s not there. I turn, wind whipping my hair over my face. “Cec?”
Then his voice, a short distance away. “Look, it’s AJ!” I cannot see him over the uneven coastline, and AJ hasn’t noticed him yet, still mesmerized by something on the water. Rocks skitter and tumble down the cliff face somewhere.
No. No, no, no!
I scramble toward the next ridge and cry out, but the wind carries my voice away. His voice sounds from somewhere on the other side of the boulders. He’s farther away now. “Merryn!” Then it ignites again—that visceral tightening like a spring that catapults me full force toward his voice. The taste of panic mingles with salt air, needling its way into my brain and loosening jammed memories…releasing them.
