I fold my arms, directing my worst glare at him. “Ansel James,take them off.”
He goes still at the use of both his given names, then lowers into the chair behind him and takes off his boots, one after the other. Gaze downcast, he shoves his hair off his face, leaning onto his knees. I sink down to the floor and lift his feet. His ankles are raw where the bone rubbed against stiff leather all day. His soles are raw in spots. With a sigh, I grab the jar of lanolin and prop his right foot onto my lap.
I look up at him, noticing how shadows play over the vulnerability on his face. He is barefoot and ordinary and honest with hair-speckled feet and one toe that turns in a bit. I smooth cream over the cracked, dry skin before the snapping fire. He flinches when I touch his ankles, then relaxes. He is strong. Muscular. And, for once, perfectly still.
But his eyes are not downcast now. His gaze is upon me with light from the fireplace playing across his features, his green-gold stormy eyes. A muscle jerks in his cheek as he stares at me, holding onto whatever he isn’t saying.
That evening, we both prop our injured limbs on chairs, letting the fire warm us as Cornwall’s crisp wind blows outside our stone fortress.
“Look at us. A couple of sad sacks, eh?” he says.
Love means shared moments, limping through the rough patches together…even if secrets lie between you. “AJ, what if we simply stay here, at Dunn Cottage? Just stay and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist?”
“A fine idea.”
“Hang the inheritance. Perhaps I’ll tell Sabine to keep all of it,andto act as trustee. We don’t need any—”
He thumps his feet down and swivels toward me. “We’re not giving in that easily.”
I blink at his abruptness.
“We’re right here, in the midst of your past, and you’ve only to reach out and take hold.”
I study him a moment longer, then close my eyes and breathe deeply of Dunn Cottage. I must remember—it’s the only chance I stand against any of them. The only way I’ll stand on my own two feet in this world.
Images blink and flicker, and I invite them near, trying to hold them still so I can look at them.Come on. Come back to me.A windy beach, a cliff, and a woman with long, dark hair.Yes.She smiles.
Then her face swirls into the gentle, brown-eyed countenance of a man with thick hair waving over his forehead.A neat mustache that turns up when he smiles. I shove that image aside but his face intrudes again and again. I force my eyes open. “No!” My heart’s pounding. I’m gripping the chair arms.
“What? What is it?” AJ’s face is near mine. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll go into town and search everywhere, find someone who knew you and…” He sits back in his chair.
I glance about Dunn Cottage with its low-raftered ceiling and stone walls hugging us close. Its rough-hewn shelves and large open fireplace. My grip relaxes. “Why didn’t she look for me?” Why didn’t either of them?
He blinks. “Sabine?”
“My mother. I remember her, and she’s alive somewhere. But in all the years I stayed with Lady St. Laurent, she never searched for me, never saw the notice in the Illustrated.”
“Perhaps she takes the Chronicle.”
And the man on the beach? The one who looks at me with such affection?
Eventually AJ settles one arm on the chairback behind me and rests his head atop mine. “Don’t fret over her, luv. You have me now.”
And who is that, exactly?I wish to ask. I know he won’t answer, though. The tightness begins twisting up inside. What might it feel like to stand upon solid rock?
I glance about the ancient lime-washed cottage, at the nooks and crannies and the ledges I know by instinct. On the top shelf of the larder is the sharp knife, kept out of my reach. I wasn’t to touch it. Above the mantel, spare tallow candles. I recall sitting on the stones before the hearth, talking away when Mum was here, and staring silently when she was not.
I cannot recall what became of that girl. The waves of time washed the sand from under her feet and she had to find a new place to stand, many times over.
It is not until Ansel and I are soundly wrapped in separate blankets for the night, drifting off to sleep, that I remember I’ll need to ring Henry Gould again come morning. I twist and turn, desperate for some explanation that makes sense.
Yes, there must be a clear reason.Mustbe. Because if this is all true, then my husband is a stranger. Marriage means a radical acceptance of your spouse and all flaws. I chose to marry AJ without being able to tell him about my shortcomings…and it seems he did the same. Now, there’s precious little I can do about it.
Except to wait for the sun to come up and close myself once again into the telephone booth at the Sloop where truth will be delivered.
Chapter 23
Nighttimesweepsawaythecobwebs of the day, leaving our minds a fresh slate. I, having learned nothing the previous day, climb down the stone stairway to the shore upon first light and dip my toes into the water. I cannot stay away, and the sea is never more glorious than when lit with the rosy sunrise. My legs sting considerably less after a night wrapped in salve, which makes it easier to forgive the sea for tossing me about.
