“I heard a motor in the distance,” Noah replied. “I have no way of connecting—”
“This is ridiculous,” Jenna said.
Amos said, “You sound as lame as my daughter coming in after curfew. Stay clear of the barn. Zia and I will be out directly.”
“I’ve got a hundred things to get done today—”
“Stay away from the boat, Noah. Don’t go tracking more footprints. Take the lady to lunch. We’ll swing by in a couple of hours. Hand her the phone, will you. I need to have a word with an adult.”
* * *
Jenna watched Noah cut the connection and rise to his feet. He gave the barn a long look, then told her, “We’re officially barred from going anywhere near our boat. If I stick around here, I’ll go nuts. Buy you an early lunch?”
It was far from the most charming invitation she’d ever received. “Sounds good.”
Noah didn’t speak again until they were entering the diner. “You’re right. I should have called Amos. Soon as I heard the bike climb the ridge.”
She slid into a window booth opposite Noah and facing the door. She accepted a menu from the waitress. She liked how easy it felt, like they had been friends for years. Like she was ready . . .
For what, exactly?
Noah ordered a burger with slaw on the side, hold the fries. She went for the tuna melt. When the waitress was gone, she wondered if now was a good moment to talk about what they had been putting off. Her money, their new joint account, the stages still required to make the boat seaworthy, and what was coming after. She liked how natural it had all felt up to that point. Just moving from day to day, filling their time together with the next task. Enjoying his company and the sweaty work and the sunshine and the valley, all of it.
Looking back, it seemed to Jenna as if everything changed in an instant. As if the shift was already there in the booth before they arrived. And it all started by her asking the simplest of questions. “Will you tell me about your work in Hollywood?”
Noah waited while the waitress set down their drinks—raspberry ice tea for her, black coffee for Noah. He fiddled with the spoon he didn’t need, then said, “I always thought I’d have more time.”
She must have jerked. Some response strong enough to draw his attention. She told him, “You don’t know how often I’ve heard those words.”
Noah had the most remarkable eyes. Not gray so much as pewter, with a burnished quality, as if illuminated from within. “You mean, from your patients.”
“A few say they’re ready. One or two even seem glad.” She smiled at a sudden memory. “One patient, a university English professor, put it this way: ‘Off with this mortal coil. I want to have tea with Emily and share a dark ale with the Bard himself.’ Those were the last words she spoke.”
“Wow.”
“Something, huh.”
“I wish I could be that eloquent. You know, when it matters.” He went back to fiddling with his spoon. “I’ve often thought that’s how it felt. Losing my company was a lot like a small death.”
“Not to mention your wife.” When he did not respond, she said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
“Three years of counseling, four separations before we finally called it quits.” He set down the spoon, lifted his mug, took a long sip. “Amos met her once. All it took for him to know the truth.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Elaine wanted what I could never give.”
She was quiet a long moment, but not because of his words. Not really. Jenna needed to take stock. The way she leaned forward, so close she could see a small dark patch on his left jawline where he had not shaved properly. The creases that had appeared now as he thought about his ex, the tight furrows spreading out from his eyes. The sorrow. “Which was . . .”
“Life on a pedestal. First place in her husband’s mind and heart and life. Just like her dad treated her mother.” Noah met her gaze. “Why couldn’t I see that for myself?”
“Because you were in love.”
“It wasn’t enough. Loving her.”
“That doesn’t mean you were in the wrong. Neither of you.”
He breathed tight little puffs of air, sharing the coffee scent. “Amos said pretty much the same thing.”
