Lightheadedness
The parking lot is crammed with cars. It’s a gorgeous, sun-drenched Sunday afternoon, and the park is teeming with young families, strollers, dogs, and runners. There’s a long line at the ice cream stand.
I find a parking spot, shut off the engine, and check how I look in the rearview mirror. I’ve worn my hair down today, and I used my straightener, so it’s smooth, dark, and shiny. My mascara hasn’t smudged, but I need some lipstick. I dig into my purse to search for it, quickly apply it, and snap the top back on. With one last look at myself in the mirror, I grow self-conscious as I rub gently at the scar below my jawbone and the longer one down the left side of my neck to my collarbone. The scars on my forearm are especially grotesque, which is why I wear long sleeves most of the time, even on hot days like today. I wish they’d fade more with time, but they never seem to.
But whatever. There’s not much I can do about that.
I turn to Scooter, who’s sitting in the passenger seat beside me, grinning from ear to ear. “Ready for a walk?” His mouth snaps shut, and his eyes pin to mine. “Then let’s get going.”
I step out and move around to the passenger side, where I clip the leash on to his collar. He leaps out of the car and onto the asphalt anddarts in multiple directions. He sniffs everywhere, dragging me forward, tail wagging. I barely have a chance to lock the car door.
Then I see Nate. He’s walking toward me from a parking space near the stone wall along the water. Trotting beside him like a little queen—not dragging him—is an adorable long-haired dachshund.
“Hi there,” Nate says. “This must be Scooter.”
Scooter’s tail starts wagging in double time as he sniffs Dolly’s nose. They circle around each other and get tangled up in the leashes. Nate and I scramble to restore order. Only then do I focus my full attention on him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says with a grin.
If I’d entertained any notions that he might be less handsome in the light of day, when I’m sober, I was dead wrong. This guy could be a movie star.
“What a great day,” I say, squinting up at the bright blue sky.
“Couldn’t be better. Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for the invite.”
We watch our dogs socialize and make sure they’re okay with each other. Then our eyes meet again, and we smile. My cheeks are going to hurt if I keep this up.
“Shall we walk?” Nate asks.
I secretly love that he uses the wordshall. “Sure.” I head toward the path along the water. Scooter leads the way for all of us, his long tail wagging up a storm.
By the time we pass what was once known as Hangman’s Beach and are heading toward the point, chatting, I’m consciously aware of my libido, which seems to be waking up after a long hibernation. Nate looks darn good as he stops to let Dolly do her business at the edge of the path. I can’t help but admire his muscular physique under faded blue jeans and the way his white T-shirt stretches across his back andshoulders when he bends to pick up her droppings. A little shiver of excitement dances up my spine, and I’m strangely relieved—because I was beginning to fear that all my sexual impulses were long dead, never to be resurrected.
Unaware of my eyes on him, Nate straightens, ties a knot in the poop bag, and strolls along the path to drop it in a trash can. As I watch him, I think about Jacob, and I contemplate how young we were when we first fell in love. Jacob was never muscular like Nate. He was thin and lanky, but only because he’d never had the chance to mature and grow into a man’s body.
I wonder what he might have looked like today if we’d never hiked up Cape Split ...
Quickly, I shut my eyes and remind myself that it’s not healthy to slide into that old pattern of obsessing over the unanswerable question: What if we hadn’t gone?
Nate and Dolly return, and I steer my gaze toward the mouth of the harbor. The sky is blue, but a ribbon of fog hangs low over the horizon. It’ll probably roll in later and bring a damp chill with it.
“Hey,” Nate says. “You look lost in thought.”
I force a smile. “Sorry. I was just thinking about something.”
I glance down at Scooter, who’s been sitting and staring at me anxiously for the past few minutes. Sometimes I wonder if he can read my mind. Maybe not in words but in feelings and memories.
I start to walk, and he remains at my side, glancing up at me frequently. Clearly he’s worried.
“I hope this isn’t too personal,” Nate says, “but after you left last night, Kevin told me about a conversation he had with your friend.”
My stomach drops, and I stare at the path in front of me. “With Becky?”
“Yeah. She mentioned that she lost her brother a few years ago at Cape Split, and that you were with him. That you both fell off the mountain. I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine that.”
Becky, Becky, Becky.This always happens when she drinks. She talks about Jacob, even to strangers, and she cries.
