“Hey there,” he said, keeping his voice calm and steady, “You all right?”
The dog tilted its head and Tru slowly began to inch toward it, speaking in low, steady tones. When Tru was close, the dog stretched out, trying to sniff his hand, before taking a couple of hesitant steps forward. When the dog finally seemed convinced of his good intentions, it relaxed. Tru stroked its head and checked for blood. Nothing. On its collar tag, Tru saw the name Scottie.
“Hi, Scottie,” he said. “Let’s get you back to the beach, shall we? Come on.”
It took some coaxing, but Scottie finally began to follow Tru back toward the dune. He was limping, but not to the point where Tru thought anything might be broken. When Scottie stopped at the retaining wall, Tru hesitated before finally reaching down and scooping him into his arms. He carried him between the houses and up the steps to the walkway, then eventually over the dune. Scanning the beach, he spotted the woman, much nearer now.
Tru eased down the dune and started toward her. The morning remained bright, but the woman seemed even brighter, amplified by the sunny yellow fabric of her sleeveless top fluttering in the wind. He watched as the gap between them continued to close, studying her as she drew near. Despite the confusion on her face, she was beautiful, with untamed auburn hair and eyes the color of turquoise. And almost at once, something inside him began to stir, something that made him feel a bit nervous, the way he always felt in the presence of an attractive woman.
HOPE
Hope stepped from the back deck to the walkway that led over the dune, trying to keep her coffee from spilling. Scottie—her aptly named Scottish terrier—strained at the leash, eager to reach the beach.
“Stop pulling,” she said.
The dog ignored her. Scottie had been a gift from Josh, her boyfriend of the past six years, and he barely listened on his best days. But since arriving at the cottage the day before, he’d been positively wild. His paws scuffled madly against the sandy steps as they descended to the beach, and she reminded herself that she needed to bring him to another one of those weekend obedience training programs, though she doubted it would do any good. He’d flunked out of the first two already. Scottie—the sweetest and cutest dog in the world—seemed to be a bit of a dim bulb, bless his heart. Then again, maybe he was just stubborn.
Because Labor Day had come and gone, the beach was quiet, most of the elegant homes dark. She saw someone jogging near the pier; in the opposite direction, a couple strolled near the water. She leaned over, setting the foam cup in the sand while she released Scottie from the leash, watching as her dog sprinted away. She doubted anyone would care. Last night, she’d seen two other dogs off leash, and in any case there weren’t too many people around to complain.
Hope started walking and took a sip of her coffee. She hadn’t slept well. Usually, the endless roar of the waves lulled her immediately to sleep, but not last night. She’d tossed and turned, woken multiple times, and had finally given up for good when sunlight began streaming into her room.
At least the weather was perfect, with blue skies and a temperature more typical of early autumn than late summer. On the news last night, they had predicted storms over the weekend, and her friend Ellen was crazy with worry. Ellen was getting married on Saturday, and both the wedding and the reception were supposed to be outdoors at the Wilmington Country Club, somewhere near the eighteenth green. Hope figured there was probably a backup plan—no doubt, they’d be able to use the clubhouse—but when Ellen had called last night, she’d nearly been in tears.
Hope had been sympathetic on the phone, but it hadn’t been easy. Ellen was so caught up in her own worries that she hadn’t so much as asked how Hope was doing. In a way, that was probably a good thing; the last thing Hope wanted to talk about right now was Josh. How was she supposed to explain that Josh was going to be a no-show for the wedding? Or that—as disappointing as a rained-out wedding could be—there were definitely worse things?
Right now, Hope was feeling a bit overwhelmed by life in general, and spending the week alone at the cottage wasn’t helping. Not only because Josh wasn’t around, but because it was probably the last week she’d ever spend here. Her parents had listed the cottage with a Realtor earlier in the summer, and they’d accepted an offer ten days ago. She understood why they were selling, but she was going to miss this place. Growing up, most of her summers and holidays had been spent here, and every nook and cranny held memories. She could recall washing the sand from her feet with the garden hose, watching storms from the window seat in the kitchen, and the scent of fish or steaks being grilled on the barbecue on the back deck. She remembered swapping late-night secrets with her sisters in their shared room, and it was here that she’d kissed a boy for the very first time. She had been twelve years old and his name was Tony; for years, his family had owned the cottage three doors down. She’d had a crush on him most of the summer, and after they’d split a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he’d kissed her in the kitchen while her mom had been watering plants on the deck.
The memory still made her smile, and she wondered what the new owners intended to do with the place. She wanted to imagine that they wouldn’t change a thing, but she wasn’t naive. During her childhood, the cottage had been one of many similarly sized homes along this stretch of shoreline; now there were only a few cottages remaining. In recent years, Sunset Beach had been discovered by the wealthy, and more than likely, the cottage would be razed and a new, much larger home constructed, like the three-story monstrosity right next door. It was the way of the world, she supposed, but it nonetheless felt like part of her was being razed as well. She knew it was crazy thinking—a little too woe is me—and she chided herself for it. Playing the martyr wasn’t like her; until recently, she’d always thought of herself as a glass-half-full, because today is a new day kind of girl. And why not? In most ways her life had been blessed. She had loving parents and two wonderful older sisters; she was an aunt to three boys and two girls, who were a source of constant joy and surprise to her. She’d done well in school, and she enjoyed her work as a trauma nurse in the ER at Wake County Medical Center. Despite the few pounds she wanted to lose, she was healthy. She and Josh—an orthopedic surgeon—had been dating since she was thirty, and she loved him. She had good friends and owned her own condominium in Raleigh, not far from her parents. From the outside, everything looked just peachy.
So why was she feeling so wonky right now?
Because it was one more trying thing in an already trying year, beginning first and foremost with her dad’s diagnosis, that particular soul-crushing bombshell arriving in April. Her dad was the only one who hadn’t been surprised at the news from the doctor. He’d known something was amiss when he no longer had the energy to jog in the woods behind his house.
Her dad had exercised in those woods for as long as she could remember; despite the construction engulfing Raleigh, the area had been designated a greenbelt, which was one of the reasons her parents had bought their home in the first place. Over the years, various developers had tried to overturn the city’s decision, promising jobs and tax revenue; they did so without success, partly because her father had opposed them at every meeting of the city council.
Her dad adored the woods. Not only did he run there in the mornings, but after he finished at the school, he would walk the paths he’d followed earlier in the morning. When she was a little girl, she would tag along with him after work, chasing butterflies or tossing sticks, hunting for crawdads in the small creek that wove toward the path in places. Her dad was a high school science teacher who knew the names of every bush and tree they passed. He would point out the differences between a southern red oak and a black oak and in that instant, the distinctions were as obvious as the color of the sky. Later, though, if she attempted it on her own, the information jumbled together. The same thing would happen when they stared at constellations in the sky; he’d point out Hercules, Lyra, or Aquila and she’d nod in wonder, only to squint in confusion at the same sky a week later, trying to remember which one was which.
For a long time, she’d believed her dad to be the smartest man in the world. When she would tell him that, he’d always laugh and say that if that were true, then he would have figured out a way to earn a million dollars. Her mom was a teacher, too—second grade—and it wasn’t until Hope graduated from college and began paying her own bills that she realized how much of a financial challenge it must have been for them to raise a family, even on their combined income.