"If you'd like, I could show you the place. I'm getting kind of hungry myself, and I'd be happy to take you there if you want some company."
She smiled. "I'd like that, Garrett."
He looked relieved. "My truck is out back. Do you want me to drive?"
"You know the way better than I do," she replied, and Garrett pointed the way, leading her through the shop and out the back door. Walking slightly behind him so that he couldn't see her expression, Theresa couldn't help but smile to herself.
Hank's had been in business since the pier was built and was frequented by locals and tourists alike. Low in ambience but high in character, it was similar to the pier restaurants they had on Cape Cod--wooden floors scraped and scuffed by years of sandy shoes, large windows offering a view of the Atlantic Ocean, pictures of trophy fish on the walls. Off to one side was a door that led to the kitchen, and Theresa saw plates of fresh seafood loaded on trays, carried by waiters and waitresses dressed in shorts and blue T-shirts emblazoned with the name of the restaurant. The tables and chairs were wooden, sturdy looking, and decorated by the carvings of hundreds of former visitors. It wasn't a place that required more than casual beachwear, and Theresa noticed that most of the people there looked as though they had been lying in the sun most of the morning.
"Trust me," he said as they were walking to a table. "The food is great, no matter what this place looks like."
They took their seats at a table near the corner, and Garrett pushed aside two bottles of beer that hadn't yet been cleared. The menus were stacked between a series of condiments including ketchup, Tabasco, tartar sauce, and cocktail sauce in squeeze bottles, as well as another sauce labeled simply "Hank's." Cheaply laminated, the menus looked as though they hadn't been replaced in years. Glancing around, Theresa saw that nearly every table was occupied.
"It's crowded," she said, making herself comfortable.
"It always is. Even before Wrightsville Beach got popular with tourists, this place was kind of a legend. You can't even get in here on Friday or Saturday nights, unless you're willing to wait for a couple of hours."
"What's the draw?"
"The food and the prices. Every morning Hank gets a load of fresh fish and shrimp, and you can usually get out of here without spending more than ten dollars, including the tip. And that's with a couple of beers."
"How does he do it?"
"Volume, I guess. Like I said, this place is always crowded."
"Then we were lucky to get a table."
"Yeah, we were. But we got here before the locals come in, and the beach crowd never lingers. They just pop in for a quick bite and head back out into the sun."
She looked around the restaurant one last time before glancing at the menu. "So what do you recommend?"
"Do you like seafood?"
"I love it."
"Then go with the tuna or the dolphin. They're both delicious."
"Dolphin?"
He laughed under his breath. "Not Flipper. It's dolphin-fish. That's what we call it around here."
"I think I'll go with the tuna," she said with a wink, "just to make sure."
"You think I'd make up something like that?"
She spoke in a teasing voice. "I don't know what to think. We just met yesterday, remember. I don't know you well enough to be completely sure what you're capable of."
"I'm hurt," he said in the same voice, and she laughed. He laughed, too, and after a moment she surprised him by reaching across the table and touching his arm briefly. Catherine, he suddenly realized, used to do the same thing to get his attention.
"Look over there," she said, nodding toward the windows, and Garrett turned his head. On the pier an older man carried his fishing gear, looking completely normal except for the large parrot that was perched on his shoulder.
Garrett shook his head and smiled, still feeling the remnants of her touch lingering on his arm. "We get all kinds around here. It's not quite California, but give us a few years."
Theresa kept watching as the man with the bird wandered down the pier. "You should get yourself one of those to keep you company when you go sailing."
"And ruin my peace and quiet? Knowing my luck, the thing wouldn't talk. It would just squawk the whole time and probably bite off part of my ear the first time the wind shifted."
"But you'd look like a pirate."
"I'd look like an idiot."
"Oh, you're no fun," Theresa said with a mock frown. After a brief pause, she looked around. "So do they have anyone to serve you here, or do we have to catch and cook our own fish?"
"Damn Yankees," he mumbled while shaking his head, and she laughed again, wondering if he was having as much fun as she was, knowing somehow that he probably was.
A few moments later the waitress arrived and took their orders. Both Theresa and Garrett ordered beers, and after putting the order into the kitchen, the waitress brought two bottles to the table.
"No glasses?" she asked with a raised eyebrow after the waitress had left.
"Nope. This place is nothing if not classy."
"I can see why you like it so much."
"Is that a comment about my lack of taste?"
"Only if you're insecure about it."
"Now you sound like a psychiatrist."
"I'm not, but I am a mother, and that makes me something of an expert in human nature."
"Is that so?"
"It's what I tell Kevin."
Garrett took a sip of his beer. "Did you talk to him today?"
She nodded and took a drink as well. "Just for a few minutes. He was on his way to Disneyland when I called. He had early morning passes, so he couldn't talk that long. He wanted to be one of the first in line at the Indiana Jones ride."
"Is he having a good time with his father?"
"He's having a great time. David's always been good with him, but I think he tries to make up for the fact that he doesn't see Kevin that often. Whenever Kevin goes out there, he expects something fun and exciting."
Garrett looked at her curiously. "You sound like you're not so sure about it."
She hesitated before continuing. "Well, I just hope it doesn't lead to disappointment later. David and his new wife have started a family, and as soon as the baby gets a little older, I think it's going to be a lot harder for David and Kevin to be alone together."
Garrett leaned forward as he spoke. "It's impossible to protect your kids against disappointment in life."
"I know that, I really do. It's just that..."
She stopped, and Garrett gently finished her thoughts for her. "He's your son and you don't want to see him hurt."
"Exactly." Beads of condensation had formed on the outside of her bottle of beer, and Theresa began to peel off the label. Again, it was the same thing Catherine used to do, and Garrett took another drink of beer and forced his mind back to the conversation at hand.
"I don't know what to say except that if Kevin's anything like you, I'm sure he'll end up all right."
"What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "No one's life is easy--yours included. You've had some tough times, too. I think that by watching you overcome adversity, he'll learn how to do it as well."
"Now you're the one sounding like a psychiatrist."
"I'm just telling you what I learned growing up. I was about Kevin's age when my mom died of cancer. Watching my dad taught me that I had to go on with my life, no matter what happens."
"Did your dad ever remarry?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I think there were a few times that he wished he had, but he never got around to it."
So that's where it comes from, she thought. Like father, like son.
"Does he still live in town?" she asked.
"Yeah, he does. I see him a lot these days. We try to get together at least once a week. He likes to keep me on the straight and narrow."
She smiled. "Most parents do."
The food arrived a few minutes later, and they continued their c
onversation as they ate. This time Garrett spoke more than she did, telling her what it was like growing up in the South, and why he'd never leave given the choice. He also told her about some of the adventurous things that had happened while sailing or scuba diving. She listened, fascinated. Compared with the stories that the men told up in Boston--which usually focused on business accomplishments--his stories were completely new to her. He spoke about the thousands of different sea creatures he had seen on his dives and what it was like to sail through a storm that had come up unexpectedly and nearly capsized his boat. One time he'd even been chased by a hammerhead shark and was forced to take cover in the wreck he'd been exploring. "I almost ran out of air before I could come up," he said, shaking his head at the memory.
Theresa watched him closely as he spoke, pleased that he had loosened up compared with the evening before. She still noticed the things she had last night--the lean face, his light blue eyes, and the easy way he moved. Yet there was energy in the way he spoke to her now, and she found the change appealing. No longer did he seem to be measuring every word he said.
They finished their lunch--he was right, the food was delicious--and went through a second beer each as the ceiling fans whirred overhead. With the sun rising steadily in the sky, it was hot in the restaurant now, but no less crowded. After the bill arrived, Garrett put some money on the table and motioned for them to leave.
"Are you ready?"
"Whenever you are. And thanks for lunch. It was great."
As they walked out the front door, she fully expected that Garrett would want to return to the shop right away, but he surprised her by suggesting something different.
"How about a walk along the beach? It's usually a little cooler down by the water." When she said yes, he led her to the side of the pier and started down the steps, walking beside Theresa. The steps were slightly warped and thinly layered with sand, forcing them to hold the railings as they made their way down. Once they reached the beach, they turned toward the water, walking beneath the pier. The shade was refreshing in the midday heat, and when they reached the compact sand at the edge of the tide, both of them stopped for a moment to remove their shoes. All around them, families were crowded onto towels and splashing in the water.
They began to walk in silence, strolling beside each other as Theresa looked around, taking in the sights.
"Have you spent a lot of time on the beaches while you've been here?" Garrett asked.
Theresa shook her head. "No. I only got here the day before yesterday. This is the first time I've been on the beach here."
"How do you like it?"
"It's beautiful."
"Is it like the beaches up north?"
"Some of them, but the water's a lot warmer here. Haven't you ever been to the coast up north?"
"I've never been outside North Carolina."
She smiled at him. "A real world traveler, huh?"
He laughed under his breath. "No, but I don't feel like I'm missing that much. I like it here and couldn't imagine a prettier place. There's no place I'd rather be." After a few steps, he glanced at her and changed the subject: "So, how long are you staying in Wilmington?"
"Until Sunday. I have to go back to work on Monday."
Five more days, he thought.
"Do you know anyone else in town?"
"No. I came down here on my own."
"Why?"
"I just wanted to visit. I'd heard some good things about the place, and I wanted to see it for myself."
He wondered about her answer. "Do you usually take vacations alone?"
"Actually, this is my first time."
A female jogger appeared, moving quickly toward them with a black Labrador retriever by her side. The dog looked spent in the heat, his tongue hanging out too far. Oblivious of the dog's condition, she kept going, eventually veering around Theresa. Garrett almost said something to the woman about it as she passed but didn't think it was his business.
It was a few moments before Garrett spoke again. "Can I ask you a personal question?"
"It depends on the question."
He stopped walking and picked up a couple of small seashells that caught his eye. After turning them over a few times, he handed them to her. "Are you seeing anyone up in Boston?"
She took the shells as she answered. "No."
Lapping waves collected at their feet as they stood in the shallow water. Though he had expected the answer, he couldn't understand why someone like her would spend most of her evenings alone.
"Why not? A woman like you should have your pick of men."
She smiled at that, and they slowly started walking again. "Thanks, that's nice of you to say. But it's not that easy, especially when you have a son. There are a lot of things I have to consider when I meet someone." She paused. "But what about you? Are you seeing anyone right now?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Then it's my turn to ask--why not?"
Garrett shrugged. "I guess I haven't met anyone I'd really like to see on a regular basis."
"Is that all?"
It was a moment of truth, and Garrett knew it. All he had to do was affirm his earlier statement and that would be the end of it. But for a few steps he didn't say anything.
The beach crowd had thinned as they moved farther away from the pier, and the only sound now was that of the crashing waves. Garrett saw a group of terns standing near the water's edge, already moving out of their path. The sun, almost directly overhead now, reflected off the sand and made them both squint a little as they strolled along. Garrett didn't look at her as he spoke, and Theresa moved closer so that she could hear him over the roar of the ocean.
"No, that's not all. It's more of an excuse than anything. To be honest, I haven't even tried to find someone."
Theresa watched him carefully as he spoke. He was looking straight ahead as if gathering his thoughts, but she could sense his reluctance as he went on.
"There was something I didn't tell you last night."
She felt something tighten inside, knowing exactly what was coming. Keeping her face neutral, she said simply: "Oh?"
"I was married once, too," he finally said. "For six years." He turned to her with an expression that made her flinch. "But she passed away."
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Again he stopped and picked up some seashells, only this time he didn't hand them to Theresa. After inspecting them casually, he threw one into the oncoming waves. Theresa watched it disappear into the ocean.
"It happened three years ago. Ever since then, I haven't been interested in dating, or even looking." He stopped for a moment, uncomfortable.
"It must get lonely sometimes."
"It does, but I try not to think about that too much. I keep busy at the shop--there's always something to do there--and it helps the days go by. Before I know it, it's time for me to go to bed and I start the whole thing over the next day."
When he finished, he glanced at her with a weak smile. There, he'd said it. He'd wanted to tell someone other than his father for years, and he'd ended up telling it to a woman from Boston he barely knew. A woman who had somehow been able to open doors that he himself had nailed shut.
She said nothing. When he didn't add anything else, she asked: "What was she like?"
"Catherine?" Garrett's throat went dry. "Do you really want to know?"
"Yeah, I do," she said in a gentle voice.
He threw another shell into the surf, gathering his thoughts. How could he hope to describe her in words? Yet part of him wanted to try, wanted Theresa of all people to understand. Despite himself, he was drawn back in time once more.
"Hey, sweetheart," Catherine said as she looked up from the garden. "I didn't expect you home so soon."
"It's been pretty slow in the shop this morning, and I thought I'd pop home for lunch to see how you were doing."
"I'm feeling a lot better."
"You think it was the flu?"
"I don't kn
ow. It was probably something I ate. About an hour after you left, I felt good enough to do a little gardening."
"I can see that."
"How do you like the flowers?" She gestured at a freshly turned patch of soil.
Garrett surveyed the freshly planted pansies lining the porch. He smiled. "They're great, but don't you think you should have left some of the dirt in the flower bed?"
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and stood, squinting up at him in the bright sunlight. "Do I look that bad?"
Her knees were dark from kneeling in the dirt, and a streak of mud ran across her cheek. Her hair was escaping from a messy ponytail, and her face was red and sweating from exertion.
"You look perfect."
Catherine took off her gloves and tossed them on the porch. "I'm not perfect, Garrett, but thanks. C'mon, let me get you some lunch. I know you've got to get back to the shop."
He sighed and finally turned his head. Theresa was staring at him, waiting. He spoke softly.
"She was everything I ever wanted. She was beautiful and charming, with a quick sense of humor, and she supported me in everything I did. I'd known her practically my whole life--we went to school together. We got married a year after I graduated from UNC. We were married for six years before the accident, and they were the best six years I ever had. When she was taken away..." He paused as if he were at a loss for words. "I don't know whether I'll ever get used to being without her."
The way he spoke about Catherine made Theresa hurt for him more than she would have imagined. It wasn't just his voice, but the look on his face before he described her--as if torn between the beauty of his memories and the pain of remembering. Though the letters had been touching, they hadn't prepared her for this. I shouldn't have brought it up, she thought. I already knew how he felt about her. There wasn't any reason to make him talk about it.
But there was, another voice in her head suddenly chimed in. You had to see his reaction for yourself. You had to find out whether he was ready to put the past behind him.
After a few moments, Garrett absently tossed the remaining shells into the water. "I'm sorry about that," he said.
"What?"
"I shouldn't have told you about her. Or so much about me."
"It's okay, Garrett. I wanted to know. I asked you about her, remember?"