Chance Harbor (21 page)

They were passing Campbell’s Cove now. Eve deliberately changed the subject. “I suppose they’re not selling ice cream here this time of year.”

“Probably not,” Darcy agreed. “Why? Is this one of your regular hangouts?”

“Anywhere that has ice cream is my hangout. You name it: this campground. Shirley’s in Souris. Cows in Charlottetown.”

“Oh, that Cows’ blueberry ice cream!” Darcy moaned. “A dish of blue ecstasy!”

Eve laughed. “What’s wrong with these places, that they don’t sell ice cream all year?”

“What I always loved about Campbell’s are those little wooden camping huts,” Darcy said.

“Really? Huh. They always struck me as claustrophobic. Like wooden tents, only with less air.”

“No, no. They’re practical. Love them,” Darcy declared, then pointed. “Here we are. My secret cove.” He turned to her, gray eyes dancing. “You haven’t been here, right?”

“No. I hardly ever come to this side of the island,” she said, struck suddenly by the difference between Darcy’s eyes and Andrew’s. Andrew’s had been blue and set slightly too close together on either side of his snub nose, giving him the sharp, intelligent look of a small, burrowing mammal.

Darcy’s eyes were creased at the corners from laugh lines and too much time spent squinting outdoors, yet the irises were wide and a gray that looked warm instead of cool. Andrew assessed you with one glance. Darcy embraced you with a look.

“So, why haven’t you?” Darcy asked.

“It’s easier to go down the steps from our house and swim than it is to get in the car,” she said. “The only beach we ever went to on the north side was St. Margarets, back when they had lobster suppers at the church.”

“You’ve seen the Pioneer Cemetery there?”

“Oh yes. Andrew helped fund the restoration. He has people buried there. It’s a beautiful site. I love the sandstone tombstones.”

They had left the main road and were following a narrow gravel track between dormant blueberry fields. The fruit shrubs had turned a rose-tinted gold. The gravel soon gave way to red clay, and Darcy’s truck jounced so hard over the ruts that Eve had to hang on to the door.

After another half mile, they arrived at a small turnout overlooking a pond surrounded by cattails. A great blue heron stood there, mirrored in the water. Eve loved the herons, their broad silvery wings and crooked necks, their long knobby legs. She loved it that such improbable, imaginary-looking creatures actually existed outside her imagination.

They climbed out of the truck and Darcy let down the gate for the dog. Bear led the way along a sandy footpath nearly overgrown with marsh grasses that whispered against Eve’s jacket. It was like walking through shoulder-high water. She could hear the surf but couldn’t see it, because of a tall dune ahead of them that seemed to rise from the ground as abruptly as a pyramid in the desert.

Darcy was ahead of her, carrying a blanket and a bag. Eve caught a glimpse of a wine bottle and hoped he wasn’t getting any silly ideas. She had mentioned Andrew deliberately earlier to avoid all that nonsense. “How did you happen to have a blanket and wine in the car?” she said. “Are you always so prepared?”

“You mean, am I an alcoholic Boy Scout? No, darling. I packed some things in case you were home and happened to need nourishment. I know how busy you are. We could have eaten at your house, but it’s always nicer at the beach.”

“Tell me that if you’re still up here in February,” she said. “How did you even find this place?”

“Accidentally. Like I find most of my favorite things.”

“Like what else?” She was breathing harder now that they were ascending the dune’s steep slope. Luckily, the dog was slower than she was, so she could keep up her end of the conversation by pretending to wait for him.

“I ended up in Vermont by accident because my motorcycle broke down in the Green Mountains during one weekend joy ride. A farmer let me sleep in his barn and then gave me a job picking strawberries for the summer. I met my wife by accident, too. We literally bumped into each other on a street because we were both carrying things that blocked our view of the sidewalk.”

Eve laughed. “What were you carrying?”

“In her case, books—she was an ESL teacher—and, in my case, a spoiler I’d bought for twenty bucks that I’d intended to attach to my Mustang.”

Eve wondered about his wife, but maybe Darcy didn’t want to talk about his wife any more than she wanted to discuss Andrew. He wore no wedding ring. There was something buoyant about Darcy’s personality—he walked on the balls of his feet, as if he were still a young athlete, a distance runner, maybe—that made Eve think he wasn’t bitter about whatever had happened.

“And this place?” she asked. “How did you find yourself way out here?”

Darcy gestured toward a stand of pines on a nearby headland. “I was headed to a concert there, at Rock Barra, but I turned left instead of right at the fork and ended up at this beach instead.”

“A concert?” Eve didn’t know there was anyplace to hear music on this part of the island.

“Yes. Rock Barra is a retreat. The musicians in residence give concerts on Sundays with guest artists.”

“Wish I’d known,” Eve murmured, though what good would it have done? Andrew hated going out and wasn’t a fan of unnecessary noise. He especially disliked fiddle music, which was odd, given his Celtic heritage and the fact that so many people played it here. You could go to a ceilidh or a kitchen party every night of the week on Prince Edward Island.

“Ah. We’ve arrived,” Darcy announced grandly.

It was grand, she had to admit: a length of pink sand bordered by steep red cliffs on either side. There was a bluff on top of one cliff with feathery yellow grass, a bright contrast to the burgundy rocks tinged orange in the sun. Pine trees topped the cliff on the opposite side.

“Okay,” Eve said as they stood at the crest of the dune. “You managed to surprise me. This really is spectacular. Thank you.”

Darcy looked pleased. “Good. I haven’t surprised many people lately,” he said, holding out his hand for her as they descended.

“Why not?” She ignored his hand and went first, taking little leaps as she descended, unnerved by his gesture and by his appealing body.

“Too old and slow these days,” he said. “What’s that line from Yeats? ‘An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick.’ That’s me. A bit worn-out and patched up. Though I hope I have a few years left in this coat.”

“Careful what you say. I might be older than you.” Eve ran down the second half of the dune, letting her weight carry her, whooping as she nearly lost her balance.

Darcy was right behind her, laughing. “You can’t possibly be older than I am,” he said when they’d stopped on the beach to catch their breath. He dropped the bag and toed off his sneakers.

“You’d be surprised. Plus, if you’re worn and tattered, I’m torn to shreds.” She took a deep breath, then added, “My husband died in May. I’m finding things very difficult.”

Eve was horrified to hear the quaver in her voice. She began walking rapidly toward the headland side of the beach, to the red rocks piled there like a giant staircase.

Darcy was at her side in an instant, touching her shoulder. “Of course things are difficult for you. I already knew about your husband. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“How did you know?” She kept her head down.

“It’s a small island. Forget six degrees of separation. It’s more like two.”

“My husband’s cousin Jane keeps reminding me of that.”

“She’s the one who told me about Andrew, actually,” Darcy said.

“Oh, hell no. Please, please don’t tell me you’re another MacLeish.”

“No. But Jane is the sister of my friend Ed at the university, and she was a good friend of my wife’s.”

“Was?” Eve hadn’t wanted to pry—if the wife was dead, she’d have to invite Darcy to her pity party, and if he was divorced, she’d have to speculate about why—but it seemed impolite not to ask.

“My wife has been gone five years now,” Darcy said.

“Gone, as in divorced?” Eve said. “Or dead?” She covered her mouth, shocked at herself. “I’m sorry. That was so rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re entitled to be rude. You’re a new widow and grieving. You get to sit on the throne of grief and dispense pronouncements without filters.”

“I hope not,” Eve said. “That sounds odious. Tedious, too.”

He laughed. “Too bad. That’s what losing a spouse does to people. And, in answer to your question, my wife died of cancer. It was a long haul. For both of us.”

Eve walked quietly beside him, trying to time her breathing with the waves washing in and out so rhythmically along the shore. An old calming trick of hers.

So Darcy was one of the good ones, the sort of spouse who saw things through to the end. A caretaker. Would she and Andrew have done that for each other? Occasionally she found herself feeling relieved not to have been put to that particular test. And Andrew, for his part, would have been pleased by his own death. It was just the kind of ending he would have orchestrated for himself if he’d been giving the instructions: No pain. No drama. Just peace.

The only mistake he’d made was that he’d died at another woman’s house. At Marta’s.

Now Eve thought of something else. “Jane didn’t send you to my house on some misguided attempt at matchmaking, did she?”

Darcy smiled. “No, no. That was all Sparrow’s doing.”

“Good. Where is he, anyway?”

They walked up and down the beach, calling the dog’s name. Just as Eve was starting to worry, they found the dog asleep in the shade beneath a wooden staircase leading up one of the cliffs at the far end of the cove. The stairs were at nearly a ninety-degree angle, almost a ladder. “Sparrow knows this is where I play music,” Darcy said. “He probably thinks that’s what we’ve come to do. He just couldn’t figure out how to get up the stairs, poor guy.”

“I don’t blame him,” Eve said. “That looks like the staircase to heaven. Or hell. What do you play?”

He grinned. “The fiddle—what else? Want to see the retreat? We could go up there. Rock Barra is closed for the season, but it’s still an interesting place.”

“All right.” Eve hauled herself up onto the first step with the thick rope that served as a railing and began climbing. She was aware of Darcy behind her, close enough that he blocked the wind. At one point she was warm enough to unzip her jacket.

At last they reached the top of the cliff. A circle of stones had been arranged on the headland around a fire pit. Darcy told Eve that people came here for seaside yoga retreats as well as songwriting and music workshops. Airstream trailers were randomly tucked among the pines, gleaming silver, and there was a wooden outhouse.

The main building was unlike any Eve had ever seen. About half of it was glass. The other half was cedar shakes, gone silver with age, and the roof had turf on it.

“The house was originally built as a movie set,” Darcy said as they walked around the property. “I know it looks odd, but there’s no better place to hear music.”

“I bet,” Eve said. “I would have loved coming here.”

“Well, there’s always next summer.” Darcy offered her a hand down the stairs.

Eve shook her head and grabbed the rope railing, not wanting to risk touching him. The attraction was there, a buzz between them that made her imagine warmth, a red color. She didn’t want to encourage it. What would be the point? She was a mess. And done with all that, anyway. Life was simpler alone.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be back on the island again,” she said as they descended with the dog’s watchful eyes on them from the beach. “I’m actually getting the Chance Harbor house ready to sell.”

“Give it time. You may change your mind.” Darcy’s voice was gentle.

They walked in silence back to where they’d left the bag and blanket. A few gulls wheeled overhead, but other than the birds and the dog, she and Darcy had the beach to themselves. Eve was aware of their isolation, of the thrilling sensation she so often had on this end of Prince Edward Island—that she really had arrived at the end of the world. So much sky, unlike the brief glimpses of horizon between buildings and trees you got back home. It made you feel both closer to the heavens and insignificant.

Darcy uncorked the bottle of white wine he’d brought in the bag. He poured some into a plastic cup and handed it to her. Eve had meant to refuse the wine, but all of a sudden wine seemed like a fine idea here on this sunny beach, with this man. She felt oddly younger, her earlier bodily complaints and sorrows forgotten as she sipped the chilled wine and took a piece of cheese that Darcy cut for her with deft motions, using a knife with a curved olive-wood handle he’d bought in Italy on one of his consulting jobs last year.

They talked about Italy, where Eve had traveled twice with Andrew, comparing what they both loved about the country—olive groves, medieval villages, narrow winding roads, the abundance of good food and cheap wine—and what they didn’t like, such as the scooters zipping up onto the sidewalks in Florence and the long lines at the museums.

“The mistake I made last time was inviting this woman I’d been seeing to come with me,” Darcy said. “I thought it would be good to have a companion in Florence, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Eve laughed and took another sip of wine. “Why?”

“Well, to begin with, this woman looked like a Barbie doll. She’d recently had breast implants despite being over fifty. And she wore so much makeup, it took her more than an hour to get ready anytime we went out.”

Eve raised an eyebrow, trying to picture Darcy—so raw-boned and dressed as he always seemed to be, in practical, workman’s clothes—with a woman like that. “Why did you even go out with her?”

“A reasonable question.” He cut a cube of cheese and fed it to the dog. “I guess I didn’t know how to say no. My wife had died and this woman was my sister’s husband’s niece, if you can follow that. We’d met at a few family functions and my sister encouraged the woman to call me. Let me tell you, there was some guilt on both sides, when my sister found out what a nutcase she was.”

Eve laughed. “Do tell.”

“You don’t want to hear all that.”