The Topsail Accord (3 page)

Authors: J. Kalnay

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #General

BOOK: The Topsail Accord

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I am alone out here in the fog. I like it. I can hear the waves whispering against the shore, and some gulls making their gull sounds somewhere. I can feel the fog against my cheek, against my skin, against my breasts. It is cool, not cold, not uncomfortable. And different from the nearly constant string of warm and hot days I have spent here on Topsail.

I raise my third mug of coffee to my lips and sip. I will be jittery later from this third mug. I still don’t know why I poured it, but I know why I brought it out to the beach, so that if he saw me he would know where I am staying. And then what? This is a silly plan, and I can’t believe I have done it.

I hear him before I see him. Hear his footsteps in the sand, and his breath. He is breathing hard. I can tell he is down closer to the water on the firm sand. It is easier to run down there. He limps less when he is down there. I noticed that he limped in the deeper, finer sand that has been carried up near the dunes by the wind. What caused that limp? Is it just being older? He must be nearly fifty. Or was he injured somewhere? In a wreck? In the war? I wonder about him. And I wonder why I am wondering. What is this ridiculous curiosity?

His footsteps come closer. His breathing is louder. I take another sip from my coffee, listen more intently, and take a few steps closer to the waves. A few more steps, and I hear his footsteps retreating, heading away from me, up towards the pier.

I missed him, if it was him, but who else could it have been? I do not believe in destiny, but I believe in patterns, and he has been the most regular jogger on this beach, at this place and time on the shore. So it was likely him, and he was heading towards the pier in the heavier, denser sand that is not blown so easily by the wind but is moved back and forth by the long shore current. I will wait here, by the gentle waves whose tiny sounds reach out from under the fog to search for the sun. I will wait for him to come back. Wait by the rill marks that delineate where the freshwater underground meets the saltwater beyond. Yes, I am waiting for a man, in my bathing suit, in the fog, in North Carolina. I have never waited for a man in my entire life. It is absurd.

Jo
e

We don’t get to choose who we love, but we do get to choose how we love them. We choose, either consciously through activity, or unconsciously through inactivity. But we always choose, whether we know it or not.

Love, it is fragile thing, and we can be thoughtless, reckless caretakers who disrespect this precious thing. No we don’t get to choose who we love. We rarely even get to choose who we meet. But this morning, in the fog, I promise myself that if I see her I will say hello. I have chosen to meet her, and therefore I will meet her. I am not avoiding her. But I am likely invisible to her. Just a local. I have decided to meet her on this, the first foggy morning of the summer.

I must have gone past her house by now. It is hard to tell in the fog. I thought I felt something just a few yards ago, but I did not see her. Is it possible to feel someone like that? To feel someone we’ve never met? Who we want to meet?

What will I say? I have committed to meet her, to say hello. But what will I say? I am ready with the weather. I am always ready with the weather. But something about her tells me that she isn’t interested in the weather. That something so trivial yet so pervasive will be uninteresting to her. Maybe the turtle nest? For example, “did you see the turtle nest?” This can only lead to a yes/no answer. Not a real conversation starter. What will I say? I need a good first line, something that will yield more than a yes/no answer, but not something so obscure or obtuse that it yields no answer at all. What will I say? Something about the dolphins? Or the fog? The fog. The fog has possibilities. It is all around me, maybe all around us, and is the obvious topic.

“
Us?” Did I just have a thought that included the word “us?” That can’t be. I have no such thoughts. There is me, and there is everyone else. Once upon a time, way back when, there was “us”, Colleen and I were “us”, but those days are gone. Because, like I said, love is a fragile thing, and our greatest talent is destroying it.

Shannon

These tiny rippling waves in this fog. I am at peace. Even with half of my third mug of coffee coursing through my veins and the random thoughts about that Jogger. In the fog, near the waves, I am completely at peace. The dry white sand from closer to the dunes dusts the top of my tanned feet even while the cool wet sand from closer to the tide line infiltrates between my toes. I am at peace.

Joe

Before I can think, she is there, and I am here, and we are together. I almost run her over. She is shorter this close, and even more beautiful, with a fleck of grey in her long black hair. She has spilled her coffee onto the wet, brown, sand. We both look at it, and then she starts to laugh. I join in. Her laugh is infectious.

“
Sorry,” I say.

“
It’s okay. You probably saved me from being jittery all day. I really didn’t need that third mug.”

“
Third?”

“
Third.”

I reach out, take her mug, and pour the remaining coffee onto the beach where one wave that has pushed up farther than the others quickly sips it away.

“
There. Now you are completely safe.”

The look on her face is one of absolute incredulity. Like no-one had ever entered her space before. Like she is used to people keeping their distance. Like she is used to being in control, or separate.

“
I can’t believe you did that!”

I wait. I realize it was a very brazen act. But I am still flustered from actually meeting her.

“
I’m sorry. I can get you another mug if you would like. Come to my coffee shop in forty five minutes and I’ll make you a great cup of coffee. Decaf if you’d like.”

“
Your coffee shop?”

“
Yep. It’s just over the bridge, beside the day spa. Where it appears you got your toes done by my sister yesterday.”

She looks down at one of my sister’s trademark flaming red toe jobs.

“
You are a very cheeky man,” she says.

She said ‘cheeky’. Not ‘impertinent’ or ‘rude’, but ‘cheeky’. And she said it in a very playful way that made her face light up, even here in the fog. Tiny lines near her eyes make the smile change her whole face, making it even more beautiful than can be imagined. I am at great risk here. The shrimp boats just offshore or even the freighters out in the shipping lanes might be lead onto the shoals by that smile, it is luminous.

“
Ask for Joe. I’m Joe,” I say.

I extend my hand to shake. She puts the coffee mug in my hand.

“
I’m Shannon. I’ll be there at exactly nine for what better be the best cup of coffee ever. Half regular, half decaf, no cream, a quarter teaspoon of sugar. So I’ll ask for Joe, at ‘Cuppa Joe’s’?”

She makes a face at the bad pun that I had chosen for the name of my store. Not everyone likes puns. She turns back up the beach, towards where I know the largest house on the beach sits. So I could ask Bill the cop, or Sally at the rental office, or a half dozen other people who would know who is renting there. But I won’t have to because Shannon, who called me ‘cheeky’, is coming to my coffee shop at nine and I can ask her myself.

I set off at my best pace, no longer jogging, actually running. Maybe I will dress a little better today…

Shannon

He practically ran me over. Joe practically ran me over. He has a name now, isn’t just “that jogger” anymore. I can’t remember if he actually ran into me, or just practically ran into me. Whether he did or didn’t, I spilled my coffee. Which is probably a good thing. I didn’t spill it all, about half of it. And then I told him that that was probably a good thing because I was going to be jittery.

And then he did the craziest thing. He just grabbed my mug and tipped it over and poured out the rest of the coffee. I couldn’t believe it. It took me so much by surprise that I think I channeled one of my favorite British tea movies and called him “cheeky”. Who calls someone cheeky? Nobody calls someone cheeky. That’s who calls someone cheeky. Nobody.

Then we talked a little bit. Not like a real conversation, but about my toenails of all things. He noticed my toenails. Which is kind of odd in a man. But then he told me his sister runs the little day spa where the girls got their nails done. So maybe it’s not so odd after all.

And then he invited me to come to
his
coffee shop for the best cup of coffee I could ever imagine. I like confidence, but he was bordering on cocky, or arrogant. Maybe he’s just proud of his coffee. I still cannot believe that I agreed to meet a man at
his
coffee shop, where he is going to make me coffee. No-one makes me coffee. I make the coffee. I always make the coffee. I am the first one up, and everyone knows to not mess with my coffee. But for some reason I agreed to have him make me a cup of coffee. This ought to be an adventure. I wonder if I have anything suitable to wear for a first cup of coffee…

Joe

My sister Karen is hurrying down a wet latte in between early morning toenail appointments. I see that she has noticed something and that soon I will be answering questions. She always has questions. Perhaps she has noticed that I am dressed differently. It’s the type of thing she notices, and asks about.

“
Joe?”

“
Yes,” I answer.

“
How come you’re all spiffed up? Do you have to run down to Wilmington or something?”

“
No. And what do you mean spiffed up?”

“
Well, for the first time in maybe forty or fifty days, or a few years, on a day that you aren’t being the grand Poobah of one thing or another, you are wearing something other than shorts or blue jeans. And for the first time since I can remember, no wait, I can remember, it was when we went to that wedding, you are wearing something other than a t-shirt.”

“
You call khakis and a polo spiffed up?”

“
For the overwhelming majority of the population no. But, for you, let’s just say… I don’t know…. YES.”

“
Alright, so I’m spiffed up.”

“
Which returns us to the original question. Why exactly are you spiffed up?”

“
Nothing else is clean.”

“
That never stopped you from wearing something dirty and wrinkled before…”

“
Okay. There’s someone coming in for a cup of coffee.”

“
I should certainly hope so. You do own and run a coffee shop after all.”

I raise my left eyebrow at my sister. It is a look she knows well.

“
Ohhhh….. You mean there’s someone
someone
coming in for a cup of coffee?”

“
Yes.

“
Anyone I know?”

“
Actually yes. You did her toenails yesterday.”

“
A renter?”

“
Yes.”

“
Joe. Come on. A renter?”

“
She’s different.”

“
Right.”

“
No, really, she’s different.”

“
Different how?”

“
I don’t know. Just different.”

“
How did you meet?”

“
I was jogging, and I saw her on the beach.”

“
You picked up a renter while you were jogging? Yeah she sounds different already.”

“
Not really. I sort of ran her over. And I spilled her coffee. So I told her to come by and I would make her a replacement cup of coffee.”

“
You ran her over?”

“
It was foggy.”

“
Riiiiiiiiiiiiight.”

Shannon

My older sister Cara has finally put down her iPhone. I wonder if she is ever away from that thing. But I cannot criticize her because she is, after all, running a cancer research lab and seemingly always has patients desperate for experimental drugs or the latest clinical trial. And the emails and letters are heart-wrenching. So no, I can’t and don’t criticize her. Even though I long to throw the thing in the ocean so that she can be all here with me and not only partly here, I cannot be so selfish. She is giving herself to her work and I cannot interfere even though I want her all to myself.

“
Shannon? Do you want to go for a walk?” Cara asks.

“
After a while. I have to run across the bridge for a minute,” I answer.

“
I’ll come. What do you need?”

“
Umm. Well. I think I’ll be okay on my own.”

“
Shannon?”

“
Yes?”

“
We’ve been sisters quite a while right?”