True Believer (23 page)

Late afternoon was Lexie’s favorite time of day. The soft winter sunlight, combined with the austere natural beauty of the landscape, made the world appear dreamlike.

Even the lighthouse, with its black and white candy-cane pattern, seemed like a mirage from here, and as she walked the length of the beach, she tried to imagine how difficult it had been for the sailors and fishermen to navigate the point before it had been built. The waters just offshore, with their shallow seabed and shifting shoals, were nicknamed the Graveyard of the Atlantic, and a thousand wrecks dotted the seafloor. The Monitor, which engaged in the first battle between ironclads during the Civil War, had been lost here. So had the Central America, laden with California gold, whose sinking helped cause the financial panic of 1857. Blackbeard’s ship, Queen Anne’s Revenge, had supposedly been found in the Beaufort Inlet, and half a dozen German U-boats sunk during World War II were now visited almost daily by scuba divers.

Her grandfather had been a history buff, and every time they walked the beach holding hands, he told her stories about the ships that had been lost over the centuries. She learned about hurricanes and dangerous surf and faulty navigation that stranded boats until they were torn apart by the raging surf. Though she wasn’t particularly interested and was sometimes even frightened by the images conjured up, his slow, melodic drawl was strangely soothing, and she never tried to change the subject. Even though she was young at the time, she sensed that talking to her about these things meant a lot to him. Years later, she would learn that his ship had been torpedoed in World War II and that he’d barely survived.

Recalling those walks made her miss her grandfather with sudden intensity. The strolls had been part of their daily routine, something for just the two of them, and they usually went out in the hour just before dinner, when Doris was cooking. More often than not, he’d be reading in the chair with his glasses propped on his nose, and he’d close the book with a sigh and set it aside. Rising from his seat, he’d ask if she’d like to take a walk to see the wild horses.

The thought of seeing the horses always thrilled her. She wasn’t quite sure why; she’d never ridden a horse, nor did she particularly want to, but she remembered how she would jump up and run to the door as soon as her grandfather mentioned it. Usually, the horses kept themselves at a distance from people and darted away whenever someone approached, but at dusk, they liked to graze, lowering their defenses, if only for a few minutes. It was often possible to get close enough to see their distinctive markings and, if you were lucky, to hear them snorting and whinnying a warning not to come any closer.

The horses were descended from the Spanish mustangs, and their presence on the Outer Banks dated from 1523. These days, there were all sorts of government regulations that ensured their survival, and they were as much a part of the surroundings as deer were in Pennsylvania, with the only problem being occasional overpopulation. People who lived here largely ignored them unless they became a nuisance, but for many vacationers, seeing them was one of the highlights of their visit. Lexie considered herself something of a local, but watching them always made her feel as if she were young again, with all of life’s pleasures and expectations ahead of her.

She wanted to feel that way now, if only to escape the pressures of her adult life. Doris had called to tell her that Jeremy had come in looking for her. It hadn’t surprised her. Though she’d assumed he would wonder what he’d done wrong or why she’d left, she also felt he’d get over it quickly. Jeremy was just one of those blessed people who were confident in everything they did, forever moving forward without a regret or backward glance.

Avery had been that way, and even now she still remembered how hurt she’d been by his sense of entitlement, his indifference to her pain. Looking back, she knew she should have seen his character flaws for what they were, but at the time, she hadn’t seen the warning signs: the way his stare lingered just a bit too long when he was looking at other women, or the way he’d squeeze just a bit too hard when he hugged women he swore were only friends. In the beginning, she’d wanted to believe him when he said he’d only been unfaithful once, but bits and pieces of forgotten conversations had resurfaced: a friend from college had long ago confessed that she’d heard rumors about Avery and a particular sorority sister; one of his co-workers mentioned a few too many unexplained absences from work. She hated to think of herself as naive, but she had been, and even more than being disappointed in him, she’d long since realized that she was disappointed in herself. She’d told herself she would get over it, that she would meet someone better . . . someone like Mr. Renaissance, who proved once and for all that she wasn’t a good judge of men. Nor, it seemed, could she keep one.

It wasn’t easy to admit that, and there were moments when she wondered whether she might have done something to drive both men off. Okay, maybe not Mr. Renaissance, since theirs was less a relationship than a fling, but what about Avery? She’d loved him and thought he loved her. Sure, it was easy to say that Avery was a cad and that the demise of their relationship had been all his fault, but at the same time, he must have felt that the relationship was lacking somehow. That she was lacking somehow. But in what way? Had she been too pushy? Was she boring? Was he unsatisfied in the bedroom? Why didn’t he run out afterward, looking for her and begging forgiveness? These were the quesions she’d never been able to answer. Her friends, of course, assured her that she didn’t know what she was talking about, and Doris had said the same thing. Even so, it wasn’t entirely clear to her what had happened. There were, after all, two sides to every story, and even now she sometimes fantasized about calling him to ask if there was anything she could have done differently.

As one of her friends pointed out, it was typical of women to worry about such things. Men seemed immune to these sorts of insecurities. Even if they weren’t, they’d learned to either disguise their feelings or bury them deep enough so as not to be crippled by them. Usually, she tried to do the same, and usually, it worked. Usually.

In the distance, with the sun sinking into the waters of the Pamlico Sound, the town of Buxton, with its white clapboard houses, looked like a postcard. She was staring toward the lighthouse, and just as she’d hoped, she saw a small herd of horses grazing in the sea oats around the base. There were maybe a dozen in total—tans and browns, mainly—and their coats were rough and wild, grown thick for the winter. Two foals stood together near the center, their tails swishing in unison.

Lexie stopped to watch them, tucking her hands in her jacket pockets. It was getting cold now that the evening was coming, and she could feel the sting on her cheeks and nose. The air was bracing, and though she would have liked to stay longer, she was tired. It had been a long day, and felt even longer.

Despite herself, she wondered what Jeremy was doing. Was he preparing to film again? Or deciding where to eat? Was he packing? And why did her thoughts constantly turn to him?

She sighed, already knowing the answer. As much as she’d wanted to see the horses, the sight of them reminded her less of new beginnings than the simple fact that she was lonely. As much as she thought of herself as independent, as much as she tried to downplay Doris’s constant remarks, she couldn’t help but feel a yearning for companionship, for intimacy. It didn’t even have to be marriage; sometimes all she wanted was to look forward to Friday or Saturday night. She yearned to spend a leisurely morning lounging in bed with someone she cared about, and as impossible as the idea seemed, Jeremy was the one she kept picturing beside her.

Lexie shook her head, forcing the thought away. In coming here, she had hoped to find relief from her thoughts, but as she stood near the lighthouse and watched the horses grazing, she felt the world bearing down hard. She was thirty-one, alone and living in a place without any prospects. Her grandfather and parents were nothing but memories, the state of Doris’s health was a source of constant worry to her, and the one man she’d found even remotely interesting in recent years would be gone forever by the time she returned home.

That was when she started to cry, and for a long time, she found it difficult to stop. But just as she was finally beginning to collect herself, she saw someone approaching, and all she could do was stare when she realized who it was.

True Believer

Fourteen

Lexie blinked, trying to make sure that what she was seeing was real. It couldn’t be him, because he couldn’t be here. The whole idea was so foreign, so unexpected, that she felt as if she were watching the scene through someone else’s eyes.

Jeremy smiled as he set his satchel down. “You know, you really shouldn’t stare like that,” he said. “Men like women who know how to be subtle.”

Lexie continued to watch him. “You,” she replied.

“Me,” he agreed with a nod.

“You’re . . . here.”

“I am here,” he agreed again.

She squinted at him in the waning light, and it occurred to Jeremy that she was even prettier than he remembered.

“What are you . . . ?” She hesitated, trying to make sense of his appearance. “I mean, how did you . . . ?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” he admitted. When she made no move toward him, he nodded at the lighthouse. “And this is the lighthouse where your parents were married?”

“You remembered that?”

“I remember everything,” he said, tapping his temple. “Little gray cells and all that. Where exactly were they married?”

He spoke casually, as if this were the most ordinary of conversations, which only made everything feel even more surreal to her.

“Over there,” she said, pointing. “On the ocean side, near the waterline.”

“It must have been beautiful,” he said, gazing in that direction. “This whole place is beautiful. I can see why you love it here.”

Instead of responding, Lexie took a long breath, trying to settle her turbulent emotions. “What are you doing here, Jeremy?”

It was a moment before he answered. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” he said. “And I realized that if I wanted to see you again, the best option was to come to you.”

“But why?”

Jeremy continued staring toward the lighthouse. “It felt like I didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” she said.

Jeremy studied his feet, then looked up and smiled as if in apology. “To be honest, I’ve spent most of the day trying to figure it out, too.”

As they stood near the lighthouse, the sun began to sink below the horizon, turning the sky a forbidding gray. The breeze, damp and cold, skimmed the surface of the sand, whipping up foam at the water’s edge.

In the distance, a figure in a dark heavy jacket was feeding the seagulls, tossing scraps of bread into the air. As Lexie watched him, she could feel the shock of Jeremy’s appearance beginning to wear off. Part of her wanted to be angry that he’d ignored her desire to be alone, and yet another part, the greater part, was flattered that he’d come to find her. Avery had never bothered to come after her, nor had Mr. Renaissance. Even Rodney would never have thought of coming here, and until a few minutes ago, if someone had suggested that Jeremy would do such a thing, she would have laughed at the very notion. But it was beginning to dawn on her that Jeremy was different from anyone she’d met before, and that she shouldn’t be surprised by anything he did.

The horses in the distance had begun to wander off, nibbling here and there as they moved back over the dune. The coastal mist was rolling in, merging sea and sky. Terns bobbed at the sand near the water’s edge, their long strawlike legs moving quickly as they searched for tiny crustaceans.

In the silence, Jeremy cupped his hands and blew into them, trying to stop them from aching. “Are you angry that I came?” he finally asked.

“No,” she admitted. “Surprised, but not angry.”

He smiled, and she returned it with a flicker of her own.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

He motioned over his shoulder toward Buxton. “I got a ride from a couple of fishermen who were heading this way,” he said. “They dropped me off at the marina.”

“They gave you a ride just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You were lucky. Most fishermen are pretty tough characters.”

“That may be true, but people are people,” he said. “While I’m not an expert in psychology, I’m of the opinion that anyone—even strangers—can sense the urgency of a request, and most people will usually do the right thing.” He stood straighter, clearing his throat. “But when that didn’t work, I offered to pay them.”

She giggled at his admission.

“Let me guess,” she said. “They took you to the cleaners, didn’t they?”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “I suppose that depends on the perspective. It did seem like a lot of money for a boat ride.”

“Naturally. That’s quite a trip. Just the gas alone would have been expensive. And then there’s the wear and tear on the boat . . .”

“They mentioned that.”

“And, of course, their time and the fact that they’ll be working tomorrow before dawn.”

“They mentioned that, too.”

In the distance, the last of the horses vanished over the dune. “But you came, anyway.”

He nodded, as amazed as she was. “But they did make sure I understood it was a one-way trip. They didn’t intend to wait for me, so I guess I’m stuck here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How did you plan on getting back?”

He gave an impish grin. “Well, I happen to know someone who’s staying out here, and I was planning on using my dazzling charm to convince her to give me a ride back home.”

“And what if I’m not leaving for a while? Or if I just said you’re on your own?”

“I didn’t figure that part out yet.”

“And where did you intend to stay while you were out here?”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet, either.”

“At least you’re honest about it,” she said, smiling. “But tell me, what would you have done if I wasn’t here?”

“Where else would you have gone?”

She glanced away, liking the fact that he’d remembered this about her. In the distance, she saw the lights of a shrimp trawler moving so slowly it almost seemed stationary.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“I’m starved. I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Would you like to have dinner?”

“Do you know a nice place?”

“I have a pretty good place in mind.”

“Do they take credit cards?” he asked. “I used all my cash to get here.”

“I’m sure,” she said, “that we’ll be able to work something out.”

***

Turning from the lighthouse, they made their way back down the beach, walking along the compact sand near the water’s edge. There was a space between them that neither seemed willing to cross. Instead, with their noses turning red in the chill, they moved steadily forward, as if pulled toward the place that both were meant to be.

In the silence, Jeremy mentally replayed his journey here, feeling a pang of guilt about Nate and Alvin. He’d missed the conference call—there had been no reception at all as he was crossing the Pamlico Sound—and figured that he should probably call from the landline as soon as he was able, though he wasn’t looking forward to it. Nate, he suspected, had been revving up for hours and was waiting for Jeremy’s call so he could finally go ballistic, but Jeremy planned to suggest a meeting with the producers next week, complete with the footage and the outlines of the story, an idea that he suspected had been the whole point of the call, anyway. If that wasn’t enough to appease them, if missing a single call could end his career before it started, then he wasn’t sure he wanted to work in television.

And Alvin . . . well, that was a little easier. There was no way Jeremy could get back to Boone Creek to meet Alvin tonight— he’d come to that realization by the time the boat had dropped him off—but Alvin had a cell phone, and he’d explain what was going on. Alvin wouldn’t be happy about having to work alone tonight, but he’d recover by tomorrow. Alvin was one of those rare people who never let anything bother them for more than a day.

Yet, being honest with himself, Jeremy admitted that he didn’t really care about any of that now. Instead, all that seemed to matter was that he was walking with Lexie on a quiet beach in the middle of nowhere and that as they trudged into the salty breeze, she quietly looped her arm through his.

***

Lexie led the way up the warped wooden steps of the old bugalow and hung her jacket on the rack beside the door. Jeremy hung his as well, along with his satchel. As she walked ahead of him through the living room, Jeremy watched her, thinking again that she was beautiful.

“Do you like pasta?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“Are you kidding? I grew up on pasta. My mother happens to be Italian.”

“Good,” she said. “Because that’s what I planned on making.”

“We’re eating here?”

“I guess we have to,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re out of cash, remember?”

The kitchen was small, with fading yellow paint, flowery wallpaper that was peeling in the corners, scuffed cabinets, and a small painted table set beneath the window. On the counters were the groceries she’d picked up earlier. Reaching into the first bag, she pulled out a box of Cheerios and a loaf of bread. From his spot near the sink, Jeremy saw a flash of her skin when she stood on her toes to put them in the cupboard.

“Do you need a hand?” he asked.

“No, I’ve got it, thanks,” she said, turning around. After straightening her shirt, she reached into another bag and set two onions off to the side, along with two large cans of San Marzano tomatoes. “But while I’m doing this, do you want something to drink? I have a six-pack of beer in the refrigerator if you’re interested.”

He widened his eyes, feigning shock. “You have beer? I thought you didn’t drink much.”

“I don’t.”

“For someone who doesn’t drink, though, a six-pack can do a lot of damage.” He shook his head before going on. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were planning to go on a bender this weekend.”

She shot him a withering look, but, like yesterday, there was something playful in it. “It’s more than enough to get me through the month, thank you very much. Now, would you like one or not?”

He smiled, relieved at their familiar exchange. “I’d love one, thanks.”

“Would you mind getting it, though? I’ve got to get the sauce going.”

Jeremy moved to the refrigerator and pulled two bottles of Coors Light from the six-pack. He twisted one cap off and then the other before setting a bottle before her. When she saw it, he shrugged. “I hate to drink alone,” he said.

He raised his bottle in toast and she lifted hers as well. They clinked bottles without a word. Leaning against the counter beside her, he crossed one leg over the other. “Just to let you know, I’m pretty good at chopping if you need help.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

He smiled. “How long has your family owned this place?”

“My grandparents bought it right after World War II. Back then, there wasn’t even a road on the island. You had to drive across the sand to get here. There are some pictures in the living room of how this place looked back then.”

“Would you mind if I took a look?”

“Go ahead. I’m still getting things ready. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want to wash up before dinner. In the guest bedroom on the right.”

Moving to the living room, Jeremy examined the pictures of rustic shore life, then noticed Lexie’s suitcase near the couch. After debating for an instant, he grabbed it and headed down the hall. On the left, he saw an airy room with a large pedestal bed topped by a seashell-patterned comforter. The walls were decorated with additional photos portraying the Outer Banks. Assuming this was her room, he set her suitcase just inside the door.

Crossing the hall, he entered the other room. It was nautical in theme, and the navy curtains provided a nice contrast to the wooden end tables and dresser. As he slipped off his shoes and socks at the foot of the bed, he wondered what it would be like to sleep in here while knowing Lexie was alone across the hall.

At the bathroom sink, he peeked at himself in the mirror and used his hands in an attempt to get a semblance of control over his hair again. His skin was coated with a thin layer of salt, and after washing his hands, he splashed water on his face as well. Feeling somewhat better, he went back to the kitchen and heard the melancholy notes of the Beatles’ “Yesterday” coming from a small radio on the windowsill.

“Ready for some help yet?” he asked. Beside her, he saw a medium-size salad bowl; in it were small chunks of tomatoes and olives.

While rinsing the lettuce, Lexie nodded toward the onions. “I’m almost done with the salad, but would you mind taking the skin off those?”

“Sure. Do you need me to dice them, too?”