Beachcombing Part 2

By Ersatz

When I got back to my cottage, I grabbed a bucket, filled it with seawater, and dumped the clams — no, the quahogs — into it.

I stripped off my wet clothes, brushed my teeth, climbed into bed, and buried my embarrassment under my blankets. Sleep was a long time coming.

I rose the next morning and I was still a fool. More than anything else in life, I hated feeling like I was an idiot — worse, I hated actually being an idiot like I was the night before. I resolved to do something about it. The grocery in town was very nice. I bought fresh basil, plum tomatoes, saffron, garlic, fresh linguine, and other things I needed. I went to the fish market and bought lobster and haddock. I bought a very nice chardonnay to drink, and a good, but less expensive one, to cook with.

That afternoon, I shucked the clams, and cooked. I loved to cook. It was a simple pleasure that I rarely had time for when I was working. The house filled with the aroma of the spices.

I showered and put on casual slacks and blouse. I wrapped my hair and fixed it in place with a pair of lacquered chopsticks. Then I put on some oven mitts, picked up my pot, grabbed the bottle of wine under my arm, and walked next door to Phillip's cottage. I rang the bell. I heard some barking, and Phillip opened the door.

"Gail?" Phillip was clearly surprised. "What are you doing here?" He opened the door and I walked inside.

"Could you get the wine, please?" I asked. "I'm about to drop it."

He grabbed the wine. I could see where his kitchen was, so I walked into it. He followed me.

"I'm returning your quahogs," I said.

"They were a gift," he said. "You don't return a gift."

"No, but I'm hoping you'll share them with me. There's more than I can eat. Where are your plates? Do you have any large soup bowls?"

I set the pot onto his stove and peered into the cupboard he opened. "Perfect!" I said, picking up two plates and two bowls. "You do the wine and silverware: forks, knives, and soup spoons. Oh yeah, one large serving spoon. Maybe a ladle."

"How did you know my name?" I asked while setting the table.

"The same way you knew everything about me," he said, "I looked it up. I figured if you could do that to me, I could do it back."

"How? I don't own the house and I doubt you have the connections to get my name from the license plate on my car."

"Not your name, but I did learn you lived in Washington DC. Then I tried to figure out how you learned about me. You signed for the books in the town property office. That's where I learned your name. An Internet search told me everything else I learned. Well, I did use your license plates for one more thing. I called The Steamship Authority to find out when you were leaving. I'm afraid they may not treat you with too much respect. I told them my ditzy girlfriend forgot when her ferry reservation was. The guy was very sympathetic."

He poured the wine and I served us. I'd made one of my specialties, cioppino (pronounced chip-eeno). It's a sort of Italian bouillabaisse, a fragrant seafood stew served over pasta.

As I was scooping seafood bits over the linguine I put into the bowls, Phillip had a delighted grin. "Cioppino! My God, I can't believe how much better you are than I am at this spying stuff. I can't even begin to understand how you found out that I love cioppino."

I laughed. "I didn't. I had to do something with the clams, and cioppino is something I also love. It's really not that difficult to make."

"I don't believe that for a second," he replied. "I mean, yes, I do believe you didn't know I love cioppino, but I don't believe this was simple. It smells wonderful." When he took a bite of a clam, he said, "Gail, you soaked the quahogs overnight, didn't you?" I nodded. "They're perfect. No sand at all. You are a wonder."

I have to admit, that was probably the best cioppino I'd ever made. It was delicious.

We chatted through dinner about inconsequential things. He was easy to talk to, as long as I wasn't making a complete fool of myself. He seemed like a nice guy.

"Okay, I have to ask. I know I was an utter ass last night," I said, "but why were you clamming in the middle of the night?"

"When you do it at night," he replied, "you can sneak up on the clams while they're sleeping so they don't run away."

I knew absolutely nothing about clamming, but that sounded bogus. I gave him a skeptical look.

He laughed. He had a deep, rich laugh. "You caught me. That was bullshit. There's really no reason to do it at night except you can't get a sunburn. Everyone else does do it during the day."

"Do you just do it for fresh clams, or do you enjoy it?"

"It's very relaxing. Sort of a Zen moment, when your mind is completely empty. If I didn't love to eat them, I'd do it for the sport: catch and release clamming."

We continued chatting while we finished dinner. Then Phillip cleared the table. He'd asked me to call him Phil, but I hadn't completely wrapped my mind around that yet since I'd been thinking of him as Phillip for almost two months. Phil washed the dishes while I dried.

While Phillip was washing, I noticed that he was very amused about something.

"Okay, what's up?" I asked. "What's so funny?"

"I was thinking that more people should spy on each other," he said chuckling. "It's a great icebreaker. With everyone else I've ever met I had to learn about them by talking to them. How old fashioned. We already know most of the basics about each other."

After that evening, I resolved to do a more through, really professional job of ferreting out Phillip's past. He's an interesting guy, I thought, Maybe there really is a newsworthy human-interest story here somewhere. I knew there wasn't, but it was easy to kid myself into a rationalization for destroying his privacy. I spent several hours, made a few less-than-honest phone calls over the next few days, and assembled a pretty good picture of the life of Phillip Seigel. I didn't learn anything really surprising, but found that he seemed to be a nice, regular guy — at least as much as possible for someone with a Ph.D in Physics.

I left my house to start a hike up the beach a few days later when I saw Phillip rooting around in the shed behind his house. I walked up to say hello. There was a green plastic kayak lying at his feet and he was pulling out a large oar with paddles on both ends. He appeared to be a little startled to see me, but just looked at me a bit without saying anything. Then he pulled out a flotation vest, looked down and just stared at it. Then he handed it to me, almost as if he was a little reluctant, and said, "Here, you'll need this."

That surprised me. I took the vest.

"Do you have a floppy hat?" he asked. "You have fair skin. A hat would really help."

I was so flustered by this odd exchange, I carried the vest back to my cottage, grabbed a baseball cap, and walked back to him. He'd hauled another kayak and paddle out of the shed.

"Grab that end," he said when I approached. For some reason I really can't explain, I grabbed the end of the kayak and we carried it down to the beach. It was surprisingly light, and he really carried most of the weight, but I helped. Then he walked back to get the other kayak. I just stood there looking uncomprehendingly at this kayak paddle in my hand. I knew you held the middle and the ends went into the water, but that's about the extent of my kayak knowledge.

A few minutes later, Phillip hauled the other kayak over to where I was standing. "Have you ever kayaked before?" he asked.

Kayaked before? What the hell made him think that I'd be kayaking now?

I shook my head, no. Phillip helped me into the vest, adjusting it for me.

"Do you have sun block on?" I nodded yes because I'd put some on for my walk. Then he frowned. "This won't do. You'll still get burned." He rooted around inside my kayak and pulled out a tube of zinc oxide, that white stuff that lifeguards wear. He stood very close to me and I looked up at him while he carefully put it on my nose. I'm fairly short, he's taller, so I was looking up at him. I noticed I was breathing a little harder than usual.

What the hell am I doing? I asked myself. I was not nature-girl, not at all. My idea of camping was to stay at a cheap motel, rather than a Hyatt or better. Don't get me wrong, I loved the wilderness, but I'd get my fill of it looking at landscape paintings at the National Gallery or the Met.

Phillip gave me a few minutes of instructions which seemed to boil down to: First, try to go straight into the waves so they don't knock you over and second, paddle like hell. I listened to him with a rising sense of panic hoping that somewhere in his introduction to the science of kayaking he'd cover the topic I was desperate to understand — why on earth would anyone in their right mind do this?

Somehow in the middle of his lecture, I found myself being stuffed into a kayak with a sort of rubber diaphragm snapped around me to keep water from flooding the kayak. This was a little amusing. At the beginning of my marriage, I'd used a diaphragm rather than the pill. So I've put a diaphragm inside me thousands of times, but I've never been put inside a diaphragm before. If it kept water out, it would probably keep sperm out, too. So I was safe. Funny, I didn't feel safe at all.

Once I was tucked into the kayak, Phillip pushed me out into the surf. Then he took off in his own kayak.

That was the moment I realized that I was going to sleep with him. I would be dammed if I would schlep a stupid kayak across the sand and then paddle across the Nantucket Sound for some guy I wasn't fucking. It really pissed me off that I was going to fuck him and he wasn't making the slightest effort to seduce me. That was good. I needed that anger to help me paddle like hell so I could keep up with him. He better be really, really good, I thought, for me to put up with this.

I wasn't carrying a watch (which was good, or I'd have ruined it), so it's only my guess that we paddled about an hour before we reached the town. We pulled the kayaks ashore and took a break. I sat down, sweaty and exhausted on the dock while Phillip went into a store on the pier and came back with a couple of iced teas. Ambrosia. It was the best drink I'd ever had. I looked over at the expensive luxury yachts moored further down. I pointed at one worth millions and said, "Next time you take me boating, it better be in a boat like that."

"That's a ship," he said. "See the boat on the top, next to the helicopter? Well, that's the ship's boat. The yacht is a ship. And this is probably the closest I'll ever be to a ship like that."

For all my whining, I have to admit that kayaking was pretty fun. While we didn't go particularly fast on the way to town, we took a more leisurely pace back. The slower pace gave us some time to chat rather than simply gasp for breath. Actually, this was just my problem. Phillip, damn him, never broke a sweat.

"You're a reporter, right?" Phillip asked.

"Yeah," I gasped. I said I had some breath for speaking. That doesn't mean I was relaxed. I was still paddling my ass off.

"So I suppose you do a lot of snooping," he continued. "It must be a big part of your job."

"Yes," I replied. I coasted a while, so I could make a decent answer. "Writing is also a big part, but you've got to get information to write about, and you've got to verify that it's accurate. The more newsworthy the story, the less likely people are to tell you everything voluntarily, so you've got to snoop."

"Well, you've gotten very good at it."

"You've no idea," I said.

He didn't reply immediately, but gave me an appraising sidelong look and started paddling again. After a while, he said "You spied on me. Why? Why'd you bother?"

"Does it bother you?"

"No. Yes. Well, it's both disturbing, and maybe a little flattering."

I wouldn't have thought so, but kayaking was good for conversation. I remember when I was a little girl, my grandfather smoked a pipe. When I'd ask him a question that he wanted to think about before giving me an answer, he had this ritual where he'd tamp the tobacco and puff on it a bit to keep it lit. It had the effect of making his comments seem deeper, more considered. Kayaking was like that. We'd negotiate a wave, paddle a bit, and then answer.

"I understand." I replied. "It's kind of like when we were carrying the kayak down to the beach when you were staring at my butt. There's a disturbing loss of privacy, but at the same time it's a little flattering that someone wants to pay attention to me."

He blushed a bit, then said, "I don't think that's really the same. I suppose there is a lack of politeness when a guy appraises a woman, but I don't think it's in the same league as this loss of privacy. I mean, the man is just looking at what's already there to see."

"So the feeling that my tits and ass are private is an illusion because they're really right there to look at for anyone who's interested?"

He frowned, "Well, I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but I'd have to say yes."

"Right," I said. "That's exactly what I was getting at. There really is no such thing as privacy, there's only the illusion of privacy. Just about everything about a person is there to see. There's no privacy, just indifference and laziness."

"Oh come on," he scoffed. "You can't be serious."

"Okay, let's think about privacy for a bit," I replied. "For you to have actual privacy, there'd have to be nobody around, you'd have to leave no records. How many things do you do that are like that? When you walk along the beach? When we kayak? When you buy groceries? There are almost always people who see you walking. We passed people on the beach as we paddled here. Do you always pay cash? In any case, the cashier at your grocery sees you and what you buy. If you use one of those 'supersaver' cards, what you buy is tracked."

"People still have quite a bit of privacy," Phillip maintained. "We spend more time in our bedroom than anywhere else. That's private."

"Only if you're alone. Otherwise there's someone who can tell anyone exactly what you did and said."

"Technically, that's true, but really, how often does that happen?"

"Are you serious?" It was my turn to scoff. "You read the papers, watch the news?" He shrugged. Well, I suppose over the past few years he had reasons to separate himself from the rest of the world. I'd have to let that slide. "In any case, a great deal of what's reported came from someone who told someone about something in their bedroom — not just the scandal sheets, but the political news, world events, anything. You see, people like to talk to other people about their lives and things they find interesting. It's the human version of monkeys grooming each other for bugs. We tell each other the interesting things in our lives as a social ritual. It's really, really hard to keep significant secrets. They're always there if you know how and where to look."

"Like physics," he observed.

"Physics? How so?"

"We're trying to understand the rules about how the universe works. If you know how and where to look, you'll see the laws of nature in action."

"I never thought of it that way before, but yeah, I suppose you're right."

"In any case," he said, "the information may be there, but it's the act of gathering it and using it that violates someone's privacy."

"No," I said. "You're confusing privacy with anonymity. You never had any privacy because someone knows about what you did. The act of sifting the information about you means you're no longer an anonymous cow in the herd."

"You've thought about this a lot."

I had drifted a bit too close to shore for my comfort and had to paddle hard to avoid having the waves knock me over and wash me ashore. "You bet your ass," I puffed. "I think about this kind of thing a lot. It's why I'm different from the dirtbags working for tabloids who live their lives trying to get a fuzzy photo of Britteny's boobs."

"Even if it's anonymity rather than privacy," objected Phillip, "it still doesn't feel right that people I don't know can use personal information about me. It seems like it's so easy to abuse."

"Yeah, I agree with you," I panted as I caught up with him again. "Abuse of information is a big problem. A growing problem, too. I'm not really sure what should be done about it, but I think it's something to be concerned about."

"But isn't that just what you do?"

"No, it's not," I asserted. "It's not an abuse of power when a policeman gets a warrant and checks up on a suspected criminal. And it's not an abuse when a reporter searches for information for a story."

"What about me?" he said. "You searched though information about me and I'm just a guy minding his own business."

I laughed. "Everyone's just a guy minding his own business. I thought you might be an interesting human-interest story, so I decided to find out about you." This was both true, and a little white lie. I did think he might be an interesting story at first, but I couldn't really explain the second round of much more thorough snooping, even to myself. Other than people associated with stories I was working on, I'd never felt the need to learn everything about someone before.

We reached our area of beach and Phillip gracefully rode a wave to shore. Then he got out of his kayak and helped me up as I'd fallen over and swallowed a few gallons of seawater when I tried to follow him.

We were hauling the kayaks back to his house when Phillip turned to me. "Bluefish?" he asked without any particular context.

"No, I think I have begun to flounder," I replied.

Phillip groaned at the lame pun. "Would you like grilled bluefish for dinner?" Phillip said. "I was surfcasting early this morning and caught one. The filets are marinating in my fridge."

I agreed. He was good company and I was too exhausted to fix dinner for myself, anyway. After helping Phillip hose down the kayaks, paddles, and vests, I flopped down gracelessly on Phillip's couch while he started to prepare dinner. After sitting for a few minutes, my arm and back muscles were starting to stiffen and ache.

"Do you have any aspirin or Tylenol?" I asked.

He left the room for a moment and came back with a couple of pills and a glass of water.

"I know what would help even more," he said. He led me into his bedroom and had me lie down on a towel on the bed.

Aha! I thought. This is exactly where I wanted to wind up tonight.

I hadn't slept with a man since well before my divorce, but I'd thought about it a lot. Toward the end of the marriage, the sex had gotten boring and perfunctory. It might seem childish or vain, but I felt like I had something to prove. The next time I had sex, I wanted to blow the guy's mind. I'd be wild and uninhibited and completely sexy. It was going to be great.

I was lying on my stomach on Phillip's bed when he started rubbing my shoulders. He had very good hands, they seemed to be reaching in between my muscles and pressing the ache out. It hurt a bit where he rubbed, but it was a good hurt. I reached down and pulled my shirt off. I wasn't wearing a bra. He probably didn't get to see anything as I had my back to him and I immediately laid back down again. That should give Phillip something to think about, While he couldn't really see anything, he knew I was lying there topless on his bed while he massaged and caressed me.

I'm such a tease, I thought. I knew it was affecting him, too because when he'd lean over me I'd occasionally feel his erection brush against my ass. After warming it in his hands a bit, he started rubbing some lotion onto my sore back muscles. I moaned appreciatively.

Phillip's touch felt absolutely heavenly. I was aroused at least as much as he was.

I planned to roll over and let Phillip look at me. I didn't have really huge breasts, but they were taut and firm, and at that moment my nipples were in danger of punching holes in his bedspread. Then, when he'd almost gotten over his surprise seeing me topless, I'd reach behind his head and pull him into a deep, sensual kiss. Then I'd explore his body with my hands and mouth until he couldn't take it any more. I'd drive him insane.

If Phillip is even half as good with his tongue as he is with his hands, I thought, then this would really be the start of something wonderful.

The massage was much more sensual than sexual, but I could tell that Phillip would know where and how to touch me in just the right places. I wondered if I should give him a blowjob, or just pounce on his dick. I was so wet, I didn't need any foreplay. I could take him quickly, then take my time arousing him for another round. I would be just the sexiest woman he'd ever seen.

That's about when I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes to the morning light sneaking through the cracks in the blinds.

Suddenly it hit me. I'd fallen asleep — even worse than that, I'd drooled on Phillip's pillowcase. Yep, I was just the sexiest woman he'd ever seen.

Still, it was nice and cozy. Phillip must have thrown a sheet over us. Sometime during the night, he must have scooted over until he was spooning against my back. He'd thrown an arm over me, his large hand was pressing against my belly, pulling me to him. He wasn't wearing a shirt. His shoulders looked rather nice. I peeked under the sheet and saw that he was wearing a pair of boxers. I was still wearing my shorts from yesterday.

Slowly, carefully, I unsnapped and wriggled out of my shorts and panties, trying not to wake him. My arms and shoulders twinged in pain from all the paddling yesterday. I had more important things in mind, so I ignored my protesting shoulders. Then I turned around and started kissing Phillip's neck and chest. He moaned incoherently as I licked and lightly nibbled on his nipples.

I doubt if he was completely awake when I started, but he began responding, kissing me back, rubbing his hands down my back and sides. He kissed up and down my neck, causing me to arch my back and moan. I pulled his boxers down and he kicked them off.

Pulling him to me, I reached down and guided him into me. "Oh, Phillip," I gasped as he filled me.

It didn't take long until he stiffened, groaned, and thrust inside me. I could feel spurt after spurt. Phillip lay there with his head on my shoulder, breathing hard. He was very tense, not relaxed as I'd expect after what was undoubtedly his first non-self-induced orgasm in years.

He slid off and rolled away from me. He was clearly upset.

"Phillip?"

"I'm so sorry, Gail. I don't mean to be such an idiot. I know I'm not being rational; I know that Carol would want me to enjoy my life. Hell, I'll bet that she'd even like you. I know all that, I really do. But I still feel horrible."

"Guilty?"

He snorted, "That seems to be my main emotion. I know it's dumb, but for the first year or so, I even felt guilty for being alive while they're not. And, well... "

"What?"

"Well, it wasn't very good for you. Too fast, you know..."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "You haven't had sex for years."

"How could you know that?" he said.

"I don't know it, but I'd bet quite a bit that's the case. It took you minutes before you could even hand me Carol's old flotation vest."

"What makes you think it was hers?"

"Okay, it wasn't. It's just a piece of nylon and foam that you're emotionally attached to. You must be one of those guys with a flotation fetish."

Phillip chuckled. "You're making it very hard for me to wallow in my guilt, you know."

"I don't suppose there's anything we can do to stop you from feeling guilty," I said in my best seductive voice, "so maybe we should work on doing something that's actually worth feeling guilty about..."

His chuckles turned into low moans as I kissed my way down his chest and stomach. I took his, already-erect, cock into my mouth and slid down it while I rubbed my tongue along the underside. I only got to do that a couple of times before I found myself pulled up to the top of the bed. Phillip kissed me passionately and slid his dick back inside me. There was none of the frantic thrusts and quick explosion like last time. Phillip was stroking deeply and confidently into me.

Even though I'd tried to be understanding, I had been frustrated by the quick ejaculation. This was exactly what I needed. When he bottomed out, he ground against my clitoris sending sparks upward. His dick seemed to rub just the right places. I'd been nice, but I had wondered if he might be one of those inept, clueless guys. Nope, he certainly knew what he was doing. As his dick made me gasp, he nibbled and licked my neck and ears making me moan.

I felt the pressure, building, moving outward until it rolled over me as I lost control. I gasped and held him as tightly as I could. I think I bit his shoulder. It was too much for me.

I was surprised that Phillip seemed to be really in tune with me. After an amazingly strong orgasm, I collapsed. He hadn't come again, but he stopped too. He'd somehow figured out that I was really sensitive after that huge climax. He pulled out of me and gently began a much more sensual massage than the one the night before. In addition to his strong, sensitive hands, he used his mouth and tongue to nip and kiss.

I worried that I'd fall asleep on him again, but this time it wasn't a relaxing massage, it was completely erotic. He started at my feet, nibbling, licking, and rubbing. He slowly worked his way up my legs, finding sensitive areas that made me gasp and shudder. I spread my legs, giving him easy access as I mentally urged him to hurry up and reach my clit with his tongue. I moaned with disappointment when he skipped over my pussy and started on my shoulders.

I almost laughed between my moans as I had the oddest thought; I thought about Thelonious Monk. Phillip caressed me the way Thelonious Monk played piano, striking two discordant keys that made the listener think of the note in the middle that Monk didn't play. Phillip kissed and rubbed along my collarbone down my sides and upper arms, and under my breasts in a way that made my nipples ache in a way that anticipated him caressing them.

Part of me wanted to shake him and ask him why he didn't know that foreplay took place before intercourse. He was hard, I was wet, he needed to stick it in me and fuck me hard. The part of me that had control over my mouth was too busy gasping and whispering his name between sighs.

Someone else had control over my body. When Phillip finally reached my nipples, I realized that as he was suckling and teasing them, I had my legs wrapped tightly around his torso while I was running my hands through his hair and rubbing his back. My mind fractured as I held him to my breasts and wanted him to stay there forever while simultaneously wanting him to fuck me right away.

He kissed his way down my stomach as I arched my back. And finally, finally, he plunged his tongue onto my pussy. I thought the first orgasm was strong, but second one drove me out of my mind. Maybe even literally out of my mind, because it seemed like one moment I had both fists wrapped in his hair as he assaulted my clit. Every muscle in my body was rigid with tension as the climax started to take control of me. The next thing I remember, I found myself riding another orgasm with my legs on Phillip's shoulders as he pounded into me. I heard my voice screaming, "Fuck me, Phillip! FUCK me FUUUCK MEEE!"

I'd hardly come down from my climax when Phillip groaned and I felt his cock pulse inside me. That pushed me over the edge again into a climax that made my stomach muscles ache deliciously.

I held him and nuzzled him until he fell asleep in my arms. I felt so content and at peace that I didn't want to move, didn't want to sleep, didn't want anything to change.

I fell asleep anyway.

My bladder woke me a couple of hours later. I could tell by the light streaming through the windows, that it wasn't early morning anymore, but closer to noon. I eased out of the bed as slowly as I could and crept quietly into the bathroom. After a much needed pee, I took a fast shower.

This is a fine day to spend in bed, I thought. So I tiptoed into the kitchen and made the quickest, quietest platter of food I could find. Some apples, grapes, a couple of sandwiches, and two big glasses of juice. I crept back into the bedroom and was pleased to see that Phillip was still asleep. Good, now I can wake him myself.

My clever seduction the night before hadn't worked out quite the way I'd intended. While we had some really astounding sex, I still wanted to rid myself of the boring prude my ex-husband complained about and amaze Phillip with my wanton sexiness. I thought that waking him up with a blowjob would do the job nicely.

I pulled the sheet covering him very slowly until he was naked beneath me. He grumbled a little in his sleep, but didn't wake up. I bent over his flaccid penis and began soft little kitten licks to try to get him erect before he was awake. I didn't get the reaction I was expecting. Phillip muttered something incomprehensible, rolled over, and smacked the snooze button on the alarm clock on the table next to his bed.

Immediately, I burst into laughter. I did end up waking him, just not the way I'd planned. As I rolled on his bed laughing, Phillip furrowed his brows, and blinked at me apparently disoriented and surprised to see an uncontrollably laughing naked woman on his bed. He was just the cutest thing.

I gave him a quick kiss, piled a couple of pillows behind his head, and then began to feed him our impromptu brunch. I slapped his hands away when he attempted to feed himself. It wasn't the sexy blowjob that I'd planned, but it was fun and surprisingly intimate to pop a grape into his mouth, or hold a sandwich for him to bite. It was a little messy as I held the juice for him to drink, but I had lots of fun kissing and licking up the little dribbles of juice that escaped. Well before the meal was finished, I noticed an interesting tenting of his sheet. While I was satisfying one hunger, I was clearly causing a new hunger. Good.

We spent most of the day in bed. After all, Phillip had a few years of celibacy to get out of his system.

While it was tempting to spend the night in Phillip's bed, I decided that the day had been a bit too intense for both of us and a little cooling off was in order. After a couple of goodbye kisses that made me want to reconsider, I waved goodbye and left.

"I'll stop bye tomorrow," Phillip said. "Maybe we can go into town for lunch, or something."

But he didn't stop by the next day, after all.

We didn't talk for several days afterward. We'd pass each other on the beach and he'd nod hello. A nod hello just didn't cut it as far as I was concerned. When a girl screws a guy's brains out — and Phillip had been well and truly fucked — the guy is supposed to show some recognition. Most guys would send flowers or something. Hell, I'd have accepted a bouquet of seaweed. But a fucking nod simply wasn't enough.

I resolved to ignore Phillip at least twice as much as he was ignoring me.

That's too simple. I did feel hurt, angry, and neglected, but passing Phillip on the beach mostly made me feel sad for him. You can usually tell when a guy is interested and attracted to you. He was. I think he'd been attracted to me all along. Phillip was still stuck somewhere between the life he'd lost and the life he yearned to live. Sometimes he'd avoid my gaze after a quick nod, sometimes he'd look at me with such loneliness it would have broken my heart if I wasn't also pissed at him.

Sylvie was always unambiguously happy to see me. What a good girl.

Unfortunately, I couldn't spend every day wandering the beaches. Once in a while it would rain, and toward the end of the week after I slept with Phillip, we had not just a rainstorm, but a full blown Nor'easter with rain coming down in sheets and a cold wind howling out of the northeast. It was fascinating. The weather was so fierce and primal that I absolutely had to walk to the beach and look at the waves. I wore a rain poncho, but I was instantly drenched. Bathing in my shower was drier.

The seashore was fascinating. It even smelled different. The usual tangy, salty, slightly fishy smell was replaced with even saltier, colder winds with a hint of ozone. Angry waves crossed paths with the waves spending themselves against the shore in a much more complex pattern than normal. The windblown rain came at me parallel to the ground. The raindrops were slightly salty since they'd mixed with the spray from huge waves crashing against each other. Everything was grayer and all colors seemed muted.

It wasn't long before I was too cold to stay outside any longer.

I hurried back to my cottage, dried off and changed into my favorite comfy sweatpants and an Orioles sweatshirt. I made a hot cup of tea, wrapped myself in a comforter, and curled up on the couch with a good book. I could hear the wind and rain batter against the roof and windows while I was snuggly warm under my blanket. It was a wonderful evening.

A few hours later, an especially bright flash of lighting was followed by an unusually loud clap of thunder, and then the lights went off for a moment, then back on. After a few seconds, the lights flickered, and then went completely off, leaving me in pitch black, relieved by an occasional flash of distant lightning.

This isn't so bad, I thought. It's dark, but I'm comfortable, warm, and dry. I didn't know where Suzzy kept flashlights or candles. If only it weren't so dark, I'd be able to find them. I can just wait it out. If nothing else, I can just go to bed early.

I tried to relax on the couch and listen to the storm rage. I waited in the dark for what felt like several hours for the lights to come on again. There must have been dozens of clocks in the cottage: on the microwave, the stove, the DVD player, the stereo, the coffee machine, even on the dishwasher. When I got up in the middle of the night, they'd all glow the time reassuringly at me, but without power they were all dark. Alone, in the strange flimsy cottage, it did feel just a little scary. No problem; I can handle this. I don't need anyone else. I'm a strong, independent woman. The movement had prepared me with mantras for just this sort of occasion. There was a big flash of lighting. I don't need anyone else. I'm a strong, independent woman, I thought with a rising tinge of hysteria as the rumble reached me. I'm a strong, independent woman. I'm responsible for my own orgasm.

Deep thunder boomed so loudly I could feel it in my chest. Before I could even think about it, I was up off the couch, slamming the door behind me, running through the storm, and finally knocking loudly on Phillip's door. The door opened and I leaped in, wrapped my arms around him and buried my dripping wet head against his chest.

"Um... come in," Phillip said, unnecessarily.

Knowing where everything was, Phillip was much more prepared for the blackout than I was. While I was a little ashamed at my instinctive reaction to the storm, I was glad to be at his house. He had candles lit and a camping lantern on the kitchen table. While my house felt flimsy and scary, his had a comfy reassuring glow. I wasn't going to hop into bed with him again, but I was very happy to have his company.

I'd have thought that it would also be a comfort to have a dog as a protector on a dark, stormy night, but Sylvie was no help at all. If anything, she was much more afraid of the loud booms and sudden flashes than I was. She'd whine, hide her head, and behave as if she was a small puppy. Phillip sat on the couch and after a loud roar of thunder, Sylvie jumped into his lap. A 50-pound dog is not a lap dog. She hid her head in his armpit and whined. I was uncomfortably reminded of what I must have looked like a few minutes before. At least her fur was dry.

"Gail, I'm glad you came over," Phillip said awkwardly. "I've been wanting to talk to you for a while." He paused, hoping, I think, to let me jump in and take over the conversation so he wouldn't have to go through the agony of actually talking about what he was feeling.

"Well," he continued, "I want to apologize. When I woke up the next morning, I felt so uncomfortable about what we did that I needed to be by myself and think about things. You know how guilty I felt after the first time?" I nodded, but didn't say anything, letting him talk himself out. "The first thing that made me feel awful was how bad I was. I know it makes me a complete head-case, but then we had such fantastic sex it made me feel so much worse."

"I suppose I could have counted ceiling tiles and thought of England," I replied sarcastically. Okay, maybe I just don't have it in me to sit there passively while he talks himself out.

Phillip chuckled. "I'm just so screwed up, that really might have made me feel better. You see, that was the very best sex I've ever had. Ever. That's what bothered me so much. Does that make sense to you?"

"Ah," I said, finally understanding, "Carol."

"Yeah. I'd kind of gotten over the feeling that having sex again wasn't cheating on her, but then I had the most intense experience of my life with absolutely the most sensual, beautiful woman I've ever imagined. It was like I was spitting on her grave. Carol and I had great sex, you know? But I don't think I've ever had sex with such wild abandon before."

I suppose if he'd say things like that when he apologized, I'd have to keep letting him piss me off. I wanted to hold him and kiss his worries away. I wanted to rip his clothes off and pull him inside me. Damn that man, I was supposed to be aloof as I graciously considered accepting his deepest apologies. How could I pull off aloofness when he turned my insides to goo?

"But I think that it's exactly what Carol would want," Phillip continued. "That she'd be proud of me, or something. Like she'd prepared me, trained me to have sex like that. She wouldn't think I didn't deserve it, so why should I? By then a couple of days had passed and it was harder and harder to approach you. What was I going to say? 'Hey Gail, I'm not a complete asshole anymore! As of today! By the way, great sex, huh?'"

He ran out of steam and just looked at me, like he wanted to say more, but wasn't sure how to go about it.

I smiled and kissed his cheek. "You're a dear man, Phillip Siegel. You don't have anything to apologize for. It was a wonderful night for me, too. I was hurt when you didn't talk to me the next day, but I understand."

While I was glad to have cleared things up with Phillip, I wasn't ready to hop into bed with him right away. Looking back on it, that's exactly how I thought about it. There was no doubt in my mind that I did want to have sex with him again. Repeatedly. I didn't think I could share a bed with him and not end up making love. After refusing his offer to sleep with him, he offered to sleep on the couch, but I insisted that he take the bed and I'd sleep on the couch. That wasn't such a good idea.

Sylvie wasn't allowed on the bed, but she considered the couch to be her domain. The couch was large enough for me. It was easily big enough for both Sylvie and me, but Sylvie had no understanding of personal space. I fell asleep easily enough, but several times I was startled awake with a sudden mouthful of fur as Sylvie had decided to share my pillow as I slept. After the third time she woke me, I decided that I'd had enough.

I grabbed my pillow and carried it into Phillip's bedroom. I crawled into bed as quietly as I could, but not quietly enough not to wake him. He might not have awakened completely, but he was awake enough to realize that I was there. He murmured, "G'night Gail," rolled over, and put his arm around me. He gave the back of my neck a sleepy kiss and immediately dropped off again. Phillip didn't snore, but he wasn't a quiet sleeper either. I smiled to myself as I listened to his regular breathy sighs as he slept.

I lay there in the dark and listened to the storm rage outside while the rain beat against the windows. Distant thunder rumbled occasionally in counterpoint. Phillip's arm was around me and I felt warm, safe, and content. I hadn't felt so safe and protected since I was a little girl. I realized that I'd finally found what I'd come to the island for.

We made love the next morning. It wasn't hard and fast like the week before, but slow, and sensual. It was all kisses and caresses. I was so busy memorizing the texture of Phillip's skin that I was surprised when a climax snuck up on me, leaving me breathless. Phillip looked down at me and whispered "Oh Gail" when it hit him, too.

I spent a lot of time with Phillip after that.

One afternoon we were in bed after an especially strenuous and satisfying round of both making love and raw hard fucking when my cell phone rang. I was just lying there idly rubbing my hands along Phillip's shoulders and back while he'd already fallen asleep. I picked it up quickly before it woke Phillip, who was still snoozing with his head on the pillow next to me and his leg thrown over mine. That man, I thought, could sleep through anything after a good fuck. I wasn't complaining. I still had a warm, lazy glow and figured that he'd certainly earned a good rest. If he keeps me feeling like this, as far as I'm concerned, he can sleep whenever we're not making love. Besides, I'd be snoozing beside him if it weren't for the phone.

"H'low?" I mumbled eloquently.

"Gail?" It was Suzzy.

"Hey Suz."

"Gail?" she repeated.

"Hmmmm?"

"Did I wake you from a nap?" she asked.

"Mmm, no, not really."

"Gail? I haven't heard that tone from you since college. Have you been doing what I think you've been doing?"

"Probably."

"I knew it! You little slut! You just had sex, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"Is it someone I know?" she asked. "Oh my God! Is he still there?"

I looked over as Phillip slept peacefully. I pulled the sheet up over his shoulders with a little smile. "Mmm hmm," I said.

"Oh my God!" Suzzy exclaimed. "You didn't stain my brand new duvet did you? My mother-in-law bought that in Ireland. Was he good? Or my Liz Claiborne sheets-- are they okay? I suppose you can send them to the dry cleaners, but not the duvet. Was it great, worth sacrificing the stupid duvet?"

"Amazing. Shattering. Worth fifteen or twenty duvets, easy. Throw in some shams and bedskirts, too."

"Orgasmic?"

"At least three. Really good ones." I answered. "He is the most amazing lover I've ever had. He's also a really great guy, too."

"And he's really there right now? " Suzzy asked. "Do I know him?"

"Probably."

"It's not David Frederick, is it?" Suzzy asked somewhat scandalized. "He's married, you know-- three kids, too." Suzzy just loved being scandalized.

"No, I don't even know who he is," I replied.

"You have no idea who he is and you went to bed with him? That's kind of dangerous, Gail."

"No," I said, "that David Frederick guy. I have no idea who he is. I certainly know Phillip. He's not married anymore."

"Phillip?" She mused, "I don't know that many people on Nantucket. No Phillips."

"Your next door neighbor."

"The McLaine's?" she asked. "He must be at least 65. And he's married, also. Not around much, though. I thought his name was Ted. Hmmm, maybe Steve. Is it his son? I've never met their kids. They rent their house most of the time, anyway. Is he renting from the McLaine's?"

I laughed, "I've seen him. He pulls his pants up just below his armpits and wears black dress socks with his sandals. Yeah, that's the guy I'm sleeping with. Oh baby!"

Suzzy laughed with me. "Not him, huh?"

"Your neighbor on the other side, Suzzy."

"That creepy old man? You know, there's some stain remover in the hall closet; up at the top, on the right. You might try that on the duvet."

"He's two years younger than your husband, Suzzy," I said, "And he's certainly not creepy. You should see him without a shirt. He's got great shoulders. He kayaks a lot. And he's brilliant, too, a physics professor. He's got a great sense of humor, for that matter."

"When did you start seeing him?" Suzzy asked. "You jumped into bed with him right after you met, didn't you? He's got a dog, right? Please keep the dog off the furniture, okay?"

Phillip had awakened and was looking up at me, listening to my half of the conversation. I smiled down at him, leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead. I twirled a couple of fingers through Phillip's hair while I continued the conversation.

"Well, we ran into each other walking on the beach a couple of months ago. We started chatting and, you know, one thing just led to another. It's worked out very well."

"A couple of months? Why didn't you call me?" she said, somewhat outraged.

"There wasn't anything to say back then. We'd just say hello to each other."

"So what happened, and when?"

"I guess it all started when we went kayaking," I said.

Suzzy started laughing uncontrollably. "You? Kayaking?" she managed to choke out. "You must really have it bad." Then she sobered a bit. "You still could have called. How long have you been having sex? Why didn't you tell me? You weren't afraid I'd be mad about the duvet, were you? That's not a big deal. I don't really care about the duvet."

"I'm at his house, Suz," I said. "Your precious duvet is in perfect condition."

"I knew a long vacation was just what you needed. You were just so morose. You sound much happier."

"I really am. Thanks so much for lending me your house, Suzzy."

"You sound kind of serious about him, Gail?" Suzzy asked.

"You know, Suzzy," I said, "I think I really am."

At one of the many touristy shops in town, I bought Phillip a t-shirt that said "I am that man from Nantucket." I thought it was absolutely hilarious. I wanted him to wear the t-shirt while we walked through town with his arm around my shoulders and an extremely satisfied smile on my face. Just the thought of that made me giggle. Phillip laughed when he saw the shirt but absolutely refused to wear it anywhere but in his cottage. Party pooper.

It seemed natural to do our grocery shopping together because we were eating most of our meals together. One very hot day in mid-July, we did our shopping, then we walked into the Nantucket Nectar store in town for a drink. A cute teenage girl behind the counter gave us a huge smile, "Dr. Siegel," she beamed, "what can I get you?" We ordered some frothy juice concoctions and when we tried to pay she said, "No charge for you, Dr. Siegel."

As we walked out of the store, I didn't say anything, just looked sideways at him and arched my eyebrows.

"What?" he asked.

I smiled, but didn't say anything. He was so cute. I could see that Phillip was exasperated as we walked back to his car to drive home.

"It's nothing like what you're thinking." he said, defensively, as we got into the car.

"Really?" I said. "Anyway, I don't want to hear some dull story about how you rescued her cat from a tree, or whatever. I want to hear about what you thought I was thinking."

He rolled his eyes upward in a silent plea, sighed and collected his thoughts for a moment. It annoyed him that I might think he had messed around with a local teenager.

"Look, I've done some math tutoring for the local high school for the past couple of winters. This is a great vacation spot, but it can be tough on the kids who live here year 'round. That was Katie Harrison. She's going to the University of Massachusetts this fall. I put her in touch with an old grad student of mine who teaches there. He got her a part-time job in the physics library. She's grateful, that's all."

"I told you I didn't want to hear the truth; I wanted you to tell me what salacious thing you were afraid I was thinking about."

"Like what?"

"Like, she'd found proof that you plagiarized your Ph.D. thesis and was blackmailing you. You were forced to become her sex slave. Then she used you to slake her wanton teenage lusts."

"Why couldn't I be blackmailing her into becoming my slave?" Phillip asked.

"Lots of reasons," I said. "For one thing, a thirty-seven year old guy forcing himself on a teenage girl just makes you a pathetic perv, while a cute teenage girl forcing herself on a thirty-seven year old guy is hot."

"And the other reasons?"

"Well," I said, "if you were her slave, I just might want to buy you from her. You're pretty good at math. I could keep you around to do my expense reports and calculate tips."

"You wouldn't buy me to become your sex slave?"

"I don't need to buy you from her for that," I retorted. "You're already my sex slave."

Phillip snorted. He turned the car into his driveway. It took only a couple of minutes to drive from town to our cottages. The only reason we drove was to so we didn't have to carry the grocery bags.

"I'll prove it. The grocery bags can wait. Follow me," I said as I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the bedroom. "Slave, come slake my wanton female lusts." And he did, quite thoroughly. Then, after a short rest, he slaked them again.

We were lying naked in bed, my head was on Phillip's chest, and I was idly toying with his chest hair, my mind was almost completely empty of thought as I held him and enjoyed the closeness I always felt after we made love. While making love with Phillip was always great, that session had been particularly wonderful. After a lengthy foreplay session, where he'd licked, sucked, and prodded me until I'd climaxed several times, Phillip picked me up and lowered me onto him. He was sitting up, so I wrapped my legs around him and we held each other, kissing and caressing without moving much at all. After the longest time, I couldn't take it any more and started moving. Phillip rolled me onto my back and pounded into me, forcing me over the edge. During my intense orgasm, Phillip moaned "Oh Gail" and came inside me. That brought me into another climax.

I swear, whenever I heard Phillip cry my name as he came, I would come, too.

"Gail," Phillip said, "It's August, you know."

"Mmm hmm," I said. It was too much effort to speak.

"You're scheduled to leave in the first week of September. I don't want you to go. I'd really love it if you'd stay."

I kissed his chest and collarbone. "I love you, too, Phillip," I said. "I'd rather not leave, also."

"So will you stay?" he asked hopefully.

Sigh. "No."

"Why not? I love you, you love me. We should be able to work this out. You travel a lot, and could leave from here almost as easily as Washington. I know it's not as convenient flying in and out of our dinky little airport and you'd have to make a lot more connecting flights, but it would work."

I'd been dreading this conversation, but I couldn't put it off any more.

"We have two major problems," I said. "You mentioned the easier one. The logistics would be pretty bothersome, but we could probably work it out."

"So what's the bigger problem?"

I hesitated. It was an awful position to be in. I had a choice of hurting him at that moment, or putting it off and probably hurting him a lot more later.

"The biggest problem, Phillip, is that I've only been divorced for a few months, and you've lost your family. I think I'm probably ready to move on and have a serious, maybe even permanent relationship with you. But I'm pretty sure that you're not ready for anything like that."

"How can you say that?" he asked with a wounded tone. "Gail, don't you believe that I love you?"

"Yes, I believe that you love me," I answered. "I can't really describe how good it makes me feel knowing that you love me. When I came here this spring I felt unloved and unlovable. You cured me. I'll never be able to thank you enough. And I love you, too. Love isn't our problem. I just don't think you're ready to start living your life again. I think you're on the right path, but I don't think you're ready yet."

"I still don't see why you say that."

"Look, the thing you've worked hardest for your entire life is Physics. Are you really ready to give up teaching and research?"

He hesitated. "Well... I don't really know. But it's not like I have much choice. I don't have a job anymore."

"Phillip, you have tenure. You could go back any time you want."

"It's not like I left for a sabbatical, I've been gone for four years."

"It's exactly like you've been on a sabbatical. That's how you're officially listed. You could call up your department head and start next semester, if you'd like."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"I talked to your department head myself." He looked surprised. "Phillip, I told you I checked up on you. I checked up on you very thoroughly. I know almost everything about you."

"Well, I doubt I could go back next semester. For one thing, I'd need a place to stay."

"You have a house off campus."

"I sold it."

"You rented it. Actually, I think your sister-in-law made the arrangements with a real estate agency to take care of the house. It's a 4 bedroom house and your only current tenant is a post-doc math student who's looking for roommates to split the rent. He hasn't signed the lease for the fall semester yet. You could move in and keep him as a roommate for a while. You could refuse to renew the lease and keep the whole house to yourself. Hell, you could just rent an apartment. There's nothing stopping you from going back except your own desires. Do you want to go back to your University?"

"Maybe." he admitted.

"You know, even if you decided you didn't want to go back there. You could apply to another university. You could get a job in industry, if you'd prefer. Your publisher would like a new version of your textbook, also. You probably don't need the money, so you could retire here if that's what you wanted. But you've never really made that decision. You've avoided thinking about anything and just lived here and wandered the beaches. There are a lot of things you could do. You just need to decide."

"How on earth do you know that my publisher wants a new edition of my book?"

"When your departmental secretary called about some administrative details, he told her."

"Why would my departmental secretary do that?" he asked.

"She didn't." I admitted. "I called and gave your publisher the impression that I was your departmental secretary."

Phillip looked shocked.

"I know. I'm a nosy bitch. It's one of my defining characteristics and my profession has honed it to an art form. If you can't stand that I'm a snoop, well, I doubt that you'll be able to stand me over the long run."

"Oh it's not that," Phillip said. "It's just that it keeps surprising me how much you can find out. I don't have any secrets from you."

"You might, but not many." He smiled when I said that.

"So you think that once I decide what to do about my job, then we can talk about our relationship?"

"We can always talk, Phillip," I said smiling. "But I think that deciding what you want to do is just the beginning. You've got a ways to go before you'll be really ready to move on with your life."

"What do you mean?"

"Show me your photo albums," I said. "You've got them hidden away. Carol and Sarah will always be part of your life, even though they're dead. I'm not trying to replace Carol. I know you'll always love her. Show me."

Phillip was outraged. "You searched through my house?"

"No, I didn't search your house," I said. "The finer part of snooping is using your brain. I know you must have photo albums. You've got a fairly expensive, high-end camera on a shelf in your living room. It's at least five years old. You don't mean to tell me that you have an expensive camera, but you've never taken pictures with it? Of course you've got pictures of your family somewhere. I can't imagine you throwing them out."

He didn't say anything.

"Show me your pictures, Phillip," I said softly. "Tell me about Carol and Sarah. I'd like to know what they were like. Show me that you're ready to move on."

I wished I knew what was going through his mind as he stood there. Anger? Frustration? Heartache? Regret? Maybe all of those and more. I hated it when he went silent like that. I knew this whole conversation must be very painful for him. And I didn't know anything that I could do to make it better. Eventually it became too much for him. He turned and walked out the door.

Sylvie jumped up off the couch where she'd been sleeping. She looked at the door, then looked at me and gave a little whine. Then she ran into the bedroom and came back with a leash in her mouth.

I knelt down to pet her. "I know, Sylvie," I said. "I want to run after him, too." I sat down on the floor and continued to pet her as she whined. After a few minutes, I gave up on the idea that I would be able to calm either one of us and I buried my face in Sylvie's fur and sobbed.

It was late that night, or very early the next morning when I woke on Phillip's bed. He was sitting next to me looking at me. I have no idea how long he was sitting there, gazing at me. He looked tired and so, so sad. I sat up and reached over to hold his hand.

Phillip looked very uncomfortable. "I can't, Gail. I mean, I really want to, but I just can't."

I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. "I know you can't, dear. You're just not ready yet."

I'd been to most places on Nantucket over the spring and summer, but dropping Phillip off was the first time I'd been to the airport. Once he decided to return to the university time slipped away as we ticked off each little task needed to make sure Phillip's house and car would be taken care of while he was away and the things he really needed were shipped off. He always said "while we are away," or "until we come back home," but I couldn't bring myself to think of anything that was Phillip's as mine.

The car was quiet as I drove him to the airport. It didn't seem like there was anything more to be said. We'd already done all of our debating, arguing, fighting, and making up again. We weren't going to see each other again until the weekend after Thanksgiving. He'd spend the holiday with his brother, whom he hadn't seen since the funeral. I would have Thanksgiving with my parents on Long Island, then drive over to see Suzzy on my way back to D.C. The plan was for Phillip to fly to D.C. the following Friday evening.

I told Phillip that I wanted him to get back on his feet without the pressure of a long-distance romance, so I didn't want him to call me until after the next time we were together. I thought it would probably be easier for me, too. After quite a bit of arguing, I got him to promise not to call me until he was ready to move on.

The night before he left was terribly difficult for me. I woke him in the middle of the night with my wracking sobs. I knew it was the right thing to do, but I didn't know if I had the strength to go through with it. If Phillip asked me just once more to stay with him or go with him, I would have caved. Thankfully, he didn't. He rolled me over and kissed my tears. I stopped crying as we made the most tender love I'd ever experienced. Somehow, he always knew what I needed.

As hard as leaving the island was for Phillip and me, Sylvie had it the worst. The poor dog made the most mournful cries as she was stuffed into her crate and shipped onto the plane. I'd miss her, too.

I walked Phillip to the security checkpoint and started to cry again. We kissed goodbye in between my sniffles. He told me he loved me and I wanted to take back everything I said and keep him there with me. For years afterward, I often wondered how things would be different if I had. Instead, I told him that I loved him too, and would be waiting for him after Thanksgiving.

Then he was gone.

I had a little more than a week before my ferry reservation and my lonely drive back. For a couple of days, I walked the beaches, visited the shops, and ate by myself in some of my favorite restaurants. Everything just felt hollow.

I realized that what I needed wasn't on the island anymore.

I called The Steamship Authority and moved my ferry reservation to the next day. I packed everything, loaded my car and had a final, uneasy night's sleep beneath Suzzy's tasteful Irish duvet.

I thought that as the ferry pulled away I'd get a last glimpse of the island that had come to mean so much to me, but the fog had rolled in that morning. It was a thick, thick, pea-soup fog. A tangible fog that you could feel on your skin. It wasn't a uniform haze, but billows and wisps. I couldn't see past the car ahead of me as I waited in line to board the ferry. I didn't get my last look at the island, but the things that were important to me were etched into my memory and burned into my flesh.

It was going to be a very long time until Thanksgiving.

Read Part3

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