Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(25)

“Maybe it’s not out there.”

“What?”

“Maybe something happened to the rest of the world since we’ve been here, and all that’s left is this island.”

Nick looks at her. “What about our kids?”

“You’re right. Bad fantasy.” Even in the twilight, her eyes remain masked behind oversize Chanel shades. “But you have to admit, it’s hard to think about the city right now—hot, steamy, smelly. Cabs honking and construction noise and all those people rushing around, sweating in their business clothes, when… I mean, look at us.”

Yes. Look at them. Barefoot and tanned, wearing just bathing suits, lounging on a remote beach on the island’s easternmost tip. Look at them, a world away from the city and from judgmental small-town eyes.

Beth sighs and leans back, elbows propped in the sand. “Oh well. You know what they say. Everything has its price.”

“You got that right.” Nick lowers his sunglasses again and admires her flat stomach from behind the lenses.

Lauren never wore a bikini, but if she had, she wouldn’t look like this.

Okay, that’s not fair. Lauren looked—looks—pretty damned good. Even after Sadie. In fact, the last few times he’s seen her, he’s noticed how thin she’s become.

But she doesn’t look glamorous-thin, the way Beth does. No, Lauren looks more like she’s wasting away.

Nick himself is at least partially to blame for that, he supposes.

But who wants to spend the last night of a glorious vacation on a guilt trip?

Not me.

“So what do you think? Should we go into the water?” he asks Beth.

“In a couple of minutes. I kind of like sitting here watching the sun set.”

“So do I, but we can see it from the water, too.”

“You do know that dusk is prime feeding time for sharks.”

“I do.” He grins. “But I’ll take my chances. I just don’t feel like I might die tonight.”

For some reason, a conversation he once had with Lauren flashes into Nick’s head. He seems to recall that it, too, took place at the tail end of a vacation—it must have, because he remembers that they were in the car, stuck in traffic on the thruway.

No…the Jersey Turnpike.

Would you rather die a slow death and have the chance to say good-bye, or would you prefer to die in an accident and never know what hit you?

Wait—they weren’t on their way back from vacation.

They were coming from Baltimore. His father’s funeral. One of their last trips together, before he met Beth.

Would you rather die a slow death…

No. No way. Nick, who for six months had watched pancreatic cancer ravage the man he loved so dearly, was adamant that it would be better to never know what hit you.

Not Lauren. She was all for long good-byes, she said.

And that’s what happened to our marriage.

He realizes it now.

I let it die a slow death, even though it felt wrong.

Even though I knew on the night I wanted to kiss Beth in the car that I would leave her.

He’d been so tempted to tell Lauren, early on, that it was over. Even when she insisted on trying, insisted on therapy.

He shouldn’t have gone.

But I did it for her.

I did it her way, not mine.

He should explain that to Lauren, the next chance he gets. Maybe he will.

Only he suspects she won’t choose to see the selflessness in his final act. His wife—ex-wife—who has always been so fair, is anything but fair to him these days.

He supposes there’s a part of him that doesn’t blame her.

But there’s a part of him that does. A part of him that wishes she could just wish him well and move on, the way he has. Not everything is meant to last forever.

Hell, nothing is meant to last forever, right?

As if to punctuate the point, Beth asks, “So you’re assuming that if you were going to die tonight, you’d know it?”

“I think maybe I’d sense it, on some level.”

“Really?”

He lifts the sunglasses again and looks at her. “Sure. I guess. Why?”

“I don’t know…it’s kind of morbid, don’t you think?”

“You’re the one who brought up dying. And sharks.”

“Yeah.” She’s silent for a minute. “What would you do if you did feel like you might die tonight? Or…soon?”

“For one thing, I wouldn’t go swimming at dusk. And for another…” He slides a hand over her bare thigh.

“Oh Lord, you want to do that every night.”

“True. Maybe that’s what’s going to kill me. You have to admit that there are worse ways to go than having a heart attack while you’re having sex. In fact—if I got to choose the way it had to end, that would be it.”

“Good. I really hope that works out for you. Meanwhile…this is a public beach, so…” She brushes his hand off her thigh.

“Party pooper.”

He stands up and brushes the sand off the backs of his legs, then stretches a hand out to her. “Come on. Let’s go for that swim. Next best thing to a cold shower.”

Beth shakes her head. “No, thanks.”