Halfway to You(21)

“Ann,” he repeated. “You don’t seem like the partying type.”

I assessed his appearance, the curled russet hair and the soft collar of his polo. “Neither do you.” He had a strong, wide jaw; thin lips; and earnest eyes—features that were at once commanding and kind.

He leaned in. “I’m not a homophobe, if that’s why you’re being vague.”

I pivoted toward him, adjusting my seat so we could talk more directly. “That’s good, but I’m straight. Is this island known for the gay bars? I had no idea.”

“Apparently it is,” he said, sipping his drink. “I hadn’t the slightest idea either. Came here with a friend to let loose and—excuse the bluntness—hoping for a couple of one-night stands.” He shrugged. “No such luck, here—unless you’re interested?” His innocent grin made it clear he was being funny.

“Nice try,” I said, shoving his arm.

My food was delivered and I dug in, not caring when the potatoes burned my tongue.

The man chuckled. “You weren’t lying about being hungry.”

“Nope,” I said, mouth full.

“So why are you really here? You can chew first.”

I swallowed. “The long story short is that I’ve been traveling all summer. Mostly France, then Italy, then here.”

“Chasing down the rest of summer?”

I thought of all my summer heartbreaks. “Something like that.”

He bobbed his head, seeming to understand that there was more to the story.

“I’m writing a book,” I said, trying the words out loud. Funny how a four-word fact could be so empowering. It was the first time I had mentioned my writing as if I were really doing it.

“What’s it about?”

“A woman,” I said. “Travel, adventure, heartbreak.”

“It’s about you.”

“Oh, god, no.” I wiped my hand on a paper napkin. “Not me. Someone much braver.”

“Bravery is overrated,” he said, setting down his glass. “Fear is compelling.”

I chuckled. “As someone who has spent a lot of time afraid, I have to disagree.”

“You’re here, though, aren’t you?”

I didn’t elaborate; the words that had already escaped were plenty. I had come here because I was afraid. Afraid of going through life without someone who made me feel safe or cherished. Afraid of living an angry life, like my mother. Afraid I’d never see Todd again. All those things were too personal to discuss with a stranger.

But he was only a stranger until I got to know him. “What’s your name? I forgot to ask before.”

“Keith,” he said.

“And what do you do, Keith?”

“I edit books.”

“You—oh.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask to read yours,” he said. “But can I offer a piece of advice?”

I spread my palms, inviting him to continue.

“Don’t focus on the bravery,” he said. “Focus on the fear.”

Huh.

I finished my glass of water and slid off my stool. “It was really nice to meet you, Keith,” I said, setting some money on the counter. “Thank you for the advice.”

“I scared you off.”

“No, not at all.” I touched his arm to emphasize my sincerity. “Now that I’ve eaten, I’m exhausted. But maybe I’ll see you around the island?”

“I hope so,” Keith said. “I think my friend would like you.”





MAGGIE


San Juan Island, Washington State, USA Sunday, January 7, 2024

“I can’t believe you traveled all the way to Greece to find a man you barely knew,” Maggie says, struck by the audacity.

They’re walking on the beach below Ann’s home, a rocky, barnacled stretch with the bluff on one side and the tumultuous sea on the other.

Ann smiles, her ponytail thrashing behind her like a whip. “It was the stupidest, most important decision of my life.”

Maggie wants to comment on Ann’s mother, too, but what can she say without sounding naive or judgmental? She remains quiet, allowing the clap of the waves and the hiss of sand across the stones to erase her thoughts.

It’s two in the afternoon, and Ann suggested they take a break to get some fresh air. While Ann was bundling up, Maggie was able to connect to Wi-Fi and update Grant. He was adamant she keep negotiating to resume recording, but when Ann reappeared, Maggie couldn’t form the words. Pressuring Ann could make the whole deal crumble, and besides that, it feels almost brutal to push Ann after the vulnerability she’s exhibited just in telling her story at all.

And perhaps a small, amoral part of Maggie simply wants to keep listening to the story about her favorite author, beloved uncle, and the lives they’d had before Maggie was born and before their falling-out. Barbara confirmed it: they had all been friends, way back when. What happened to tear them apart? Maggie might never find out if she pressures Ann to record too soon.

“I miss Keith,” Maggie murmurs instead.

Ann’s description of him was spot on. Keith possessed a mixture of confident and kind features that could make you feel safe and loved even as you were compelled to admit that it was your bike handle that scratched his car. How lucky Ann was to have sat down beside him in that bar and learned just how generous he could be.