This Is What Happy Looks Like(25)

And so, five hours later, she found herself taking the long way down to the cove, wondering if she was making a mistake. She understood that there were certain turning points to these kinds of things, opportunities to think better, chances to turn around. But as she made her way past the bait shop and the hut where they rented out Jet Skis, as she wandered along the edge of the main beach and into the clusters of trees that marked its border, Ellie had the distinct impression that she was barreling past those very warning signs, and that soon it would be too late to take any of this back.

There were dozens of reasons why she shouldn’t go. He would get bored with her and move on. He would be going home in just a few weeks. He was too famous. He would give away their secret, just by the very fact of being him. He would hurt her without even trying.

But there was a sense of momentum that carried her on anyway, pushing back branches as she neared the cove, the dirt giving way to rocks beneath her feet. She barely noticed any of it, though; she was thinking of the look on his face when he’d stood on the porch the night before, and of all those words they’d sent sailing across the country, each e-mail a kind of poem containing the very best versions of themselves.

Maybe seeing him here was nothing more than a simple addendum to a conversation that had been going on for months now. If the time before she’d known him had been a kind of prelude, then maybe this was all just the postscript.

P.S. Hello there.

P.S. Thank you for coming.

P.S. Here I am.

Ahead, the trees were thinner, opening up to a small cove where the water lapped against slate-colored stones. Ellie came to a sudden stop when she realized he was already there waiting for her, and she hung back amid the trees. He was stooped on the ground, idly sifting through the piles of rocks. As she watched, he held one up, tilting his head to the side, and from where she was standing, Ellie could see that it was shaped like a lopsided heart.

She remembered an e-mail he’d written her just a few weeks ago. They’d been talking about grade school memories, and he’d confessed that he always had trouble making valentines as a kid, especially the kind where you had to fold your piece of construction paper and trace out half a heart.

They always came out looking like pink blobs, he’d written.

Isn’t that really all a heart is anyway? Ellie had replied.

Now she took a deep breath and steadied herself. He half turned, and she could see in his profile that he looked different here on the beach, less striking somehow, more familiar. It certainly wasn’t what she had imagined GDL824 would look like, but it also wasn’t quite like the movie-star version of Graham Larkin either.

At the moment, he was simply Graham.

She thought of the way the Russians would say it—Graham!—and she felt her pink blob of a heart pick up speed. It was, she realized, a shout and a surprise and a jolt of happiness all at once, the truest thing there was, and so, without another moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward to deliver her greeting in person.

From: [email protected]

Sent: Monday, June 10, 2013 4:24 PM

To: [email protected]

Subject: birds of a feather

I couldn’t find the rock you were talking about, but I think I’m at the right place. It’s pretty much just me and the seagulls, so I should be easy to spot…

(I’m the one without feathers.)

Chapter 8

Graham was a million miles away when she finally arrived at the beach. He’d been trying to run through his lines for tomorrow’s scene, an impassioned monologue his character makes after leaving his father’s funeral and heading out to the very place where he’d died, an old lobster boat called the Go Fish. But the words were proving slippery today, whipped away by the wind coming in off the ocean.

He was picking through the smooth stones that blanketed the beach—so different from the pale sands of California—when he heard the sound of her footsteps behind him. He pulled in a breath before turning around.

“Hey,” he said, glancing up at her and then away again. For some reason, he was having trouble looking at her directly, though it was all he wanted to do at the moment. Everything around them was gray—the trees, the rocks, the sky, even the slate-colored water—and in the midst of it all, there was Ellie, with her red hair and white T-shirt, her jean skirt and rubber flip-flops. It should have been the most ordinary thing in the world—this girl on the beach—but somehow, it felt to Graham like he was staring at the sun.

“Find any treasures?” she asked, nodding at the rock in his hand, and when he held it in his palm to take another look, he realized that he actually had. It was, to his surprise, shaped like a heart. His cheeks went warm, and he slipped it into his pocket with a little shake of his head. If he showed it to her now, she’d think he was some kind of sap. She’d think he was no different from the characters he played in his movies.

“Want to walk?” he asked, his voice unintentionally gruff.

She nodded, and they set off together down the beach, their feet slipping on the rocks. Neither said anything for a while, but the silence was comfortable, and the sound of the waves provided all the soundtrack they needed. Ellie was half a step ahead of him, and he wondered where she was leading them. The stones were loose and uneven, and Graham found himself stumbling every so often. As he lurched forward once again, he saw a hint of a smile on Ellie’s face.