Do I Know You?(29)

“Hey,” a stranger’s voice—a real stranger—says next to me. I look over to find a woman has fallen into step with my stride. It’s the latecomer, the girl David enthusiastically joined—the one he insinuated was his soul mate. She’s tall, broadly built, with dark hair and a perfectly put-together hiking outfit. She’s not smiling, but the expression doesn’t look unfriendly on her. She nods behind us. “Is that guy bothering you? I can’t help noticing him staring at you. I’m guessing husband?”

I startle, not needing to follow her gaze to know she means Graham. “No—not my husband,” I say, sliding on instinct into character. The words still sound odd.

The woman’s severe expression deepens into a frown. “Do you know him? I can alert hotel staff if he’s harassing you.”

“No,” I say hastily. While I’m pissed at Graham, the last thing I want is for him to end up in hotel jail. Recovering my cool, I recognize what she’s trying to do. “No, he’s not harassing me. That’s really thoughtful of you, though. Thanks.”

“Of course.” The woman still doesn’t smile, but there’s warmth in her matter-of-factness. “Being a woman traveling on my own, I’ve learned to keep an eye out. I’m Lindsey.”

“Eliza. Nice to meet you.”

Despite myself, I glance over my shoulder, finding Graham’s eyes on me. Promptly, he shifts his gaze to David, who is now walking beside him.

“So what’s the deal, then?” Lindsey asks. Having watched this whole wordless exchange, she’s eyeing me curiously. “Boyfriend?”

“Not yet,” I say, hearing the strange echo of myself from six and a half years ago. I was talking to my sister, Michelle, on the phone, describing what Graham and I had done for our second date. He’d taken me to a play at the Geffen and we’d made out on my couch after. Are you official? my sister asked me. Not yet. Soon, I hope, I told her giddily.

Lindsey’s eyes sparkle. “Playing hard to get. I like it.”

I can’t help laughing. “Something like that.” You have no idea, I think to myself.

We follow the group, descending the gentle incline of the trail. The foliage is not heavy, only small bushes carpeting the rocks in swaths of green. The day smells nothing like even our seaside neighborhood in La Jolla. Right now, we’re really out here, where the crisp scent of plants and water is everywhere. It’s perfectly clear out, the pale sky cloudless. The morning is still cold, but the sunlight is beginning to warm through. The ocean whispers down below, the gentle sound of the tides scribbling white foam on the stunning crystal blue.

Fifteen more minutes of hiking in companionable silence with the rest of our pack leads us onto the sand, where the group stops. The small beach is pristine, the sand smooth, the water rippling softly. I stand with Lindsey while the guide hands out granola bars and water to whoever wants them.

“Are you here for the workshop?” I ask her.

“Yeah, a gift from my mom, who thinks I’m lonely.” She shrugs with what looks like wry humor. “I’m not lonely. But I do love dating, so I figured, why not up my game? Worse comes to worst, I just meet some more singles at a stunning hotel.”

I smile, getting used to the way Lindsey speaks fast and frankly. Noticing David eyeing her from the sand, I wonder where their conversation ended up—David seemed hopeful.

Lindsey nods in my direction. “How about you?”

“I’m not here for the workshop. I’m a vacation planner,” I say, noticing once more how quickly I slip into my story. “So I’m sort of on the clock.” I search the shoreline, now wishing I hadn’t taken the guide up on the water bottle. “Where do you think the bathroom is?”

When Lindsey laughs, I turn back to her, not having meant to be funny. “The ocean?” When I make a face, she continues more earnestly. “I don’t think you’ll find restrooms here on the beach.”

Ugh, I think. Hiking down here was fine, I guess. Being trapped out here with nowhere to pee except the ocean—I honestly don’t know if Lindsey was being serious—is not my favorite, though. Neither, now that I think of it, is this dry granola bar, when knots of hunger have me imagining the hotel omelet station. I wish I’d—

My train of thought crashes sharply. Because, goddamn it, Graham was right.

It’s easy to pretend I only resent him for violating our rules when he broke character. Deep down, though, I think part of me knew he was calling me on something I do need to do less of.

I don’t know why I pretended I’d loved our Joshua Tree trip, except out of some instinct to pretend problems never come up in our relationship. To use these imagined selves to rewrite reality instead of just venturing outside it. I’m not a person who wants to go camping in Joshua Tree, and pretending I am, even in this game, isn’t going to help us. We’re putting on pretenses, but on some level, we still have to be us—even when the truth is hard or frustrating.

“Don’t look now,” Lindsey says, distracting me, “but that guy is totally checking you out.” I follow her gaze to Graham. “He’s hella hot,” she continues. “You sure you want to hold out on him?”

I blink, not sure how to respond. It’s not like I’m threatened—it was just an offhand comment from Lindsey. But I’m not used to people checking out my husband around me, because of course I’m not.