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My cheeks heated. “Carla told me. I wasn’t snooping.”
“I don’t mind even if you were snooping. Feel welcome to ask me anything. I’ll happily share.”
Holding hands, we walked down Grannie’s driveway and turned right. The beach was only two blocks away.
“Granny can’t see the ocean from her home, but she can smell it and feel it nearby,” I said. “She used to tell me that the ocean was a part of her. It floats in her blood and has sunk into her bones. She can’t bear to be too far away from it.”
“Does she go there often?”
“I bring her at least weekly. We drive, of course, and she can’t get down to the sea yet. We sit on a bench, though, and that’s almost as good. At least she can put her toes in the sand. She hopes to walk there again soon. It’s taken her a long time to recover from her fractured hip. The social worker at the hospital told me Grannie might not get strong enough to leave rehab, but she was determined. And with me next door to help out, she had options. She progressed well with rehab and came home sooner than most people her age do after a fall like that. She had surgery, and the spot still bothers her sometimes, but she refuses to let it slow her down—for very long, that is.”
“She didn’t use a walker before?”
“Nope. She was as spry as us.”
The sidewalk emptied into a small parking lot forresidents of the buildings on either side, and we wove among the vehicles to reach the beach.
On the edge, I sat on the wooden bench and took off my shoes. “This is where we sit.” I nudged my head toward the parking lot behind us. “They don’t mind if I park there for a short time.”
We left our shoes under the bench and strode out across the wide sandy beach, not stopping until we’d reached the water. Facing it, we remained in place, taking in the moon shimmering as it etched its way across the inky surface and the soft swish of the waves sliding toward us before retreating backward. A few people passed behind us, but the place was basically deserted.
“It’s gorgeous,” he said. “I didn’t grow up near the ocean but like Grannie Rose, I feel like it’s in my blood. I have a deck, and I love sitting there at night, listening to the waves and the call of the seagulls.”
“I understand what she means about the ocean being in her blood. When I go inland, even for a short time, I miss it. It’s like there’s a thread between us. It stretches but it’s always trying to tug me back to where I belong.”
“I can feel that.”
“The water’s calmer here on the bay side of the Cape. The open Atlantic side has stiff cliffs and crashing waves. You can’t swim there often. Too many riptides. But it’s dramatic and furious, like that side is the wild sister who grew up doing whatever she pleased, and this side is the calmer, more sedate sibling who does what she’s told.”
“Which side calls to you most, Melly?”
“Oh, the Atlantic.” I flashed him a smile and held outmy hand. “Let’s walk. The tide’s out, and we might find a few shells.”
He took my hand, and we strolled, him walking in the water with it gliding up to swirl around his ankles, me with it kissing my toes.
“Since you love the ocean, you must’ve enjoyed visiting your grandmother,” he said.
“Mom and I lived about forty minutes away, closer to Boston. When Mom sent me to stay with Grannie, I spent all day long here. I’d make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, fill a water bottle, pack up the sand toys, and come to the beach.” We continued to stroll along the shore, kicking at the waves and pausing only to lift a pretty shell we’d toss into the sea.
“I grew up close enough to the glaciers that I could hike across them,” he said. “It’s a sharp contrast to this. Like the Atlantic side of the cape, the glaciers are the wilder brother where the green valleys are the tame brother.”
I grinned up at him. “And which do you feel closer to?”
He squeezed my hand. “Definitely the wild one.”
“I’ve seen pictures of deep crevasses and pristine blue and white ice that can be found far below the surface.”
“When I was young, I’d attach a rope to my waist and tie it to a spike I’d drive into the ice. I loved climbing down into those gaps. It was both amazing and terrifying.”
“What did your parents think about you doing that?”
“Honestly? I didn’t tell them. But like the ocean is in your blood, the ice calls to me. It’s part of my soul.”
“I can’t imagine. We get snow here in the winter, but it melts fast, and we have no glaciers. The only ice I’ve dealt with is some coating my windshield after a storm or slippery roads when I drive to work and walk inside my shop. Most businesses in town remain open all year round, though I don’t imagine my ice cream shop will make much during the winter. No one seems to want to eat ice cream when it’s freezing outside.”
“I would.” He squeezed my hand. “You know it’s pretty much a cliché that you own an ice cream shop, and I’m an ice lord.”
“I thought of that. I can handle the jokes that might circulate around town. Can you?”
