She stared at her fingers trailing into the sand. She could see every granule in the bright sunlight. From far away the sand looked white, but up close it was shimmering with colors: specks of black-and-green mica, pastel shell fragments, chips of red quartz like tiny garnets. Unfair, she thought to the boy, who of course couldn't hear her. I'm sorry; this just isn't fair. I wish I could do something, but I can't.
A wet nose thrust under her hand.
The suddenness of it made her gasp, and a giggle caught in her throat. The dog pushed at her hand again, not asking; demanding. Cassie petted it, scratching at the short, silky-bristly hairs on its nose. It was a German shepherd, or mostly, a big, handsome dog with liquid, intelligent brown eyes and a laughing mouth. Cassie felt the stiff, embarrassed mask she'd been wearing break, and she laughed back at it.
Then she glanced up at the dog's owner, quickly, unable to help herself. She met his eyes directly.
Later, Cassie would think of that moment, the moment when she looked up at him and he looked down at her. His eyes were blue-gray, like the sea at its most mysterious. His face was odd; not conventionally handsome, but arresting and intriguing, with high cheekbones and a determined mouth. Proud and independent and humorous and sensitive all at once. As he looked down at her his grim smile lightened and something sparkled in those blue-gray eyes, like sun glinting off the waves.
Normally Cassie was shy around guys, especially guys she didn't know, but this was only some poor worker from the fishing boats, and she felt sorry for him, and she wanted to be nice, and besides she couldn't help it. And so when she felt herself start to sparkle back at him, her laughter bubbling up in response to his smile, she let it happen. In that instant it was as if they were sharing a secret, something nobody else on the beach could understand. The dog wiggled ecstatically, as if he were in on it too.
“Cassie,” came Portia's fuming hiss.
Cassie felt herself turn red, and she tore her eyes away from the guy's face. Portia was looking apoplectic.
“Raj!” the boy said, not laughing anymore. “Heel!”
With apparent reluctance, the dog backed away from Cassie, tail still wagging. Then, in a spray of sand, he bounded toward his master. It isn't fair, Cassie thought again. The boy's voice startled her.
“Life isn't fair,” he said.
Shocked, her eyes flew up to his face.
His own eyes were as dark as the sea in a storm. She saw that clearly, and for a moment she was almost frightened, as if she had glimpsed something forbidden, something beyond her comprehension. But powerful. Something powerful and strange.
And then he was walking away, the dog frisking behind him. He didn't look back.
Cassie stared after him, astounded. She hadn't spoken aloud; she was sure she hadn't spoken aloud. But then how could he have heard her?
Her thoughts were shattered by a hiss at her side. Cassie cringed, knowing exactly what Portia was going to say. That dog probably had mange and fleas and worms and scrofula. Cassie's towel was probably crawling with parasites right this minute.
But Portia didn't say it. She too was staring after the retreating figures of the boy and dog. as they went up a dune, then turned along a little path in the beach grass. And although she was clearly disgusted, there was something in her face-a sort of dark speculation and suspicion that Cassie had never seen before.
“What's the matter, Portia?”
Portia's eyes had narrowed. “I think,” she said slowly, through tight lips, “that I've seen him before.”
“You already said so. You saw him on the fish pier.”
Portia shook her head impatiently. “Not that. Shut up and let me think.”
Stunned, Cassie shut up.
Portia continued to stare, and after a few moments she began nodding, little nods to confirm something to herself. Her face was flushed blotchily, and not with sunburn.
Abruptly, still nodding, she muttered something and stood up. She was breathing quickly now.
“Portia?”
“I've got to do something,” Portia said, waving a hand at Cassie without looking at her. “You stay here.”
“What's going on?”
“Nothing!” Portia glanced at her sharply. “Nothing's going on. Just forget all about it. I'll see you later.” She walked off, moving quickly, heading up the dunes toward the cottage her family owned.
Ten minutes ago, Cassie would have said she'd be deliriously happy just to have Portia leave her alone, for any reason. But now she found she couldn't enjoy it. Her mind was all churned up, like the choppy
blue-gray water before a gale. She felt agitated and distressed and almost frightened.
The strangest thing was what Portia had muttered before getting up. It had been under her breath, and Cassie didn't think she could have heard it right. It must have been something else, like “snitch,” or “bitch,” or “rich.”
She must have heard it wrong. You couldn't call a guy a witch, for God's sake.
Calm down, she told herself. Don't worry, be happy. You're alone at last.
But for some reason she couldn't relax. She stood and picked up her towel. Then, wrapping it around her, she started down the beach the way the guy had gone.
Two
When Cassie got to the place where the boy had turned, she walked up the dunes between the pitiful little clumps of scraggly beach grass. At the top she looked around, but there was nothing to be seen but pitch pines and scrub oak trees. No boy. No dog. Silence.
She was hot.
All right; fine. She turned back toward the sea, ignoring the twinge of disappointment, the strange emptiness she felt suddenly. She'd go get wet and cool off. Portia's problem was Portia's business. As for the red-haired guy-well, she'd probably never see him again, and he wasn't her business either.