On the porch, Lexie tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She was a big girl and she’d get over him, just as she’d gotten over the others. She was certain about it. But even with the comfort of that realization, the roiling sea reminded her again of her feelings for Jeremy, and it took everything she had to keep her tears in check.
It had seemed relatively simple when Jeremy set out, and he’d rushed through his room at Greenleaf, making the necessary plans as he did so. Grab the map and his wallet, just in case. Leave the computer because he didn’t need it. Ditto his notes. Put Doris’s book in his leather satchel and bring it along. Write a note for Alvin and leave it at the front desk, despite the fact that Jed didn’t seem too pleased about it. Make sure he had the recharger for his phone—and go.
He was in and out in less than ten minutes, on his way to Swan Quarter, where the ferry would take him to Ocracoke, a village in the Outer Banks. From there, he’d head north on Highway 12 to Buxton. He figured it was the route she would have taken, and all he had to do was follow the same path and he’d reach the place in just a couple of hours.
But while the drive to Swan Quarter had been an easy one on straight and empty roads, he’d found himself thinking about Lexie and pressed the accelerator harder, trying to ward off the jitters. But jitters were just another word for panic, and he didn’t panic. He prided himself on that. Nonetheless, whenever he was forced to slow the car—in places like Belhaven and Leechville—he found himself tapping the wheel with his fingers and muttering under his breath.
It was an odd feeling for him, one that only grew stronger as he drew nearer to his destination. He couldn’t explain it, but somehow he didn’t want to analyze it. For one of the few times in his life, he was moving on autopilot, doing exactly the opposite of what logic demanded, thinking only about how she’d react when she saw him.
Just when he thought he was beginning to understand the reason for his odd behavior, Jeremy found himself at the ferry station staring at a thin, uniformed man who barely looked up from the magazine he was reading. The ferry to Ocracoke, he learned, didn’t run with the same regularity as the one from Staten Island to Manhattan, and he’d missed the last departure of the day, which meant he could either come back tomorrow or cancel his plan altogether, neither of which he was willing to consider.
“Are you sure there’s no other way that I can get to Hatteras Lighthouse?” he asked, feeling his heart pick up speed. “This is important.”
“You could drive it, I suppose.”
“How long would that take?”
“Depends on how fast you drive.”
Obviously, Jeremy thought. “Let’s say I drove fast.”
The man shrugged, as if the whole topic bored him. “Five or six hours maybe. You’d have to head north till you get to Plymouth, then take 64 over Roanoke Island, then into Whalebone. From there, you head south into Buxton. The lighthouse is right there.”
Jeremy checked his watch; it was already coming up on one o’clock; by the time he got there, Alvin would probably be pulling into Boone Creek. No good.
“Is there another place to catch the ferry?”
“There’s one out of Cedar Island.”
“Great. Where’s that?”
“It’s about three hours in the other direction. But again, you’d have to wait until tomorrow morning.”
Over the man’s shoulder, he saw a poster displaying the various lighthouses of North Carolina. Hatteras, the grandest of them all, was in the center.
“What if I told you this was an emergency?” he asked.
For the first time, the man looked up.
“Is it an emergency?”
“Let’s just say that it is.”
“Then I’d call the Coast Guard. Or maybe the sheriff.”
“Ah,” Jeremy said, trying to remain patient. “But what you’re telling me is that there’s no way for me to get out there right now? From here, I mean.”
The man brought a finger to his chin. “I suppose you could take a boat, if you’re in such a hurry.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Jeremy thought. “And how would I arrange that?”
“I don’t know. No one’s ever asked.”
Jeremy hopped back into his car, finally admitting that he was beginning to panic.
Maybe it was because he’d already come this far, or maybe it was because he realized his final words to Lexie the night before had signaled a deeper truth, but something else had taken hold of him and he wasn’t going back. He refused to go back, not after getting this close.
Nate would be expecting his call, but suddenly, that didn’t seem as important to him as it once was. Nor did the fact that Alvin would be arriving; if all went well, they could still film both this evening and tomorrow evening. He had ten hours until the lights would appear; in a fast boat, he figured that he could reach Hatteras in two. It gave him plenty of time to get there, talk to Lexie, and come back, assuming he could find someone to take him there.
Anything could go wrong, of course. He might not be able to hire a boat, but if that happened, he’d drive to Buxton if he had to. Once there, however, he couldn’t even be sure that he’d find her.
Nothing about this entire scenario made sense. But who cared? Once in a while, everyone was entitled to be a bit flaky, and now it was his turn. He had cash in his wallet, and he’d find a way to get there. He’d take the risk and see how things turned out with her, if only to prove to himself that he could leave her and never think about her again.
That’s what this was all about, he knew. When Doris intimated that he might never see her again, his thoughts about her had gone into overdrive. Sure, he was leaving in a couple of days, but that didn’t mean this had to be over. Not yet, anyway. He could visit down here, she could come up to New York and if it was meant to be, they’d somehow work it out. People did that all the time, right? But even if that wasn’t possible, even if she was resolute in her determination to end things completely, he wanted to hear her say it. Only then could he return to New York knowing he’d had no other choice.
And yet, as he came to a sliding stop at the first marina he saw, he realized he didn’t want her to speak those words. He wasn’t going to Buxton to say good-bye or to hear her say that she never wanted to see him again. In fact, he thought with amazement, he knew that he was going there to find out if Alvin had been right all along.
Late afternoon was Lexie’s favorite time of day. The soft winter sunlight, combined with the austere natural beauty of the landscape, made the world appear dreamlike.
Even the lighthouse, with its black and white candy-cane pattern, seemed like a mirage from here, and as she walked the length of the beach, she tried to imagine how difficult it had been for the sailors and fishermen to navigate the point before it had been built. The waters just offshore, with their shallow seabed and shifting shoals, were nicknamed the Graveyard of the Atlantic, and a thousand wrecks dotted the seafloor. The Monitor, which engaged in the first battle between ironclads during the Civil War, had been lost here. So had the Central America, laden with California gold, whose sinking helped cause the financial panic of 1857. Blackbeard’s ship, Queen Anne’s Revenge, had supposedly been found in the Beaufort Inlet, and half a dozen German U-boats sunk during World War II were now visited almost daily by scuba divers.
Her grandfather had been a history buff, and every time they walked the beach holding hands, he told her stories about the ships that had been lost over the centuries. She learned about hurricanes and dangerous surf and faulty navigation that stranded boats until they were torn apart by the raging surf. Though she wasn’t particularly interested and was sometimes even frightened by the images conjured up, his slow, melodic drawl was strangely soothing, and she never tried to change the subject. Even though she was young at the time, she sensed that talking to her about these things meant a lot to him. Years later, she would learn that his ship had been torpedoed in World War II and that he’d barely survived.
Recalling those walks made her miss her grandfather with sudden intensity. The strolls had been part of their daily routine, something for just the two of them, and they usually went out in the hour just before dinner, when Doris was cooking. More often than not, he’d be reading in the chair with his glasses propped on his nose, and he’d close the book with a sigh and set it aside. Rising from his seat, he’d ask if she’d like to take a walk to see the wild horses.
The thought of seeing the horses always thrilled her. She wasn’t quite sure why; she’d never ridden a horse, nor did she particularly want to, but she remembered how she would jump up and run to the door as soon as her grandfather mentioned it. Usually, the horses kept themselves at a distance from people and darted away whenever someone approached, but at dusk, they liked to graze, lowering their defenses, if only for a few minutes. It was often possible to get close enough to see their distinctive markings and, if you were lucky, to hear them snorting and whinnying a warning not to come any closer.
The horses were descended from the Spanish mustangs, and their presence on the Outer Banks dated from 1523. These days, there were all sorts of government regulations that ensured their survival, and they were as much a part of the surroundings as deer were in Pennsylvania, with the only problem being occasional overpopulation. People who lived here largely ignored them unless they became a nuisance, but for many vacationers, seeing them was one of the highlights of their visit. Lexie considered herself something of a local, but watching them always made her feel as if she were young again, with all of life’s pleasures and expectations ahead of her.
She wanted to feel that way now, if only to escape the pressures of her adult life. Doris had called to tell her that Jeremy had come in looking for her. It hadn’t surprised her. Though she’d assumed he would wonder what he’d done wrong or why she’d left, she also felt he’d get over it quickly. Jeremy was just one of those blessed people who were confident in everything they did, forever moving forward without a regret or backward glance.
Avery had been that way, and even now she still remembered how hurt she’d been by his sense of entitlement, his indifference to her pain. Looking back, she knew she should have seen his character flaws for what they were, but at the time, she hadn’t seen the warning signs: the way his stare lingered just a bit too long when he was looking at other women, or the way he’d squeeze just a bit too hard when he hugged women he swore were only friends. In the beginning, she’d wanted to believe him when he said he’d only been unfaithful once, but bits and pieces of forgotten conversations had resurfaced: a friend from college had long ago confessed that she’d heard rumors about Avery and a particular sorority sister; one of his co-workers mentioned a few too many unexplained absences from work. She hated to think of herself as naive, but she had been, and even more than being disappointed in him, she’d long since realized that she was disappointed in herself. She’d told herself she would get over it, that she would meet someone better . . . someone like Mr. Renaissance, who proved once and for all that she wasn’t a good judge of men. Nor, it seemed, could she keep one.
It wasn’t easy to admit that, and there were moments when she wondered whether she might have done something to drive both men off. Okay, maybe not Mr. Renaissance, since theirs was less a relationship than a fling, but what about Avery? She’d loved him and thought he loved her. Sure, it was easy to say that Avery was a cad and that the demise of their relationship had been all his fault, but at the same time, he must have felt that the relationship was lacking somehow. That she was lacking somehow. But in what way? Had she been too pushy? Was she boring? Was he unsatisfied in the bedroom? Why didn’t he run out afterward, looking for her and begging forgiveness? These were the quesions she’d never been able to answer. Her friends, of course, assured her that she didn’t know what she was talking about, and Doris had said the same thing. Even so, it wasn’t entirely clear to her what had happened. There were, after all, two sides to every story, and even now she sometimes fantasized about calling him to ask if there was anything she could have done differently.
As one of her friends pointed out, it was typical of women to worry about such things. Men seemed immune to these sorts of insecurities. Even if they weren’t, they’d learned to either disguise their feelings or bury them deep enough so as not to be crippled by them. Usually, she tried to do the same, and usually, it worked. Usually.
In the distance, with the sun sinking into the waters of the Pamlico Sound, the town of Buxton, with its white clapboard houses, looked like a postcard. She was staring toward the lighthouse, and just as she’d hoped, she saw a small herd of horses grazing in the sea oats around the base. There were maybe a dozen in total—tans and browns, mainly—and their coats were rough and wild, grown thick for the winter. Two foals stood together near the center, their tails swishing in unison.
Lexie stopped to watch them, tucking her hands in her jacket pockets. It was getting cold now that the evening was coming, and she could feel the sting on her cheeks and nose. The air was bracing, and though she would have liked to stay longer, she was tired. It had been a long day, and felt even longer.
Despite herself, she wondered what Jeremy was doing. Was he preparing to film again? Or deciding where to eat? Was he packing? And why did her thoughts constantly turn to him?
She sighed, already knowing the answer. As much as she’d wanted to see the horses, the sight of them reminded her less of new beginnings than the simple fact that she was lonely. As much as she thought of herself as independent, as much as she tried to downplay Doris’s constant remarks, she couldn’t help but feel a yearning for companionship, for intimacy. It didn’t even have to be marriage; sometimes all she wanted was to look forward to Friday or Saturday night. She yearned to spend a leisurely morning lounging in bed with someone she cared about, and as impossible as the idea seemed, Jeremy was the one she kept picturing beside her.