WE CLEANED UP, and after lunch, headed down to the beach. Down the chalky cliff stretched a narrow, rocky shore scattered with a few large driftwood logs, but nothing like the driftwood graveyard near the Keystone Ferry.
“Besides cooking over fire, hiking, and having sex in the woods, what else do you do camping?” Diane asked, poking the ground with a stick she’d found.
“Fish or clam. Nap. Sit around. Maybe play cards. Or drink. The whole point is to take a break from normal life.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
“What are you thinking about?
“How simple and easy life is here. Not like the constant social climbing, moneymaking world of New York.”
“I could never live in the city.”
“Not even Seattle?”
“No way. When I’m over there for business I can’t breathe until I’m heading back across the water.”
“Have you ever lived in a city? Maybe you need to find the right one.”
“Wouldn’t want to.”
“Ever?”
“Nope. What about you? Think you’ll move back?”
“To New York? It doesn’t feel like home anymore, but I love living in a city. Seattle might work. Do you think you’d ever live anywhere but here?”
“Don’t think so. After I tore up my knee and lost my mom I knew I was meant to be an island boy for life.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I dreamed big. Got fancy. Look what happened?” I didn’t have to say another word. She knew what I meant.
“That was all bad luck. Nothing to do with you. You know that, right?”
I shrugged.
“John?”
Keeping my gaze out over the water, I refused to meet her eyes, even after she took my hand in hers.
“It’s all ancient history. I’ve made my life, and it’s a good one.” I dropped her hand and then strode further down the beach, hoping to shut down the conversation.
“This explains a lot. It all makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“Sure. You live off the land in this idyllic setting. One of those kinds of people who are entirely self-sufficient in every way. You don’t need anyone.” Her voice had an edge.
“It’s good to be self-sufficient. Life on the island isn’t easy for many folks. A lot of people live close to the bone. Hard to make a decent living when there aren’t a lot of jobs. You need to take care of yourself.”
She sighed behind me. “It’s one thing to be self-sufficient and another to be isolated.”
“There’s a reason island people are island people. Part of us doesn’t like how the rest of the world operates. You said it yourself about the social climbing and the focus on money. Here, it’s about living a life, day by day, season by season.” This conversation reminded me how different Diane and I were. Our pasts were about as opposite as they could be.
“I guess I haven’t seen that side of things. The beach is nice, and Langley’s so charming and quaint.”
“That’s what the tourists see. They don’t venture into the woods to see people heating their homes with wood stoves and getting help from Good Cheer. Don’t let your wealthy girl ideals cloud your perception.”
“Ouch. I’m not a wealthy girl. I married a man from wealth, but that isn’t me.”
“It’s not?” I lumped her in with the asshole. This day was heading south and gaining speed. “You miss your life in the city as much as you complain about the bad stuff.”
“Sure. I miss my friends and all the amazing things going on all the time.”
“Right. No friends or anything going on here.” My voice sounded gruff and my skin prickled with anger and resentment.
“Did I hit a nerve or something?” she asked, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her vest.
I exhaled through my nose. She had hit a nerve. What was I thinking getting myself involved with her type of woman? She fit into one of the huge houses on the beach filled with summer people and weekenders.
“People come here for the fantasy of living on a picturesque island, but don’t ever bother to observe the reality. You live in a beautiful house that isn’t yours. You teach exercise classes to wealthy women who pay you to torture them. You probably never even worry about money or how to pay your bills.”
“Wow. I’m not sure where this is coming from, but you’re right. I love the island for all I’ve seen so far, but no, I don’t know what growing up here is like. I’m lucky money isn’t an issue for me.” Her words tumbled out like a river. “I had to bleed and have my heart destroyed in the process, but yeah, I don’t worry about paying my bills. I loved living in the city and won’t apologize. You clearly have a grudge against city people. I can’t change who I am today anymore than I can rewrite my past.”
I didn’t look at her when she spoke; instead, I faced the water. When she fell into silence, I turned to see her eyes pink and shiny with tears.
“No one asked you to change.”
“Why are you shutting me out?” she asked, staring down to where her stick dug into the wet sand at the edge of the water.
I said our code word for the second time, “Pyramid.”
I tugged at my beard. My shoulders locked up and I rolled my neck in an attempt to loosen the tension. Talk of the city reminded me again she never said she would stay. She would leave me and there was nothing I could do about it. I knew I was being an asshole, but that didn’t stop me.
“A storm’s coming. Unless you want to sit inside a wet tent all evening, we might as well pack up and head home,” I said more to the gathering clouds behind her head than to her.
“I have no idea what’s going on here, but whatever it is, sitting in a tent with you acting like this sounds like a terrible idea. Let’s go.” Her chin jutted out in resolution and she turned to head back to the stairs leading up to the campsite.
I inhaled a deep breath and exhaled it out of my mouth with a resigned sigh. In a few short hours we’d gone from having sex in the woods to fighting on the beach. Worst end to a camping trip ever. Except for that time I ran naked through some stinging nettles. The pain I felt watching Diane climb the stairs with her head down hit me higher in my chest and stung much worse than nettles.
The rainstorm never hit us, but I’d created a storm of another kind. During the drive home, Diane stared ahead or out the passenger window, and only answered my questions in monosyllables.
I unloaded her small bag and set it on the driveway at her feet.
“Well—”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m—”
“No, don’t—”
“I—”
“I—” She exhaled. I waited. “I don’t know what went wrong back there at the beach, but before then I had an amazing time camping. Thank you.”
I didn’t deserve her kindness or her thank you. I was being a jerk. “Listen, I’ll give you a call this week.” My words sounded hollow and lame even to my own ears.
“Yeah, sure. I have a busy schedule, too.” She shuffled her feet and didn’t meet my eyes. I bent over to pick up her backpack at the same time she did. Our hands bumped each other and I let my fingers brush along hers, trying to communicate the issue was with me. Her eyes lifted to mine, the sadness returned.
I was an asshole.
“Listen, we’ll do something next weekend. Up to you. No fishing or camping.” I wanted the offer to be genuine.
“I’m going to Seattle next weekend. Some of my clients invited me to go out.”
“Oh. Right.” I handed her the bag. “Well, we’ll see each other. We’re neighbors after all.”
“Sure. Neighbors.” She hoisted the bag onto her shoulder and then kissed my cheek. “Bye, John.”
“Bye.”
It wasn’t good-bye forever, but it felt like it when I watched her trudge away from me.
Instead of trying to analyze what happened, I called Donnely. After he gave me shit for bailing on him the past few weekends, we made plans to grab a beer and play some pool in a couple of hours. Maybe time with Donnely would clear my mind enough so I’d stop being an asshole.
Diane once told me I was a nice guy. She was wrong. I was a wolf in nice guy’s clothing. I was an asshole—no better than her ex.