“I know you said you don’t remember much about your mom, but is there anything you do remember?”

“I remember that she used to sit on the back veranda and draw. But the only reason I remember that is because I started to sketch, too, not long after she passed away.”

“You draw?”

“When I’m not playing the guitar.”

“Are your drawings any good?”

“Andrew likes them.”

“Do you have any here?”

“I started one this morning. There are others, too, in my sketchbook.”

“I’d like to see them. If you wouldn’t mind.”

By then, the pier was long behind them and they were drawing closer to both the cottage and the home where he was staying. Beside him, Hope had grown quiet, and he knew she was digesting everything he’d told her. It wasn’t like him to share so much; usually he volunteered little about his past, and he wondered what it was about tonight that had made him so voluble.

But deep down, he already knew that his reaction had everything to do with the woman walking beside him. As they reached the steps that led up to the cottage walkway, he realized that he’d wanted her to know who he really was, if only because he felt as though he already knew her.

After all he’d told her about his upbringing, it didn’t feel right to end the conversation so abruptly. She motioned toward the cottage. “Would you like to come up and have a glass of wine? It’s such a pretty night, and I was thinking of sitting on the deck for a little while.”

“A glass of wine sounds nice,” he said.

Hope led the way and when they reached the back deck, she pointed at a pair of rocking chairs near the window. “Is chardonnay okay? I opened a bottle earlier today.”

“Anything is fine.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. What am I doing? she wondered as she went inside, leaving the door cracked. Never in her life had she invited a man up for a nightcap, and she hoped she wasn’t sending mixed signals or giving him the wrong impression. The thought of what he might be thinking left her feeling unusually light-headed.

Scottie had followed her into the house and was eager to greet her, tail wagging. She stooped over to pet him.

“It’s not that big of a deal, is it?” she whispered. “He knows I was just being neighborly, right? And it’s not like I invited him inside.”

Scottie stared at her with sleepy eyes.

“You’re not helping.”

She pulled two long-stemmed glasses from the cupboard and added wine, filling them both halfway. She thought about turning on the outdoor lights, but decided that would be too bright. Candles would be perfect, but that would definitely send the wrong message. Instead, she turned on the kitchen light, its diffused glow spilling onto the porch. Better.

Glasses in hand, she nudged the door open with her foot. Scottie dashed out ahead of her and raced to the gate, ready to head to the beach.

“Not now, Scottie. We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

Scottie ignored her as usual while Hope approached the rockers. When she handed Tru his glass, their fingers brushed, sending a little shock up her arm.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, still feeling the aftereffects of his touch.

Scottie continued to stand near the gate as she took her seat, as if to remind her of her real purpose in life. Hope was glad for the distraction.

“I told you we’ll go out tomorrow. Why don’t you lie down instead?”

Scottie stared up at her, his tail wagging expectantly. “I don’t think he understands me,” she said to Tru. “Either that, or he’s trying to get me to change my mind.”

Tru smiled. “He’s a cute dog.”

“Except when he’s running off and getting hit by cars. Right, Scottie?”

His tail wagged harder at the sound of his name.

“I had a dog once,” Tru said. “He wasn’t around long, but he was good company while I had him.”

“What happened to him?”

“You probably don’t want to know.”

“Just tell me.”

“He was killed and eaten by a leopard. I found what was left of him in the tree branches.”

She stared at him. “You’re right. I didn’t want to know.”

“Different worlds.”

“You’re not kidding,” she responded with an amused shake of her head. For a long while, they merely sipped their wine, neither of them saying anything. A moth began to dance near the kitchen window; a windsock fluttered in the gentle breeze. Waves rolled ashore, the sound like shaken pebbles in a jar. Though he kept his gaze on the ocean, she had the sense that he was watching her as well. His eyes, she thought, seemed to notice everything.

“Will you miss it here?” he finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When your parents sell the cottage. I saw the sign out front when I was dropped off yesterday.”

Of course he did. “Yes, I’m going to miss it. I think everyone will miss being able to come here. It’s been in the family a long time, and I never once imagined that it wouldn’t be.”

“Why are your parents selling?”

As soon as he asked, she felt her worries resurface. “My dad is sick,” she said. “He has ALS. Do you know what that is?” When Tru shook his head, she explained, and added that there was only so much the government and insurance would cover. “They’re selling what they can, so they’ll have money to modify their house or pay for in-home care.”

She rotated her glass in her fingers before going on. “The worst part is the uncertainty…I’m scared for my mom. I don’t know what she’ll do without him. Right now, she seems to be pretending that nothing is wrong with my dad at all, but I worry that it’s only going to make it even worse for her later. My dad, on the other hand, seems at peace with the diagnosis, but maybe he’s just pretending, too, so that all of us will feel better about it. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one worrying.”

Tru said nothing. Instead, he leaned back in his rocker, studying her.

“You’re thinking about what I said,” Hope ventured.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“And?”

His voice was quiet. “I know it’s hard, but worrying doesn’t help them or you. Winston Churchill once described worry as a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind that, if encouraged, cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained.”

She was impressed. “Churchill?”

“One of my grandfather’s heroes. He used to quote the man all the time. But Churchill made a good point.”

“Is that how you are with Andrew? Worry free?”

“You know by now I’m not.”

Despite herself, she laughed. “At least you’re honest about it.”

“Sometimes it’s easiest to be honest with strangers.”

She knew he was talking about her as much as he was about himself. Glancing past him, down the beach, she noticed that all the other homes were darkened, as though Sunset Beach were a ghost town. She took a sip of her wine, feeling a sense of peace coursing through her limbs and radiating outward like the glow of a lamp.

“I can see why you’re going to miss this place,” he said into the silence. “It’s quite peaceful.”

She felt her mind drift to the past. “Our family used to spend most of our summers here. When we were young, my sisters and I spent almost all of our time in the water. I learned to surf over there near the pier. I never got really good at it, but I was okay. I spent hours floating out there, waiting for good swell. And I saw some amazing things—sharks, dolphins, even a couple of whales. None of them were very close, but one time, when I was around twelve or so, I saw what I thought was a floating log, until it surfaced just a few feet away. I saw its face and whiskers and my whole body froze. I was too terrified to even scream because I didn’t know how long it had been there, or what it was. It looked like a hippopotamus, or maybe a walrus. But once I realized that it didn’t intend to hurt me, I just began to…watch it. I even paddled to keep up with it. In the end, I must have stayed out there for a couple of hours. It’s still one of the most amazing things ever to happen to me.”