Bondi Beach (5 page)

Chapter 11

JANUARY 19

The next morning, I was still in Martin’s arms when I awoke. I lay somewhere between my back and my right side, and he spooned me from behind. Somehow, we had tenderly and somewhat subtly moved into a very different place with one another. Was this a very comfortable friendship? Was it more? He was so easy to be with, and my heart had begun to speed up whenever I thought about him or looked at him.
Just like when you’re falling in love,
I thought.

With him sleeping so
near, I kept my eyes closed and inhaled him. Whether it was his fresh aroma after a shower or his more musky primal scent, I felt drawn to his smell. I loved how his body felt against mine, and I wondered how I felt to him. He was tall and lean, and I was smaller than he was – athletic and curvy with twin C cups and matching hips.

G
iven that we lived on different continents and I was getting ready to leave, this all seemed very impractical. I tried to convince myself that I had just developed a temporary crush. He was, after all, my only friend in Australia, and he had taken wonderful care of me. However, I would be leaving soon. Of course, there was also the fact that I didn’t know if he was feeling the same way that I had begun to, and I wasn’t going to ask.

Martin rolled over onto his back and checked
his watch before getting out of bed quietly and heading to his room to shower. I took in a deep breath and exhaled before getting out of bed and walking slowly to the bathroom alone for the first time in weeks.

*****

That morning, we went to the eye clinic before going to Dr. Pine’s office for a final visit. Pleased with the progress that I’d made, Dr. Pine told me that I wouldn’t need to come back unless I had some trouble with my eye or the dizziness worsened. The swelling and bruising were nearly gone, and my right eye was fully functional. On top of that, there was no evidence of lasting brain damage beyond the initial concussion and occasional dizziness, which was much milder than it had been before. I was free to leave Sydney and travel for my remaining month in Australia.

Martin
was quiet in the car during most of the ride back to his house, and I could tell that he had something on his mind.

Glancing over at me, he said,
“I know that Dr. Pine gave you the okay to travel, but I hope you know you’re still welcome to stay until you’re ready to leave.”

I looked over at him but couldn’t read his eyes through his sunglasses
. “When we talked last night, I told you that I’d stay for a few more days. I meant that. Until the bruises are gone.”

He seemed strangely relieved
and smiled. “Good. Let’s celebrate your release from bondage in Sydney. How about lunch on the beach behind my house?”

“
A picnic?” I asked enthusiastically.

He chuckled
. “Yes, a picnic.”

“
I love picnics,” I told him. I couldn’t think of a nicer way to spend the day. “Do we need to pick up any groceries?”

He shook his head. “No. I have plenty of food at the house.”

“That sounds great. Now,” I began. “I’m still trying to figure out how this works. Does your backyard include the entire Pacific?”

“Well,” h
e laughed. “Technically, the Tasman Sea is my backyard.”

*****

When we returned to the house, we put some food and drinks into a cooler and walked out onto the beach. The wind off the water kept things cool, but I’d come prepared with a dark red fleece jacket.

“
Are you warm enough?” Martin asked, laying out a blanket on the sand.

“Yes
. Thanks,” I smiled, enjoying another beautiful day. “Do you come here often?”

“No
. Well,” he glanced up at me while weighting down the corners of the beach blanket with the cooler and our shoes so that it wouldn’t blow away. “I used to.” He plugged his iPod into a speaker, and out came the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations.”

“Nice touch,” I
laughed. I put out the plates and utensils and watched him as he placed the food on the blanket. “Why don’t you come here anymore?”

Martin finished laying out the food
before sitting down and facing me. “I got divorced.”

“Ah
. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Lunch
served as a momentary diversion as we helped ourselves and ate in silence for a few minutes.

Martin looked over at me
a little hesitantly, apparently worried that I would judge him for having failed at marriage. “Her name is Melanie. She’s from Adelaide. We met at the University of Sydney and dated for a couple of years before getting married. We’d never really talked about what we wanted. By the time we did, we realized it wasn’t the same thing.”

“I see.” I paused, thinking about what he had said.
“What do you want most of all?” I was curious to learn more about this man I had grown so fond of.

He looked off over the
sea as he chewed. “Peace.”

I watched him.
“Is that why you live here?”

He nodded
and looked back at me. “This wasn’t her thing. She was a socialite, liked going to parties. I never really enjoyed that kind of thing. Don’t get me wrong – I love hanging out with my mates and traveling, but I also love my time at home.”

“How long were you married?”

“Almost four years.”

“When did you get divorced?”

“Nearly two years ago.” He lay back on the blanket and looked toward the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun with one arm. “It was really hard at the time, and it’s lonely sometimes.” He turned his head to look at me. “But not nearly as lonely as being with the wrong person.”

I nodded.
“I know exactly what you mean. I’d rather be alone than with the wrong person.”

He rolled onto his side to face me
. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long were you and your husband together?”

“Nine years.”

“Was it a good marriage?”

I nodded
as he watched me intently. “Yes. It was. He was easygoing, and it was peaceful. At least, it was until he got sick. Then, it was scary and stressful and sad. It’s so hard to watch someone you love go through something so terrible and not be able to do anything to help. One thing would go wrong and, just when we thought it might get better, something else would happen. It was like that for a few years.”

We were quiet for
several minutes, taking in the sound of the surf and the heat of the sun. I had the strange sensation that Martin was thinking, and I pulled my attention away from the water and looked over at him. He lay on his back with his eyes closed.

“Kids?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why
not?”

“I never wanted any
. I like kids but never felt the need to have my own.”

Opening his eyes, h
e nodded and looked over at me. “I admire that. You know what you want.”

“How about you
? Kids?”

“No.”

“Do you want any?” I asked.

H
e thought for a moment before responding. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Martin sat up and remained quiet for a moment. "Eva?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated. “Do you have any family at all?”

I shook my head and looked out at the water. "
Just distant relatives.”

His voice was gentle.
“Is it okay if I ask what happened?”

“Sure,” I looked down. “We went
to church one Sunday. I was three years old, and my brother was seven months. He was seated behind my mother, who was in the passenger seat of our old car. Another driver broadsided us.”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry. I should
n’t have asked.”

“
I’m okay talking about it. It was a long time ago.”

He was quiet for a moment.
“Do you remember it?"

"
Parts of it. I remember looking over at my brother. He was covered in blood. So was my mother. Her head had rolled back in my direction. Her left arm was hanging there just a few feet away from me, but she was too far away to touch. I remember looking at her hand and seeing that blood had run over the wedding ring on her finger. She was still alive for a few minutes after the accident, but she couldn't talk. Both of my father's legs were broken. I had a broken arm and some cuts on my face.”

I paused for a moment as I
listened to the water and felt the breeze on my skin, strangely removed from the entire scene from my childhood. "There were some people who had seen the accident. They ran to the car to help, but I just remember hearing a lot of screams. My father was asking them to help his wife and his children. He couldn't see me in the back seat so he didn’t know if I was alive or not. I felt something wet on my face and reached up and touched it and realized it was blood. He said later that I didn’t make a noise and that I must have been in shock.”

“
The ambulance took us to the hospital. My father stayed there for a while. I remember being alone in a room there and wondering if anyone would ever come back to get me. Of course, my father did. He raised me on his own.” I shook my head. "I hadn't been to a hospital since then until I came here.”

Martin looked over at me, uncertain
of what to say. Moving closer, he slid his arm around my shoulders, and I rested my head against him. We sat in silence for a long time looking at the sea and listening to the waves.

Finally, he said,
“I’m sorry I brought all of that up.”

I shook my head.
“You didn't know. I probably shouldn't have gone into so much detail. It's not a story that most people want to hear.” I took a deep breath. "Let's talk about something else."

“Okay. What do you say we
go for a walk?”

“Sure.”

He
stood before reaching his hand out for mine, helping to pull me up. We walked up the beach and back talking more about our lives and our aspirations. He asked me what it was like to have my own green jewelry design business, and I asked about his work in Gabon and other countries in Africa.

He also told me
about his SCUBA experience. I’d taken classes years before but couldn’t even clear my ears in the bottom of the swimming pool let alone go out into deeper water. He’d learned to dive with his old friend Steve, and they’d gone on a number of trips together but didn’t dive anymore. I sensed that there was a story there but didn’t want to pry.

Martin was
easy to talk to. He seemed comfortable with himself and was a great listener, always interested in what I had to say. I found him to be a remarkable man, and the more I learned about him, the more I wanted to know. He spoke passionately about his work with communities in developing nations and his desire to make a positive difference in the world. His parents had run a successful vineyard early in their marriage and had sold it when he was still quite young, leaving the family in relative wealth and giving him the freedom to do work that he loved.

As we shared
the stories of our lives, I found that we had two fundamental things in common. First, we were both intense, and he might have been more so than I was. Over the course of my life, I have learned that this is not always a welcome trait. Intensity can be tempered with warmth and affection but can often leave an insecure person feeling vulnerable or overwhelmed. Because we shared this characteristic, I felt that I could be myself with him and that I needn’t walk on eggshells.

Second,
we both had a deep sense of purpose and feeling of responsibility for leaving the planet better than we found it. When I’d been working, I had enjoyed making jewelry from repurposed stones and pearls and recycled metals. It meant a lot to me to do something artistic that had a lighter impact on the environment. Martin seemed to feel the same way – whether that meant working to set up renewable energy and clean drinking water in developing countries or teaching friends to surf or SCUBA dive so that they could get out and enjoy nature, it didn't really matter. What mattered was the act of doing something relevant to the needs of our time and that aligned with our passions.

I admired
Martin and had grown quite close to him during the unusually intense two weeks that we’d spent together. I felt that he was allowing me to see a side of him that few had seen before, and I was grateful for the opportunity. He was a person of depth, a man who thought, felt, and dreamed. I loved that about him, and it was a good reminder to seek that in a future mate… if I ever wanted one.

Just then, s
omething that a good friend once told me slipped into my consciousness. My friend Jezebel was an environmental artist from Miami, and she used natural materials to create landscapes in glass boxes. She did beautiful work, and a number of museums had commissioned some of her larger pieces. Having studied feminist literature and art, she was a strong woman whom I’d met in connection with Jack’s art gallery. We had seen her work on display in a few urban museums of contemporary art and had invited her to exhibit with us.