Page 118 of Error Handling
“I left my shiny armor at home in favor of my glowing white epidermis.”
Sarah swats me with the back of her hand. “You aren’t that pale.”
“That’s because you’re wearing sunglasses.”
She lowers her sunglasses again and peeks at me. “Oh.” She cackles. “Right. These are blue blockers. They make you look tan.”
“Oh great. I’m so pale, I’m blue.”
“No. Stop. You look fine.”
“Easy for you to say. Women are supposed to be pale. You’re supposed to look like you never worked a day of hard labor.”
“We know that’s not true. I scraped over a hundred square feet of linoleum off oak floorboards.”
I grab Sarah’s hand and inspect her palm. Her skin is soft, no callouses. A bit dry around the cuticles, probably from being doused one too many times with mineral spirits. “Not even a blister.”
“Yeah. Well.” She kicks a wave. “When are we going to finish my apartment, by the way? Your time in Charleston is running short.”
“I can have it wrapped up by next Friday.”
“Great.” Her tone doesn’t match her word choice.
We continue to walk side by side holding hands. To our right is a thick row of palm trees and low-lying bushes with wide fronds. Swelling dunes covered in grass fill in the gaps.
“About that,” I say, but can’t find the words to continue.
After a long silence, Sarah raises an eyebrow at me. “About what?”
“Me leaving.” I push my nerves aside. “I thought maybe we could try the long-distance thing. You know. Skype or Facetime or whatever.”
She angles her face toward mine. Safe to assume she’s studying me with her eyes. But she’s not smiling. I thought she’d be happy to hear me say it, but maybe I misjudged her.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be there,” I continue. “It might be a while, but...”
I stop walking and I tug her hand. She turns to face me. Water foams around our ankles and seagulls cry overhead. My pubescent surge of hormones has subsided and I’m able to remain calm and focused while I take in the length of Sarah’s body.
I lift Sarah’s glasses and rest them on top of her head. “Sorry. I think this will be easier if I can see your eyes.”
“I want to try to do the long-distance thing too,” she blurts.
“You’re okay with it?”
“Of course.”
“Sarah.” I reach out and cup her neck with my hand. “I’ve never felt like this with anyone else.”
“I assume that’s a good thing?” A playful smile upturns the corners of her mouth.
“It’s amazing.” I take a step closer, still allowing a breeze to curl between us. “I missed you when I was gone. I’m not sure how I’ll survive being in Puerto Rico, but I want to try.”
She looks like she wants to say something, but instead grabs my hand that’s resting on her shoulder.
“You’ll have to tell me which method of communication you prefer,” I say.
“Right now, I prefer this.” She closes the gap between us and kisses me, a long kiss in front of the ocean, the sand, and a dozen beachgoers. I wish I could take her to Puerto Rico with me.
“Sarah?” a voice says to my right.