Page 121 of Error Handling

Sarah’s shoulders have relaxed. A good sign.

“Come on. Let’s try to go a little deeper.”

“My feet look like raw pork,” Sarah says. “You do realize this water is only sixty degrees. If that. You’re going to get leg cramps.”

I ignore Sarah’s warning and walk farther out. “The water is clear this time of year.”

“That’s because it’s so cold all the marine life is dead.”

Sarah starts to follow me with her arms outstretched to counterbalance the waves. “This is like walking into Dante’s ninth circle of hell.”

I laugh. The water is frigid. Sarah has every right to complain. Being up to the neck in this water would be hellish.

We continue oceanward until the water is midthigh and then we walk parallel to the beach toward Sarah’s not-so-magic tote.

“It’s not as bad now,” Sarah says. “I think it’s because my legs are frozen.”

Crisis averted. Sarah is more focused on her freezing appendages than our awkward encounter with her mother. When we exit the water to return to our spot on the beach, our legs are pink.

“That was refreshing,” Sarah says after plopping onto the blanket.

“We’ll have to come back in August when the water is warm.”

She looks at me and smiles. Her sunglasses are anchored on top of her head, so I can watch the skin around her eyes crinkle. She has a few shallow crow’s feet in her otherwise smooth and unblemished skin.

“How often do you think you’ll come back to the States?”

I didn’t talk vacation time and benefits during my interview. Most likely any days off would be without pay. But if it meant I’d have a short reprieve from our separation, it would be worth it.

“I’ll come back as often as I need to,” I say.

Luckily, she doesn’t ask me to define “need,” but maybe she understands my double meaning because the natural pink in her cheeks deepens.

She turns around and starts digging through her tote to pull out her cellphone. “I better check the time.” She taps her phone. “We still have an hour or so before dinner is ready. Mary wants to eat early so they can pack their luggage and clean up the cottage. I could use a seltzer water though. Could you?”

“Sure.”

Sarah stands and drops her phone on the blanket. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch her go, enjoying the view, and then I adjust the umbrella until the sun hits my body. My legs are still cold to the touch from the sixty-degree water, but the sun will thaw them quickly enough.

I lie back and allow the sun to do its work while I listen to the symphony of seagulls and crashing waves.

Sarah’s phone buzzes.

I prop myself onto my elbows and peer at the screen. One word catches my eye:kiss.

Before the message disappears, I grab the phone and read the entire message.

I’m sorry I brought up trying to kiss you. I’m being too forward. I hope I didn’t make things worse. I still want to be friends.

My body goes cold despite the hot sun beating on my skin. I know Sarah’s PIN. I’ve watched her punch it in. Would unlocking her phone be an invasion of privacy?

I can’t help myself. I enter the PIN and pull up her conversation with Christopher—the puffy, HR rep Christopher with arealjob and a beta male complex.

The conversation is lengthy. Something about a Vegas trip. A photoshoot. And the worst:I want to feel your lips again.

Again.