“Hey.” Nathan stood over her.
“Hey,” Bryony said back, her gaze traveling up the tanning-bed-shaded legs to the bottom of his blue cotton shorts.
Why are men’s legs still shapely and sinewy after their bellies have a middle-aged bulge?
“Sorry about this morning,” Nathan said. “Forgive me?” Sunlight framed his salt and pepper curls with a halo glow.
“It was a silly argument.” Midway through brunch, he’d blamed her again for his weight gain. Tired of hearing it, Bryony had pushed back, softly. Nobody had forced her desserts down his throat. He knew how to excuse himself from the table.
“I signed up for another snorkeling class,” he said.
“What time?” she asked.
“It starts in half an hour.”
Bryony sat up and brushed sand from the edge of her towel. “I wish you’d said something sooner.” She grabbed her floppy flowered hat, sunblock, phone, and paperback.
He squatted and put his hand on her arm. “I meant for me. I didn’t sign up for both of us.”
“Why not?”
“You swim like a fish, Bryony.” Straight white teeth flashed. His cheeks and chin were smooth. “Give me a chance to catch up?”
When had he shaved? As soon as they de-boarded, he’d announced plans to grow a beard. Maybe he’d finally heard her one quiet lament about how short whiskers abraded her face.
“I guess so,” Bryony said. “But I love to snorkel.”
Yesterday had been a dream for her. While the busty blonde instructor worked with Nathan to ease his anxiety about breathing under water, Bryony explored nearby. The underwater world provided a surprising new way to experience Earth’s unending variety of gardens. Floating through a sea of blue, while taking in so many shades of fuchsia, green, turquoise, and chartreuse, surrounded at one point by a school of bright orange fish—heaven.
“Stay on the beach.” Nathan stood. “We’ll hook up for dinner later.” He walked backward, saying, “Thanks for the vacay, Bry. This is fun!” And turned to jog toward the hotel.
Bryony watched until he disappeared between the potted palms lining the patio area behind their high-rise accommodations.
“Vacay?” she asked herself aloud, since no one else could hear or would bother to listen if they could. Clearly Nathan had not read the brochure. A “vacay” returned one to the same-old-same-old. Their two-week Florida “Romantic Gestures” package was supposed to infuse passion into a floundering six-year relationship.
Dropping the lotion, book, and phone into her hat, Bryony plopped the bundle onto the corner of the towel, muttering, “Brother!”
A gull landed on the sand a few feet away and opened its beak to call out.
Fish scent rolled in with the next wave and her stomach waved back with a hint of nausea.
She picked up both sides of the hat brim and pinched them together to make an impromptu bag, which she grasped with her right hand. With her left hand, she picked up the edge of her towel and shook out sand.
A group of teenage boys emerged from behind her. Bare-chested and rambunctious, they ran to the water whooping and laughing, attacking with words, pushing and shoving each other into the sand, then into the water. She stopped to watch them dive, disappear, and break the surface to splash and slander again. In spite of the name-calling, they appeared to be having fun. Bryony would never understand the kind of fun that included maligning one’s peers.
“Oh, to be young again,” she muttered to herself, folding the towel.
“Cheer up,” a gravelly voice said from nearby.
Bryony raised her head, the towel now draped evenly over her arm.
A jolly-faced bald man smiled. “Growing older allows you to deliver on dreams you only discover because you lived long enough to dream them.”
A woman, her short silver hair curled tight to her head, clutched the man’s arm. “Don’t mind him, dear,” she said. “He talks to everybody. Never met a stranger in his life.” She looked up at the man beside her and grinned.
They walked on, their slow pace indicating the kind of care demonstrated by those who know the risk of falling. Bryony watched them for a few minutes, the sweet woman hugging the friendly man’s arm.
“Realize my dreams,” she scoffed. What dreams? She turned and trudged to the hotel.
After a nap and a shower, Bryony blew her hair dry and styled it into a loose knot on top of her head. Soft curling tendrils fell over her ears and neck. Wearing nothing but a light green terrycloth robe, she sank into the hotel’s blue wingback upholstered chair to read the novel she had started on the plane.
Nathan returned from his lesson as she turned a page. He pecked her cheek, showered, dressed for the evening, and left the room for an “errand.” The door clicked shut behind him, and Bryony snuggled deeper into the chair. She looked back down at the book, a hint of a smile easing tension inside and out.
An errand, he’d said. A small gift for her, perhaps? Valentine’s Day was less than two weeks away, the day before they would fly back to Ohio. Maybe he was finally on board with the intent of the trip. Maybe he, too, would take the opportunity to infuse spice into their lives.
Reading straight through to the end of the book, she closed the back cover and stretched her arms upward, satisfied with this ritual accomplishment, the uninterrupted reading of popular fiction indicating downtime. Nathan had yet to return. Bryony wondered where he was, but noticed she was happy he had taken his time.
She should have scheduled a break months ago. She would remember when planning for next year—include vacations.
Thirty minutes before their dinner date, Bryony slid into her new dress and emerged from the hotel room to peer in both directions. The hall was empty. She stepped back into the room and closed the door. Odd for Nathan to be gone so long, but anticipatory excitement made the wait tolerable. Would he return with chocolates? Flowers? Something soft and frilly and feminine?
She smoothed silky fabric over her hips, validated herself for choosing a bold tropical print, sat on the edge of the bed, and picked up the TV remote. The evening news focused on tragedy, mayhem, and political chaos. She clicked the remote to a station that catered to romance. Why not?
An hour later, the door opened.
“Hey, Bry!” Nathan walked in, his tie loosened, his pants legs rolled up, empty-handed. “Ready to go?”
