A Stranger on the Beach. Michele Campbell
of a sofa he got for free off Craigslist, a plastic table and chairs from Walmart, and a twin bed from his mother’s attic that smelled like piss and mothballs. Aidan’s paycheck went to his clothes and his car, the restitution payments from his conviction, and the rent. When he got done with all that, he was so broke that he scrounged his meals at work.
Caroline would hate him if she knew how he really lived, and he’d hate her right back for knowing. He was already walking that thin line with her, the one between love and hate. He loved Caroline, but he hated city people. They were the reason guys like him couldn’t live in this town anymore. Coming in with their millions, buying up every shotgun shack to build their mega-mansions. Gramps saw how it was going and sold, but that was years ago, and the land changed hands two or three times since then. It made the speculators rich, and Aidan and his brother never saw a penny. Then Caroline came in like a queen, riding in her golden carriage. Aidan was the guy running along behind, cleaning up the horse shit. If she didn’t know that, he wasn’t about to enlighten her by letting her see his crappy apartment.
“I know somewhere better,” he said. “A place you would never find on your own, that’s really special. Come on, get dressed, I’m taking you out.”
14
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” Aidan said, his mouth set in a hard line.
We were in my car, speeding along the main road. Aidan was driving. The sky had clouded over. The wind had picked up, and the trees swayed. In the gaps between the houses, the surf pounded the beach like it was angry. A storm was coming.
“I thought you needed to go back to the Red Anchor to pick up your car. But we’re headed in the opposite direction,” I said.
He stared out the window, stone-faced, and didn’t reply. A cold knot of fear gathered in my stomach. The first time I saw Aidan, I knew he was trouble. But I was so desperate for distraction, and he was so tempting, that I ignored the warning signs. When we were in the shower together, and he said he’d take care of Jason for me, I knew I should have kicked him out. But I wanted the sex. When he offered to make me scrambled eggs for breakfast this morning, I should have asked him to leave instead. But the sight of him, standing shirtless and barefoot in my kitchen, the morning sun illuminating his perfect body, silenced my doubts. After breakfast, when he leaned over to kiss me, I should have pulled away. Instead, my lips parted, and I kissed him back. He drew me to my feet and pulled me tight against him. We were on the verge of going to bed again when he said something that made my blood run cold.
“Once your husband’s out of the picture, we can do this all day.”
I pulled back.
“Out of the picture? What’s that supposed to mean?” I’d said, looking him in the eye.
“Nothing,” he replied.
His arms tightened around my waist. It took an effort to break loose from that grip.
“Nothing? Aidan, I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but you have no right to get involved in my marriage.”
“Too late. I’m already involved.”
“No, you’re not. You barely know me.”
His eyes narrowed, and his entire body tensed.
“We spent the night in bed together. I’d say I know you pretty well. You think you can use me and show me the door? Well, I got news for you. That’s not gonna happen.”
“You’re scaring me,” I said, and backed away. “Please leave.”
His face changed. “Hey, I’m sorry. That was dumb. I say stupid things sometimes. I apologize. Forgive me, okay?”
I didn’t entirely trust the change in his tone, not after that display. But I wanted to end this quickly, with a friendly goodbye, and Aidan out of my house—and my life. So, I appeased him. It’s what women do.
“Apology accepted. But I do have a busy day.”
“C’mon, Caroline, lighten up. It was a joke.”
“Okay. So … we should get together again soon. Let me call you an Uber—”
“An Uber? If you insist on making me leave because I said one wrong thing—”
“No, no, not at all. I accept your apology, totally. But I’m going through a divorce. I have to see the lawyer today.”
“At least give me a ride back to my truck. Like I did for you. Is that too much to ask?”
If I gave him a ride to the restaurant, he’d be gone, and we’d be done. That seemed like a reasonable price to pay to get rid of him.
“I’d be happy to. Get dressed. I’ll get the keys,” I said.
While Aidan went upstairs to get his clothes, I looked everywhere for my car keys but couldn’t find them. I heard a jingling sound and turned around. He stood there holding the keys by a fingertip, a sly grin on his face.
“Looking for these?” he said.
The grin that had struck me as so laid-back, so surfer-cool last night, gave me a chill in the light of day. But, I told myself, the keys were in his coat pocket from before. That’s all. I walked toward him, holding out my hand. He just laughed and shook his head and ducked out the door. By the time I got to the car, he was in the driver’s seat. When he headed in the opposite direction from the Red Anchor, there was nothing I could do but try to remain calm and look for my cue to exit.
Aidan turned at the sign for Glenhampton Town Beach. At least he was taking me to a public place, I thought. Then I saw that the ticket booth at the entrance was deserted, with a sign posted that said, CLOSED FOR SEASON. Aidan pulled into a spot up front, near the boardwalk, and turned off the car.
“What are we doing here?” I asked.
“I have a hankering to walk on the beach with you.”
There was a note of sarcasm in his voice that made me wonder if he was playing with me. His hands on the steering wheel looked coiled and tense.
“Not today, Aidan. The beach is closed. The weather’s awful. And like I said, I have a lot to do.”
“You don’t have anything that can’t wait. Let’s go.”
That was a command, not a request. He got out and slammed the door. He had my car keys, so I didn’t have much choice. My chest tight with anxiety, I followed him.
The parking lot was built on top of a rocky outcropping that overlooked the ocean. We walked past bathrooms and a snack bar locked up tight for the season and descended a rough wooden staircase down to the beach. The wind pressed against me, whipping my hair into my face and making the descent precarious on the slippery steps. The beach was deserted, studded with rocks and driftwood, backed by rugged cliffs. A red flag snapped in the wind, signaling dangerous conditions. A couple of surfers tempted fate out on the water. I kept expecting them to go tumbling and get sucked under. But they were remarkably resilient, disappearing behind a wave only to reappear moments later closer to shore.
Taking my hand, Aidan led me down the beach, away from where the surfers were coming ashore. His face was determined, his eyes fixed on the far distance, his grip on my hand so tight that it hurt. A fine spray of sand blew into my eyes, and I had to raise my voice to be heard over the wind.
“I don’t like this. Let’s go back.”
“There’s something I want to show you. Come on.”
He nodded toward the horizon and kept marching. We came to a second rock outcropping that jutted into the water. At low tide, you could presumably walk around it and continue down the beach without getting your feet wet. But now, with the surf pounding, the rock divided the beach in two, leaving only a thin sliver of sand exposed to walk on. If you tried to go around the rock, you might get hit by