Wait for the Rain Page 4

  Then Brian came along, and the distant future of that picture suddenly became the present, propelling her ahead of schedule on the itinerary. Now, as she studied her aging reflection and thought about what had happened since that fateful night she’d met him, she felt . . . defeated. What did she have to show for all those years of hard work, of everything she’d invested in their family, of the budding career she’d sacrificed?

  She had a wonderful daughter; there was no denying that. Emma was bright and friendly and growing into a delightful young woman. Daphne adored her, and she was proud of the way she was raising her.

  But she also had a broken marriage.

  And a broken spirit, if no longer a broken heart. She’d given up on salvaging the connection that had once existed between her and Brian, but that didn’t make it any easier to face a future that looked nothing like the one she’d envisioned for herself.

  She used to be full of joy and optimism like KC, at least most of the time. That was one of the reasons the two of them had always gotten along so well. Where had that side of her gone? When had she stopped seeing promise in the inkblot and started seeing . . . spilled ink?

  She lightly slapped her cheeks. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Look where you are right now. You’re going to be fine!

  If only she believed that.

  She looked outside again and watched KC disappear down the shore, then decided to change and go for a walk on the beach herself. It would be fun to explore her new surroundings, and she could use some fresh air. Plus, she had no idea how long Skylar would be on that call.

  Back in her bedroom Daphne changed into a pair of white shorts and a fitted purple Northwestern tank top, slathered sunscreen over her fair skin, then reached for her straw hat and headed back toward the kitchen. Skylar was in full work mode at a desk in the living room, staring intently at her laptop, and talking with Geoffrey. She wore a wireless headset and pecked feverishly on the keyboard.

  “Uh huh . . . uh huh . . . and did the German office confirm when they’d get us that report? Uh huh . . . got it . . . and what about France? We need them both by Wednesday or Parker’s going to have my head. Okay . . . yep . . . got it. And yours too. I really need yours.” She glanced up at Daphne and mouthed the words “I’m sorry.”

  Daphne smiled as she put on her hat, then pointed to the beach and mouthed “Going for a walk.” She wondered how many people were on the other end of that phone call, and if any of them knew where Skylar was at the moment. Her friend played down her professional success, but Daphne knew how hard she’d worked to achieve it. Skylar had been like that in college too. A social butterfly who was frequently the first girl in line at the keg on the weekends, she was just as frequently the last girl to leave the library during the week. Not too many people back then seemed to know that Skylar had a stealthy studious side, which was just the way she liked it. But Daphne had been her roommate in their sorority house and had seen the more ambitious aspect of Skylar’s personality firsthand. While KC spent much of her nonclassroom time on the soccer field, Daphne and Skylar spent a good chunk of theirs studying, and that shared work ethic—or was it fear of falling behind in a sea of overachievers?—had firmly cemented their friendship.

  As she watched Skylar in action on the conference call, Daphne’s mind drifted from their college days to her suburban life in Grandview, where she often felt a similar, if less overt, sense of competition within the stay-at-home-mom community. The pressure to excel, even in something as innocuous as a bake sale, was often palpable. She knew it was absurd, but that didn’t make it any less real. She’d seen the raised eyebrows for the store-bought goodies on those fold-out card tables. How much could be said without a single word being uttered.

  Skylar half nodded to acknowledge Daphne’s gesture, then flickered her eyes across her laptop and resumed typing. “Got it. And what did Melissa have to say about the delay in the China rollout? That market’s not going to wait. If we don’t move soon, next quarter’s going to be a steep climb. Okay, let’s see what data Thomas has. Can you get him on the call?” Her fingers flew effortlessly across the keys, as if they belonged to a piano and not a computer.

  Daphne tiptoed toward the glass door and quietly exited the house. Once outside, she crossed the deck and climbed down the short flight of stairs to the beach, where she saw the footsteps KC had left in the soft white sand. She decided to go in the same direction, figuring they’d run into each other on KC’s way back. She kicked off her flip-flops and held them in one hand, then trotted toward the water to let the tiny waves wash over her bare feet as she strolled along the shore. The sea was a bit warm yet refreshing, the color a spectacular shade of green. She’d never been in an ocean this warm—or seen one this beautiful. It was a far cry from Lake Erie, that was for sure.

  She walked for about a hundred yards, passing two additional houses as she went. Both were larger than the one she and her friends were staying in but similar in design, each with floor-to-ceiling windows opening to a sprawling deck facing the ocean. She saw no sign of life inside either place and wondered if they were vacant.

  Are all the homes here used only a couple weeks a year?

  She couldn’t imagine that kind of wealth. She and Brian had always lived comfortably by most standards, especially in the Midwest. His parents’ generosity in buying them a house, and his partnership at the firm had made Brian’s expectation that she be a stay-at-home mom hard to overcome, although a few months ago she’d taken the part-time job at the flower shop just to keep herself busy on the days when Emma was at Brian’s house. Before Daphne and Brian had split up, every summer their family of three had taken an annual trip, usually to Hilton Head or Naples. They’d always stayed in relatively fancy hotels, but owning deluxe beachfront property on a tropical island was in a completely different league.

  She looked down and kicked up a wedge of powdery sand.

  I wonder if Alyssa’s family owns a beach house somewhere? It was certainly within the realm of possibility. Alyssa’s family was one of the most prominent in Columbus.

  Daphne pressed her palms against her eyes and willed herself to think about something else. She wasn’t jealous of Alyssa because she was with Brian, but she was jealous of the life they were now leading. That was all Daphne had ever wanted for herself and for Brian—to be happy together.

  She turned her gaze back to the ocean, mesmerized by the green hue of the water as she walked. Out in the distance she spotted a catamaran cruising by. She stopped to pick up a shell, then waded out a few feet into the gentle waves, the water not yet reaching her knees. She studied the shell in her hand for a few moments, then lifted it to her ear and wondered where it had come from. She stroked it with her fingers, then reached her arm back and flung it awkwardly into the air. She watched it wobble in a high arc, then plop harmlessly into the water maybe twenty feet in front of her.

  “Nice throw,” she heard a voice shout behind her. “Go, Cats!”

  She turned around and saw a man standing on the deck of yet another spectacular oceanfront property, his hands spread along the railing. He held up a beer bottle in a toasting gesture and appeared to be smiling at her, although it was hard to tell given the distance.

  “You’ve got quite an arm there. Did you play softball at Northwestern?” he yelled.

  She put her hands on her hips and squinted. She couldn’t see him very well, but she could tell he was tall. He was wearing a straw fedora and green swim trunks, no shirt. She guessed he was probably in his early thirties. He also appeared to be in very good shape, at least physically.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she cocked her head to one side and yelled back at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

  He chuckled. “Guilty as charged. Are you a Northwestern grad?”

  She nodded, then felt her cheeks flush as something dawned on her. Oh my gosh, I think he’s flirting with me. And I’
m flirting right back.

  The unfamiliarity of engaging in playful conversation with an attractive stranger, not to mention one who wasn’t wearing a shirt at the moment, was unnerving.

  And, Daphne realized, kind of fun. Keep talking to him! You can do it!

  She started walking toward the house. “Did you go to Northwestern too?” She immediately regretted asking him, afraid that he would answer yes and follow up by asking her when she graduated. Her momentary surge of courage began to wilt, replaced by a fear of appearing foolish—and forty. Please don’t ask me when I graduated.

  She slowed her pace. Maybe if she didn’t get too much closer, he wouldn’t notice the fine lines around her eyes. Just in case, she decided to keep her sunglasses on. I should have opened that jar of wrinkle cream.

  “What did you study there?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “Journalism.” Please don’t ask me what I did with the degree.

  He took a sip of his beer. “I wanted to go to Northwestern, but unfortunately the powers that be in the admissions department didn’t share that sentiment, so I ended up at Michigan. Not as expensive, just as cold. Much better football team, however.”

  Daphne smiled. “Touché. I live in Columbus now and have learned a thing or two about college football.” Now that she was closer to him, she could see he was undeniably handsome, with tanned skin, broad shoulders, thick and wavy brown hair that looked like it could use a trim, and light green eyes. He was good-looking, but his smile seemed genuine, which eased her nerves a bit and helped quash her inner monologue, at least temporarily.

  He gave her a knowing look. “Oh yes, Buckeye Nation is a force to be reckoned with, especially in the Midwest. Anyhow, while I’m a Wolverine and not a Wildcat, I do like purple.” He pointed to her tank top with his left hand, and when he did so, she caught herself glancing at his ring finger. It was empty.

  She felt her face flush and hoped he hadn’t noticed where her eyes had just been. She stiffened. Why did I just do that?

  She couldn’t remember ever checking the ring finger of a man who was clearly so much younger than she. Thirty-two, maybe?

  He bent down and reached into a large cooler on the deck, then fished out a bottle and held it up. “Can I offer you a frosty cold beer? I can’t drink these all by myself.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Are you sure? It could be my way of making up for heckling you about that tragic throw, although truth be told, that tragic throw needed to be heckled.”

  She smirked. “Thanks, but my tragic arm and I are good. I’m guessing you’re not alone?” She gestured to the cooler. “That’s a lot of beer for one person.”

  He pointed a thumb behind him. “Bachelor party.”

  “Is that so?” She hadn’t attended a bachelorette party in . . . how long had it been? KC hadn’t had a bachelorette party. Before that . . . her mind drew a blank. She reached into the far corners of her memory and tried to clear away the cobwebs.

  He removed the bottle cap. “This is my seventh in the past year.”

  Daphne felt her eyes open wide. “Seventh? You must be quite popular.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Then again . . . maybe I would.” He gave her a wry smile.

  She put her hands on her hips, then realized it was the second time she’d done so. She quickly removed them. “Are you holding down the fort all by yourself?”

  He took another sip of his beer. “It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it. I only get rattled when a pretty woman walks by.”

  She immediately looked at the ground, secretly thrilled by his comment but at a complete loss as to how to respond. So she said nothing. Instead, she just stared at the sand, stunned that such a handsome man had recognized her not as a mom or a new divorcée, but as a woman.

  She’d forgotten what that felt like. He’s really flirting with me!

  She still didn’t speak, however, and the seconds began to tick away.

  Just before the pause in conversation became awkward, he cleared his throat. “Anyhow, to be honest, I’m not sure why all my friends decided to get married at the same time, but I’m going broke with all the festivities. Last month it was Florida, now here, and next month a bunch of us are going down to Patagonia to go ice climbing.”

  Finally she looked up and regained eye contact, albeit through her sunglasses. “Are you here with a big group?”

  “Thirteen, plus the groom.”

  “Wow. That’s quite a turnout for such a far-off destination. I don’t think I’ve ever had thirteen friends who would travel so far, no matter what the occasion. The groom must be a great guy.”

  He held up one finger, then two, then a third. “Beach, beer, golf. Yes, he’s a great guy, but men, especially this crew of clowns, will travel far and wide for those three little words.”

  She smiled. “I suspect you’re omitting a select word or two for my benefit. That sounds pretty PG for a bachelor party.”

  He laughed and tipped his beer at her. “Nothing wrong with being a gentleman.”

  She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and peered over his shoulder at the house. “Are all of you staying here?”

  He pointed toward the deck floor, then down the beach. “There are nine of us here, and five more in a smaller place a couple houses that way. I kind of feel like I’m in a fraternity again, although this place is a hell of a lot nicer than the rat hole I used to live in.” He gestured over his shoulder toward the glass doors. “I’ve been waiting for my turn in the shower for a while now. I’ve long given up any expectation of hot water. I’m just hoping to get in the shower before I turn thirty.”

  She stiffened as the comment yanked her back to reality. He’s not even thirty?

  Suddenly feeling foolish for flirting, however awkwardly, with him—not to mention for thinking he’d been flirting with her—she quickly put her sunglasses back on. He was clearly just being friendly, and she was too out of practice to know the difference. Her internal monologue returned with a vengeance. What were you thinking? Why would a man like that flirt with you? He’s in his twenties and gorgeous, and you have a teenage daughter and newly signed divorce papers in your desk drawer at home.

  “I’m Clay, by the way. Clay Hanson,” he said.

  She glanced down the beach, mentally plotting how to exit the conversation without appearing rude. “It’s nice to meet you, Clay.”

  “Do you have a name?” He looked amused. Could he tell how flustered she was?

  She clenched her hands into fists and forced herself to look at him. Stop being so awkward! “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I’m Daphne.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Daphne? That’s not a name you hear every day. I like it.”

  She smiled slightly but didn’t reply. Instead, she looked down at the ground and wondered why it was so hard for her to accept a compliment.

  “What’s your last name?” he asked.

  She looked back up at him and responded, “White.” She didn’t feel the need to mention that White was her married name and that she wasn’t married anymore but that she’d kept it because she wanted to have the same last name as her daughter. What was the point?

  He nodded slowly. “Daphne White. I like that, sounds like the name of a movie star.”

  She scratched her cheek. “You think? I’ve always felt it has the ring of a Disney character.”

  He chuckled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Daphne White. When did you get to St. Mirika?”

  “About an hour ago.” She moved her fingers to the tip of her nose and wondered if she was already getting sunburned in spite of her hat. She’d never been one to tan, somehow always going straight from pale to pink. “What about you? How long have you been on the island?”

  “This is our third day. I think I’m still a bit hungover from the first afternoon. I’m afr
aid to know what I’m going to feel like by the end of the week.” He pressed a palm against his forehead.

  “I’ve heard how those bachelor parties can go.” My ex-husband’s was more than fifteen years ago, but I’m not going to mention that. She gestured toward the ocean. “I can’t believe how beautiful it is here. The water is so clear and green. It’s mesmerizing.”

  He turned and pointed behind the house. “If you think this is pretty, you should go explore the cliffs on the other side of the island. The rock formations are off the hook.”

  She caught her breath at the thought. Daphne was terrified of heights.

  Clay kept talking. “They also have a cool bridge up there you can walk over. It’s a bit steep getting there, but definitely worth it for the view. I’ve also heard the monkey forest here is pretty cool, but I don’t know if we’re going to make it there.”

  “Thanks, maybe we’ll check them both out. My friend Skylar’s sort of in charge of our schedule this week, so I’m not really sure what we have planned.”

  “What brings you here? Bachelorette trip?”

  She flinched. “Not quite, more like a reunion.”

  “Oh yeah? What kind of reunion?”

  She hesitated. Should I tell him the truth? That I’m here to celebrate my fortieth birthday? Do I have to tell him?

  “Daphne White, earth to Daphne White,” he said.

  She blinked and touched her nose again, even though it wasn’t itching. Stop overthinking this! “Oh, I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I asked what kind of reunion are you having?”

  “Oh, um . . .” She turned her head to the left and was relieved to see KC a hundred yards or so down the beach, doing jumping jacks. Daphne waved, but KC didn’t appear to see her, and Daphne couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Who does jumping jacks at all, much less on the beach? She loved how KC simply didn’t care what anyone thought of her.

  “Just with some girlfriends from college. I haven’t seen them in a while.” She pointed in KC’s direction. “I just spotted one of them, actually. I should probably go catch up with her.”