spinach salad.”
“I suppose you went into all sorts of folklore, nutrition information,
stuff like that?”
“That’s right. For example, with the feta, pecans, and spinach, it
all has to do with a chemical reaction that zings the taste buds.”
Bernie Bradstreet looked too interested. She drew back, lowered
her eyes to the napkin Tyler had tossed beside his plate.
Tyler said, “Dessert, Becca?”
She said, grinning up at Mr. Bradstreet, “Yep, that’s what I am,
dessert for a newspaper. I’m low on a priority list, very low.”
“No,” Tyler said. “I mean real dessert. Coffee and dessert for
you, Bernie?”
Bernie couldn’t stay. His wife was at the far table with one of
their grandkids. “They make special hot dogs for kids here,” he
said; then, “Why don’t you drop by with some of the articles you’ve
written, Ms. Powell? Actually, bring me the feta cheese article.”
“I didn’t bring any of them with me, sir, sorry.”
Tyler gave her a look but didn’t say anything. But his eyes had
widened just a bit. He’d finally realized that this was the last thing she
needed. Good, she thought, she was out of it. But no, he just ruminated
awhile, looking at her, then said, “All right, write me up one–
whatever topic you like–not over five hundred words, and we’ll see.
She nodded, wishing the guy was more hard-nosed. She
watched him walk back to his table, stopping at three more tables
on the way. She looked at Tyler and raised her hand to stop him.
“No, I can’t work for him. I don’t have any ID I can use. I doubt
he’d want to pay me in cash.”
“Damn,” he said. “I didn’t think of that. I just finally realized that
the more he saw you, he just might put you together with the Rebecca
on TV.”
“It’s okay. I’ll write up an article or two and give them to him,
tell him to see how the readers like them, then we can talk. He
shouldn’t get suspicious then. I don’t need the money. I’m not going
to starve. It’s just that I do need something to keep my mind
busy.”
“Are you any good with computers?”
“I guess I’m what you’d call a functional genius, but a technological
moron.”
“Too bad. Since I’m a small-time consultant, I don’t need any
frills, either.”
The night was clear and warm, with just a slight breeze off the
Atlantic. The stars were brilliant overhead. Becca stood by Tyler’s
Jeep, staring up at the sky. “Nothing like this in New York City. I
could get used to this real fast, Tyler. Too bad you can barely hear
the ocean from here. The briny smell is fainter, too.”
“Yeah, I found I missed it so much I had to move back, and so I
did just a couple of years after I finished my master’s degree. But
you know, more and more young people leave and stay gone. I
wonder if Riptide will still be here in another twenty years or so.”
“There are lots of tourists to boost the economy, aren’t there?”
“Yes, but the entire flavor of the town has changed over the past
twenty, thirty years. I guess that’s progress, huh?” He paused a moment,
staring up at the Milky Way. “After Ann went away, I thought
I wanted to leave Riptide and never come back–you know, all the
memories–but I realized that all of Sam’s friends are here, all the
people who knew Ann are here, and memories aren’t bad. I can
work anywhere, and so I stayed. I haven’t regretted it. I’m glad
you’re here, Becca. Things will work out, you’ll see. The only thing
is winter. It’s not much fun here in January.”
“It’s not much fun in New York, either. We’ll see what’s happening
by January. I don’t understand about your wife, Tyler. Did she
die?”
She wanted to take it back at the look of pain that etched lines
around his mouth, made his eyes look blank and dead. “I’m sorry,
I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s all right. Of course you’re curious. Everyone else in
town is.”
“What do you mean?”
“My wife didn’t die. She just up and left me. She was here one