CHAPTER 1
The sun was warm on my skin, and the book had become heavy in my hands. I’d missed the California sun; it felt good to be back, even under these less than ideal circumstances.
I tossed the book aside, pushed my sunglasses up to my hair, and rested my head on my arms, soothed by the warmth of late morning.
I wasn’t entirely sure I’d wanted to make this return journey with David. I had friends in North Carolina independent of Navy life; I had a job I enjoyed as an administrative assistant on a small but respectable local paper, and had finally gotten my English Lit degree after six years of night school.
But at the same time I was feeling restless, and ready for a change. Turning 30 had shifted my world view somewhat and, a little surprised to find myself still married, I felt ready to try something new … or something old, as it turned out, because we were back in San Diego. It was a prized location and considered a step up from Camp Lejeune. In any event, David was happier, which made my life easier. We’d found a way to coexist that was not unpleasant. He wasn’t always an unkind man, or so I told myself, and I wasn’t a faithless wife; we were just fundamentally unsuited to each other. We’d grown apart.
At least I was enjoying the beach. Point Loma was seven miles from the hospital and patronized by nearly all the Base personnel, a finger of land that separated the ocean from San Diego Bay. The less popular part was at the north end of Adair Street; here, I thought, I was less likely to be disturbed.
Perhaps fate was watching, but I suppose the meeting would have happened sooner or later, if not that day.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson.”
I didn’t recognize the light, tenor voice. I twisted around and cupped my hand over my eyes, squinting against the sudden brightness of the sun.
“Yes?”
Two men of about 20 were standing awkwardly a few feet away, and a third was leaning over me, dripping onto my beach towel.
“It’s Sebastian.”
“Who?”
His radiant smile faltered.
“Sebastian Hunter.”
My mind unraveled. Little Sebastian Hunter—all grown up.
“Oh, my gosh, Sebastian! I … I didn’t recognize you. Wow!”
I rolled over and sat up, resisting the urge to yank up my bikini more firmly.
“I heard you’d come back. I was hoping I’d see you,” he said, smiling again.
The sweet, sad-eyed boy of eight had become a truly handsome young man. His light brown hair was long for the son of a Navy officer, curling nearly to his chin, and bleached to a dark gold by the California sun. He was slim, muscled like an athlete, with broad shoulders and narrow hips.
A bright blue surfboard was tucked under one arm and he wore deep red swim shorts that were heavy with seawater, pulled down to show a sliver of paler skin at his waist, highlighting the tan on the rest of his body. The thought passed through my mind, He must have his pick of girls at school.
“Look at you, Sebastian. So grown up. It’s good to see you. How are you? How are your parents?”
His smile faltered.
“Oh, they’re fine.”
I didn’t know what to say; it was so strange to see him again after all these years. With a stretch of the imagination, I could just see the child I had known in the young man before me.
“Well … that’s great. I’m sure I’ll see you around the Base. Um … do you guys need a ride back?”
I looked uncertainly toward his friends, unsure how I’d manage to load three full sized surfboards on top of my old Ford.
“No, we’re good thanks. Ches has got a van.” He nodded to one of the boys. “And we’re going to catch some more waves. When I saw you, I just wanted to … come say hi.”
“Okay, well, good seeing you, Sebastian.”
He smiled again, hovering tentatively. “I’ll see you again, Mrs. Wilson?”
His voice held a question.
“Yes, I expect so. Ciao, Sebastian.”
He beamed. “Ciao, Mrs. Wilson.”
I watched him walk away, drops of seawater dewing on his muscled back. Good Heavens! Little Sebastian Hunter—and not so little. How old was he? Seventeen? Eighteen? Certainly not twenty. I frowned, trying to do the math. He’d really grown into a fine young man. Amazing, considering his wretched parents.
Oh, God, I’d probably have to see the rancid Estelle and the monstrous father, Donald. The gloomy thought killed my good mood, and I scowled at the writhing, hissing ocean.
Sebastian and his friends strolled toward another group of surfers hovering on the shoreline. I could see they were laughing at him about something; I guessed it was to do with me. I shook my head—teenage boys … they don’t change.