Page 68 of Water's Edge

The gun comforts me. It’s familiar.

A pair of headlights pulls into a parking space beside my Taurus. The lights go off and Dan gets out of his pickup truck. He starts across the lot, sees me, and waves. I catch the waitress’s attention and call her to the table.

I think I will have that Scotch after all.

“Couldn’t you find a corner to sit in?” he asks, pulling out a chair and sitting. “I know you like to keep your back to the wall.”

“I don’t feel threatened by a bocce game.”

He laughs. “Fair enough. Should I ask about your day?”

“I should ask why you’re in town. Did you bring some carvings?”

“That’s part of the reason.”

Neither of us knows what to say next. I find myself wishing Mindy were here. Even Ronnie. Strike that.Not Ronnie.The waitress brings my Scotch and a shot glass of water.

Dan grins. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The waitress leaves and Dan turns to me.

“What is that?” he asks. “Scotch with a side of water?”

“I’m introducing the Scotch to the water,” I tell him. “I thought they should get to know each other.”

We both laugh. I am slightly embarrassed. I normally don’t let loose like that with someone who’s not a close friend.

Of course, he tops my remark: “When she brings mine, we can let the waters sit by each other, so they don’t feel left out. It’ll be like a watered-down blind date.”

The laughter dies, the drinks come, we sip, stay quiet, sip some more, and I pray the live music will start. The band is tuning up on the platform twenty feet away. The sign is wrong. It isn’tlivemusic. It’sbarely alivemusic. The vocalist must be in his late eighties. To give him credit, he can still play a guitar, but he should stop singing.

Please God.

Dan seems to be in a pleasant mood. He’s tapping his foot to the music and doesn’t seem to notice how off-key the singing is. But that’s Dan, I think. Nonjudgmental. Just a nice guy. Unshakable.

“I remember hearing this performer. Do you ever listen to the older groups?”

I don’t know what to say. I’ve never developed a taste for a particular type of music. I can say yes, but then he’ll ask me who I like to listen to. I can say no, but then he’ll wonder if I hate music. I decide to change the subject.

“So how long are you going to be in town?”

That doesn’t come out sounding right, so I quickly rephrase it.

“I mean, when are you going home?”

Crap.Even worse. I’m nervous. Babbling. I sound like Ronnie right now.

“I have to go home in the morning,” Dan says. “I have several pieces to finish painting that I’ve promised to buyers.”

I want to ask if he is coming back. I want to see him again. I like being in his company, but I’m sure I’m anything but a good date. I remind myself this isn’t a date. So far, I haven’t let it become one. I can blame most of my messed-up life on my mother. She never let us stay in one place long enough to make friends, fit in. We were always on the run. Changing identities like some people change shirts. Lying to people. I was always lying to myself to hold on to some sanity.

And now, here is this gorgeous, talented man who likes me enough to reach out and try to keep in touch. Even though I’ve stood him up more than once. I can say it had happened because of my job, but the truth is I’m afraid of liking anyone that much. If only I could start over from here. But who am I kidding? I am still that girl.

Maybe it’s the Scotch, but the singer is starting to sound pretty good. We order food. Wings for Dan. Pizza for me. I must be hungry. There is nothing left to take home. We chat some. Mostly Dan talking about his business and how he plans to expand it.

“One of the reasons I’m in Port Townsend is to scout out some real estate for my business.”

“You’re going to open a studio?”

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