Page 12 of The House Beyond the Dunes

LANE

Saturday, December 30, 2023

7:00 a.m.

The fall replays in small, broken sound bites.We’re on the top landing. Kyle has his back to the stairs as he’s looking at me. He’s smiling. But am I? My hands raise to his chest. I feel his racing heartbeat. He grips my forearm. Is he losing his balance? There’s no time to process because a second later there’s air under our feet.

I sit up on the couch. My pulse pounds fast, and my palms are slick with sweat. What happened? How did we go from him smiling to dying? Was he reaching out in desperation because he felt his balance teeter? Those missing milliseconds hover in a hazy darkness.

Swinging my legs over the side of the couch, I glance toward my Christmas tree. Needles fall, joining the others in a green ring around the base. I’ll take the tree down after the New Year because it’s bad luck to do it before then.

What am I doing here? I was supposed to be waking up beside Kyle now. I should be nestled close to him, filled with hope and contentment.

But I’m home. And alone. Cinderella has left the ball. And she’s not only lost her slipper, but she’s battered and bruised, and a cop thinks she might have killed the prince. “How did I get here, Kyle?”

When Kyle pulls off the main road, the dazzling sun is almost too warm. I crack a window and drink in the cold ocean breeze as he crosses over the cattle guard where Route 12 terminates into soft sand. Waves roll up onto the beach, and the ocean is as smooth as glass. Immediately, we pass a small four-door car that’s mired in the sand and a tow truck driver attaching a strap to the vehicle’s underside. Beside the car stand two young men wearing jeans and puffer jackets.

“All-wheel drive doesn’t cut it on a day like today,” Kyle says.

“It’s bright and sunny. And the beach looks so smooth.”

“Can’t be fooled by this place. It rained hard last night, and the sand is extra soft. If I hadn’t driven this so many times, I’d be nervous.”

“Are you going to stop and help?” I ask.

“Naw. That truck driver has it. Hate to take away any of his holiday revenue. And those two guys will never forget this expensive lesson.”

The side mirror again catches the mired car and its helpless occupants. Raised in the city, I’ve only had concrete and asphalt under my feet. I’ve had flats before, but I can fix those. But a car mired in quicksand is beyond my skill set.

The Range Rover bucks as the front tire slams through a patch of soft sand. I grip the door, and my seat belt keeps me from pitching forward. For an instant, I’m certain we are now stuck. “Are we stuck?”

Kyle grins and presses hard on the accelerator. “We’re fine.”

“What’s the weekend weather like?”

“We’ve got weather coming in, so we might be trapped at the cottage for a few days. When do you have to be back?”

I grip the door tighter. “Wednesday.”

“What if we’re stuck here for weeks or months?”

His teasing is unsettling. “We’ll just have to walk out.”

Laughing, he lobs an amused glance my way. “You aren’t scared, are you, baby?”

“Of course not,” I lie.

He speeds up, zooming past tree stumps that are echoes of a migrating shoreline and a long-lost forest. The sand smooths out for a stretch, and he drives close to the ocean. Waves glistening with sunlight crash within feet of the Range Rover.

The beach is deserted. I’ve read that in the summer it’s filled with tourists and parked four-wheel-drive vehicles. I’ve also read that the 4x4 beach, as it’s called, is home to over one hundred wild horses who come with nonnegotiable no feeding or touching rules. The horses were brought to the Outer Banks by the Spanish four hundred years ago and now live in a fenced-off sanctuary in the woodlands behind the dunes.

I open my window more and reach out into the cool air. Driving this close to the water is exciting. “This day is perfect.”

Kyle turns toward me. His dark eyes spark as if he’s devouring a delicious morsel. My skin warms knowing soon after we arrive at his cottage, we’ll be naked and in his bed.

“The weather doesn’t get any better than this,” he says. “It won’t last. Heavy rains tomorrow afternoon, but we’ll be inside.”

Four or five miles up the beach, there’s a house on stilts that stands almost dead center on the beach. The hurricane fencing along the dunes is broken like snapped twigs in several sections.

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