Page 42 of The Shape of Night

Maybe this really is Hannibal’s fault.

I climb into bed and pull the covers up to my chin. At least this much I know is real: The crispness of linen against my skin. The distant whoosh of the ocean and the rumble of Hannibal purring beside me.

Nothing takes shape in the darkness; no thickening shadow congeals into a man. Somehow I know he will not visit me tonight; perhaps he was never here at all. But there is a man whocouldbe in my bed, if I wanted him. A real man.

It’s time for me to choose.

Sixteen

The mainsail snaps taut and I cling to the starboard rail asCallistaheels in the wind, her bow slicing through the swells.

“Nervous?” Ben calls out from the tiller.

“Um, a little!”

“There’s nothing to worry about. Just sit back and enjoy the view. I’ve got everything under control.”

And he does. From the moment I stepped aboardCallista,I knew I was in capable hands. Ben has thought of every detail to make this afternoon perfect. Sparkling water and wine are chilling in the cooler and the picnic hamper is packed with cheese and fruit and chicken sandwiches. I had offered to make lunch, but he’d assured me that everything was taken care of,and it has been. I glance around the pristine deck where all the ropes are neatly coiled, where every brass fitting gleams and the teak shines with fresh varnish.

“This boat doesn’t look fifty years old,” I say.

“She’s wood so she’s a lot of work to maintain, but she belonged to my dad. He’d roll over in his grave if I didn’t take good care of her.” He glances up at the mainsail and unties the jib sheet. “Okay, ready about!”

As he turns the bow through the wind, I scurry across to the port side. The boat heels, tilting me once again over the water. “How long ago did your dad pass away?” I ask.

“Five years. He was seventy years old and he still had a full-time medical practice. He collapsed while making rounds in the hospital. Which is not the way I want to go.”

“Howdoyou want to go?”

“Certainly not while at work. I’d rather be out on the water, like today. Having a good time with someone I like.”

His answer seems casual enough, but I hear his emphasis on that last phrase,someone I like. I turn away and gaze toward the shoreline, where the forest tumbles down to the sea. There are no beaches here, only woods and granite cliffs where seagulls circle and swoop.

“Right around that point, there’s a nice little cove,” he says. “We can anchor there.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Not a thing, Ava. I’m used to sailing solo, so I’ve got this.”

With a few expert tacks he steersCallistaaround the point and into a secluded cove. I’m only a spectator as he lowers the sails and drops anchor, and he moves around the deck so efficiently that even if I did try to help, I’d probably slow him down. So I busy myself doing what I do best: uncorking the wine bottle and laying out our picnic. By the time he’s secured the sails and coiled the lines, I’m ready to hand him a glass of wine. WhileCallistagently sways at anchor, we relax in the cockpit, sipping perfectly chilled rosé.

“I think I could learn to like this,” I admit.

He gestures toward the cloudless sky. “A summer’s day, a sturdy little boat. It doesn’t get better than this.” He looks at me. “Think I can talk you into staying beyond October?”

“Maybe. I do like it here in Tucker Cove.”

“You’ll have to stop being my patient.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m hoping I can call you something else.”

We both understand where this is going. Wherehewants it to go, anyway. I haven’t yet decided. The wine makes my head buzz and my face feels pleasantly flushed from the sun. And Ben Gordon has the most striking blue eyes, eyes that seem to see too much. I do not turn away as he leans toward me. As our lips meet.

He tastes like wine and salt and sunshine. This is the man Ishouldbe attracted to, the man who is everything a woman could want. This will happen if I let it, but is it really what I want? Ishewhat I want? He pulls me against him, but I feel an odd sense of detachment, as if I am standing outside my own body, watching two strangers kiss. Ben may be real, but his kiss fails to ignite any flame inside me. Instead, it makes me yearn even more for the lover I miss. A lover I am not even sure is real.

I’m almost relieved when his cellphone rings.

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