Page 33 of This Is Who I Am

“Fair enough.” Estelle nods. “I’m lucky, actually. My dad left me enough money that I no longer have to work if I don’t want to. And I really don’t want to right now.”

“Really?”

“I may be smart and have a flair for mathematics, but my father was one of a kind brilliant. His skills were in high demand by a number of companies and organizations and they paid him handsomely for his work.”

“I’m sorry I never got to meet him.” For the life of me, I can’t remember retired math professor Mr. Raymond walking the streets of Clearwater Bay. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in town.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Estelle’s voice sounds a bit more gravelly. “He didn’t go out anymore. He didn’t have the confidence. He had the beginnings of dementia and—” She pauses to swallow something out of her throat. “For a man with a brain like that, it’s worse than losing your pride.” She shakes her head. “In the end, it was a mercy for him that he died relatively quickly, because it was agony—for him, and for me to see him like that.” Her beautiful brown eyes fill with moisture. “He was such a great father. I loved him to absolute pieces.” A tear slides down her cheek, but Estelle doesn’t try to catch or hide it. “Some people are just natural born parents. My mother wasn’t, but my dad really made up for that. He taught me everything. No matter how busy he was, he always had time for me.” She tilts her head backward briefly. “I miss him so much, but the year or so before he died, he wasn’t the father I’d always known. As though he wasn’t a full person anymore because of his illness. It was awful, but he had a good life and he gave me an amazing life.” She reaches for the dirty napkin and dabs it at her tears.

I swiftly dig a pack of paper tissues out of my purse and offer her one. “Here.”

She takes it. “I’m pretty sure third dates aren’t for crying either, but there you go.” Her radiant smile has dimmed into a forced grin.

“They can be for whatever we want them to be.” I give her my warmest smile. “I know how hard it is to lose a parent. Someone you love with all your heart.”

“Yeah. Sadly, they just can’t live forever.” She discreetly blows her nose. “My dad was eighty-three and I guess you could say at the end he was ready to go. It’s not the same as your mom.”

“No.” My turn to swallow a lump out of my throat. “My mother…” Even though she passed ten years ago, at times, it still hits me as if she only died the previous week. “She was a go-go-go kind of woman. She couldn’t sit still for five minutes. She always had plans and such an incredible zest for life.” If only I could talk to her, just ask her one last question, just have five more minutes. “To see her die from cancer.” I huff out some air. “I should be able to talk about this by now, but sometimes I can’t.” I inhale deeply. “I vote we steer the conversation away from dead parents.”

“To life.” Estelle picks up her wine glass, but it’s empty.

“More?” I take another breath, and it’s easy enough to shake off my grief when sitting opposite her.

“Why not? I don’t have to work tomorrow.” She leans back in her chair.

“I do, but I don’t have to get up early.” And most of the time my work doesn’t feel like a job, I think, but don’t say out loud because of Estelle’s burnout. That’s probably the last thing she wants to hear—although she did just say she doesn’t have to work if she doesn’t want to, which is not the worst position to be in.

I pour more wine and even though we touched on a melancholy subject, I don’t feel sad, because I’m sitting with Estelle on the deck of The Bay and I can’t think of any other place I’d rather be.

* * *

“Uh-oh.” Estelle’s gaze is pulled to the shoreline. “I think Sadie’s lesson has finished. Things might not be so quiet here anymore once they’ve changed out of their wetsuits.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Was it only a week ago that I sat here with Estelle for the first time? It feels like so much has happened since. She’s taking up so much space in my life already.

“That’s a safe bet. They’re a pretty rowdy bunch for middle-aged ladies.” She makes quick work of her wine and pushes herself out of her chair. “Let me settle the bill. I’ll be right back.”

I have no choice. Automatically, my gaze follows her as she heads inside. Her ass looks mighty fine in those jeans and the way that blouse is tucked in so tightly easily convinces me that—unlike me—Estelle doesn’t carry much excess fat on her body. While with anyone else, it would make me feel insecure enough to cut a lovely date short, with her, it doesn’t—because I don’t have to show myself to her and it takes off so much pressure. Maybe—and I won’t know this until I work up the nerve to ask her—she sees people differently. Maybe physical attraction is not something that’s in play for her when dating. It would certainly explain why she’s on a date with me.

My lips pull into a smile when she walks toward me.

“Do you want to go elsewhere?” I ask.

“How about you walk me home this time?”

“I’d love to.”

“Word of warning, my dad was a scotch collector.” Estelle leans into me and slides her hand down my arm. Her fingers slip between mine and we walk hand in hand along the boardwalk. We wave at Sadie and her ladies, who must be having all sorts of thoughts, and there’s that ripple of pride again running up my spine. If anything, Estelle’s very good for my self-esteem.

“I do like a good scotch.” I revel in the warm touch of her hand against mine. Maybe, when sex is off the table, all other touches are magically magnified, and simply walking hand in hand along the ocean can feel like an intimate kiss.

The waves roar beside us and we don’t speak for a while, until we have to turn inland. Estelle’s father’s house is a few blocks from the beach.

“Apologies in advance for the mess and the dust.” Estelle gently extricates her hand from mine so she can unlock the door. “I’m not much of a cleaner and my dad was basically a hoarder.”

“You don’t cook. You don’t clean,” I joke.

“I’m no trad wife.” Estelle bats her long lashes for an instant, then opens the door and ushers me in.

---