The Summer They Never Forgot. Kandy Shepherd
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her face for something. His gaze was so intense she began to feel uncomfortable. When—at last—he spoke, his words were slow and considered.
‘Water under the bridge. You’re right.’
‘Yes,’ she said, not sure what to say next.
After another long, awkward pause, he glanced at his watch. ‘It’s been great to see you, Sandy. But I have a meeting to get to.’ He pushed back his chair and got up.
‘Of course.’ She wanted to put out a hand to stop him. There was more she wanted to ask him. Memories she wanted to share. But there was no reason for him to stay. No reason for him to know it was her birthday and how much she would enjoy his company for lunch.
He was married.
Married men did not share intimate lunches alone with former girlfriends, even if their last kiss had been twelve years ago.
She got up, too, resisting the urge to sigh. ‘It was wonderful to catch up after all these years. Please...please give my regards to Jodi.’
He nodded, not meeting her eyes. Then indicated the menu. ‘Lunch is on the house. I’ll tell the desk you’re my guest.’
‘You really don’t have to, Ben.’
‘Please. I insist. For...for old times’ sake.’
She hesitated. Then smiled tentatively. ‘Okay. Thank you. I’m being nostalgic but they were good old times, weren’t they? I have only happy memories of Dolphin Bay.’ Of the time we spent together.
She couldn’t kiss him goodbye. Instead she offered her hand for him to shake.
He paused for a second, then took it in his warm grip, igniting memories of the feel of his hands on her body, the caresses that had never gone further than she’d wanted. But back then she hadn’t felt the hard ridges of those awful scars. And now she had no right to recall such intimate memories.
Ben was married.
‘I’m sorry I was rude about your hotel,’ she said, very seriously. Then she injected a teasing tone into her voice. ‘But I’ll probably never stop wondering why you destroyed the guesthouse. And those magnificent gum trees—there’s not one left. Remember the swing that—?’
Ben let go her hand. ‘Sandy. It was just a building.’
Too late she realised it wasn’t any of her business to go on about the guesthouse just because she was disappointed it had been demolished.
‘Ben, I—’
He cut across her. ‘It’s fine. That was the past, and it’s where it should be. But it really has been great seeing you again...enjoy your lunch. Goodbye, Sandy.’
‘Good-goodbye, Ben,’ she managed to stutter out, stunned by his abrupt farewell, by the feeling that he wasn’t being completely honest with her.
Without another word he turned from her, strode to the exit, nodded towards the people at the bar, and closed the door behind him. She gripped the edge of the table, swept by a wave of disappointment so intense she felt she was drowning in it.
What had she said? Had she crossed a line without knowing it? And why did she feel emptier than when she’d first arrived back in Dolphin Bay? Because when she’d written her birthday resolutions hadn’t she had Ben Morgan in mind? When she’d described a kind man, free of hang-ups and deadly ambition, hadn’t she been remembering him? Remembering how his straightforward approach to life had helped her grow up that summer? Grow up enough to defy her father and set her own course.
She was forced to admit to herself it wasn’t the pier or the guesthouse she’d wanted to be the same in Dolphin Bay. It was the man who represented the antithesis of the cruel, city-smart man who had hurt her so badly.
In her self-centred fantasy she hadn’t given a thought to Ben being married—just to him always being here, stuck in a time warp.
A waitress appeared to clear her glass away, but then paused and looked at her. Sandy wished she’d put her sunglasses back on. Her hurt, her disappointment, her anger at herself, must be etched on her face.
The waitress was a woman of about her own age, with a pretty freckled face and curly auburn hair pulled back tightly. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know you,’ she said suddenly. ‘Sandy, right? Years ago you came down from Sydney to stay at Morgan’s Guesthouse.’
‘That’s right,’ Sandy said, taken aback at being recognised.
‘I’m Kate Parker,’ the woman said, ‘but I don’t suppose you remember me.’
Sandy dredged through her memories. ‘Yes, I do.’ She forced a smile. ‘You were the best dancer I’d ever seen. My sister and I desperately tried to copy you, but we could never be as good.’
‘Thanks,’ Kate replied, looking pleased at the compliment. She looked towards the door Ben had exited through. ‘You dated Ben, didn’t you? Poor guy. He’s had it tough.’
‘Tough?’
‘You don’t know?’ The other woman’s voice was almost accusing.
How would she know what had gone on in Ben Morgan’s life in the twelve years since she’d last seen him?
‘Lost his wife and child when the old guesthouse burned down,’ Kate continued. ‘Jodi died trying to rescue their little boy. Ben was devastated. Went away for a long time—did very well for himself. When he came back he built this hotel as modern and as different from the old place as could be. Couldn’t bear the memories...’
Kate Parker chattered on, but Sandy didn’t wait to hear any more. She pushed her chair back so fast it fell over and clattered onto the ground. She didn’t stop to pull it up.
She ran out of the bar, through the door and towards the steps to the shoreline, heart pumping, face flushed, praying frantically to the god of second chances.
Ben.
She just had to find Ben.
TAKING THE STEPS two at a time, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste, Sandy ran onto the whiter-than-white sand of Dolphin Bay.
Ben was way ahead of her. Tall and broad-shouldered, he strode along towards the rocks, defying the wind that had sprung up while she was in the hotel and was now whipping the water to a frosting of whitecaps.
She had to catch up with him. Explain. Apologise. Tell him how dreadfully sorry she was about Jodi and his son. Tell him... Oh, so much she wanted to tell him. Needed to tell him. But the deep, fine sand was heavy around her feet, slowing her so she felt she was making no progress at all.
‘Ben!’ she shouted, but the wind just snatched the words out of her mouth and he didn’t turn around.
She fumbled with her sandals and yanked them off, the better to run after him.
‘Ben!’ she called again, her voice hoarse, the salt wind whipping her hair around her face and stinging her eyes.
At last he stopped. Slowly, warily, he turned to face her. It seemed an age until she’d struggled through the sand to reach him. He stood unmoving, his face rigid, his eyes guarded. How hadn’t she seen it before?
‘Ben,’ she whispered, scarcely able to get the word out. ‘I’m sorry... I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘You know?’
She nodded. ‘Kate told me. She thought I already knew. I don’t know what to say.’
Ben looked down at Sandy’s