than either of us. But hanging in there.’ His words were full of staged optimism. As though the giant animal could understand him.
‘You’re not going to give up on her, are you?’
‘Nope.’ He turned to the whale and spoke directly to her. Beth got the feeling there had been several man-to-whale conversations while she was out like a light. ‘I’m not going to let you go.’
She frowned, those words striking a chord she couldn’t name deep inside. They seemed somehow important but she couldn’t place why. The eagle called again, high up in the part of the sky that was still a deep, dark disguise.
‘It says a lot about you.’
His look upward was a question.
‘How hard you’re fighting for this whale. To give her a chance. You really haven’t changed that much after all.’
Marc bit down on whatever he’d been about to say and clenched his jaw shut. Hard. She practically felt the atmosphere shift. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood for conversation after her revelations in the small hours of morning. She fought the heat of shame that rose on that thought and the sinking surge of self-doubt that followed. Then she braced herself against the cold, tossed back the blanket and bundled it into her arms. Before her body could convince her not to, she plunged back up to her knees in the icy wash and sank the blanket under the water; its frigid kiss shocked her into full awakening. She dragged its weighty thickness up and over the whale, shrouding its skin in dampness. The nasty arrowhead scar on its tail was exposed again.
That couldn’t be good. It meant the tide was retreating. If it went much further out it would mean the whale would be high and dry.
As soon as the blanket was secured, she moved, aching, up the beach and collected the empty two-litre container and commenced the bend-fill-slosh ritual all over again. Her body didn’t even bother protesting this time. It knew when it was licked.
Marc watched every move.
‘How are you doing?’ he finally asked. Tension tinged his voice, but it was concern etched in his face. And caution.
Oh.
She stumbled slightly when she realised he was talking about drinking. Or not drinking in the case of this very difficult eighteen hours. And he wasn’t particularly happy to be asking.
The thought of alcohol had not even crossed her mind since she’d woken. That had to be a first. Although it shot back with a vengeance now. Hunger. Thirst. Craving. Needing. They all mixed together into an uncomfortable obsession for just about everything you could put in your mouth.
She feigned misunderstanding. ‘I’m ready for a big plate of bacon and eggs, a big mug of hot tea and a Bloody Mary.’
Hazel eyes snapped to her. ‘You joke about it?’
She sighed. Pushed her shoulders back. ‘Keeping it bound and gagged gives it too much power. Maybe it’s time I started to lighten up about it all. ‘ Take some of the control back. ‘Get back to a normal life.’
‘Fair enough. What will you do now?’ he asked. ‘To make a living? To have that normal life?’
It was a good question. Her dark years were behind her. Her list was done. She had the rest of her future to think about. She blew out the residual tension from their previous question. ‘I have no idea … The past two years has been all about recovery. It’s been a day by day kind of thing.’ She stared at him, blank. ‘I suppose running a bottle shop is out of the question?’
His glare was colder than the water.
‘Sorry. Bad joke.’ Bleakness filled her. ‘I feel like all I’ve done is drink and then not drink.’
‘You have a decade to catch up on.’ He looked hard at her. ‘What about uni? It’s never too late.’
Beth frowned. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Mature aged students are perfectly common now.’
Taverns, parties, temptation. ‘I don’t think I’d be a good fit on campus.’
His mouth tightened as he realised. ‘Online, then?’
Something she could study in the comfort of her own cavernous warehouse. In the silence of her own lonely hours. ‘What would I study?’
‘What do you enjoy?’
She blinked at him.
‘What about your painting?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s something I do for therapy. It won’t earn me a living.’
‘Why not? Maybe you could help others like you helped yourself. Give back.’
Her head came up. Giving back rang all kinds of karmic bells. Art therapy. She hadn’t known such a thing existed until she’d needed it. But it did. And it worked.
Marc shrugged. ‘There’d be no shortage of people needing assistance.’
Purpose suddenly glowed, bright and promising on her horizon. She could give back. Lord knew she’d had her fair share of assistance from others who gave their time. She chewed her lip. ‘I could. That could work. Something simple that will help people.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t want to rule the country any more?’
Alcoholism had taken more from her than just years. ‘If I can just rule me I’ll be happy.’
He stared at her long and hard. Compassion filled his eyes. His voice was low and sad. ‘You’ll get there, Beth. I believe in you.’
A deep sorrow washed through her. ‘You always did.’
Silence fell. Beth shook her head to chase off the blues she could feel settling.
‘What would you change?’ Marc’s voice came out of the dim morning light, tossing her earlier words back at her. ‘If you had the opportunity to do ten years ago over again. What would you do differently?’
Ah. This one she’d pondered plenty and she’d refined it during some of their long silences in the water. She bent to re-soak the blanket and thanked God that she had no sleeve on which to be displaying her heart. ‘I wouldn’t have put so much importance on what others said. I definitely wouldn’t have encouraged Damien’s advances.’
She kept her eyes away from his as she stretched the blanket out across the whale’s back. ‘I wouldn’t have listened to …’ Your mother. But now, more than ever, she couldn’t say that. There was already so much lost between them. Vindicating herself would condemn them. ‘I wouldn’t have shut you out of my life.’
‘You didn’t.’
She looked up. ‘I did.’
He shook his head. ‘I mean you didn’t succeed. I kept a low profile but that didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of everything you did. Where you went. Right up until school
