ay. Each breath just is. All of them wonderful, all of them free, and yours to take and give away.”
Foley tuned in to the frequency of his words and breathed, and so did Drum, and she was aware of the sea and the temperature dropping, the feeling of the sand on her legs and her mind settled, her brain got quiet and all of her disconnected, frantic thoughts fell away; but one.
They breathed like that together, in sync, until her shoulders dropped and her neck felt easier and her day’s frustrations lifted off.
She opened her eyes to find the light gone, to find him watching her in the glow from the ambient orange night lights on the promenade.
“You were saying goodbye. When you said you hoped I’d find what I was looking for, that was goodbye.”
He nodded. “It’s the right thing to do.”
He’d said the important thoughts would wait, that she’d know what to do with them, and she did. “Not for me.”
“Ah, Foley,” he said, his voice soft but heavy like humid summer air.
“I don’t know what this is, but it doesn’t have to be goodbye.”
He’d closed his eyes again. “It can’t be anything else.”
Drum stood and she sighed as a feeling of loss brushed over her in a sprinkle of loose sand, making her shiver, but when she looked up his hand was there.
She took it, and he helped her stand. “There is no rule that says we can’t be friends.” If she wanted a life less ordinary she could have a friend who lived in a cave.
He let her hand go. “I’m not the kind of guy you can hang out with in front of TV.”
“No, but you play a mean sunset, and you know how to feed a girl a decent meal.”
“Foley, it—”
She reached over and put her hand over his mouth, his open lips, pliant and damp on her fingers, his beard bristly. He made a shocked sound and stepped back and into a shadow.
She didn’t give him time to object further. “Friends go for a run together. They talk about their day. Their evil bosses and their difficult mothers. Friends share a meal. One friend might teach another to meditate. One friend might worry another doesn’t have a proper home.”
He shook his head. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you. I don’t understand you, but I’d like to try.”
“It’s not right. It can’t be.”
“It’s already happening, you and I being friends, and you know it. Otherwise you’d have walked away the moment you knew I was here. It’s a great big beach and there was no reason for us to run into each other. No reason for you to want to teach me to meditate. And by the way, I’d like to have another go at it if you’re up for it.”
He was facing away, but he might’ve walked away. He might still.
“Drum, I’ll be here tomorrow night for a run and after that I’m going to have a go at this meditation thing, see if I can get it. It would be great if you were here to help me out.”
“No.”
“Of course, if you’re busy.” She put emphasis on the busy and he half turned. “Friends can be casual, no strings, no obligations. If I see you,” she shrugged, “I see you.”
She got a nod, but not a commitment. She couldn’t read him well enough to know what he was thinking, but she hoped it wasn’t still goodbye.
14: Friends
Drum couldn’t stay away. But he couldn’t reveal himself either. Foley parked her car on the promenade and sat on the hood looking out at the sea. If she looked up to the deck of the surf club she’d see him, but she wouldn’t expect him to be there, it was members only and he got to be on the deck because he did odd jobs for the clubbies and they let him come and go as he pleased.
She looked around, locked her car, pocketed the key and went down the ramp to the sand. She wore black Skins, fitted to her knees over legs he wanted to run his hands down. She wore a sky blue tank that showed off the rest of her body, narrow waist, neat ribcage, breasts trapped tight in a sports bra. She had shape to her arms, the indentation of a bicep she’d worked to get. She had an athlete’s figure, lean and confident and too easy to watch. He liked her best this way, not in her work dresses and shoes that made her severe, more remote.
He stood on the deck and watched her become smaller as she approached the shoreline and felt guilty about doing it. But at least he wasn’t down there waiting for her, holding out an illusion they could be friends like Dorothy and some horror show mash-up of the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow. They’d need a whole new character for him, one without a moral compass. He’d go about looking like a reasonable person, but anyone who had prolonged contact with him would sicken and suffer.