She smiles, just for a heartbeat, then sits beside me on the bench, folding her hands in her lap. “Did Cassie tell you she fancies herself as an artist too?”
“I got the feeling,” I say, recalling the intensity with which she applied pencil to paper. “She’s already better than she thinks… Better than I was at her age.”
“She’s obsessed. Half the time, I can’t get her to do her homework because she’s sketching. She even doodles on her math worksheets. I keep telling her that even great artists have to know their math and history, too.”
I chuckle. “Yes, they do. But it’s also important to nurture that spark. Who knows? Maybe you have a future Picasso or O’Keeffe on your hands. She’s got the right patience for it.”
The compliment seems to land somewhere between pride and embarrassment. Diane stares out at the sea, her foot tapping a soft rhythm on the sand. “We moved here so she could havemore of this. The wild, the space.” She pauses, as if considering whether to say more. “It hasn’t been easy, but I think it’s worth it.”
“Definitely worth it,” I agree.
She turns to me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, how long have you been in Kitty Hawk?”
I think about a real answer, not the practiced, tourist-board version. “Not long. I left Charlotte after I quit my job. I needed to see something else, somewhere different. This town… It felt like the right choice.”
She nods, as if this makes perfect sense. “Are you planning to stay?”
“Maybe.” I don’t say that every day feels temporary, that I still haven’t unpacked half my life. “I’m opening a small gallery at the boardwalk next week. I figured I’d try selling my work, instead of just keeping it in storage. If it does well, who knows?”
Diane smiles, bright and genuine. "That sounds wonderful. Cassie will be thrilled. She adores art galleries…and the boardwalk. She’ll probably want to spend all her time there now.”
“Your daughter is always welcome,” I say, my words sounding more sincere than I expected. “You too, if you like. I’d be honored if you’d come. Both of you.”
A soft blush creeps into her cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into with Cassie. She might just take over the place.”
I laugh, thinking of Cassie’s enthusiasm that morning. “I think I can handle it. Would be nice to have a friendly face or two in the crowd.”
Diane studies me, as if she’s trying to see the prospect of that future. Then, she gives a small nod. "All right. We might just take you up on that.”
From the slope below, Cassie’s voice rises in a triumphant whoop. She’s found another shell. This one, judging by the size and color, is a horse conch almost as long as her hand. She sprints up the sand toward us, waving it like a trophy.
“Look!” she shouts, then, “Mom, I found a rare one. Nathan, what’s it called?”
I take the shell from her outstretched hand, and examine the heavy, orange coil. “Horse conch,” I say. “A good one.”
Rolo barks in agreement, leaping around Cassie in a circle of excitement.
Cassie beams, then jumps onto the bench between us, her sand-caked knees bumping mine. “Want to see my drawing?” she asks Diane, then unfurls the drawing.
Diane’s pride is transparent. “It’s beautiful, Cass. I’m going to put it on the fridge when we get home.”
Cassie grins up at me. “Told you Mom would like it.”
We sit like that for a while, the three of us in the lighthouse’s shadow, the breeze rifling the pages of the sketchbook. Diane rests her hand on Cassie’s shoulder, steadying her as she leans forward to peer at the horizon.
After a few minutes, Diane stands, brushing sand from the back of her pants. Her expression is softer now, less guarded. “Well, it was nice seeing you again, Nathan, and don’t worry, I’ll make sure Cassie doesn’t monopolize all your time while you’re out here.”
“Not at all. Her company was a pleasure.”
With a soft nod of acknowledgement, Diane turns to leave but not before reaching down to ruffle Cassie’s hair affectionately. They walk off, side by side, with Rolo bounding ahead, their shadows meandering over the dunes.
I watch them disappear, their voices drifting back on the breeze—a soft laugh from Diane, the high pitch of Cassie’s excited chatter. I sit there for a while, listening to the distantclack of shells on the kitchen table, the soft closing of a door, the heartbeat-pulse of the tide.
And for the first time since I arrived, I’m aware of a sense of belonging, a quiet vibration deep within me, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, I’ve found a place I want to hold onto.
7
Diane