Broken Read Free Page B

air.
    An inexplicable force drew me closer to the window, to the wide sill that skirted around at hip height. Wrapping the towel around me, I balanced, one butt cheek on the windowsill, totally mesmerized by the simple scene before me. Beard Guy was sitting by the fire, his arms hooked around his bent knees, gazing out at the dark ocean. He looked…sad, or lonely, maybe even lost. There was no one reason why I felt this way, but watching him out there alone made me want to cry, because his demeanor personified exactly how I had been feeling for the last three months—totally defeated.
    Resting my head against the windowpane as I continued to watch, a tear escaped from the corner of my eye. I wanted to go down there to talk to him and let him know that whatever was worrying him would be okay. That he wasn’t alone. But I had never been particularly good at approaching people in need; that was Charles’s specialty. I’d been the one to make the cup of tea and listen sympathetically as Charles counseled the troubled.
    My mysterious stranger quickly wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and I felt my heart tug toward him. “Oh, Sugar, it’ll be okay.”
    With every part of me wanting to hug the poor guy, I reluctantly tore myself away from the window to give him some privacy.
    Maybe he wanted to be alone, or maybe the next time I saw him I wouldn’t be such a chicken, and I would talk to him, or at least return his acknowledgement.
      
    Dragging myself out of bed, I quickly showered, then threw on my warm sweatpants and my old-as-the-hills but favorite sloppy yellow sweater before setting up my laptop outside on the back deck. I had given myself a little pep talk in the shower and imagined any self-doubt being washed down the drain.
    The air was eerily still as I logged on, the sun only just starting to peek above the horizon. I flicked the hair tie from my wrist, pulling my long chestnut hair back into a messy ponytail, twisting it into a bun, and sliding a pencil through the mass to hold it in place. I pushed my glasses farther up the bridge of my nose and stretched my neck from side to side. I was ready.
    The flashing cursor at the top of the blank page on my laptop tormented me. I pictured a little man inside the laptop, repeatedly flipping me off with every blink.
    Okay, I can do this. I lifted my middle finger defiantly at my laptop. “Right back at ya, asshole.”
    Looking out at the beach from the veranda, I decided baby steps were the way to go. So many times in the last seven years I had made up stories in my head about people I saw on the street passing by. But now that I was sitting in front of the computer, the pressure of having to write was weighing on me. I needed to write what I saw to discover whether or not the words would flow before attempting to tackle anything too complicated.
    With hands poised, I started… The sky welcomed the rising sun as its light transformed the inky blackness of night into a myriad of color.
    Resting my arms on the veranda railing, I looked along the sand, searching for inspiration. In the distance there was a dog running along the water’s edge, taking maybe a dozen bounds forward, then turning to race back to his owner. It was Max, and following behind at an easy jog was Beard Guy. I raised my head, pulling my glasses down my nose so I could peer over the top of them. Now this was better. It was certainly more interesting than writing about the rising sun. In the name of research, I sat transfixed as Max and Beard Guy stopped a short distance up the beach, in line with the house that was next door to mine.
    Beard Guy dropped his towel, then sat on the sand gazing out at the abyss of the vast ocean. Max sidled over, resting his head on the guy’s shoulder.
    “Today is going to be a good day, Maxie. I can feel it,” he said in what sounded like a deep English accent, his voice carrying in the still of the dawn. Max’s ears twitched and he edged closer, almost