Free Whispers from the Past by Elizabeth Langston Page B

fine and white as the best-milled flour. It stretched as far as I could see, although truly that wasn’t far given my bowed head.
    The roar engulfed me. Intimidated me.
    Mark didn’t move or speak. His hand squeezed mine lightly and then he was still.
    Slowly, I raised my head.
    The ocean spread before me, immense and powerful. Water rolled and spread across the sand in waves of dark gray, flecked with foam. I tracked across its vast, undulating surface until, far in the distance, it met a strip of bright blue at the edge of an otherwise angry, black sky.
    “The sea is indescribably beautiful.” I glanced up.
    Mark was staring at me. “Indescribably beautiful,” he repeated.
    Rising on my toes, I kissed him with gratitude and love. “I am so happy to be here with you.”
    He swallowed hard and nodded.
    I looked back at the sea. Dare I go closer? “Do the waves ever roll farther in than what I see now?”
    “Sure, but it’ll be hours.” He cleared his throat. “See how they break and recede. The water stops where the sand is dark. As long as you stay above that line, you’re safe.”
    I could do this. I had come all this way and I wouldn’t let my fears rule me now. I broke free of his hold, kicked off my shoes, and raced toward the waves.
    “Wait, babe.”
    I slowed as I approached the dark sand, careful to maintain a safe distance from the swirling, chopping water. When the next wave rolled up, it startled me into running backwards, though clearly it would not have reached me. “The sand is wet and cold,” I shouted, throwing back my head to view the shifting clouds. I had conquered the ocean in all of its powerful glory and it, in turn, had captured me with its allure.
    “Of course it is,” he said from behind me. “It’s March.”
    I laughed over my shoulder. He stood a few feet away and above me on a higher shelf of sand, my clogs dangling from his hand. “Would you not like to take off your shoes?”
    “No frickin’ way.”
    I yanked the tie from my braid and then twirled like a child, hands outstretched, feet spinning on the cold, wet sand. My hair whipped about my head in the wind. I had once imagined that freedom would feel like a mild, autumn day. But I had been naïve. The ocean defined freedom. Immense and intimate. Demanding and giving. Changing and constant.
    When I stopped and ran up to Mark, he watched me through narrowed eyes before offering his hand and pulling me up to join him on the sandy ridge. His regard held such intensity that I shivered.
    Hands joined, we walked up the beach for a long distance. We were not the only people out today. Some walked alone. Some had dogs with them that chased the white birds who circled about.
    Mark and I didn’t speak, yet our silence was a happy one. I followed him onto higher ground, the sand and broken shells taking all of my concentration.
    In a small refuge amid the grasses, he swung me around to face him, his fingers smoothing errant strands of hair away from my cheeks. “I love you, Susanna, so much that I ache with it.” His lips covered mine.
    I grasped at his waist and closed my eyes, giving in to deep kisses that made me moan and press closer to his strong body. My senses had come alive, teased by the salty scent of the sea, the brush of a cool breeze over heated skin, and the sweet taste of his mouth.
    He groaned and drew away slowly. My eyes fluttered open to see him frowning with something like regret. “We’ll have to turn around soon. Do you want to grab some seafood nearby? We have time to eat an early lunch and still make it back in time for your shift.”
    “I like this plan.” I smiled at him and hoped that he could read the joy on my face. “The sea ranks above all wonders I have seen in this century. I loved my time here, Mark. Even more, I love that you gave this to me.”
    “You are perfect.” He seared my mouth with another hot kiss and then turned to walk back down the beach and toward the parking lot, his hand