Free Sea Lovers by Valerie Martin

her at every turn, all so that he might say, “No, thank you,” and leave her standing alone, blinded by the shame of having wanted him.
    “Well, I wouldn’t have him now,” she said aloud, “if he paid me.” She laughed; it wasn’t true. I suppose, she thought, I should be grateful. This sort of thing was bound to happen. Now it’s over and I won’t ever make the same mistake again.
    But she sat for a while, brooding, resigning herself to having played a major part in a dreary business. She was so tired that even the mild activity of preparing for bed seemed more bother than it was worth. But it would shock her daughter to find her asleep on the couch in her dress, and she would be ashamed of herself, more ashamed than she was already. At last she roused herself.
    The wind lashed the house with the same bitter fury she had quelled in her heart, and it suited her, as she walked through the dark rooms, to hear it rattling the doors and windows, blasting bits of branches and leaves against the glass so that they seemed held there by a magical power. She could see through the bamboo shades in her bedroom, and after changing into pajamas she sat for a few moments watching the big plantain tree straining against the force of the wind, its wide leaves plastered helplessly open along the spines like broken hands. The room was getting colder by the minute. She pulled on her warmest socks and, thrusting her legs under the covers, lay down wearily, feeling as her cheek touched the pillow a welcome sensation of relief and release. She threw her arms about her pillow and wept into it, amused through her tears at the comfort it gave her. Then she wept her way into sleep.
    The sound woke her gradually. She was aware of it, in a state between sleep and consciousness, before she opened her eyes. It was a repeated sound. Her first thought was that it was coming from the wall.
    Clink. Clink, clink.
    She reached out and touched the wall, then turned and pressed her ear against it.
    Clink. Clink, clink.
    It wasn’t in the wall.
    She looked out into the darkness of her room. She could hear many sounds. It was raining, and she could hear the water rushing along the house gutters, pouring out over the porch where the gutters were weak. The wind was still fierce, and it whistled around the house, tearing at the awning (that was the dull flapping sound) and straining the ropes that held it in place. But above all these sounds there was the other sound, the one she couldn’t place.
    Clink. Clink, clink.
    A metallic sound, metal against wood or concrete.
    Yes, she thought, it’s on the patio. The sound was irregular, but so continuous that it disturbed her. She got up and looked out the window, but all she could see was the plantain tree and the child’s swimming pool, which was overflowing with icy water. The weatherman had predicted a freeze, and she did not doubt him now. In the morning the plantains would be tattered and in a day or two the long leaves would be thoroughly brown.
    Clink. Clink, clink.
    Perhaps a dog had gotten into the yard. Maybe it was the gate. She went into Nell’s room and looked out the window. The gate was bolted; she could see it from that window. The rest of the yard looked cold and empty. There was a small corner, the edge of the concrete slab that she couldn’t see from any window.
    Clink. Clink, clink.
    She diverted herself by contemplating her sleeping daughter. Nell lay on her back with her arms spread wide. Her long hair was sleep-tousled and her mouth was slightly open. She breathed shallowly. Anne arranged the blanket over her, kissed her cool forehead. My darling, she thought, touched by the sweetness of her daughter’s innocent sleep. My beautiful girl.
    Clink. Clink, clink, clink.
    She might go out and see what it was. But it was so cold, so wet; the wind blew against the back door, and as soon as she opened it she would be soaked.
    The sound stopped.
    It was nothing. Some trash caught in a bush,