Page 33 of The Summer You Were Mine

“I understand. Believe me,” she said, but immediately hoped he wouldn’t ask her to elaborate.

The street opened to Piazza dei Pescatori, the cobblestone square that connected the older side of the seaside promenade to the newer, renovated section.

The piazza was flanked by restaurants and bars with outdoor tables crowded into one another and spilling across the cobblestones.

The ancient buildings had once been processing plants and a marketplace for the fresh fish brought in from the marina that was only steps away.

A compass rose was inlaid in black and white stones in the center of the piazza, the names of the eight Mediterranean winds spelled out in tiny, smooth stones: Tramontana , Grecale , Levante , Scirocco , Ostro , Ponente , Libeccio , and Maestrale .

They walked around the rose and toward the railing that jutted out over the sea.

“Like I said when we were at the tennis club, I am worried about people finding out about what I am planning. I want to tell the true story of what went down at the end of my career, but I don’t want to owe them the next part of my life.

Can’t I keep that just for myself?” Cris turned to Ellie, leaning on the railing.

She leaned next to him, her elbow grazing his forearm.

She shifted slightly, moving her elbow away.

“I don’t know the answer, but I very much know what it feels like to wonder how much you owe people after one chapter finishes and another one begins. Of course, my situation was very different, and I only had to think of what I owed one person, not, like, millions.” Ellie gestured toward the sea.

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.” Cris laughed.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I can’t imagine you owing anybody anything.”

“Well, I ended my relationship with the guy I was supposed to marry and found out some important information after that. I won dered if I should share it with him, but I eventually decided that I didn’t owe him the new part of me.

” An unexpected side effect of her late diagnosis was the urge to tell certain people from her past, especially if their relationship had been fraught.

She’d learned to let that go, deciding it would only have the unintended effect of seeming like she was asking for forgiveness.

“So I never told him. If I had, what would be the purpose, you know? He wasn’t going to be a part of my life anymore.

But I was only able to justify that decision after I knew that it was one hundred percent over between us,” she said, testing the limits of her vulnerability.

“That takes a lot of strength.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But only by cutting things off with my ex completely and cleanly could I get perspective on what I owed that relationship and what I owe myself. You and swimming—the fans, the team. That’s all a relationship, too, and it makes this one hell of a breakup.

So maybe you have to make sure everything is one hundred percent clean between you and them also.

Then maybe you get to keep the rest for yourself,” she said, choosing to focus on the tiny lights of a boat in the distance and not the feeling of gravity pulling her toward the man leaning next to her.

“You know what? You’re totally right. I didn’t think of it that way before, but it feels like a breakup.

Maybe worse. I can’t figure out what part is grief and what part is resentment.

Plus, I know there’s still a lot of love there,” he said, watching the dark sea in front of them.

“I certainly didn’t feel like this when I called it quits with any girlfriends,” he laughed.

“Well, I can’t comment on that except that we usually grieve less when there’s a sense of relief,” she said.

He turned to face her, his eyebrows raised.

She quickly continued, “Also, maybe you weren’t ready for this kind of negative vibe at the end of your career.

You didn’t have control over that, but you do have control over how you talk about it. ”

“You’re right. About all of it. But I’m ready to face it now and fix it,” he said leaning into her arm. “How do I thank you for all of this?”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m just talking to you.”

“Well, it means a lot to me,” he said, turning to face her. Her eyes stayed on the horizon. “I usually have to pay by the hour for this kind of help.”

“Would you like to Venmo me a few bucks so you can stop thanking me?”

“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable again?”

“I make myself uncomfortable, Cris. It’s pretty much my blood type.”

“Okay. I’ll stop.” He smiled and leaned away from her.

And there it was. She knew this was the moment she always got to with people, especially men.

No matter what, she would get to a point where someone expressed a desire to get closer to her, and she deflected into Data Gathering Mode.

The emotional stuff was harder, and she always did her own version of running away from it.

She turned to look at Cris. If she had met him today, she’d be texting Greta to gush about the incredibly gorgeous man who was interesting and smart and not at all what she had thought.

Instead, she was stuck on a prior version of him like software she’d forgotten to update.

“But maybe I need to revise that thinking,” she said, leaning over to close the space between them again. “I have bad habits, too. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable around you.”

“Good. I like that,” he said. They stared at each other for a few moments, saying nothing.

She felt like she was on the edge of something and didn’t dare move.

Behind her were all the mistakes and even the history they’d just watched on a screen, but it felt like a colossal leap to whatever came next. “Do you think we can hug on it?”

Cris opened his arms wide. She’d probably hugged him hundreds of times in her life, but this time would feel different.

She knew it. All she had to do was step forward into him, into his arms, into feeling.

She nodded. Her hands slid around his torso, and he pulled his arms around her shoulders.

She turned her face against his chest, breathing in his citrus scent.

A heartbeat pulsed between them, but it was impossible to know whether it was hers or his.

He was so warm. She let her eyes close for a moment, letting her thoughts go slack.

“Is this okay, Ellie Canestrelli?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” she laughed. “By the way, no one has called me that in over fifteen years.”

“It’s my favorite cookie, you know,” Cris said.

“I didn’t know,” she said, pulling away from him.

“I guess I don’t really know much about you besides what I remember as a kid.

I certainly don’t know you as an adult beyond what I’ve heard through the grapevine.

We both know that when the moms report facts it’s basically a bilingual game of telephone. ”

“You know you can’t count on anything there.”

“Hence me thinking your girlfriend’s name was Magenta.”

“You said Fuchsia.”

“And there you have it.”

“Well, now it’s just you and me talking.

We don’t have to rely on anyone else to pass on questionable news items or search our memories for fossils,” he said.

“I want to know you now. I want you to know me, too. What do you think?” He grabbed one of her hands and pulled it between them with their fingers interlaced.

She didn’t know how to answer, so she did the only thing that made sense.

Ellie held his gaze and squeezed her fingers against his twice hoping he would remember.

His eyes flashed in recognition, and he smiled, squeezing back twice to confirm. Yes, let’s keep going.