Santa Barbara, 2000
Nick and Christopher sat on barstools at Longboard’s Bar, the glass-lined second floor of the Harbor Restaurant on Stearns Wharf. The persistent fog obscured the views of Santa Barbara and the busy marina, but the atmosphere was bright and noisy, and the décor reflected the neon shades of the California surf culture.
Christopher was consuming fried shrimp, french fries, and coleslaw, washing it down with Corona. “Hey, I’m twenty-one now,” he lied when Nick questioned the propriety of buying him a beer.
“So you are. I keep forgetting that Kate is old enough to have an adult son,” said Nick easily, emphasizing the word adult. He could have sworn that Chris was only twenty, but didn’t feel like arguing the point at the moment.
“Yeah, Mom looks young, I guess,” replied Christopher.
“We never look at our mothers as real humans,” laughed Nick. “I can’t tell you how my mom looks most of the time either. She’s just my mother.”
“Yeah,” said Christopher. “So—you guys gonna get married or what?”
“She keeps hinting that she doesn’t want to commit to marriage.”
Christopher shrugged. “She likes you a lot. She was really weird when the divorce from Dad happened. I think that she’s just scared.”
“It happens,” replied Nick, wondering how much to tell this young man. He and Christopher had always had an amiable relationship, but this was the first time that they had had a chance to talk alone. The young man’s green eyes and dark hair reminded him very much of Kate, but in facial feature he was much more like his father. The combination was handsome, but Christopher was nonchalant about his good looks, and dressed in ancient jeans and a baggy sweatshirt.
“Yeah, I think that she should marry you.” Christopher wiped the remains of his lunch off his new, somewhat feeble moustache, and grinned. “Then I won’t have to take care of her in her old age.”
Nick laughed, “Your mom is pretty capable of taking care of herself. Maybe too much so.”
Christopher shrugged. “Maybe. Why do people get married anyway? It’s not like you have to or anything …”
“For lots of reasons, I suppose. Men and women have always married. It seems to be something more than just the two people involved. It just feels right.”
“Well, I think that Mom needs to be married. I mean, she doesn’t bug me too much or anything, but I want her to be happy. You make her happy.”
“So, shall I ask you for her hand?”
Christopher frowned and then understood what Nick was saying. He laughed, “Yeah, I guess that you should. Okay, you have my permission to marry my mom. Have you asked her?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, no wonder she won’t marry you. Try asking her.”
Nick scowled for a moment. “No insult intended, Chris—but from the mouths of babes …”
Nick had told her to dress casually, but Kate was still surprised when their dinner date began with a long walk on the cold, foggy beach. She crammed her hands into the pockets of her green jacket and shivered. “This isn’t the best view of the city,” she commented. She glanced around at the soft silver curtains that were drawn over the hills and harbor. “In fact, it’s definitely a ‘no view’ sort of day!”
Nick, dressed in old jeans and carrying a small backpack, grinned back at her. “Ah, just because you can’t see more than about a hundred feet. At least we have the beach to ourselves. It isn’t filled with the usual volleyball and jogging crowd.”
She sniffed. “True, but the low tide tells me that some dead critters might be lurking about. I hope that we don’t have another beached whale or anything …”
Nick grabbed her hand. “Katherine, let’s sit here for a while.” He promptly dropped down into the damp, sandy mudflat exposed by the very low tide. She gazed down at him in amazement.
“Nick, what the hell are you doing? It’s cold and wet here, and the tide will be coming back in shortly.”
He merely smiled.
“Come on, silly one—let’s get back to the car and run over to Brophy Brothers for some clam chowder. Or—let’s walk up to the Café. Nick, are you listening to me?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nope, for once, I’m not listening. Come and sit beside me. We have all of this nice mud to share.”
She paused, mouth half open. “All right. If you’re going to be messy and muddy, I suppose that I—” She stopped abruptly and met his eyes with sudden understanding.
“What did you want? An egg? Yes—Maddie sent me a draft of the book. Not Shakespeare, but very good, fair Kate.”
She smiled and plopped down beside him on the mudflat. They were silent for a moment, watching the seabirds waddling in the lazy gray surf.
“I love you, Katie,” he said at last. “That’s not a surprise.”
“No. I love you too, Nick. It is all so simple—after all, it boils down to that.”
“Let’s not analyze now. Here …” He picked up a handful of the muddy sand and placed it in hers. For a moment, she clutched it in her fist.
“I can’t bear it, Nick,” she began. “The world is such a mess, and it all ends in grief and death. I can’t bear the thought of losing you someday.”
“That’s one hell of a stupid attitude. So, we all die eventually. You said it many times in your book. But, fair Kate, while we are alive, let us live. I don’t believe in destiny, but I think that we’ve got a pretty good chance of some great years together.”
She smiled sadly. “Although the night may come too soon, we’ve years and years of afternoon!” she quoted a line from the Mikado.
“Gilbert had it right there. One of the finest poets who ever lived!” said Nick. “Now, if you’re finished with the mud, let me give you this.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a velvet box.
“An engagement ring?” she squeaked as he displayed a fine diamond solitaire.
“Yes. Will you marry me? I’ve given you my love and all of this lovely cold mud. How romantic can I get?”
She brushed the sandy mud from her hands briskly. “All right. I’ll stand up and you can kneel, and then I’ll say yes.”
“If you wish. But do it soon because I’m freezing and need a warm woman in my arms as quickly as possible,” he laughed.
She stood up, brushed sand from her jeans, and extended her hand to him. He rose, somewhat stiffly, to his knees and kissed her hand gently. “Please marry me, dearest one. We’ll live as long as we can, and as well as we can, and try to do some good in the world.”
“Yes—I will marry you, Dr. O’Donnell,” she whispered. “Now, get up and kiss me.”
He promptly complied, and they walked hand in hand up the beach and away from the incoming tide.