I never tired of this iconic coastal drive. On some days, if you stopped the car on one of the little layovers, you could spot so many sea lions or harbor seals on the beach below that you might mistake them for rocks. There were sea otters, sometimes, too, now a protected species, floating on their backs among dense beds of kelp.
The highway was still slick from yesterday’s rain, with deep red earth squelching down the banks that flanked the road.
It had rained cats and dogs this autumn. It wasn’t normal.
The canyons rose above me on my right, and to the left, the raw coastal wilderness of pines and redwoods, with the ocean beyond. Buzzing open the window, I let in the aroma of wild sage and tangy salt.
As I approached Carmel, my appreciation swelled. What a perfect American town. Clint Eastwood came to mind. Doris Day. Quaint boutiques tailored from pretty pastel Hansel and Gretel cottages. A picture postcard, this town seemed to me, with its endless art galleries set amongst perfect little streets fringed by wispy cypress trees. A veritable movie set.
Once I found parking, I installed myself in a discreet spot on the outside terrace of a corner café, ordered a club sandwich and Perrier, but then changed my mind and asked for a white wine. I checked the messages on my phone, hoping that somehow it was all in my head, that the next time I looked I’d realize it was my imagination, a trick of the eye. But no, it was still there, looming at me:
I’LL BE WATCHING YOU.
My stomach dipped.
The waiter reappeared. “Ma’am, would you like another wine? Your club sandwich will be right with you.”
“Yes, please,” I replied distractedly.
The waiter went away, and my attention was now caught by a couple in their late twenties. “Why didn’t you pick up, then?” the man was asking, fire in his eyes. The woman shrugged. I knew they’d be having sex later. A jealous man is a good thing. Not too jealous, though, but a touch possessive. It keeps the flame alight. My heart skittered with vicarious longing, wondering why I hadn’t just stayed home with my melancholy view, wondering why I was punishing myself by watching other people’s happy moments. Family moments.
Six months and three days without Juan.
The sun glided out from behind a cloud, and I was lit up out of the shadows, more so than I wished.
“Guess who?” a breathy voice said as a pair of sticky hot hands blindfolded my eyes, jolting me from my reverie. They smelled of stale cigarettes smoked on the sly.
Pippa. The last person I wanted to see.
“Hi, Pippa,” I said, without even turning around.
She sat down opposite me, plunking her Prada handbag on the empty chair beside her. “Finally found a parking space,” she said huskily. “Not easy with my bloody big new car, I can tell you.”
I had to give it to her—despite a long-jawed face, Pippa was not unattractive. Glossy, almost black, shoulder-length hair, and chompy white teeth that always showed when she smiled. She smiled a lot. There was something homey about her. People tended to divulge their secrets to Pippa, without her even asking. She was Juan’s best friend, from way back. I’d forgotten how they’d met.
“What a coincidence,” I said, “to see you here.”
“You’ve finally come out of your gilded cage.” A wide grin crept across Pippa’s face. “The bird hasn’t got clipped wings after all. So now you’re out and about, darling, why don’t we have dinner sometime? Catch up.”
“Maybe.” I smiled at her, but my mind was still with the drone. I said, to make conversation, “So you bought a new car?”
“Yes, but I still keep the old Toyota in case of emergencies. You were rash, darling, to let go of Juan’s lovely white Range Rover after he died. One needs a second car round here. And going around in that cranky old Land Rover of yours on these treacherous wet roads is a tad risqué, don’t you think?”
“It’s very reliable, actually. And I feel safer with gears than with an automatic on those hairpin bends.”
Pippa’s eyes glazed over for a moment, and before I could read into her odd expression (was she still in love with him?), she looked down and put her hand on mine and squeezed it.
“You’re right,” I said. “I should get a second car.”
Being British like me, Pippa thought we were in some sort of cozy club. Just because she was