They cared about the birds, of course—they both loved the thrill of seeing a new breed or a nest of perfect black skimmer eggs or the first warbler of the season—but the birding was also a cover. A reason for them to spend so much time together other than just not wanting to be apart.

Walking along the beach with him all these years later, Violet knew there was no reason she should feel this zing of familiarity, these strains of muscle memory, as if it had only been a short time since they’d walked down the beach together, fingers tracing circles on each other’s skin and streaks in the cerulean sky as they learned each other and followed birds on their flight paths. It had been forty years. They were strangers. And yet the past felt as sure and solid as the sand under her feet and the wind against her face.

1982

Violet ran up behind Frank, her long brown hair wind-whipped and her skin goose-bumped, and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned one way, she darted the other, her footsteps muffled by the cold sand. The sun was brilliant on this mid-February Saturday. It was chilly so close to the water, but the brisk breeze revived her lagging spirit, and now that she was here with Frank, her heart was light.

He took three running steps with his long, muscular legs and caught her, his hand warm on her wrist. “Hey, you.” He pulled her toward him and kissed her. She rested her cheek against his and slid her hand into his.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as he wrapped an arm around her back. “I had to run by my sister’s house.” Violet had woken up that morning with an ominous sense that a crossroads was coming. She’d driven too fast on the curving road to Jay and Trudy’s house, only to be turned away at the door by Jay.

“Your sister,” Frank said as they fell into step together and headed down the beach, eyes alert to wispy feathers, thin legs, sturdy beaks. “Trudy, right?”

Violet nodded and nibbled her thumbnail as the cold Gulf water flowed over her feet. She inhaled sharply at the shock, and Frank guided her up a bit onto softer sand, away from the edge of the waves.

“Last time you mentioned her, you said she was going through a hard time.”

It was true, Violet had said that, but she almost laughed at the absurdity of the cliché. A hard time. As if being married to Jay Malone was just a virus Trudy had picked up and would get over soon. The problem was Violet worried Trudy would never get over him, no matter how hard the times got. No matter how hard Violet tried to keep her promise to her mother. “I promise. I’ll protect Trudy.”

“You know what? I don’t want to talk about Trudy.” She met his gaze. “Is that all right?”

He closed the space between them and kissed her temple. “Of course.” His eyebrows knitted. “She’s okay though?”