Terry so loved this spot, I thought, dragging my toe in the wet sand. The seagulls playing get-away with the foamy front line of the waves. The hush-hush of the ocean as it swept in, then pulled away like a suddenly shy suitor.

For Terry, there was no place quite as magical as right here on this stretch of beach. Maybe that’s why I always felt his presence so strongly here. As if he were right at my elbow, and I could talk to him. And actually I’d done exactly that, a lot of talking, over the past three years. 

And wasn’t that an odd thought! Not that I still talked to Terry. . . why wouldn’t I? Just that he’d been gone for three whole years already. Had it really been that long? It felt like yesterday that I’d gotten the terrifying phone call.

An accident, they’d said. Some lady going too fast. Terry at the stoplight, the wrong place at the wrong time. No, no need to hurry. He’s already gone. A conversation that had consumed less than five minutes. And changed my whole life forever.

But here at the beach, I felt almost whole again. Terry was . . . well, here, even if I couldn’t see him. I told myself it wasn’t the wind touching my shoulder or whispering at my ear. It was Terry. And over the past three years, I’d come to almost believe it. 

A lot had changed in those three years, of course. I’d sold the house; too many memories, not enough cash. Changed jobs, too. Terry would have been proud. I’d finally kissed that soul-sucking clerical job sayonara and embraced my inner jock, teaching kick-boxing, yoga, t’ai chi, and an occasional jazzercise class five afternoons a week.

It paid surprisingly well; I was making ends meet. And I was in the best physical shape I’d ever been in. I got to make dozens of people breathe hard, work harder, and smile every single workday. And yet when I went back to my apartment, I still felt lonely as heck. Hence my daily after-five walks on the beach.

“Hey. There he is. Over there.”

I could’ve sworn it was Terry’s voice. Half-laughing, as if amused by some inside joke.

But when I spun around, there was nobody there. Nobody xcept a lone figure striding through the tall oat grass bordering the parking lot, a dozen yards way. Head down, knees pumping, as he moved toward the water. Toward me.

Suddenly the man glanced up. Straight at me. And smiled.

For the first time in a long, long time, I didn’t instantly look away. He had a nice face. A kind face. Brown eyes the color of fine, varnished teak. He halted for a minute, then lifted a hand in greeting, his smile widening.

“Time for me to go, you know.” It was a whisper at my ear. If it really was a voice, that is. I shook my head slightly. Probably just my imagination, the hiss of the waves. Or some strange body echo. My heart suddenly seemed to be beating harder than usual.

Suddenly self-conscious, I waved back, my lips lifted in what probably looked like a silly grin.

Stooping, the man bent to pick up a shell. “Hey! Ever seen one of these before?”

He closed the distance with long, loping strides, right hand outstretched. In his palm lay a delicate white corkscrew circled with narrow white rings. A miraculous nautical trellis. A jewel of the sea.

“Oh! That’s a beauty! And very rare. They call that a Wentletrap shell. After the Dutch word for spiral staircase.”

“Huh.” There was that disarming smile again. “Somehow I figured you’d know. You like shells?”

He’d fallen into step beside me. I refused to glance up, but I could feel his presence – soothing. That was a surprise. I was used to being alone. I liked being alone. Especially here, I reminded myself.

“Yes. This was my husband’s favorite spot.” My gaze drifted to the breakers as we walked, still determined not to meet those warm brown eyes again. “He was a huge shell fan. We never found a whole Wentletrap, though. Just pieces. But we looked them up online, learned the name.”

We traced the wet band of sand together in silence for another minute. “Was. I take it your husband –?” His voice trailed off, as if not wanting to say the word.

I nodded, my gaze focused on my feet. “Car accident.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. My wife, too. Not a car accident, though. Cancer. ”

My head swivelled toward him then. “I’m sorry. How long ago?”

It was his turn to stare out at the waves. “Eight years.” Three hearbeats went by. Then those soft brown eyes landed on mine. “The what if part never really goes away, does it.”

“Exactly! What if he’d gotten the flu and hadn’t been able to work that day? What if he’d left ten minutes earlier, or five minutes later?”

I heard him inhale slowly, then whoosh out the breath. “Yeah. What if I’d insisted she get that funny-looking thing on her arm looked at months earlier. It’s easy to lose yourself in the might-have-beens, isn’t it.”

“My therapist says all of that — the what-ifs, blaming myself — it’s just a way of trying to manufacture some order in the world. Instead of simply accepting that much of life really is random.”

He laughed out loud at that, a resonant belly-laugh that somehow warmed me deep inside. As if he wasn’t afraid of life. Wasn’t afraid of death. 

“I’m gonna steal that line! Trying to impose order. She’s exactly right, you know.”

“That life is purely random?”

“Yeah. We never know for sure what’s going to happen next, right? And so much of life is beyond our control because it is completely random. Like meeting you here.”

I felt a quick pressure against my cheek then. And there was a sound — I could’ve sworn it was halfway between a purr and a kiss. But before I could take them in, process what was happening, they were gone.

“Random,” I repeated, turning the heaviness over in my mind, hefting it. Balancing it against the warmth in Terry’s smile. His spicy aftershave. The comforting feel of his hand in mind. How he’d always been here for me on this beach, even when he wasn’t . . . .

Maybe life really was a totally random collection of events. Including a chance meeting with a charming stranger on this particular stretch of beach. Pure coincidence to have run into another human being with warm, kind eyes and a similar loss. A serendipitous discovery of a totally complete Wentletrap shell, when I’d only ever seen pieces before. Just an assortment of happy accidents amid a purely random life.

Or maybe that really had been Terry whispering in my ear, and none of this was random at all.

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