The Reef by Nora Roberts Page B

when I was sixteen. I lost it on a dive. It really broke my heart, so I stopped wearing jewelry in the water.” She tore her eyes away from the delicate locket and tugged on his silver piece. “Maybe I’ll take that coin Buck gave me and wear it as a charm.”
    â€œWorks for me. You want to get a drink or something?”
    She touched her tongue to her top lip. “Ice cream.”
    â€œIce cream.” He thought it over. “Let’s go.”
    Sharing cones, they strolled along the sidewalk, explored narrow streets. He charmed her by plucking a creamy white hibiscus from a bush, tucking it carelessly behind her ear. While they shopped for Marla’s essentials, he had her gurgling with laughter over the story of Buck and Blackbeard’s ghost.
    â€œWe were off Ocracoke, on Buck’s birthday. His fiftieth. The idea of half a century behind him had Buck so depressed he’d finished off half a bottle of whiskey. I helped him work on the other half.”
    â€œI bet.” Tate chose a bunch of ripening bananas and added it to her basket.
    â€œHe was going on about all these might have’s—you know what I mean. We might have found that wreck if we’d looked another month. If we’d gotten there first, we might have hit the mother lode. If the weather had held, we might have struck it rich. Between the whiskey and the boredom, I passed out on deck. That melon’s not ripe. This one.”
    He switched fruit, chose the grapes himself. “Anyway, the next thing I know, the engines are roaring and the boat’s lurching off southeast at a good twelve knots. Buck’s at the wheel, screaming about pirates. Scared the shit out of me. I jumped up, tripped, knocked my head on the rail so hard I saw stars. Nearly went overboard whenhe swung to starboard. He’s yelling for me and I’m cursing him, fighting to stay upright as he circles the boat. His eyes are about six inches out from his face and white. You know he can’t see more than three feet in front of him without his glasses. But he’s pointing out to sea and shouting all this pirate cant. ‘Avast, ahoy, shiver me timbers.’ ”
    Tate’s laughter turned heads. “He did not say ‘shiver me timbers.’ ”
    â€œHell, he didn’t. He nearly capsized us doing a jig and singing ‘yo, ho, ho.’ ” The memory of it had a grin tugging at his mouth. “I almost had to knock him out to get the wheel away from him. ‘The ghost, Matthew. Blackbeard’s ghost. Don’t you see it?’ I told him he wasn’t going to be seeing anything either after I poked his eyes out. He tells me it’s there, right there, ten degrees off the forward bow. There’s not a damn thing there but a little mist. But to Buck, it was Blackbeard’s severed head, smoke curling from the beard. He claimed it was a sign, and if we dived there the next day, we’d find Blackbeard’s treasure, the one everyone else figured was buried on land.”
    Tate paid for the groceries, Matthew hefted the bags. “And you went down the next morning,” she said, “because he asked you to.”
    â€œThat and because if I hadn’t, I’d never have heard the end of it. We didn’t find a damn thing, but he sure got over turning fifty.”
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    It was nearly dusk when they got back to the beach. Matthew stowed the bags and turned to see that Tate had rolled up her pants legs so she could stand in the surf.
    Light gilded her hair, her skin. Suddenly he was painfully reminded of his dream and how she had looked aglow in the water. How she had tasted.
    â€œIt’s so beautiful here,” she murmured. “It’s like nothing else exists. How can there be anything wrong with the world when there are spots like this? When there are days like this?”
    She was sure he was unaware that this had been themost romantic day of her life.