House of the Blue Sea by Teresa van Bryce Page B

career and ex-wife. Twice they’d sat across a table from one another, twice he’d had some excessive display of anger. Driving was fine, shopping went well. Maybe the key was to keep him moving. A walk sounded like a reasonable idea and she was wearing her new and comfy sandals. What the hell. “Sure. I haven’t seen the marina.”
    The two-lane roadway running in front of La Perla had parking on one side and La Paz’s famous Malecón with its wide sidewalk on the sea side. They ambled southwest on the paving stone walkway, red stones flowing through the grey ones in bands, the palm trees like sentries every fifty feet. White wrought iron benches placed at regular intervals seemed more befitting of a Victorian garden than a Mexican resort town, but they provided great stopping places for tourists wanting to enjoy the view or rest their feet. Mark seemed content to walk without conversation, whether out of discomfort or lack of anything to say Sandra didn’t know or care. Between his stardom and his temper it was fatiguing spending the day with him, and the walk along the Malecón was a refreshing reprieve. She loved the waterfront here, and being outdoors always helped to ground her.
    Mark broke the silence. “The marina is beyond the end of the walkway, but we can take the street the last bit.”
    Masts came into view as they rounded the corner past a large condo complex. “Sticks,” Sandra said, more to herself than to Mark.
    “I’m sorry?”
    “S ticks , it’s what my ... friend used to call them—sailboat masts. He thought they looked like a bunch of sticks all in a group like this.” Nick had had a unique way of seeing many things, often amusing, always interesting. She still missed him so much. She felt the slight burning in her eyes that came right before they filled with tears and she dropped her gaze to the new sandals making their way along the pavement.
    “I don’t suppose you’ve sailed, given your landlocked location.”
    “I have actually. I sailed some with my husband’s family, back in Toronto, on Lake Ontario.”
    “Husband? I didn’t realize you were married.”
    “I’m not, anymore. That was a very long time ago. It almost feels like something I saw in a movie rather than lived through. Have you ever felt that way about a part of your life?” They’d stopped at the entrance to the marina near a large flowering shrub. Its pale pink flowers gave off a heady scent similar to lilac.
    “I feel that way about many parts of my life, but in my case, it’s often true.” Mark laughed.
    Sandra blushed. “Of course. I should have thought of that. Is that the case, can real life and acted life get confused?”
    “Not really, at least not beyond filming. When you’re in a character’s head all the time the line between yourself and your role can become blurry, but it goes quickly once filming is wrapped. Should we go in?” Mark nodded his head toward the open gate.
    “Can we? It’s not for members only?”
    “Some of the members offer boat charters so I’m sure they’re happy to have us poking about.”
    They walked past the marina office and down to the docks. Each pier had a gate at its end, preventing access to anyone without a code, but many of the boats were viewable from the shoreline boardwalk.
    “And you? Have you sailed?” Sandra asked him.
    “I have, as a boy, in London—my brother and I took lessons—and then again about ten years ago when I was working on a movie. I enjoyed it so much I certified with the Royal Yachting Association .” He’d made his accent even more posh than normal. “I know enough to charter a boat and generally keep myself out of trouble.” Mark stopped and turned to Sandra. “Would you like to go?”
    “Go?”
    “Sailing. I’m sure someone must charter sailboats for the day.”
    Sailing. Now did that qualify as a moving activity or was it more of the sitting and talking variety that had proven problematic? It might depend on the weather