I Married a Master(80)
Author: Melanie Marchande

"How did you…" I took another deep breath, letting it out slowly. "How did you find out? Did you ask my parents?"

He shook his head, extending his hand to me. "Come on," he said. "I want to show you something."

We walked up the beach, slowly, my heart hammering in my chest. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t possibly find the words. I never would have guessed this would be the perfect honeymoon, but somehow, he’d just known. This was the place I needed to go back to.

For a moment, I was struck by the strangeness of it – returning back here, not as a townie, but as one of the tourists I’d resented so much. It was hard not to imagine how they’d think of me – whoever was in my parents’ place now, in mine, cleaning up after people like me, not understanding that I used to be one of them.

Because now, it didn’t matter. I’d married into enough money to keep them at my beck and call.

Something like regret twisted in my chest, then I glanced at Ben. The sunlight gleamed through his hair, and my heart thumped even faster.

I didn’t care about the money. All I cared about was him – and that was dangerous.

All along, I’d grown up knowing that a rich boy could break my heart. I had to stay away. I knew better. I’d done so well, on my mother’s warning. And then, I went ahead and fell in love with one anyway.

How monumentally stupid was I?

"Come on," he said, leading me towards a little copse of trees. Some long-forgotten memory stirred, deep inside my mind, but I couldn’t quite reach it. The details were too hazy, and if I tried to put it into words, it slipped even further away, like a dream after hours of waking.

All that was left was the feeling itself. Something poignant and bittersweet.

My heels were sinking into the sand. "Wait," I said, letting go of Ben’s hand. "My shoes."

He waited as I took them off, carrying them in my other hand as he grasped mine again and kept on urging me forward. I laughed a little as my toes sank into the sand. "What’s so important?"

"You’ll see," he promised.

We’d almost reached the trees. I looked over my shoulder, grasping again for the memory.

It’s gonna be the biggest best sandcastle in the world

My throat constricted. This was where it happened – this was the exact spot where I first learned that very important lesson about rich boys. Of course, Ben couldn’t know that. He just thought he was doing something very sweet and thoughtful, and he was. But I felt that same wave of loneliness wash over me again, bringing the tears back to my eyes.

The sand gave way to dirt, and suddenly we were in the long shade of the trees. The sun was setting, and I wanted to lose myself in the beauty of it. But there was a great yawning emptiness inside me, because no matter how good things were now, I was destined for the same heartbreak again. He’d leave me. They always left.

"Jenna," he said, softly. "Look."

He was pointing at a tree trunk. I stepped closer, my eyes still adjusting to the relative darkness. There was something carved in it. Blocky, unsteady letters, darkened with age but still starkly visible in the wood.

BW

SK

There was nothing else, just those two sets of initials stacked on top of each other. But it all came rushing back.

We took a break from building the castle when the lifeguard called adult swim and said we were too close to the water. We had to get out of the way. He didn’t want to have to watch us. So we left, going into the woods, and he didn’t care, just as long as we didn’t drown on his watch.

The boy had a pocketknife, and I thought that was very cool and a little bit scary. I wasn’t allowed to have one of my own. He showed it to me, and I gasped and told him to be careful.

He wanted to make a mark in one of the trees. A memory of the day, and how we built the best sandcastle to ever be built.

"What should I carve in it?"

I giggled. "Batman."

All day, he’d been calling himself Batman. I really didn’t know who that was, except that he wore a scary rubber suit. I didn’t like Batman, but I liked him. So if he called himself Batman, that was okay with me.

He shook his head, his messy hair falling down over his eye. "No. That’s not what Batman would do. You gotta use your secret identity."

"So? What are you gonna put on it?"

Grinning, he dug the tip of the knife into the bark. "B.W.," he said. "For Bruce Wayne. That’s what people call Batman whenever they don’t know he’s Batman."

"What about me?"

"You can be my sidekick," he said.

"I don’t wanna be your sidekick." That made me mad. I knew what a sidekick was – less. Not as strong, not as powerful. Not fair. I wanted to be as cool as Batman.

"Fine," he said. "What about, if you were Catwoman?"

Catwoman. I wasn’t sure I liked that, but it sounded better than being his sidekick.

"She’s smart, too," he said. "Sometimes she’s bad, but sometimes she’s good. She’s probably just as smart as Batman." He didn’t like saying that, but he was trying to make me happy. I nodded enthusiastically.

"Okay. I’m Catwoman. What’s my secret…identity?" I had to sound the word out carefully.

"S.K.," he said, starting to carve. "That’s Selina Kyle. Don’t forget it, okay? Next time I see you, that’s what I’m gonna call you." He flipped his hair out of his eyes. "And what are you gonna call me?"

"Bruce," I said. "Bruce Wayne."

"That’s right."

The sun beamed through his hair, and I smiled at him.

Ben’s voice cut through the memory.

"Please tell me you remember."

I stared at him. Shorter hair, thinner face, and yeah, he was a few feet taller. But there was no mistaking it now. He’d brought the memory back to me, and I knew who he really was.

"Bruce," I whispered, stepping towards him, although my feet felt like lead.

"Hey, Selina." He was holding back his smile a little, but it still broke through. "It’s been a while."

"Not so long," I said, softly. His fingers brushed against my cheek, feather-light, before they came around to cup the back of my neck. Possessive.

"I told you I’d come right back," he said. "How come you left?"

Tears welled in my eyes, and I didn’t even think to be embarrassed. "Your parents were supposed to hate me."

"My parents didn’t give a shit." His eyes locked with mine, and for once, they showed me everything. No artifice, no false bravado. The memory of childhood had stripped away everything dishonest about us, all the walls we’d put up in the many years we’d been apart.