Rising Tides Read Online Free PDF

normal. And the second one--the self-flagellation over untempered jealousy toward a husband I had once believed incapable of infidelity. 
    Yes, I had lied to myself.  I would sail again.  With Tyler.
    I stared at the tide rolling toward me, and that’s when I knew the truth: my life had been leading toward this freedom, and I had finally arrived.  I don’t know.  Maybe in some stupid way I was lucky because the picture had been brought into focus by the cancer.  What if I’d been killed in a car accident.  How could I have thought that I had ever truly lived?
    I pulled out my supplies and carried them down toward the water.  For a few moments, I watched the constant motion and listened to the fluidity of the language exchanged between the birds and waves.  Then I  set out my easel and tried to mimic the soft caress of water ebbing at my feet.
    For a while I had to glance at the view spread in front of me, but then something else happened, something unlike anything I’d experienced in ten years of holding a paintbrush and giving life to bland canvas: I closed my eyes and I saw the sea.
    Time melted away as I steadily muted blues and greys together.  For a moment, I stopped painting and rolled my shoulders, trying to stretch out the aching I hadn’t noticed before. I frowned and scrutinized the colors, checking to see if I had blended them right.  My neck cramped slightly.  I rolled my head slowly, and from the corner of my eye saw someone sitting perfectly still a few feet away from me.
    I glanced in that direction and found Tyler with his legs pretzelled into a yoga position.  That was the only part of his body that was meditating, however, unless I had become part of his ritual, I noted, feeling the weight of his stare falling upon me.   This time, he wore jeans and a hooded grey sweatshirt instead of the black wetsuit.  “How long have you been there?” I asked, taking my free hand and rubbing the back of my neck.
    He shrugged.  “A few minutes.”  He stretched out his legs and picked himself up from the ground.  “Long enough to know you’re a pretty good painter.”  He walked over to where I stood and brushed his fingers against my cheek.  When he pulled his hand away, I could see the gray paint.  “But you really should keep it on the canvas.”
    I laughed and started to clean my brush.  “Most of the time I try to. I’m a much better painter than a sailor.  I assure you.”  Tyler watched as I sorted my supplies and put them back together.
    “Why are you quitting?” he asked, digging his left shoe into the sand.
    “I was going to put these things away and take a walk on the beach.  I think I’m kind of painted out for the day, if you know what I mean.”
    “Yeah.  I do.  Here, let me help.”  Tyler folded the easel and picked it up while I grabbed the bag of supplies. As we carried them to the rental car, Tyler walked beside me.  I unlocked the trunk, and Tyler set the easel inside.  When he stepped back, our shoulders bumped together.  “Sorry about that,” he said, moving away.
    We stowed the rest of the stuff in the trunk before I closed it and shoved the keys into my pocket.  “How come you’re not sailing today?” I asked as we headed toward the beach.
    He thrust his hands into his pockets.  “How could I top yesterday?”  He looked over my head, toward the waves stroking the beach.
    “Tip the boat over.”  I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, feeling the cool air through my sweater.
    He laughed, the sound of it echoing over the gentle crying of gulls overhead.  “I guess that’s an option.  How was your husband when you got back?  You said he might be worried about your absence.”  Tyler stared at the ground.
      “Gary was worried, as usual.”  I stepped into bigger tracks which had been washed by the tide enough so that only an impression remained.  “He probably would have lost his mind if I’d told him about going