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Michelle, to Henry, was the proverbial black widow, having arrived with every stitch of clothing black or near enough.

They settle into an uneasy co-existence, by the fire, waiting out the rain and weather, not avoiding meals because it would require explanation, but stumbling over the conversation, mainly because of Henry’s shyness and reserve.

The arrangements come to a head when she goes out and comes back soaked.  She stands by the fire to get warm; Mrs Mac brings a towel for her to dry her face and hair, and here Henry discovers her injuries make it difficult.

He helps but makes a mess of it through inexperience and fear of, yes, making a mess of a moment, which, word-wise, he does.

At this point, we discover a lot more about who she is and why she is there, and why she can never have a relationship, friendship or anything with that enigmatic, shy, boy.

Then the weather breaks.

Alone, Henry goes out to explore the coast, finds a way down to the beach, goes for a walk to be alone with his thoughts, and remembers where he had seen her before.

In magazines, ads.  Not only a model but a lot more.  A woman he realizes he is way out of his depth when with her.

She ventures to the beach, and they talk, he discovers small talk is not something that comes easy and is left in despair at his ineptitude.

I know this feeling from experience, and it makes this story easy.

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