I  walk to the end of the path and there it is before me: the magical beach.

How do I know?

Not the way the dunes slope to the ocean. Not the house with the tiny windows. Or the home nearby with the balcony and the pale blue rocking chairs, so close to the water that it could be shallowed by a giant wave. And not the abandoned red pail and shovel, still poking out of the sand.

It's him, out there before me.

The tall, muscular physique. The brown hair blowing, swim trunks clinging to his lean hips.

Only he has company.

Jieun.

They're not sitting on his blanket watching the waves, the way we did. And they're not talking. They're in the water, his arm loosely around her waist. She leans against him, her short hair grazing against her bare shoulders. They're like a fairy-tale scenery of serenity and unimaginable beauty, facing the ocean. They were born to be together, the fairy-tale prince and princess.

As slowly as I arrived, I back up, catlike, as if despite the blowing wind, the waves hitting the shore, and their total absorption in each other, they still might be able to make out my footsteps, the stray cat who has come upon their private oasis.

I pedal as fast as I can to get as far away from this beach. What was I thinking? Why did I want to come here, of all the places? It's his beach. I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere near him ever again. Did I think I was the only one in his life? He's the most perfect looking male in the universe, so that's absurd thought. I feel sickened, betrayed.

I head back to the safety of Yoongi's beach. He might still be there; it's only seven. So what if he's Jungkook's grandfather? I need his comforting presence. I need to lean on him, be sheltered by him. He takes me in, all-knowing, protective, accepting, no matter what.

Only he isn't there.

he must have packed up early or had something else to do. He meets friends for dinner sometimes at a little restaurant at the end of the beach. I may go riding past to see if I can spot him there.

I know so little about Yoongi. Where does he live when he's not outside painting? Where does he go off season? So many people come for summer and then vanish for months at a time.

° ° ° ° °

Irene gives me a strange look when I get home. "Are you okay, Suzy?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, just that you seem . . . pale."

Irene's upset, I can tell. I want to ask her if she's ever had her heart torn apart. Or what to do when you feel betrayed by someone and hurt so badly that you feel you can't live in your skin and you'll go crazy? I want to ask her if she's ever cared about somebody with everything and if there's any way you can make the stabbing ache go away when you find out they're in love with someone else.

But why? Nothing she or anyone could say would make a difference. I force myself to sound normal.

"I was looking for Yoongi. He gave me a paintbrush as a gift." I take it out of my bag and hold it out to her. She examines it carefully. "He left it at the hospital for me but I didn't find out about it until today."

"it's beautiful," she says. "it looks so old." She smiles. "It goes with the easel."

"What that his?"

She nods. "I told him you were coming and he offered it."

"I always had a feeling about it . . . about the person who owned it before me . . . Now I know where those thoughts came from." I shake my head. "Anyway, I wanted to thank him, but by the time I got to the beach, he wasn't there."

"There's a birthday party for his gallery owner tonight," she says. "Just a small party,  but he's hosting it. I saw him leaving the beach early to get ready."

° ° ° ° °

Jin comes over for dinner and we eat Korean BBQ, kimchi, and veggies. He works hard at making conversation with mr, undeterred by my one-word answers. he reminds me of a stand-up comic who keeps with the one-liners, even when he knows the audience isn't with him. When we finally finish and Irene gets up to clear the table, Jin opens the back door.

"Want to get some air?" he suggests.

I shrug and follow him outside. There are two wooden chairs on the patio and we sit facing each other. He sips a glass of wine and looks at me, smiling.

"What is it, Suzy?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know you by now," he says, in his warm voice. I look out at the water and then back at him. He fixes me with his warm, browns eyes and waits.

"People hurt you sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah," he nods, looking off, shaking his head lightly. He turns back to me and hold my gaze, waiting.

"I mean, maybe they don't mean to, they don't do it intentionally, but that's how it feels."

He smiles. "I used to feel like I was a punching bag. I got beaten up by life all the time."

"That's how I feel."

He puts the glass down on the arm of the chair and leans toward me. "Who hurt you, Suzy?"

I shake my head, my eyes full of tears. I shouldn't tell him, I know, but I have to tell someone. "Jungkook."

He leans his head to the side, wrinkling his brows. "how?"

"He's got a girlfriend, Jin, and I can't stand it. I thought he liked me, but then I saw them together. They didn't know I was there. Do you know how much that hurts?"

"Oh Suzy," he says. He's silent as he looks at the ground, thinking what to say next. "Did he tell you he doesn't want to see you anymore?"

"Not really."

"Then screw the girlfriend."

I want to laugh but start crying instead.

"If he lets a beautiful girl like you get away, then he's out of his mind."

He hands me a tissue and I blow my nose. "You think so?"

"Any sane guy would fall at your feet," he says. "Don't forget that."

"Jin?"

"What?"

"Do you miss your wife?"

His face changes. "Sure, I do," he says. "Sure. But you take the punches, and you go on. You can't stand still, Suzy. And you can't feel sorry for yourself, there's just no point to it, you know? There's a lot of good stuff out there and you have to move on, you have to find it. Life's one big treasure hunt."

The door opens and Irene pokes her head out. "Are you guys coming in for dessert?"

"What are we having?" I ask.

"Hotteok," Jin says.

"Are you kidding?" I'm not crying anymore.

"Had you going."

° ° ° ° °

After dinner I go upstairs and take out paper and paints. I open the navy blue cylinder and turn it upside down. Yoongi's brush slides out. I'll do a quick still life of my bed and the table next to it with the blue bowl of seashells. I work quickly with the brush, each clear and sure. My hand is expert with the paint. The brush glides smoothly over the paper as if it's in tune with an internal rhythm. As if the brush is painting by itself.

For the first time in as long as I remember, everything in my head is traveling through my hand and coming out on the paper. Midnight strikes, one o'clock, then two. I stay up longer than I expected, working intensity and purpose. At close to three in the morning I stop. I drop on the bed without washing up.

The dreams starts as soon I close my eyes. There's a dark curtain rising on another universe, some vast, unknown space like a strange, unexplored planet where no human has ever gone before. Yoongi is there looking at me. His eyes are darker and more penetrating than I have ever seen them.

"Suzy," he says in his deep, full voice, like a off-stage narrator. He's watching me, seeing me paint. Everything that I painted swirls around me, all the colors of the universe bleeding onto a giant canvas. but it is Yoongi's presence, hsi soul that fills the stage. he's touching my hands, holding them. His skin warm like Jungkook's, overheated. it's a healing warmth, an energy. A golden, beneficent heat spreads over me as he infuses me with his strength and power. I see a vision of him holding the paintbrush, his fingerprints pressing it, leaving behind his DNA, his genetic prowess. He's transferred all that to me along with the paintbrush.

Over creative link.

It's the same feeling I got when Irene gave me the easel, only more so. I'm the direct recipient of Yoongi's talent, his gifts, his vision, his worldliness, his confidence.

It's my destiny to paint, to create. The world around us is a giant canvas, and the sky is palette smeared with the swirls of every vivid color - magenta, citron, lavender, and bright green for me to play and experiment with. There's a magnetic field around me and everything buzzes with life, clarity, and possibility. Every color is in its freshest, purest form. The bluest blue I have ever seen.  The brightest pinks, the most orange-red coral. Deep stormy gars and charcoal blacks. My senses have been flooded with the spectrum and the possibilities of where to put the colors. My hands are the instruments and I'm a giant puppet who will paint and keep painting until I'm too tired to hold the brush anymore. My eyelids flutter, my breathing is so intense that my heart quivers nervously like a captive butterfly. I wake up with a start - soaked with sweat. I sit up in bed and flood of tears come.

I know what happened. I understand the dream.

Only I'm powerless to change it.