Over dinner I didn’t ask about his day, knowing he wouldn’t answer. Instead, I told him about Savannah and what our time together had been like. Afterward, I helped him with the dishes, continuing our one-sided conversation. Once they were done, he reached for the rag again. He wiped the counter a second time, then rotated the salt and pepper shakers until they were in exactly the same position they’d been in when he arrived home. I had the feeling that he wanted to add to the conversation and didn’t know how, but I suppose I was trying to make myself feel better. It didn’t matter. I knew he was ready to retreat to the den.
“Hey, Dad,” I said. “How about you show me some of the coins you’ve bought lately? I want to hear all about them.”
He stared at me as if uncertain he’d heard me right, then glanced at the floor. He touched his thinning hair, and I saw the growing bald spot on the top of his head. When he looked up at me again, he looked almost scared.
“Okay,” he finally said.
We walked to the den together, and when I felt him place a gentle hand on my back, all I could think was that I hadn’t felt this close to him in years.
T
he following evening, as I stood on the pier admiring the silver play of moonlight on the ocean, I wondered whether Savannah would show. The night before, after spending hours examining coins with my father and enjoying the excitement in his voice as he described them, I drove to the beach. On the seat beside me was the note I’d written to Savannah, asking her to meet me here. I’d left the note in an envelope I’d placed on Tim’s car. I knew that he would pass along the envelope unopened, no matter how much he might not want to. In the short time I’d known him, I’d come to believe that Tim, like my father, was a far better person than I would ever be.
It was the only thing I could think to do. Because of the altercation, I knew I was no longer welcome at the beach house; I also didn’t want to see Randy or Susan or any of the others, which made it impossible to contact Savannah. She didn’t have a cell phone, nor did I know the phone number at the beach house, which left the note as my only option.
I was wrong. I’d overreacted, and I knew it. Not just with her, but with the others on the beach. I should have simply walked away. Randy and his buddies, even if they lifted weights and considered themselves athletes, didn’t stand a chance against someone trained to disable people quickly and efficiently. Had it happened in Germany, I might have found myself locked up for what I’d done. The government wasn’t too fond of those who used government-acquired skills in ways the government didn’t approve.
So I’d left the note, then watched the clock all the next day, wondering if she would show. As the time I had suggested came and went, I found myself glancing compulsively over my shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief when a figure appeared in the distance. From the way it moved, I knew it had to be Savannah. I leaned against the railing as I waited for her.
She slowed her steps when she spotted me, then came to a stop. No hug, no kiss—the sudden formality made me ache.
“I got your note,” she said.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I had to sneak away so no one knew you were here,” she said. “I’ve overheard a few people talking about what they would do if you showed up again.”
“I’m sorry,” I plunged in without preamble. “I know you were just trying to help, and I took it the wrong way.”
“And?”
“And I’m sorry for what I did to Tim. He’s a great guy, and I should have been more careful.”
Her gaze was unblinking. “And?”
I shuffled my feet, knowing I wasn’t really sincere in what I was about to say, but knowing she wanted to hear it anyway. I sighed. “And Randy and the other guy, too.”
Still, she continued to stare. “And?”
I was stumped. I searched my mind before meeting her eyes. “And . . .” I trailed off.
“And what?”
“And . . .” I tried but couldn’t come up with anything. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “But whatever it is, I’m sorry for that, too.”
She wore a curious expression. “That’s it?”
I thought about it. “I don’t know what else to say,” I admitted.
It was half a second before I noticed the tiniest hint of a smile. She moved toward me. “That’s it?” she repeated, her voice softer. I said nothing. She came closer and, surprising me, slipped her arms around my neck.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered. “There’s no reason to be sorry. I probably would have reacted the same way.”
“Then why the inquisition?”
“Because,” she said, “it let me know that I was right about you in the first place. I knew you had a good heart.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said,” she answered. “Later—after that night, I mean—Tim convinced me that I had no right to say what I did. You were right. I don’t have the ability to do any sort of professional evaluation, but I was arrogant enough to think I did. As for what happened on the beach, I saw the whole thing. It wasn’t your fault. Even what happened to Tim wasn’t your fault, but it was nice to hear you apologize anyway. If only to know you could do it in the future.”
She leaned into me, and when I closed my eyes, I knew I wanted nothing more than to hold her this way forever.
Later, after we’d spent a good part of the night talking and kissing on the beach, I ran my finger along her jaw and whispered, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the book. I think I understand my dad a little better now. We had a good time last night.”
“I’m glad.”
“And thanks for being who you are.”
When she wrinkled her brow, I kissed her forehead. “If it wasn’t for you,” I added, “I wouldn’t have been able to say that about my dad. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Though she was supposed to work at the site the following day, Tim had been understanding when she explained that it would be the last chance for us to see each other before I returned to Germany. When I picked her up, he walked down the steps of the house and squatted next to the car, at eye level with the window. The bruises had darkened to deep black. He stuck his hand through the window.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, John.”
“You too,” I said, meaning it.
“Keep safe, okay?”
“I’ll try,” I answered as we shook hands, struck by the feeling that there was a connection between us.
Savannah and I spent the morning at the Fort Fisher Aquarium, bewitched by the strange creatures displayed there. We saw gar with their long noses, and miniature sea horses; in the largest tank were nurse sharks and red drum. We laughed as we handled the hermit crabs, and Savannah bought me a souvenir key chain from the gift shop. For some strange reason there was a penguin on it, which amused her no end.
Afterward, I took her to a sunny restaurant near the water, and we held hands across the table as we watched the sailboats rocking gently in their slips. Lost in each other, we barely noticed the waiter, who had to come to the table three times before we’d even opened our menus.
I marveled at the easy way Savannah showed her emotions and the tenderness of her expression as I told her about my dad. When she kissed me afterward, I tasted the sweetness of her breath. I reached for her hand.
“I’m going to marry you one day, you know.”
“Is that a promise?”
“If you want it to be.”
“Well, then you have to promise that you’ll come back for me when you get out of the army. I can’t marry you if you’re not around.”
“It’s a deal.”
Later, we strolled the grounds of the Oswald Plantation, a beautifully restored antebellum home that boasted some of the finest gardens in the state. We walked along the gravel paths, skirting clusters of wildflowers that bloomed a thousand different colors in the lazy southern heat.
“What time do you fly out tomorrow?” she asked. The sun was beginning its gradual descent in the cloudless sky.
“Early,” I said. “I’ll probably be at the airport before you wake up.”
She nodded. “And you’ll spend tonight with your dad, right?”
“I was planning on it. I probably haven’t spent as much time with him as I should have, but I’m sure he’d understand—”
She shook her head to stop me. “No, don’t change your plans. I want you to spend time with your dad. I was hoping you would. That’s why I’m with you today.”
We walked the length of an elaborate hedge-lined path. “So what do you want to do?” I asked. “About us, I mean.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” she said.
“I know it won’t,” I said. “But I don’t want all this to end.” I stopped, knowing words wouldn’t be enough. Instead, from behind, I slipped my arms around her and drew her body into mine. I kissed her neck and ear, savoring her velvety skin. “I’ll call you as much as I can, and I’ll write you when I can’t, and I’ll get another leave next year. Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll go.”
She leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of my face. “You will?”
I squeezed her. “Of course. I mean, I’m not happy about leaving you, and I wish more than anything that I was stationed nearby, but that’s all I can promise right now. I can request a transfer as soon as I get back, and I will, but you never know how those things go.”
“I know,” she murmured. For whatever reason, her solemn expression made me nervous.
“Will you write me?” I asked.
“Duh,” she teased, and my nervousness disappeared. “Of course I will,” she said, smiling. “How can you even bother to ask? I’ll write you all the time. And just so you know, I write the best letters.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “In my family, that’s what we do on just about every holiday. We write letters to those people who we care a lot about. We tell them what they mean to us and how much we look forward to the time when we’ll get to see them again.”
I kissed her neck again. “So what do I mean to you? And how much are you looking forward to seeing me again?”
She leaned back. “You’ll have to read my letters.”
I laughed, but I felt my heart breaking. “I’m going to miss you,” I said.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
“You don’t sound too broken up about it.”
“That’s because I already cried about it, remember? Besides, it’s not like I’ll never see you again. That’s what I finally realized. Yeah, it’ll be hard, but life moves fast—we’ll see each other again. I know that. I can feel that. Just like I can feel how much you care for me and how much I love you. I know in my heart that this isn’t over, and that we’ll make it through this. Lots of couples do. Granted, lots of couples don’t, but they don’t have what we have.”
I wanted to believe her. I wanted it more than anything, but I wondered if it was really that simple.
When the sun had disappeared below the horizon, we walked back to the car, and I drove her to the beach house. I stopped a little way down the street so no one in the house could see us, and when we got out of the car, I put my arms around her. We kissed and I held her close, knowing for certain that the next year would be the longest in my life. I wished fervently that I’d never joined up, that I were a free man. But I wasn’t.
“I should probably be going.”
She nodded, beginning to cry. I felt a knot form in my chest.
“I’ll write you,” I promised.
“Okay,” she said. She swiped at her tears and reached into her handbag. She pulled out a pen and a small slip of paper. She began scribbling. “This is my home address and phone number, okay? And my e-mail address, too.”
I nodded.
“Remember that I’ll be changing dorms next year, but I’ll let you know my new address as soon as I get it. But you can always reach me through my parents. They’ll forward anything you send.”
“I know,” I said. “You still have my information, right? Even if I go on a mission somewhere, letters will reach me. E-mail, too. The army’s pretty good at setting up computers, even in the middle of nowhere.”
She hugged her arms like a forlorn child. “It scares me,” she said. “You being a soldier, I mean.”
“I’ll be okay,” I reassured her.
I opened the car door, then reached for my wallet. I slipped the note she scribbled inside, then opened my arms again. She came to me and I held her for a long time, imprinting the feel of her body against mine.
This time, it was she who pulled away. She reached into her handbag again and pulled out an envelope.
“I wrote this for you last night. To give you something to read on the plane. Don’t read it until then, okay?”
I nodded and kissed her one last time, then slipped behind the wheel of the car. I started the car, and as I began to pull away, she called out, “Say hello to your father. Tell him that I might stop by sometime in the next couple of weeks, okay?”
She took a step backward as the car began to roll. I could still see her through the rearview mirror. I thought about stopping. My dad would understand. He knew how much Savannah meant to me, and he would want us to have one last evening together.
But I kept moving, watching her image in the mirror grow smaller and smaller, feeling my dream slip away.
Dinner with my dad was quieter than usual. I didn’t have the energy to attempt a conversation, and even my dad realized it. I sat at the table as he cooked, but instead of focusing on the preparation, he glanced my way every now and then with muted concern in his eyes. I was startled when he turned off the burner and approached me.
When close, he put a hand on my back. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. I knew he understood that I was hurting, and he stood without moving, as if trying to absorb my pain in the hope of taking it from me and making it his own.
In the morning, Dad drove me to the airport and stood beside me at the gate while I waited for my flight to be called. When it was time, I rose. My dad held out his hand; I hugged him instead. His body was rigid, but I didn’t care. “Love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, John.”
“Find some good coins, okay?” I added, pulling back. “I want to hear all about them.”
He glanced at the floor. “I like Savannah,” he said. “She’s a nice girl.”
It came out of the blue, but somehow it was exactly what I wanted to hear.
On the plane, I sat with the letter Savannah had written me, holding it in my lap. Though I wanted to open it immediately, I waited until we’d lifted off from the runway. From the window, I could see the coastline, and I searched first for the pier, then the house. I wondered whether she was still sleeping, but I wanted to think that she was out on the beach and watching for the plane.
When I was ready, I opened the envelope. In it, she’d placed a photograph of herself, and I suddenly wished I had left her one of me. I stared at her face for a long time, then set it aside. I took a deep breath and began to read.
Dear John,
There’s so much I want to say to you, but I’m not sure where I should begin. Should I start by telling you that I love you? Or that the days I’ve spent with you have been the happiest in my life? Or that in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve come to believe that we were meant to be together? I could say all those things and all would be true, but as I reread them, all I can think is that I wish I were with you now, holding your hand and watching for your elusive smile.