Authors: Jen Printy
I hesitate before dropping back into my seat. When Leah returns, she avoids eye contact.
“I’m assuming that’s your bike out front.” Marlee nods to the window, blowing on her soup-filled spoon.
“Yup,” I say.
“My husband loved to ride.”
“Leah mentioned something about that.”
“Is that a ’69 Bonneville?”
My eyebrows rise. “Uh-huh.”
“What’s the ’67 exhaust doing on it?”
“I had to replace the whole system a couple years back. It’s all I could find at the time.”
“Too bad. That will kill the resale value.”
“That doesn’t matter much to me. She’s not going anywhere.” I smile. “You know your bikes.”
“My hubby made me a bit of a gearhead. It was his passion, and he unknowingly passed it on to me and the kids. Leah knows more than she lets on. She can change her own tires and oil. She insisted on it before she could drive.”
Another similarity.
In spite of Lydia’s wealthy upbringing, she hated having things done for her. It was a trait that first attracted me to her.
Leah shrugs then grins as if she’s up to no good. “Mom, I was just thinking. Did you get rid of that box of Dad’s stuff in the attic?”
“It’s still there. I know, I know. I should take it to Goodwill.”
“Would you mind if I grab Dad’s old helmet? Jack gave up his for me.”
I shake my head. “Thank you, but I don’t need…”
“Nonsense. You shouldn’t be riding around with your head just asking to become a squashed melon.” Marlee regards me with a motherly eye.
“Besides, if I have to wear one, so do you.” Leah jumps to her feet then dashes up the stairs.
I sigh. No sense arguing now. I’ve been tag-teamed, and neither Leah nor her mother seem like the type to take no for an answer. I chuckle.
Without a word, Marlee heads into the kitchen. I grab the dishes and follow.
“Thank you, Mrs. Winters,” I say, setting the bowl in the sink. “The soup was delicious.”
“You’re very welcome, but only if you call me Marlee. My mother-in-law was Mrs. Winters.”
I smile then nod.
“She likes you, you know? You’re the first
friend
she’s dragged home. She’s kept to herself ever since her bout with cancer.” She pours the remaining soup into a container and pops on the lid.
My brow furrows. “Cancer?”
“Me and my big mouth.” She slides the soup onto the top shelf of the refrigerator. “She doesn’t like talking about it. Who can blame her?”
“How old was she?”
“Thirteen. It was a difficult time, as you can imagine. My husband had died a few years earlier, so it was just the three of us. Grady took it the hardest. Man of the house and all. It was his first year of college, but he came home every weekend to be with me and sit with Leah after her chemo treatments. It made him more protective than the average big brother.”
“She seems healthy now.”
“Oh, yes, she’s cured. Funny thing is, somehow Lee-lee knew she’d be okay all along and kept trying to reassure us. I call it faith. Grady says it’s a sixth sense. But who knows?”
“Mom?” Leah asks from the door, making us both jump. “Whatcha talking about?”
“Oh, nothing important. Jack and I are just getting to know one another. Right, Jack?”
I nod.
“Whatever she’s saying, it’s all lies. I’m perfect with no faults.” Leah winks.
I gawk at the matte-black helmet in her hand. She rotates it, showing off the ridge of spikes down the middle and the tie-dyed skulls and crossbones decals on either side.
“It’s interesting,” I say.
“The stickers were my idea,” Leah says.
“Your father was an understanding man, I see.”
“Yeah, he had a quirky sense of humor. Straight as an arrow during the week, but a rebel on the weekends.” She places the helmet on my head. “It fits.”
Marlee chuckles.
“Fantastic. Maybe you should wear it, and I’ll take mine back.”
“Oh, no. I think it’s perfect,” Leah says with that mischievous grin.
The helmet’s payback for Journey’s jacket, I assume.
CHAPTER NINE
We lose track of time sitting out by the river, skipping stones and roasting marshmallows. Throughout the evening, I ask her many times about why she wanted to know if I’d been to Wiscasset, but every time, she weaves and dodges, never giving me a straight answer.
Adding to my ever-growing list of stupid things to impress a girl, I wear the monstrosity that is her father’s helmet all the way home. Luckily, it’s well past ten when I return Leah to her dorm.
She fiddles with her keys. Again, she stalls. Once she enters and closes her door, I realize what a coward I’ve become. I take a moment to reach deep for boldness then knock on the door. Leah opens it, looking surprised.
“I wanted you to know I had a wonderful time.” I take her hand, and in a nineteenth-century gesture of love, I kiss it.
Her breath catches softly, then she smiles.
“Until tomorrow.”
“Good night, Jack,” she says, closing her door.
The door across the hall cracks open, and Nathan looks out. I nod a hello, and the boy slams his door, almost smashing his fingers in the process.
After another fruitless search for the sapphire-eyed man, I crawl into bed around three in the morning. Exhausted, I slip easily into slumber, and again, I dream of Leah.
In my dream, she leads me through a field of flaxen grasses toward a lone elm. Tall and proud, the tree points straight to the sky. Under its canopy of leaves and branches, Leah stops. She cups my face in her small hands and stares into my eyes. “Who are you, Jack Hammond? And what are you hiding from me?”
I say nothing, but a need for Leah to know everything about me stirs within. Without my permission, scenes of my past burst to life around us, flickering like images from old home movies.
I want to yell for her to close her eyes or apologize for the fact that nothing but darkness resigns inside me now. But my mouth stays frozen shut. When the last image fades, Leah does something I never predicted. She smiles and then says, “See? You can’t scare me away. I’m still here.”
I wrap my arms around her waist and press her body against mine. Closing my eyes to savor the moment, I move in for a kiss. “Leah,” I whisper.
An orange glow shines through my eyelids and invades my dream, waking me. The sun beams through my grungy east window, stretching warm streaks along my face. Streams of dust float and swirl through the rays.
Ah hell, only a dream
. I lie spread-eagle across my bed, wishing for just five more minutes in that paradise. Alas, I’m wide awake. I jolt up onto one elbow and glance out the window, squinting against the blinding brightness of the world. By some miraculous event, the meteorologist nailed today’s forecast—bright sunshine.
After painting at Rare Books, I park in front of Leah’s building at noon sharp. As my foot hits the curb, the door flies open, and Leah bounds out. A small backpack hangs over her shoulder, and her white jean jacket swings over her arm. Coral bathing suit straps peek out from the collar of her pale-yellow T-shirt. Her braided hair leaves her neck exposed.
“I finished. I finished. I finished,” she chants as she hops down the stairs.
“Brilliant.”
She fiddles with a stray lock of hair, twisting it around and around her finger, releasing it, then repeating the process again. “I have you to thank.”
“Me?”
“Okay, maybe not you. I owe Bessy the thanks.” A trace of humor appears across her lips then disappears.
Mesmerized, I step forward. The inner voice begs for a kiss. I resist, stride back, and lean against the motorcycle’s smooth leather seat. “Who’s Bessy?”
“The bike, silly.”
“You named my bike Bessy?”
“Yup.” The smile she’s been restraining breaks through and expands across her beautiful face.
Leaning back, I cross my arms over my chest. “No way. You can’t name a guy’s bike something like Bessy. You’ll get me beat up for sure. Rocky or Bud.”
Or even Tank
. “But not Bessy.” I mean to sound horrified, but the suppressed laugh that bubbles to the surface betrays me.
She blithely ignores my rejection of her naming choice. “A ride on Bessy made all the difference. After we got back last night, I stayed up late and finished.”
“You could’ve gone to the beach this morning, then. You didn’t have to wait for me.” I hold the helmet out to her.
“I wanted to.” She quickly slips the helmet over her head. No apprehension. No doubt.
Her response surprises me.
Just friends, my ass.
But is it possible Leah’s developing real feelings for me? I grin and straddle the Triumph. With a turn of the key, the bike rumbles to life, and Leah climbs on. As before, when her arms tighten around my waist, my heart quickens into a frenzy.
Thank you, Bessy!
I pull away from the curb.
As we head out of the city, the stifling heat surrenders to cool ocean breezes. Concrete buildings give way to sprawling fields and curvy roads with glimpses of the sea. Leah points. A crescent-shaped beach emerges through a grove of tall pines, stretching pale yellow along the shoreline. I drive into a dirt parking lot. Dust billows around us. I park alongside a row of cars lining a weathered split-rail fence.
We walk down the trail of wooden planks. The salty scent mixes with the sweet fragrance of the deep-pink sea roses that border the path. The dune grasses flutter and bend with the light gusts, submitting into waves of apple green. The beach is not as crowded as I would have thought. Just a handful of groups dot the sand.
When we reach Rachel, Grady, and others I don’t know, Leah flops down onto one of the large multicolored blankets, leaving a spot open next to her, which Rachel takes. In front of me, a curly-haired boy crashes into a boy with fiery-red hair, causing me to step back. As Curly Head rams a guy’s face into the sand and tears the Frisbee from his grasp, he says, “Oh, good. Now we have even numbers. What’s your excuse now, Grady?”
“I said I’d play later, Tom. I’m finishing my lunch first.” Grady looks at me, at Leah, then back to me. “Hey, Jack. Nice day, huh?” He grins.
“Yeah.” I avoid eye contact. I can imagine the parade of questions marching through his head—
Why are you here with my sister? What are your intentions? When are you planning to snap and kill us all?
I grimace.
“You know what they call a day without sunshine? Night.”
I shake my head and chuckle.
“Speaking of night, I called Leah yesterday. She was out late, for her anyway.”
I nod, watching the heated game of tackle Frisbee.
“She’s never out, even on Saturday nights.”
“Oh,” I say, still not looking at him.
“Bike ride, huh?”
I allow my eyes to stray in Grady’s direction. “Yeah.”
“Uh-huh.” He looks at his sister again.
If I were a betting man, I would venture that the big-brother speech is on the horizon. I wheel around and look out across the sparkling ocean—out where blue meets blue—hoping the action buys me more time. I don’t want to have the talk with an audience, if I can help it.
Thankfully, Grady drops the subject.
I remove my shirt and toss it onto an empty blanket. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the warmth. As I turn to Leah to comment on the gorgeous day, I freeze. All the girls’ hungry eyes are trained on me.
Dammit.
Leah isn’t looking, but her blush betrays her. Uncomfortable with the unwanted attention, I shuffle my feet in the sand. Tom mutters something about him needing to go to the gym, then smacks into my shoulder as he passes. He plops at Rachel’s side, takes her hand, and glares at me.
Without a word, Leah gets up and walks past, heading down the crescent-shaped beach. I’m about to join her when I hear Grady behind me.
“Jack, can I have a minute?”
With a sigh, I take a seat on his beach towel. This time, Grady’s eyes don’t meet mine. Instead, he watches his sister walking down the beach alone.
“She’d kill me for doing this. There’s been a lot of guys interested in my sister.” He tilts his head toward the group of unfamiliar men standing by the ocean’s edge, and he grimaces.
At least three of them have their eyes trained on Leah. My face flashes hot, and my hackles rise. They’re looking at her like she’s an edible treat created for their enjoyment.
Grady continues. “She’s never given any of them the time of day. Always too busy with school or some other excuse. Until you.” He pauses. “Treat her right, okay? Or I’ll kick your ass.” He tosses the last bite of a bagel sandwich in his mouth, stands, and tackles Tom. The other guys hoot and holler. Grady can fight, that’s for sure.
I jump up and jog after Leah. “Hey, Leah, wait up,” I call.
She stops and turns, with a relieved expression.
“Do you mind if I walk with you?”
“No, of course not.” She stoops and picks up another shard of color from its sandy bed.
I study the collection of lusterless glass in her open hand. There are shades of brown, green, white, and aqua. My fingertips trace the odd-shaped glass then skim her palm. Her skin is just how I’d imagined—soft like velvet.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
“You’ve never seen sea glass before?” she asks, a bit out of breath.
“No.” I pause. “But I’m not talking about the glass.”
“Oh.” Her warm eyes study me. She bites her lower lip.
“Too cheesy?”
She shakes her head then she proceeds down the beach.
A piece of aqua catches my eye. I lift it from its dry sandy home and show it to Leah.
“See, this one isn’t ready yet.” She points at the shiny, sharp edges.
With a snap of my wrist, the glass sails and skips three times along the rippling surface before sinking into the ocean.
Her eyes dance as an impish smile appears on her lips. She tosses the shards and grabs my hand, hauling me toward the tumbling waves. I follow. The chilly water crashes onto our bodies, making my eyes widen, and I draw in a deep breath. Still, it’s refreshing against the hot summery air.
“Life’s too short. You have to enjoy the little things. Doesn’t that feel incredible?” she asks, amused by my reaction.