Chasing Sunsets (22 page)

“We are.”

“Maybe we can go by to see them sometime.”

He stared straight ahead. “They’d like that.”

I pressed the folds of my dress with the palms of my hands. “Have you told them about me yet? About seeing me again?”

“Not yet.” He glanced over at me. “What about you? Have you told your father?”

“Yes, I have.”

He chuckled. “And what, may I inquire, was his reaction to that bit of good news?”

I shrugged. “Just to be careful.”

“And will you? Be careful?”

“Will you?”

This time it was Steven who pulled his sunglasses down the length of his nose, stared at me, and said, “Touché.”

He slowed the Jeep and turned the wheel right. We glided into the cemetery; he parked across from the long walkway leading into and along the water’s edge. Perfect, I thought, for strolling on nights like these.

After Steven got out of the car and had rustled something out of the back floorboard, he opened the passenger’s door for me. I slid out and breathed in deeply; the evening air was thick and humming with mosquitoes. I held out my right hand, palm up.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

I looked to the case dangling from a strap held by his left hand. “What’s
that
for?” I returned.

He pinked. “You know me too well.” He raised the case, unzipped it, and pulled out a can of insect repellant.

I took three steps forward, stood with my feet a good twenty-four inches apart, and my arms extended. “Hit me with your best shot,” I said.

He did.

“You have ruined the scent of my body lotion,” I said with a pout.

“Yeah, well, that body lotion will draw those mosquitoes faster than the evening breeze brings the smell of clams and fish.”

Done with soaking me in my chemical bath, he turned the can on himself. When he’d finished, I said, “Next?”

He cocked his head. “What does that mean?”

“The camera. Because I know it’s in there.”

He stared at me for a while, then swung the case toward me. I took out the camera and pressed the on button. The lens cap popped off; it dangled from the string holding it to the body.

“Let’s walk down the walkway,” I suggested.

Steven shook his head. “Not tonight. Come on . . .” He guided me through the cement gates of the cemetery.

“And to our left, ladies and gentlemen,” I said, my voice sounding like that of a tour guide, “is a memorial to ‘Miss Bessie’ Gibbs—owner of the Island Hotel, city commissioner, city judge, mayor, and organizer of the Cedar Key Arts Festival.”

Steven stopped. “Now how did you remember that?”

I turned to him. “Some boy I once knew took me on a tour of the cemetery, and that’s what
he
said.”

Steven’s lips swept over mine. “Did he tell you the whole story?” he asked against them. “About how she brought new life to the hotel and to the town? About how some say her ghost still haunts the place? Hers and about a dozen more?”

“He did.” My words danced between our lips.

“What else did he tell you?”

I blinked, raised my eyes to his as I said, “If I remember correctly, right over there by the broken headstones and the rickety fence, and under the shade of a pine tree, he told me he loved me.”

Steven pulled his sunglasses from his face before pushing mine to the crown of my head. As he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to himself, he whispered, “Then let me say it again. I love you, Kimberly-Boo.”

Reality set in.

Somewhere after an incredible dinner beside the dark blue water at the Island Room (the fettuccini crab carbonara was to die for, and I said so with every bite) and a scrumptious dessert with coffee at the Island Hotel’s romantic restaurant, my heart sank closer to a too-full stomach.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Steven said in the Jeep’s quiet darkness. We were halfway home. I’d spent the short trip staring out into the clear black night, gazing up at the stars, and thinking.

I looked across the seat. Steven—illuminated both by the moonlight and street lamps—looked straight ahead, concentrating on the narrow road of SR 24. “Steven.” I spoke slowly. “Maybe all of this . . . maybe we’re moving too fast.”

Steven chuckled. “You’re right. Twenty-four years is moving
way
too fast.”

I smiled, but I knew if he could see my face it would register only sadness. “I mean . . . you know what I mean. I’ve not been here even a week.”

He glanced my way then turned his attention back to the road. “A lot sure has happened in five short days.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

I looked out the windshield, saw the road leading to the house come into view, and sighed. We kept silent until Steven turned into the driveway and shut off the engine. Wordlessly, he opened his door, came around to my side, and opened mine. He offered his hand and I took it, and when my feet rested upon the gravel, he didn’t let go.

“Let’s go sit on the deck,” he said. “I have some things to say.”

I’d left the porch lights on; they shone dimly on the lawn. The lapping of water against the grasses and the song of cicadas drew us to the place where my father used to sit and wait for his girls to unpack and ready themselves for swimming. So much since then had changed . . . so much life had passed. Even still, if I tried, I could imagine the four of us squealing in delight, Mom’s voice speaking her maternal orders, Dad’s laughter . . . The Adirondacks had been repainted a few times, yet within them rested old memories waiting for new ones to be made.

Steven turned the chairs away from the water and facing each other. “Sit,” he said.

I did and then he followed.

He reached over and took my hands. His thumbs traced a circle near the base of mine; with each round I felt a little of my resolve floating into the balmy air. His eyes were intent; they shimmered as he spoke. “You probably don’t know this, but I called you once.”

“What do you mean?” I kept my voice barely above a whisper. I had to. The knot had returned.

“After Brigitte. After I knew she wasn’t coming back.”

“Where? Where did you call me?”

“The only number I had. I called your mom and dad’s house.”

“And?”

“Your mom answered.”

“And?”

“I told her who I was.” He blew air between his lips. “She was sweet. Asked me how I was doing. How the baby was doing—not that Eliza was a baby anymore. I told her—in a roundabout way—that I was a single father. That I had custody of Eliza.” Steven smiled. “She actually gave me some advice on raising a daughter.”

I smiled too. “That was Mom. She always had a ready answer for any and all of life’s problems and circumstances. After Charlie left I would sometimes drive to the cemetery and sit at her grave and pour my heart out. I didn’t really expect her to rise up and answer or some great piece of wisdom to come floating through the trees, but . . . somehow . . . it made me feel better just talking to her there.”

Steven released my hands, reached up, and swept the hair over my shoulders. His fingertips stroked the bare skin there, then trailed down the length of my arms. In the heat, I shivered. I straightened, forcing him to do the same. His elbows came to rest on his knees; his hands hung limp between them. “She was special.”

“But . . . I don’t understand. She never told me you called.”

He shrugged and winced a little. “You weren’t home. Not that home, anyway.”

“But, still. I never got the message. If I had, I would have at least called you back.”

“And then what?”

And then what? The possibilities ran wild inside my head. “Oh,” I said.

He took my hands again. “Don’t worry, Kimberly.”

“But I didn’t get the message, Steven.”

“Kimberly, listen to me, because I’m only going to say this once.” A mosquito hummed around his ear; he shooed it away, then reached for me again. “Apparently, my time is limited, anyway. Pretty soon these bugs will just carry me off and you’ll never have to deal with me again.” We both smiled before he continued. “When I met Brigitte, I was so passionately in lust, I couldn’t think straight. A lot of things had led up to that—I won’t get into all of it now—and, yes, you were a part of it. Not that I’m blaming you. It’s just something teenagers go through when they’re left to their own devices. Some successfully, some not so successfully. Eliza became both my consolation and my penitence. And, in the process, I lost one of the finest young ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling my friend, not to mention a girlfriend.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“But I wasn’t perfect in all that, Steven. I know now—as an adult and as a Christian mother—that I must have driven you completely crazy that summer.”

He laughed easily. “You did that, sweetheart. You surely did. But . . . still.” He swallowed. “So, here’s what I want to say. Not to sound cliché, but we know what the Bible says in Romans.”

I instinctively continued his thought along with him. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

He blinked.

“Romans 8:28,” I said.

“Our past is our past. And our future . . . it’s up to us. I know what love feels like, Kim. And I know the difference between love and lust. I love you, Kimberly-Boo, and I don’t need another twenty-four years to realize it.”

I felt dizzy. Good, but dizzy. I squeezed his hands for support.

“So, let me propose this to you.” He swallowed again. “Stay the summer. Stay here and spend the days getting to know me better. Getting to know us better. Meet my daughter when she comes next month for the big July 4th Clamerica celebration.”

I grinned, perhaps a little too broadly. My cheeks actually ached.

He continued. “And when your sons are done with their visit with Charlie, bring them back here. We’ll take them out in the boat. Every day and every night if that’s what you want. We’ll go fishing and clamming and walk all over Shell Mound and Atsena Otie.” He swatted at the air again. “Unless these mosquitoes get any worse.”

Reality set in again. “But come August . . . Teachers have to be back at school the second week.”

Steven scooted to the end of his chair. Our knees touched; electricity shot through my body. “Maybe come August you won’t want to return to teaching. Maybe come August, you’ll be happy to be just a tour guide’s wife.”

“Steven . . .” I felt both breathless and full of life, all at once.

His hands released mine and took hold of my face. His fingertips splayed along the damp roots of my hair as he drew my lips to his. “Don’t answer tonight,” he spoke against them, then pressed mine with his.

When the kiss had broken but the magic had not, he said, “Think about it?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He leaned away from me, but his hands remained locked around the base of my skull. “No? Kim . . .”

I shook my head again. “No need, I mean.” Then I smiled. “I’m staying, Steven Granger. Wild dogs couldn’t make me leave this island now. Not the island, not the house, and certainly not you.”

As he kissed me again, I thought,
And maybe not ever
.

After I woke the next morning—after I’d had coffee and a shower and had applied insect bite ointment along my arms and legs—I went to see Patsy. Both to check on her and to fill her in on my evening the night before.

She was still tired, she said, but she was happy to know I’d found love again.

“It is love, isn’t it?” she asked.

I nodded. “It sure feels like it.” I looked at my watch. “I have to get back to the house. Luis is coming today for the first cleaning, and I really have to make some calls back to the family before he gets there.”

“Any news from your brother-in-law? About . . . Heather, is it?”

I shook my head. “No. But . . . today is the day, I suppose. She’ll be in rehab before the sun goes down.”

Patsy patted my arm. “She’ll be just fine, honey. Don’t you worry. The good Lord has her in the palm of his hand.”

“I know.”

When I returned to the house I heard my cell phone ringing. I darted through the house to where I’d left it lying on the bed. It was Dad; he was more than a little upset about the chain of events with Heather and about Andre’s accusations against Mom.

“Then, they’re not true?” I asked, settling on the rumpled sheets, which would soon be stripped, washed, and replaced so I hadn’t bothered to make the bed. I looked at my watch again. In a half hour Luis and his sister would arrive. When Dad didn’t answer, I said, “Dad?”

“Of course they’re true, Kimberly. But these things are private. They should be handled just within the family and not discussed.”

“But Dad, we
are
family. Andre is family. Heather is family.”

“He’s been going to those meetings. He shouldn’t have . . .”

“Dad, how can you say that? You’re a doctor, for heaven’s sake.”

“I was her husband!”

My right shoulder jerked. I was no longer talking about Mom, but Dad hadn’t shifted. And he was angry; angrier than I’d seen him in some time. “I know that, Dad. And I know you loved her very much. But, if I’m to be totally honest with you, what I don’t understand is why you didn’t
do
something.”

“Do something? What would you have had me do, Kimberly?”

I shrugged as though he could see me. “I don’t know, Dad. Make her stop drinking.”

“And how would you propose I do that? I could have removed all the alcohol from the house and she would have managed to smuggle it in there somehow. I could have forbidden it and she would have done it anyhow.” I heard him sigh. “When Ami was a baby, she used to keep beer in that little baby pack thing because she knew I’d never see it there, did you know that?”

“Baby pack thing?” I had to think a moment. “You mean Ami’s diaper bag?”

“Yeah.”

I paused. Dad was clearly rattled, and I meant no pun in the thought. Finally, I said, “No, I didn’t know that. I wouldn’t . . .”

“I remember one time when we’d gone there, to Cedar Key. Ami was a baby—Joan had managed not to drink the whole time she was pregnant, not with any of you kids. But as soon as the umbilical cord was cut, she was asking me to sneak something into the hospital for her.”

“And did you?”

“Never.”

My back ached. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Not that I wouldn’t have done anything to get her to stop begging. But my colleague, Dr. Terrance Mills—her OB/GYN—and I had a talk. He knew, of course. He told me in no uncertain terms that if I brought any alcohol to her in the hospital, he’d report me. That I’d lose my license to practice.”

I could hear the pain in my father’s voice, but I couldn’t figure if he had been more afraid of losing his job or his wife. “Well, you couldn’t have that . . .”

“Don’t be insolent with me, Kimberly. If I had lost my job, how would I have taken care of my family? And your mother . . . she would have been exposed as an alcoholic. What do you think that would have done to her? Especially in those days?”

“Maybe she wouldn’t have kept drinking, Dad!”

He laughed, but not like I’d said something funny. More that I’d said something foolish. “Kim, I gave that woman every reason not to drink. Every reason. But . . .”

“But, she wouldn’t stop.”

“No.” He took a breath, exhaled. “It wasn’t as bad after . . . there was this one summer. You were just a baby. She drank nonstop that summer. Kept calling herself a failure as a mother.”

“Mom?”

“If it hadn’t been for Eliana . . .” He continued as though I’d not said a word. “Eliana took care of you. Took care of all three of us, actually. She picked up after Joan and watched her constantly. I finally moved her and her husband into the house for the summer months because I . . . I couldn’t trust what Joan would or wouldn’t do when I wasn’t there. Eliana became your mother that summer. I even talked her into leaving her family—her husband and her parents—long enough to come back to Orlando. Eliana talked Joan into going to a hospital to detox and—wonder of wonders—she went.”