Sun-Kissed Christmas (Summer) (6 page)

He adjusted his straw hat and resumed his stride. Austin had to work to catch up. They were both tall, but Harris had a crisp, efficient way of moving—when he wasn’t dawdling over plants—that left Austin breathless. Amazing. The guy was in his seventies.

Harris looked over at Austin speculatively. “And how are you surviving?”

“If I could get sustenance from air too, I’d be all set,” Austin said. “Unfortunately, I’ve had to settle for a job as a waiter.”

“School?”

“I’m thinking about going back soon.” Austin cringed a little. It was no secret that his great-uncle, who’d spent his whole life teaching botany, was annoyed that Austin had quit college after only one semester.

“That’s good. Very good. Your father would have been pleased.”

Harris took another sudden detour, this time to retrieve a handful of Spanish moss that had fallen to the ground. He held the tangle of gray-green tendrils in his hand, apparently fascinated.

When he was younger, his great-uncle’s absorption with such things had mystified Austin. They were just plants, after all.

But the more he wroteor tried to write—poetry, the more Austin understood Harris’s obsession. Austin studied words, plain, everyday words, with the same intensity his great-uncle reserved for leaves and stems and berries.

“Another bromeliad, Spanish moss,” Harris said, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. “See how thick the
skin is? Tough and resilient to reduce water loss.” He shook his head. “Wonderful, how adaptable the natural world is. The circumstances can be quite dire, but survival is everything. Air plants adapted to tight living requirements by growing on trees.” He looked at Austin. “They didn’t fight their circumstances. They adapted to them. And the result, quite surprisingly, is such beauty.”

“Why do I feel some kind of plant parable coming on?” Austin asked. He’d meant it as a joke, but it had come out sounding sarcastic and annoyed.

Still holding the Spanish moss, Harris resumed his hearty pace. “I went to see your father a while ago,” he said. “It was a couple of weeks before he …” He paused, cleared his throat, then continued. “He was … not responsive. The Huntington’s was so advanced. I’d expected that, of course, but it still came as a shock.”

“The last time I went,” Austin said flatly, “he didn’t know who I was.” He said it without emotion, a fact that made him oddly proud. He knew his great-uncle was probably expecting him to break down, but Austin had gotten past all the self-pity and anger. He’d accepted things. It had been his dad’s sad genetic fate. And someday it would be Austin’s too. A disease that slowly robbed you of your ability to move and communicate. A disease that robbed you of your very soul.

They turned the corner, past too-perfect lawns and more pastel town house clones. Harris had moved to the Keys from New York after his wife of thirty-four years, Louise, had died. To Austin, Harris’s move here had never seemed quite right. In the old days, Harris and Louise had owned a big, rambling country home in chronic disrepair with a big, rambling country garden to match. When he was a kid, Austin would visit in the summer and come out of the garden covered with thistles and powdered with pollen from the wildflowers.

By contrast, this place was too sterile. But maybe after losing your wife and retiring from your job, sterile was just what you wanted. Maybe it was easier to be around things that didn’t stick to you and stain you.

This time it was Austin who paused. He picked up a rock, smooth as glass, and rubbed it in his palm. “I have it, Harris,” he said softly. “The gene. Dave and I both do.”

Harris took the rock from Austin, examined it, then tossed it with a great heave far down the road. “I feared as much,” he said. His lower lip trembled, but he tightened it into a firm line. “When I saw your mother at the hospital and asked how you and your brother were faring, there was something about her answer … it’s hard to put into words. Something in the way she tiptoed around your names, I suppose.”

Austin suddenly regretted telling the old man.
What was the point? It was cruel, really. Harris would be long gone by the time Austin showed any symptoms of the disease. Up till now, he hadn’t told anyone except his mother and brother. Not even Summer, although he’d come close to telling her a thousand times.

“Don’t worry, Harris. By the time Dave and I start having problems, they’ll have a cure. Look at the amazing stuff they’re doing with genetics. They’ve already found the gene that causes Huntington’s. It’s just a matter of time.”

Harris gave a terse nod. “You’re right, of course. That isn’t so much what’s troubling me. It’s the thought of you living your life with that ax hanging over your head. It’s the way it may change you.”

Austin shrugged. “We all have an ax over our heads when you get right down to it, right? I mean, face it. Nobody lives forever.”

“True enough. And yet I can’t help wondering if this is taking its toll.”

“Well, sure, I went through my drink-too-much-and-get-all-existential phase. But after a couple of weeks I got tired of dressing in black.”

Harris smiled a little. “And your quitting school?”

“That was more about Dad, about not knowing. And about me, I suppose. I was feeling lost. But I’m
better now.”

“I see. And love?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you in love? With the red-lipstick girl, perhaps?” Harris paused. “Or perhaps with some other young lady whose acquaintance I’ve recently made?”

“You know, Harris, I could pry into your love life too.”

“That would be a very short conversation indeed,” Harris said with a rueful laugh.

They walked in silence for a while. Harris’s town house was in sight. The only way Austin could be sure it was his great-uncle’s was by checking the name on the mailbox.

Austin slowed his pace a little. “Summer and I … things didn’t work out, but it wasn’t because of my problem. The timing was all off. Just one of those things.”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“No. I wanted to. I started to a few times. But it didn’t seem fair. Actually, I’m sorry I told you.”

Harris stopped. He pulled Austin close in an awkward, fierce embrace.

Then, as quickly as he’d reached for him, Harris let Austin go. He walked over to a small elm tree and gently deposited the Spanish moss he’d been carrying
onto a branch.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, turning to Austin. A lone tear rolled down his cheek. “You’re a survivor.”

Love at First Sight and Other Clichés

Summer was deep in thought when she heard voices coming through the yard. A moment later the screen door opened.

“All squared away with your notes?” Harris asked as he and Austin came into the living room.

“Pretty much,” she said. “At least I hope so.”

With Austin and Harris standing side by side, Summer could see the family resemblance. The wistfulness around the eyes, maybe. Or perhaps it was the secret half smile they both sported, as if only they knew the punch line to some private joke.

“You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” Harris said, tossing his straw hat onto a carved oak rack.

“Oh, we should be going,” Summer said. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

She glanced at Austin, half hoping he’d say “No, let’s stay,” but he didn’t. He probably had plans with Esme for that night. The boat parade, maybe.

“I make the best grilled swordfish in the Keys,” Harris said. “With a nice pineapple salsa, maybe some sugar snap peas—”

“Sounds great, Harris,” Austin interrupted, “but I’ve really got to be getting back.”

“Date with Esme?” Summer inquired.

Austin shrugged. “Something like that.”

Harris cast Summer a discreet smile that seemed to be saying, “Don’t feel bad, he’ll come to his senses
one of these days.” Or maybe it was just a discreet smile that said, “I pity you, poor dweeb-girl.”

“I do so hate to dine alone. …” Harris sighed theatrically.

“What was I thinking?” Austin made a show of checking his watch. “The boat parade doesn’t start till nine, and it’s only an hour’s drive back. Of course we’ll stay.”

“Shameless manipulation.” Harris winked at Summer. “Works every time. So, anything else I can do to help you with your report?”

“I did have a couple of questions about the photo album you showed me.”

“Ask away.”

“There were some pictures. …” Summer flipped through the pages of Harris’s dusty album. “Here. Is this the buddy you were telling me about who was killed in France? Mario—” She checked her notes. “Fidanza?”

“Took a bullet in the chest.” Harris gazed at the photo. “Cocky-looking kid, hmm? Had this wonderful baritone, used to sing Italian arias to us.”

Summer jotted a few words in her notebook. She turned the page. “And here, this woman, the nurse? I was just wondering, since you have a lot of photos of her …”

A peculiar look came over Harris. He stared at the
photo tenderly. “That would be Vera,” he said softly.

Summer exchanged a look with Austin. He shook his head, clearly mystified.

“Was she … a friend?” Summer asked.

“Ah, yes. A friend.” Harris closed the album. “A man has a friend like that once in his lifetime, if he’s been blessed by the stars.”

He fell silent. Summer had a feeling he didn’t have any more to say. And she didn’t want to pry.

But Austin was clearly intrigued. “It seems you’ve broken new ground, Summer,” he said. “This is the first I’ve heard about Vera.” He took the album from Harris and studied the pictures. “Now I’m really intrigued. I’ve seen this album before, and I don’t remember ever seeing these pictures, Harris. And believe me,
her
I’d remember.”

“Yes, Vera had a lovely smile,” Harris said neutrally. He settled into a leather armchair and began stuffing a pipe with cherry-scented tobacco.

“So what gives with the pictures? How come I’ve never seen these before?”

“I suppose—” Harris paused to tamp down the tobacco. “—I kept those photos hidden away in the attic in deference to Louise.” He smiled at Summer. “My wife of over thirty years.”

“But after Louise died,” Austin persisted, “you brought these out?”

“An old man, indulging in his memories.” Harris gave an embarrassed shrug.

“So indulge us,” Austin said with a grin.

“Austin,” Summer interjected, “maybe Harris doesn’t want—”

Harris waved a hand. “Oh, there’s not much to tell, really. It was December 1944, and I took some shrapnel in the leg. Vera was a nurse from California at the Forty-first Evac hospital outside of Maastricht, Holland. It was a huge monastery the Nazis had used for Hitler Youth activities, but the army nurses had turned it into a pretty impressive hospital, given how little they had to work with.”

“So you met Vera there and … ,” Summer prompted, scribbling away in her notebook.

“And we fell in love instantly.” Harris smiled at Summer. “There’s a reason ‘love at first sight’ is a cliché. It’s because it really happens. But perhaps you already know that.”

Summer felt heat rise up her neck. She carefully avoided looking at Austin. “Um,” she said in a flustered voice, “so what happened with Vera? If it’s okay to ask?”

“One thing led to another,” Harris said. “We had so little time together, but every moment was another miracle. Oh, we had so much we shared, Vera and I! We both loved Bach and chocolate and birding.”

“Birding?” Summer repeated.

“Bird-watching. Not that we could see any there, of course. With all the shelling, the birds had all but vanished, it seemed. But listen to me carrying on!” Harris paused and took a deep breath. “The last time I saw her, we had this Christmas dinner planned, the two of us, right before I was due to be sent home. My buddy and I went all over the hospital trying to dig up candles and chocolate and anything else we could get our hands on to make a decent dinner. Ended up with C-rations, mostly, and a lantern for candlelight. Set up a little table in a medications tent. Even recruited some friends to croon for us.”

“Very romantic,” Summer said, smiling.

“And there was the ring, of course. Used a shoelace for that.” Harris shook his head. “What can I say? I was young, foolish, misguided.”

“Ring,” Austin repeated, “as in engagement?”

“That was the idea, yes. However, the best-laid plans of mice and men …” Harris shrugged. “Vera never came that night. I still have that old piece of shoelace. I found out later that she was transferred to another unit. Strange thing was, she requested the transfer. I’ve often wondered why. …”

“Did you ever try to find her?” Austin asked.

“Started to look her up once, after Louise died. Spent all day at the public library going through every
phone book in existence. Found her sister Rose in Atlanta. She said Vera was living in Florida. Right here in the same state. Said she’d retired from nursing. Said she’d never married.”

“So you called her?” Summer asked.

“No, no. I suppose it was just enough to hear her name again.” Harris laughed. “Who knows why we do such things? The heart is an odd muscle indeed.”

Summer fumbled in her purse for a Kleenex and blew her nose.

“Now, Summer, it’s hardly a cause for tears. I had my Louise, a wonderful woman. A man couldn’t have asked for a more devoted companion.”

“I’m sorry.” Summer sniffled. “It’s just that it sounds like one of those black-and-white war movies on the classics channel.”

“It does at that, doesn’t it? I do sometimes wish I’d tried harder to find her after the war. …” Harris lit his pipe with deliberate care. “But there’s no point in second-guessing. Not now.”

“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, Harris,” Austin said softly.

“I suppose,” Harris said. He gazed at Austin with a faraway smile. “I’ll tell you this, though. A love remembered with regret is the saddest thing in the world, Austin.”

“Maybe so, Harris,” Austin replied. “But I’ll tell
you this. It makes for some great poetry.”

Summer watched the string of low-slung buildings along the highway fly by. Tackle shops, surfboard stores, mini-marts, all of them with their garish holiday lights ablaze. She sighed.

“Not quite what you had in mind for Christmas, huh?” Austin said.