by Sex, Nikki
"That's an honorable thing to do, Jack. Something most young men wouldn't even think of." Ron gestured with his thumb. "She's off work today; you'll probably find her out back. Just go out and walk around the building. Head straight to the river. She likes the water. Sometimes I think she's half seal or fish or something."
"Thanks, Ron." Jack nodded at the older man, then turned and started down the stairs.
"Oh, Jack."
Jack turned. "Yes?"
Ron pointed his finger directly at Jack's chest. "You better be nice to that girl. She's been through a Hell of a lot. She's too damn sweet for her own good. Don't be playing any games, you hear?"
"I promise, sir."
"Good."
Jack walked out the front door and around the old brick building. He wasn't exactly sure what Ron was talking about, but it seemed that the guy's heart was in the right place and he was looking out for Laura. That was a good thing—especially if even half of what he'd said was true. The lack of security in the building made him uneasy.
Behind the apartment building was a well-manicured lawn that ended in some brush with an obvious worn footpath. He could smell the salt air get richer and richer as he walked along the path.
What if there were a number of women down here? Would he be able to recognize Laura?
Within moments, he could hear the gentle lap of waves coming onto a beach. The river was wide, so wide that it really ought to be considered a bay—especially with the salt water from the ocean that mixed with the fresh.
It was sheltered enough that the waves didn't crash, like out on the ocean proper, but slid up the sand with a satisfied sigh.
When Jack finally broke out of the brush, he could see that the path followed the beach just above the high water mark down the river and around a bend.
It wasn't much of a beach, just a strip of sand a few feet across that ended abruptly with grass at the sharply cut bank. cypress trees leaned way out over the water. Jack had to duck under or climb over their trunks to follow the footpath.
Spanish moss was everywhere, draped across cypress limbs, often trailing into the brackish water.
The way the moss spread out and floated just under the surface as it whirled and dipped along with the gentle current and delicate waves, reminded Jack of a woman's hair being rinsed languidly in a tub.
When he finally rounded the bend, Jack saw her.
Chapter 24.
Jack took a deep steadying breath. Laura was alone, but irrationally, he felt as if he’d have recognized her anyway.
Long, light hair. She’s surfer-blonde—just like I imagined.
Jack knew it must be her because somehow she was exactly what he'd pictured in his mind every night, when he read and re-read her letters.
She was facing away from him, knee deep in the river, arms outstretched with her face tilted up to the sun as if she were worshiping the primal gods of the sun and wind and sky. A breeze played with her long hair, making it gently move between her shoulders—just like the moss that danced gently in the current.
Jack froze, breathless.
It was the perfect scene on a perfect day.
She seemed strong and frail at the same time and he was afraid to say anything, lest she disappear in a flash of light, like in some sort of fairy in a story.
There were legends one of the old sailors used to tell the kids at night, after the waves died down and the surfboards were stacked on the sand. Jack remembered this crusty fellow who sometimes would wander over to their beach fire and bum a smoke and a beer off of him and his friends.
At first they’d laughed at him—after all, what old derelict would want to hang out with some high school kids?
He'd drink his beer and then another and then with the cherry red glow of the coal on the tip of his cigarette illuminating his face, he'd somberly let loose with one tall tail after another.
The sight of the girl in the water brought up one story the old man told them.
It was about how there were these women—spirits of the sea, actually—they were the most beautiful women a man could ever see. They'd stand in the water and beckon to the men who stood on the shore or on their boats and sing to them great songs of the splendor that lay beneath, if only they would come out into the surf.
No man could resist them.
No man could keep himself from wandering into the waves when they called to him, hair floating in the ocean wind.
Anyone who went to the fairies who lived in the ocean, the man said, never returned. There’s danger out in the waves, for a young man who may have a brave heart but a foolish mind.
Then the old man stood up and staggered off into the night.
For some reason Laura reminded Jack of that story, told so long ago. He wondered what dangers were in store for him. But just then he had no thought of danger. He’d never felt so open, so willingly exposed in his life.
Jack had once heard that all decisions were based on either love or fear. As he looked at Laura he wasn’t afraid. Not at all.
"Hello?" Jack ventured.
Startled, Laura turned around, her hair covering her face for a moment. When she brushed it away, Jack was met by a pair of piercing green eyes—first narrowed in suspicion, they quickly bloomed with recognition.
He was mesmerized.
Not forty-five years old as his sister thought. More like twenty-five.
Laura’s face was square-shaped, strong and angular. Tall, close to five-feet ten, her slender, shapely form was all woman. It was a startling contrast, those tenacious, almost masculine facial features combined with a feminine figure to die for.
The woman looked like she wouldn’t take crap from anyone—and she was heart-stoppingly beautiful.
"Jack, right?"
"Good guess." He couldn’t moderate his big, cheesy grin. Her voice was soft. Low and mellow, just as he’d always imagined it. He threw up his hands. "Surprise!"
She smiled back with straight, slightly off-white teeth. Her two front ones had a narrow gap between them, and they were set slightly in front of the others. Something low in his gut tightened.
Coming from Orange County, where everyone seemed to have perfect, blindingly white teeth, these little imperfections charmed him.
"I figured that it was you...I’ve had this funny feeling all day."
"I said I was going to visit, so… here I am."
"I know and I'm glad." She raised her arms. "Come here."
Those green eyes of hers were extraordinary. He felt as if he was enchanted by them—by her. Jack had no other thought except to do exactly as she told him, to go to her and to fold himself into her warm embrace.
Mindful of the old man's story of drowning sea fairies, Jack found that he didn’t care in the least.
He took a step into the water. Then another. Then another. The river was cool and the color of iced tea.
Jack knew the cedars that lined the shore and spread their roots into the water gave the river that odd color, but in that perfect moment, he couldn't help but feel it was because it was full of magic.
"I'm coming."
Laura laughed and watched as he waded out. Water filled his shoes—why didn't I take them off—and soaked his pants. When he reached her, he laughed too, as she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
"Welcome home. I'm so glad you made it."
"I am too—" Jack started, "I’m just sorry that..."
"Don't be, Jack," Laura replied, taking a step back. "Never be sorry for being here, for being alive. Your letters meant so much to me. I couldn't stand it if you died too."
"I'm just sorry that Bob isn't here for you, that's all."
Laura looked up at him, moisture starting to pool in the corners of her green eyes. "Yeah, well..." She wiped her eyes. "I've kind of already been through that, you know? I've been sad and then I got mad and now I just kind of...am. You got to keep on living, right?"
It hadn't dawned on Jack that perhaps, after so much time had
gone by, Laura might've moved on and was past her mourning.
Back in Iraq, once the dead were gone—evacuated to wherever they go—business went on. Stupidly, in the back of his mind, he'd imagined she was still struggling with Bob's death, waiting for Jack to come to her and close the loop.
A disturbing thought struck him, then. He might not accomplish anything more with his visit than tearing off the scab that covered that healing wound in her heart. Giving her Bob’s ring might just take her right back into a place that she didn't want to be.
"Hello?" Laura asked in an amused voice. "Anybody home?"
"What?"
"I lost you for a minute. What were you thinking about?"
"Nothing really," he lied.
Jack wasn’t comfortable lying, but when it came to things like this, lies came naturally. As a doctor he always thought of ways to soften the blow. To ease a patient into bad news. He would tell her, of course, but carefully. At the right time and the right way.
“What?”
"I'm just overcome by how beautiful it is out here."
Laura tilted her head and her eyes narrowed for a moment. Jack stopped breathing, waiting to see if she’d challenge his story.
She shook her head, her damp hair swirling along her shoulders. "It is beautiful here." Kicking one foot through the water she added, "I come out here every chance I can get. It’s more than relaxing. It’s grounding."
Jack looked around.
They were north of town and he could see the brick buildings and marinas peek around the curve of the river to his right. The bridge he'd driven over was in the distance, he could see strobe-like flashes of sun off of the windshields as cars whipped across.
On the other side of the bridge, the river widened so the banks were no longer visible and the water became bluer as it got deeper and then sky and river blended together and lost their individual identities in the grey-blue haze.
"It is very nice," he said again. It was an understatement and lame, but he didn’t know what else to say.
Laura smiled and waded to shore. "Nice or not, my butt's wet and it's time to go in and dry off. I hope you brought another pair of pants with you, because the water dries a little funky."
"Yeah, I did."
He followed her, careful not to trip on one of the hundreds of cypress knees that lined the bank. They didn't have cypress out in LA, but Jack had once done some diving down in the Gulf outside of Galveston and he was amazed at just how far those root complexes could go. That's all a cypress knee was, after all. Just a bit of root that went out into the water and then poked itself up like a periscope.
"I've got several bags of clothes and things in my car."
Laura stopped on the bank, her feet in the sand and looked at him, still wading in the water. There was a flash of haughty anger in her green eyes.
“You brought what—suitcases? That's a heck of an assumption, don't you think?" she said, her eyes suddenly cool.
Chapter 25.
"Huh?" Jack said, backpedaling as fast as he could in a near panic. "I don't...I didn’t…"
"What's a girl to think when a strange man shows up at her doorstep with his luggage? You'd think he already had plans of staying the night."
"Oh, no..." Jack stammered. "It's not like...I didn't mean..."
Laura grinned, her eyes dancing mischievously. "Just messing with you, Jackie boy," she said with a light punch to his shoulder.
"Oh." He let out a huge breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.
“Got cha!” she said with triumph.
The relief he felt overwhelmed him. “You rat!” he said, scooping water up with one hand. “What a rotten trick!”
“But funny.”
Laura shrieked and giggled when he splashed her, but she took it well, as if she knew she deserved it.
Jack joined her on the grassy bank. They sat down together, side by side. The grass was warm from the sunshine. He kicked off his shoes and ran his feet through the turf.
"I love this place," Laura said as she gazed out into the distance. Jack had to agree, the water and the sun and the gentle lapping of the waves had a mellow, soothing quality.
"I come here a lot," she went on. "When I'm out here, I can forget everything. Stuff doesn't seem to matter as much when you can look out into the water, you know?"
"I see what you mean."
Jack felt an awkward sense of uncertainty. Was this the right time to give her Bob’s ring? He still wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, but a promise is a promise.
"Laura, I didn't just come out here to...well...it's just that I have something—I have to give you something."
"What is it?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows.
Jack fished into his pocket, grasping the ring. It was cold and heavy against his skin. "I promised Bob I'd make sure you got this, personally."
Laura sat up quickly. "Bob? What?"
"Hold out your hand."
She did. Jack silently laid the ring on her palm. She looked at it without comprehension for a second before realization dawned in her eyes. "Is that? It isn't—" she choked.
"It is. When I wrote you and said I was with Bob when he died, I meant literally right there with him. He gave this ring to me and made me promise to deliver it to you when I got back to the States. I'm sorry."
"But," Laura said, her green eyes growing huge and dark as tears welled. "But the Navy Chaplain gave me a box at the funeral. He said it was all of Bob's...what did he call them? Personal effects."
"I know. They do that. The thing is, Bob didn't want anything to happen to that ring. He was afraid somebody might steal it or it'd get lost or something. You don't think rationally when you're...you know." Jack's words petered out and he hid a wince.
He wasn't sure if he'd said the right thing, and had no idea what to say now, either.
Laura cried harder, her tears dripped down onto the metal circle in her cupped hands. "Shit. Just shit and damn it to Hell. What a waste. He was so young—younger than most. That poor boy. Sweet but..."
Jack squashed his impulse to hold her. "Listen, I..."
Laura looked up at him. Water pooled in her eyes making them appear enormous. "Sweet, that was what he was. Kinda like a golden retriever, you know? Loyal and no matter how much life crapped on him, Bob would always try to find the good side. Shit. Now life gave him the ultimate screw job. He was too nice for that to happen. It's not fair."
"No, it's not." Jack agreed.
He felt he should hug her or pat her shoulder or do something but he just sat there, feeling completely impotent. It wasn't like she had a wound he could fix up in two minutes with neat, evenly spaced stitches of sterile silk. This pain went much deeper than that. All of his training and experience was worth exactly zip when it came to this particular type of injury.
"Screw this. You got frigging assholes live to a hundred!” Laura threw one frustrated hand in the air. “You got murderers sitting on death row for twenty years and a sweet guy like Bob gets killed his first time out of the house. He was one of those fresh-off-the-farm kind of guys and everything was so damned new and exciting to him. It sucks."
"Yeah, I know. It does."
Jack finally put his hand on her shoulder. Her sudden burst of angry energy deflated and he felt Laura lean into him, her head nestled into his chest.
The contact felt good. It felt natural and right.
Her hair smelled of salt air and sunshine. Caught in the rare sensual pleasure, Jack couldn't help himself. He found himself breathing in the scent of her, in one long deep lungful after another.
"I never understood that either—why bad stuff happens to good people,” he said.
Wynn had been a kind of lazy, irresponsible kid with a good heart. Except for how selflessly he'd acted at the end, which had deeply impressed Jack, he wasn't so sure Bob Wynn had been that noble.
He sure as Hell wasn't going to mention that to Laura.
She raised her head from his shoul
der and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Dammit, I promised myself I was done crying a long time ago.” Her breath hitched. “Now I got snot all over your shirt."
She pulled her sleeve loose in her hand and tried to dab away the offending clear mucus off Jack's chest.
He caught her hand in his, slime and all. It was soft and feminine and it made his chest tighten.
"Don't worry about it, Laura. I've seen much worse and I’ve got more shirts. It's OK, really."
"Yeah, I tell myself that. Sometimes I believe it. Just when you think you've left it behind you, it just comes after you and pulls you back in."
Jack suspected she was talking about a lot more than just her husband's death. He wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with what Ron was talking about in the apartment hallway.
Regardless, he felt bad about upsetting her. He wanted to make her smile and laugh. He wanted to bring hope into her life, as she'd done for him all of those months.
"You know, I almost didn't bring you the ring—I almost turned around and went home. I thought it might upset you and that's the last thing I wanted to do. I could've made up an official looking package and mailed it to you, but that just didn't seem right."
"You hush your mouth, Jack Curren. You did exactly the right thing." Laura looked him in the face, her large moist eyes locking with his. "I'm glad you came. I'm glad you kept your promise. There are so many jerks out there who would have just pawned it for a beer or a joint, without a second thought. You came yourself, in person, to give this to me and I'm happy you did. It just—it brought a few things back that I thought I'd left behind me at his funeral. I was moving on and you kind of fetched it all back at once. It seemed so long ago."
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"Don't be." She touched his face lightly. The tips of her fingers brushed down his cheek and left tingly electrical lines in their wake.
Freckles, he thought, entranced. A sprinkling of freckles on her stubborn looking little nose.
Jack felt some confusing sensations growing deep within.
