by Aaron Lazar
She chuckled, kissing my forehead, cheek, neck, and then my chest.
That’s when all words left me. My arms pulled her tight and I rolled her over, smothering her with kisses. Face, lips, neck. I reached one hand up and tentatively touched her breasts, feeling the rising bump of her hardening nipples. She helped me, taking my hands and bringing them under her shirt to find bare skin, no bra.
“Oh my God, Sassy,” I moaned, feeling as if I were instantly in Heaven. Her skin felt creamy and silky under my fingertips. I gently ran my hands over her breasts, cupping and kissing them over and over again. I moaned again, surprised by my intense need. “You’re so beautiful. So soft.”
“Slow down, soldier.” She laughed with a surprisingly husky tone, enticing me even more. “There’s no hurry.”
Oh, but there was a hurry. I felt it below my waist and it surged up and became everything. The need. The hot, hungry need. The yearning. The aching. The longing.
In the back of my mind, I wondered about the other guy she’d been with. What had they done together? Had they gone all the way? She seemed pretty comfortable with the whole making out thing, and I started to question more about the boy from Yarmouth.
“Sassy, oh Sassy,” I crooned, letting my hands roam down her tight belly to the waist of her shorts. I paused there, uncertain if she’d let me go beneath them. My hands ran down her hips, to her soft thighs that lay relaxed and parted. I stroked the bare skin on her legs, moving slowly up to the hem of her shorts. My fingers sneaked beneath the fabric, gently pushing it up until I could almost touch her there. I pushed a little harder, making her shorts ride up. My breath began to sound ragged and I felt myself going out of control.
“Finn?” she said softly. “Take your time, sweetie.”
I raised my eyes to hers in the bright moonlight. “Huh? What?”
She gently squeezed my hand. “I know it’s hard.”
I glanced down at my jeans. She didn’t know how right she was. “I don’t think I can take it, Sassy. I want you so bad. I need you.”
She looked down with a smile and shocked me by patting my crotch.
“I know, sweetie. Did you bring protection?”
Protection? I pulled away from her, slapping my forehead. “Oh, crap. I didn’t even think of it. Jax has some rubbers in his drawer. A whole box of them. Different colors and everything.”
“Oh,” she looked almost disappointed.
It was at that moment I knew she’d had more experience than me. I figured if it were her first time, she’d be nervous, shy, and maybe wouldn’t think to ask about condoms.
To my shock, she leaned down and unzipped my jeans as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Well, maybe next time. I’m not about to get pregnant.”
I froze in disbelief. Sassy had opened my pants and pulled down my shorts. The part of my body that had been driving my brain for the past few weeks burst free from its harsh prison of clothing. I felt cool air brush around me, and the strain of need became more urgent. Blood surged through me, making me stand even taller in the night air.
“It’s okay, big guy,” she said to my private parts.
I laughed with a crazy sound, so glad she hadn’t said “little guy.”
She stretched one hand around me, gentle fingertips sliding against skin. It only took ten seconds, and I exploded into the night.
Chapter 15
July 14th, 2013
10:45 A.M.
I sat in the idling Jeep at the foot of the driveway leading to my parents’ farm. Ace pushed his nose into my hand and whined. I’d swung by The Seacrest to pick him up after signing the papers at Sawyer’s law firm. I needed strength, and having my dog at my side always made me feel better.
“I don’t know, buddy.” I patted his head and he scooted closer, laying his paws and head in my lap. I stroked his big soft ears and sighed, feeling paralyzed. “What do you think?”
The old sign, Blueberry Hill, swayed in the breeze on a white post needing paint. I glanced at the file folder Sawyer had given me and at the jumble of keys on the passenger seat.
A big wad of paper and a bunch of keys. How strange that they represented the handing over of my family’s farm—and Jax’s possessions—to me.
I can’t do this.
Snatches of memories flooded my brain. Big family dinners with Gramps. Mom in her apron, cooking up a storm for us, every single day of her life. Customers streaming up the hill when the berries ripened. The smell of sea air on the terrace in the back, mingled with my father’s barbecue.
How can I face that house? Those memories?
Cora had persistently urged me to make amends with Jax, from the very first week of our marriage. But I’d remained stubborn. I couldn’t forgive. I couldn’t forget. I hated myself for that. And sometimes I think Cora did, too.
Anger is a powerful emotion. It can destroy you, paralyze you, make you miserable the rest of your life. And when you hold that furious grudge for ten years, there’s a part of you that rots at the core.
I felt rotten. Compromised. Changed.
I thought of Jax and how normal he’d seemed in the years following the fire. He didn’t act contrite, nor ashamed. Just matter of fact about the fire and subsequent deaths, as if they’d happened, he’d accepted it, he’d moved on. He’d tried to reach out—many times. Each time, I’d brushed him off with fury and had been upset for days.
How could he live with himself after killing our parents and little Eva? And how could I live with the knowledge that he’d now killed Cora, as well?
Ace nuzzled me again. It was as if that dog knew my inner thoughts and tried to help me purge those demons circling beneath the surface—ever present, ever gnawing away at me.
“Good boy,” I said, scrubbing the fur behind his ears. “I know. You’re right. I should just do it.”
The sign swung in the breeze, as if to invite me up the hill.
I put the Jeep into first and let out the clutch. Maybe I’d just sit in the parking area, see how that felt.
Behind me, a car came to a stop.
Libby’s voice lilted from the open window in the silver Jag. “Finn?”
I looked back to see her head poking out the window.
I shut off the Jeep and got out. She met me halfway, and Ace bounded out behind me, tail wagging. He loved Libby.
“Did you sign the papers?” she asked, bending down to make a fuss over Ace.
I swallowed hard, somehow feeling as if I’d made a mistake. “I did.”
She glanced up at me. “You okay with it?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure.”
She straightened and shaded her eyes, glancing up the hill to the house. “Are you going up? Need some company?”
A wave of relief washed over me. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage.” I patted Ace, who’d returned to my side and sat close beside me. “Do you have time?”
Libby checked her watch, and that motion reminded me of the past, of a distant memory so sweet I could barely stand it. But I pushed it away and locked it deep inside. Just like I always had.
“I have to meet Dad for lunch at the club, at one. That gives me almost two hours.”
“Okay.” I looked with dread at the house on the hill. “Thanks.”
“Come on, I’ll follow you up.” She started to walk back to her car, returning to my side when I didn’t move. She touched my sleeve. “Listen. It’s been a long time. They’re in Heaven. They love you, they’re looking down on you. They want you to be happy. They want you to reclaim your home.”
I looked at her with surprise. I hadn’t realized she believed in much more than horses and her crazy, obsessive love for The Seacrest mansion. “You really think so?”
She nodded. “I do, without a doubt.”
I squared my shoulders. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Chapter 16
July 19th, 1997
8:00 PM
Sassy didn’t show up at the beach for fou
r nights in a row. I began to think it was because she was avoiding the next step in our relationship, which was, well…you know where I’m going with this.
I’d stuffed my pockets with colorful condoms from my brother’s stash, thinking that each night would be the night I’d lose my virginity and rise to the stars and back with my beloved Sassy.
When she didn’t show up, I’d grown more and more despondent.
I had no way to contact her, no idea where she lived, and was positive she was trying to dump me.
Was it because I’d been so ridiculously out of control that night? I’d been so randy, I couldn’t think straight, and the whole memory embarrassed me. She’d been cool and collected, in complete control. And as if it were a favor she bestowed on a needy peasant, she’d touched me with her soft hands and I’d burst into the night, in seconds.
Men were supposed to be proud of their ability to control themselves, weren’t they? We are supposed to hold off, to reel it back, to wait until just the right time so both partners could climax together. At least that’s what I’d read in some of Jax’s smutty novels he kept under his mattress.
Yet here I was, so darned horny I couldn’t wait one minute. Not even a minute. It was humiliating.
I imagined Sassy telling her friends about the poor, sex-crazed boy she’d helped out the other night on the beach. I pictured them laughing at me.
I’m such a loser.
The half bottle of wine I’d pinched from the fridge three nights ago lay warm on the sand beside my sneakers and two blankets. One to lie on, one to cover us if we got cold. I’d even brought my mp3 player and a small set of speakers to set the mood. I knew Sassy loved The Doors, a band she said her father had introduced her to when she was younger. Their first album lay ready and queued on my playlist.
By nine o’clock, I’d almost decided to give up. Waiting was not only excruciatingly boring, but totally exhausting, and my father had started to comment on my sluggish behavior every morning when he dragged me out of bed at six to work on the farm. I must have fallen asleep a little after nine, because around nine-thirty, she touched my lips with hers and woke me.
My eyes opened with a start. I stretched and smiled. “You’re here.”
She reached for me and laid her head against my chest. We sat together on the biggest rock on the breakwater. “I wanted to come. But my aunt…she died.”
“Oh, no, Sassy. I’m so sorry.” My mind raced. Her aunt died? How horrible. But at least she didn’t reject me. “I thought you didn’t want to see me any more.”
Her head moved against my chest. “Oh, no. I was dying to see you, Finn.”
Now my heart leapt and my stupid body started reacting the way it had the other night, the way it always seemed to respond to Sassy.
“I didn’t know how to contact you,” I said, still unsettled by the last few days of doubt.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Will you ever tell me?”
She looked up at me, her big eyes full of woe. “I’ll have to some day. But I’m afraid it’ll ruin everything.”
“My mom wants you to come to dinner soon.”
She stiffened. “I…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Because you’d have to give your real name?”
“Sort of. But mostly because I think we should keep this quiet. If my father finds out, we’re done.” She snuggled against me again, as if to lose herself in my embrace, to forget about whatever it was that tormented her.
“You know I’ll never leave you, Sassy. No matter what your father says, no matter what you tell me about your family.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. “I know, Finn. But that’s not really it.”
My eyebrow arched. “Then what is it?”
She hesitated, then whispered. “It’s my father, like I said. If he knows we’re dating, he’ll kill me. And he’ll stop it. Cold.”
“How could he stop us?” I asked, tilting her face up to mine. I kissed her soft lips.
“He could. He’d send me away.”
“Where?”
“To boarding school. He’s threatened it many times.”
“But those places are expensive, Sassy. How could he afford it?”
She didn’t say anything, and I figured maybe there was a scholarship or something for poorer families.
“Just kiss me, Finn.”
I kissed her long and hard, then took her hand and led her down the jetty. “I brought some special stuff for tonight, see?”
She nodded with a tired smile at the wine and blankets. “Nice.”
“And I’ve got music. The Doors.”
Her smile grew, just a little. “I love them.”
“I know.”
“Are you okay?” I put my arm around her and we started walking toward the shore, where high tide rushed against a ragged line of shells and seaweed.
“Just tired. We had the funeral today. So many people. So many tears. It was really hard.”
I hugged her sideways. “I can’t imagine losing a family member,” I said. “I’ve never been to a funeral.”
“It’s awful. You have to act civil to everyone, even people you don’t like. And then there’s the whole food thing. You have to put out food for all the vultures who come to the service, even if they didn’t like or know the person who died. They drink and eat and hang around your house for hours, laughing and drinking and sometimes just whispering when they see you noticing them having too much fun.”
“Sounds horrible.”
We walked in the cold surf, automatically heading for our cove.
“Finn?”
I stopped to face her in the moonlight. “Yes?”
“You’re my salvation, you know. I can escape it all when I’m with you. You make me forget…”
I hugged her close, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear. “I’m glad. I feel the same way. I’m whole when I’m with you.”
She clung to me then, and began to cry. After a long time, my feet felt cold and she shivered. Wiping her tears, she raised her eyes to mine. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. I really hated her, Finn. She was terrible to me. Awful. She was so despicable; I’d go to bed in tears most nights. But I can’t stop crying about it.”
I hugged her and shushed her and walked her up to the cove. “I know. Shh. It’s okay. It’s just normal to feel this way when someone dies.” I had no idea if I was right, but it sounded good.
I realized with certainty as she looked at me through the silvery moonlight that tonight would not be the night we joined together. It wouldn’t be right. It would be taking advantage.
And I also realized that in no uncertain terms, this was the girl I wanted to share my life with. Forever.
Me and Sassy. Together forever.
I took her hand and led her back to the jetty. In spite of my good intentions, I didn’t think I could restrain myself on a blanket in the sand next to the most beautiful girl in the world.
Chapter 17
July 14th, 2013
11:00 A.M.
Ace went inside first.
When I unlocked the big front door with trembling fingers, my loyal dog—who’d never been here in his life—pushed through the door, walked to the hearth in the great room, circled on the braided rug, and promptly lay down.
Libby sidled close behind me with a nervous whisper. “Look at Ace. He’s making himself right at home.”
Somehow, this simple action by my beloved dog made all the difference. If Ace didn’t sense spirits lingering, sadness permeating the wooden floors and wallpapered walls, if he didn’t hesitate to plop down in front of the fireplace, why should I?
I walked toward him, taking in the furniture and photos on the mantle.
How was it possible? Jax had recreated everything from our childhood, including a lookalike couch, tables, chairs, and even the pictures on the walls. He must’ve scoured antique stores for years to find these pieces. And the couch? How could he have found the exact fab
ric? The same design as the 1970s version my mother lovingly protected with plastic until I was twenty-two years old?
I suppose he could have commissioned the work, found an upholsterer and searched data banks of fabric. Apparently he had the money for it.
But to Jax’s credit—as spooky as it was—he’d done it.
I was home.
“Oh, look!” Libby pointed to the photos on the mantle. There I was, in a huge framed print. I stood smiling with a trophy, standing in front of my baseball team who crowded me with long-lost smiles on their faces.
My brother kept pictures of me in his home? Prominently displayed on the mantle?
To the right stood a photo of my grandfather, sitting atop his houseboat in ragged cutoffs with a drink in his hands, his skin all sun-creased and weather-wise. His eyes were hidden behind shades, but I knew they penetrated the camera lens with truth-seeking ferocity. A fishing rod rested in a holder by his side, and the Atlantic Ocean glistened in the background.
My eyes scanned the rest of the crowded mantle, zooming now from right to left and back again. Jax and me in our swimming trunks at the beach at age five and six. My mother and father with arms around each other on vacation in Maine. Me and my dog Mr. Jingles, posing for the camera on my tenth birthday. Jax and me on horses at the riding stables.
How had he done this? The pictures should have been destroyed in the fire.
Weren’t they?
The couch that I was sure had gone up in flames hadn’t been more than ten feet from the mantle.
How could he have saved these pictures? Or reproduced them?
A thought struck me.
Gramps.
Gramps had always insisted on my mother sending him copies of our photos. Every single one had to be made in duplicate and promptly mailed to him in Florida. And for Christmas, he always wanted copies of the enlargements my mother framed and hung on our walls.
That had to be it.
I thought back to my beloved grandfather and wondered if he were looking down on me, too. I knew he was in a Heaven that featured big marlin and bright sunshine, endless spans of calm seas and big, trouble-free boat engines. And plenty of gin on ice.
