Play of Light

by Debra Doxer

  I smiled back, wondering how he could sound so chipper on so little sleep. “Does it hurt?” I asked.

  “Nah, it’s nothing.”

  I swallowed the need to contradict him. It probably was nothing compared to the beatings he used to get. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

  “Since always. The chicks dig ’em.” He smirked and turned back to the screen.

  He did look sexy in them, smart but with an edge. “You’ve always worn glasses?”

  Spencer turned to kiss me, giving me more than a peck but less than a deep pull. It was still enough to curl my toes.

  “Only when I’m on the computer or reading. What?” he asked. “You don’t like them?”

  “No. It’s not that. I just didn’t know you wore them.” I couldn’t really explain why seeing him in eyeglasses bothered me other than the fact that I thought I finally knew everything about him.

  He chuckled softly. “I’m allergic to blueberries.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You are?”

  “Another thing you probably didn’t know.” He playfully nudged me with his shoulder.

  Feeling silly, I smiled ruefully. “What are you up to?” I asked, glancing at the website he had up. It looked like the online version of the town newspaper.

  “Do you remember Jillian Harris?”

  I shook my head.

  “We went to school with her. Her father used to write for the paper. He came in to talk to us on career day once. I’m trying to see if his byline is still here.”

  He scrolled through a few more pages and then stopped. Jeff Harris’s name was printed in the middle of the page on a story about the wind farm some corporation wanted to build near Nantucket.

  “Looks like he’s still there,” I commented. Then I studied Spencer, wondering what this was about.

  “I’m going to call him,” he said, still staring at the screen. “Talking to the chief was fine, but it’s not enough.”

  My eyes got wide. He wanted to talk to a reporter? “Do you think that’s a good idea? You’d be painting an even bigger target on yourself.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, it’s the fastest way to get everything out there.”

  My fingers dug into the couch cushions. If this all ended up in the newspaper, how much wrath would Spencer be bringing down on himself?

  “I know you’re worried about me,” he said. “But this feels right. I have to do it.”

  The determined sound of his voice gave me pause. He hadn’t talked about this to anyone before I got here. It felt like I’d let a genie out of a bottle, and I didn’t know if I should try to put it back in or not.

  “Then will it be enough?” I asked, afraid that nothing would be enough to give him whatever he was looking for.

  He scoffed. “Having it splashed across the front page would come pretty fucking close, don’t you think?”

  “Not if they come after you again.” I rested my hand on his arm. “Maybe you should think about it more before you do anything.”

  He sat back to look at me. “If you weren’t so concerned about me, would you be on board with this?”

  Before Spencer went missing yesterday, it would have been so satisfying to see the people who were responsible for what happened to my father exposed in a big way. But looking at him now, I couldn’t help but think it wasn’t worth the risk.

  “Sarah,” he prompted.

  I wanted to lie. I even started to form the words, but couldn’t push them past my lips, not even for Spencer’s own good, because I knew without a doubt what my father would have said.

  “Yes, I’d be on board,” I reluctantly replied.

  A smile crossed his face. “I think you should talk to him too. It’s time this town knew the truth about itself.”

  Our roles had reversed somehow. Once, I was the one trying to convince Spencer to come forward and tell the truth. I couldn’t imagine refusing to do this with him. It had taken too long to get to this place of honesty, and we’d both paid too high a price to hold back now.

  When I nodded, he grinned and said, “That’s my girl.”

  Then he turned his attention away too fast to notice the way my breath hitched. I was his girl. It was true. Hearing him say it made me feel like the sun was shining down, even though clouds filled the sky.

  Spencer looked up the main number of the newspaper and placed the call. After he asked for the reporter, he was transferred to the man’s voice mail and had to leave a message.

  “Look at this,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Isn’t that your old address?”

  Leaning in to see, I noticed the telephone numbers for the newspaper were on the same page as the real estate listings. “It’s for sale,” I said. Then I sat back, feeling a little thrown.

  “We should go see it. Make an appointment or something.” Spencer picked up his phone again.

  I sucked in a breath. “Wait.”

  He shot me a curious look.

  “Give me a minute to think about it.”

  “What’s there to think about?” He watched me closely, his unwavering gaze silently telling me I should do this.

  When we were at the house before, I’d told Spencer that I didn’t need to go inside, but I’d lied to the both of us. I was scared. It would be filled with other people’s things, and it would only drive home the fact that the good times I’d spent there were gone forever. I felt differently now. The events of the past few days made me feel different. I wanted to go inside. That house held the last piece of myself I wanted to reclaim. The remaining pieces were already falling into place.

  “Nothing,” I said. “There’s nothing to think about.”

  The reporter called Spencer back that night, and the very next day he came to the cottage to meet with us. Jeff Harris was an older man with thick glasses and long gray hair that he wore in a low ponytail. He looked like a reformed biker. He listened with rapt attention as we spoke, peppering us with questions, and not making any attempt to hide his enthusiasm for what appeared to be a big story for him. In the end, we spent an entire afternoon rehashing everything once again.

  After he’d gone, I had a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. The only way to ease it was to call Russ. It wasn’t easy to reach out to him, but Jeff Harris was acting like a dog with a bone. I had to do something to make sure Spencer would be okay.

  Russ managed to talk me down. He’d done some checking and assured me that other than Jimmy and Mike, or Tweedledee and Tweedledum as Spencer liked to call them, no one had the heart to go after Jackson’s nephew. Then he said that all hell would break loose in the department when the story got out, and Spencer would be the least of their worries. Russ didn’t sound concerned for himself, which surprised me. His career was on the line too, not to mention the possibility of facing criminal charges.

  Even more surprising was what Spencer had told me just yesterday. Jeff Harris had found a cop to be an anonymous source for the story. This person was feeding him information and providing him with proof of what Spencer and I had told him. We both suspected it was Russ, but Russ never said a word, and I didn’t ask. My mother might have been right about him. He seemed to exist in a gray area.

  Today I was treating Riley to lunch at a restaurant on the harbor to thank her for everything. It was hard to believe I’d been in South Seaport for just under two weeks, and I was about to leave again. This time would be different, though. Spencer was coming with me.

  “I’ve got the end-of-summer blues.” Riley pouted as she stared out at the water. She’d hardly touched her food. “I usually give the guys a party before they go, but you’re running out of here too fast for me to throw anything together.”

  “No,” I corrected. “We’re not running away. We’re leaving a little early, that’s all.”

  The newspaper article detailing years of corruption in the South Seaport Police Department was going to run on Sunday, but Russ suggested that we leave now in case the story leaked early. Spencer joked t
hat we were pulling the pin on a grenade and hauling ass out of town. I kind of liked that analogy.

  My phone dinged, and I picked it up off the table while Riley reapplied her lip gloss. My heart pumped a little harder, thinking it might be Spencer. I wondered if that feeling would ever go away. I didn’t think so.

  TESSA: I have a thing for Nate. I’m so sorry. Does that make me a bad friend?

  My eyes widened. Nope, not Spencer.

  Riley gave me a curious look. “Is that Tessa again? Let me see which bulging body part she sent you this time.” Then she grabbed the phone from me, and I didn’t bother stopping her. She’d made me show her pictures of the lake guy on my phone before I finally deleted them. Based on how long she’d stared at them, I had a suspicion she was hoping for more.

  Her eyebrows shot up as she looked at it. “She’s hot for your ex?”

  I nodded, still digesting the news myself. Tessa has a thing for Nate?

  She handed me my phone. “Text her back and ask her if she’s acted on it yet. If she has, then yes, she’s a bad friend. If not, and she’s asking permission, then that’s okay. I mean, as long as you’re okay with it.”

  I was probably too okay with it. If Nate were already in a new relationship, I wouldn’t feel so guilty about how I’d treated him. I texted Tessa back.

  ME: You could never be a bad friend.

  She answered quickly.

  TESSA: So you’re not mad? He called me to talk about you, but then we started talking about other things. I think it might be mutual. I feel horrible even telling you that.

  I hesitated before replying. Was it callous of me to be all for this?

  ME: I just want you both to be happy. I’m not upset. A little surprised, though.

  TESSA: I know! Took me by surprise too.

  ME: What happened to the lake guy?

  TESSA: He has a boyfriend.

  I laughed at my phone. Still smiling, I looked up at Riley.

  “So,” she began. “If you give her the green light, maybe the ex will stop calling you.”

  “He already has. I finally left him a message, but he never called me back. Maybe I know why now.”

  I took a sip of my ice water and dug deep to determine if I felt any sense of loss or betrayal. I simply didn’t. Tessa was still texting me, but I was trying to imagine her and Nate together. She was loud and aggressive, and he was quiet and reserved. I had a feeling Tessa was going to eat him alive. Of course, he might not mind that. I took one last bite of my salad and glanced at my watch.

  “What time are you meeting Spencer?” Riley asked.

  “In half an hour. We’d better get going.”

  I texted Tessa back to let her know I’d call her later. Then I paid our bill, insisting on treating Riley, despite her protests.

  From there we headed to 8 Sandy Neck Lane, my old address. Spencer had made an appointment to see the house this afternoon, and although he hadn’t explained that we had no intention of buying it, I was pretty sure the agent handling it assumed as much. We joked about pretending to be a married couple looking for a home, but neither of us laughed too hard. Spencer got this odd look on his face, as if he didn’t think the idea was at all outrageous. At least, that was what I thought his look meant, and I liked the way it made me feel.

  Riley fought the late summer traffic, moving at a crawl until she finally had to stop the car altogether right in front of the beach. While we idled there, waiting for a family who was blocking the road to unload their beach gear, the need to sit by the ocean hit me.

  “I can get out here,” I told her.

  Her head snapped in my direction. “You’re not bailing on Spencer, are you?”

  “Of course not. I just want to walk up from the beach, like I used to.”

  “Okay.” She hesitated before turning a concerned smile on me. “You’ll be fine. I know you will.”

  I thanked her before I waved good-bye and wound my way through the parked cars, heading toward the dunes. The beach was packed with people soaking up the last days of summer. People were spread out on the sand and in the ocean.

  I followed the bordering fence along the rise until I’d reached the area of dunes that I thought of as my own. Sitting down, I looked out across the ocean, feeling the familiar connection to this place. How many times had I sat here listening to the waves and watching the play of light on the water? How many times had I painted it?

  I felt a kinship to this ocean. It was alive to me. It was changeable but steady, beautiful at times and angry at others, on fire when the sun rose and set, and nearly colorless in the dark of night. It impressed me with its strength and welcomed me with its cooling ripples. It was the focus of my art and the backdrop to my dreams. It reflected myself back at me. I knew this ocean, and it knew me. I would never be parted from it again, at least, not for long.

  The breeze rippled through my hair, and I smiled. I never thought I could change so much just by coming back to the place where everything was taken from me and taking it right back again. Maybe I was even a little proud of myself.

  By the time I left the beach, I was a few minutes late. I turned the corner and spotted Spencer standing in front of the porch, talking to a short woman dressed in a royal blue pantsuit, who I assumed was the real estate agent. I let my gaze linger on him. He couldn’t have heard me as I approached, but somehow he sensed me and turned to look. He smiled, and those eyes of his met mine. His eyes always got to me, like lasers pointed right at my heart.

  When the woman turned in my direction, her expression held a deep frown. I hoped nothing had changed, that we could still go inside.

  Spencer met me at the end of the walkway. After greeting me with a kiss, he said, “She’s not happy we aren’t real buyers. When I got here, she was talking about the renovations the owners did to the house, giving me the hard sell. I told her the truth so she wouldn’t be following us around, explaining all the features to us.”

  Renovations? I looked over at the woman. Her expression hadn’t changed.

  “Can we still go in?” I asked, ignoring the nerves that were sprouting inside my belly.

  “If you want to.”

  I scanned the asters in front of the porch, still bright with color, and the rest of the house, which looked so much like it had during the time we lived here. “I want to.”

  He gave me an encouraging grin before leading me up the cracked concrete walkway I’d run over so many times as a kid. In those days, I was always running, excited to get wherever I was going.

  “Thank you,” I told the real estate agent as we passed her.

  Compassion briefly filled her eyes before her phone rang, and she pivoted away to answer it.

  “How long has she worked in town?” I asked.

  He shrugged, and I thought the answer was most likely more than five years. Her face said she knew who I was, and despite her annoyance, she was still letting us go in.

  Spencer walked up the few short stairs to the porch and stood by the front door, waiting for me. “Do you want to do this alone?” he asked.

  “No.” I smiled, then I followed him and reached for his hand. I wasn’t nervous exactly, but I was anxious and already feeling melancholy, which wasn’t surprising.

  There’d be no familiar faces inside. “Sara Smile” wouldn’t be playing on the sound system. Emma’s door wouldn’t be shut with her voice trailing out as she gossiped about boys. Standing here now, all that seemed like a moment ago, but it was practically a lifetime.

  I turned the knob and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, the first thing that struck me was the gleaming kitchen visible at the end of the front hallway. The stainless steel dishwasher and refrigerator were both in my line of sight, as were new dark wood cabinets and granite counters. A few more steps in, and I knew a dog lived here. I could smell it and my nose was already twitching, wanting to sneeze.

  I walked into the living room, aware of Spencer close behind me. He’d never been inside our house, so he co
uldn’t understand how different it looked. A huge sectional filled the room, and on one wall, a wide-screen television was mounted above a built-in bookcase. Our old green couch and my dad’s reclining chair that was always pushed up beside it were long gone. I waited for the sadness to hit me, for the sinking feeling to set in, but neither came. Instead, I chuckled softly.

  “What is it?” Spencer asked.

  “It looks so much nicer than when we lived here. These people have really good taste.”

  He grinned, giving my hand an encouraging squeeze.

  Next we walked through the den and went into the kitchen. Other than the shape and flow, there was nothing familiar here, not even the smell.

  “Want to go upstairs?” Spencer asked when I stalled in the kitchen doorway.

  I nodded. It was my old room that I was most interested in seeing now. The carpets I remembered had been removed, and hardwood floors gleamed beneath our feet as we ascended the stairs and headed down the hallway. We passed Emma’s old room first. It now belonged to one or more little boys. A bunk bed and the navy blue paint that covered the walls hinted at that.

  Bracing myself for my old bedroom to look completely different, I walked to the door and cautiously poked my head in. Then I sucked in a breath as I scanned the room. It looked achingly familiar.

  “Sarah?” Spencer asked from behind me. I’d stopped in the doorway.

  “This was my room,” I said, then I finally stepped inside.

  The walls were still the same lavender color. The rug was gone and the furniture was different, but the new things were white like mine had been. The bed was in the same place, and a pretty lace curtain hung over the window.

  With the gable window set into the wall and a closet on the other wall, there was really only one place to put the bed. It made sense that the setup would be the same, but it still shocked me, and it took me back to the times I’d sat in this room and sketched into the early hours of the morning. I recalled something else I used to do too.

  Walking to the window, I parted the curtains and looked out. Some of the houses were different, but the landscape was the same. My gaze went to Spencer’s house and stayed there as my chest grew heavy with memories.