by Debra Doxer
“Has your aunt moved yet?” I asked.
He came up beside me. “Not for another few weeks. I told her I’d come back to help.”
I didn’t miss the subtle shudder that ran through him. I wondered if the thought of being inside that house made him react that way. Wanting to erase whatever images I’d inadvertently put in his head, I pushed open the window and stuck my leg through.
“Sarah,” Spencer warned, gripping my hand.
I grinned up at him. “Just once more.”
He eyed me indecisively, then he released me.
Like it was second nature, I stepped out onto the ledge. Once both my feet felt secure, I inched my way over to the side, bent down, and lowered myself onto the slope of the roof. The shingles beneath my thin cotton shorts were hot, but not uncomfortably so. I wasn’t surprised when Spencer’s sneakered foot appeared a moment before he did. I shimmied over to give him room, but he reached his hand out to stop me.
“Be careful, okay?”
I chuckled, pleased by the warm feeling his concern gave me. After some maneuvering, he sat down beside me and looked out at the neighborhood and the woods beyond it. I thought of the night he’d climbed up the drainpipe and sat in that very spot. He took the sketch I’d done of a lonely boy with vacant eyes, and he told me I was someone he had to stay away from. He’d crushed me that night. At the time, I couldn’t have imagined the truth. That he’d loved me all along, right from the start, the same way I loved him.
I thought of the new painting I was working on, the one Riley saw lying on the floor when it was only a rough sketch. It was of Spencer and me embracing at the dunes, and it was anything but vacant and emotionless. It was passionate and tumultuous and maybe even a little erotic. I was nearly finished with it. My plan was to give it to Spencer for his birthday next month, and I couldn’t wait to see his reaction.
“What are you thinking about?” He bumped me lightly with his shoulder.
I knew I was smiling when he asked that. The painting was supposed to be a surprise, so I hedged a little. “I was thinking about the last time we both sat here together and the sketch of you I did. Did you know it was your eyes that made me want to draw you in the first place?”
“I thought it was my devastating good looks.”
“Well, yeah. That too.” I shrugged dismissively.
He put his hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded.
I cleared my throat, wanting to talk seriously for a moment. This felt like the right time and place to bring it up, even though it would probably erase the beautiful smile from his face.
“Actually,” I said, “it was the way you blanked out your eyes that made them intriguing to me. When I sketch a person, it’s their eyes that form the basis of their expression. I’d never seen eyes like yours before. They were so remote. Like you weren’t even there.”
I turned to find him watching me intently, his smile already fading.
“I know that’s how you survived, by shutting down. I also know the pain you were hiding hasn’t gone away. You should talk to someone, Spencer.”
He gaze tightened. Then it shifted toward his old house.
“You can’t go through what you did and not come out with scars.”
Lightly skimming my finger over my cheek, I thought about how my scar was visible, while his were buried deep inside. “I can feel the anger you carry around. You still go away somewhere when something reminds you of him. You disappear inside yourself where I can’t reach you. It scares me. I’m afraid one day you won’t come back.”
My muscles tensed as I anticipated his reaction, afraid he’d deny it or go silent on me, and I didn’t know which would be worse.
He looked up at the sky and ran his hands through his hair.
In the silence, I felt the need to keep convincing him. “There’s no shame in needing help to deal with something.”
His hands came down beside him as he huffed out a laugh. “So you’re saying I need professional help.”
I gave him a weak smile and nodded. “I saw a therapist the first year after my dad died. She helped me deal with the nightmares and the fear I couldn’t shake on my own.”
“You had nightmares?” he asked, sounding upset at the thought. His arm came around my shoulder, pulling me against him. “I’m sorry you went through that. I wish I could have been there for you.”
Resting my head on his shoulder, I said, “I know. Me too, for you.”
He sighed heavily. “I’ve always thought of music as my therapy. That’s how I get it all out.”
“I’m glad you have that. Your songs are incredible. But—”
“They’re not enough.” Spencer swallowed as his eyes found mine again. “I know.”
I pulled his face down to my level and kissed away the frown that was forming on his lips.
“I never wanted to go down that road,” he said quietly. “I was afraid there was too much wrong with me, and none of it was fixable.”
I smoothed my hand over his rough cheek. My heart hurt because I knew he believed that. “It doesn’t work that way. And there isn’t anything wrong with you. That’s not what I’m saying.”
He pressed a light kiss to my lips and whispered, “I’ll try. Okay?”
“Okay.” My mouth smiled against his.
“When we get to school, I’ll go down to the health center.”
“I love you, you know?” I said softly before kissing him again.
“I know. But you can repeat yourself as much as you like.”
“Hey!” someone called to us from the ground.
We broke apart and looked down. It was the real estate agent in her blue pantsuit, squinting up at us.
“You can’t be up there. I’ll have to ask you to come down right now.”
“Right now?” Spencer called. Then he shot me a wicked look.
“Yes. Now!”
He stood straight up and leaned forward. The woman and I both screamed at the same time. My heart leaped into my throat as I reached out and grabbed for his hand.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What?” he asked innocently, bracing an arm against the side of the window. “She said right now. Don’t you know the shortest distance between two points is a straight line? We always seem to take the long way around.” He shot me a meaningful look.
“Not funny.” I got his meaning, but he didn’t have to give me a heart attack in the process. I glanced down to see the agent scowling at us with a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes.
Spencer turned and grinned at me. “Hey, Sarah? I’ve got a question for you.”
“You can ask me inside.” I started to stand, but he reached out a hand and pressed down on my shoulder.
“I want to ask you here.”
“Why?” I slanted a look at him.
“Because after you moved, I stared at this roof every night, wishing you’d appear. I promised myself that if I ever saw you sitting here again, I’d climb up and ask you the one question that I’d never had the guts to ask when I conned you into my Would You Ever game.”
He’d stared at this empty roof every night wishing I would appear? And what did he mean his game was a con? I hardly knew which part to process first.
“What’s the question?” I finally asked.
He bit on his bottom lip and watched me. “Would you ever love me enough to want to spend forever with me?”
My breath halted. He’d wanted to ask that all the times he’d asked those other inane questions? When I didn’t answer right away, he added, “I dare you.”
Those deep brown eyes had a direct line to my heart and they tugged on it, hard. A smile bloomed fully on my face. “I never could resist a dare.”
His eyes danced. “I was counting on it.”
Then he offered me his hand. When I took it, he pulled himself back inside and tugged me along after him, grabbing me around the waist and turning me in his arms before setting me down on the floor again. Then he
kissed me, right in the middle of my old bedroom, the very place where I first dreamed of a moment like this.
As we walked side by side through my old house for what I knew was probably the last time, I imagined I heard my father’s voice singing “Sara Smile,” and I hoped he could see that I was finally genuinely smiling again.
This is my second book set on Cape Cod. I don’t reside there, but my thoughts and daydreams often do. The atmosphere of the Cape, with its extreme seasonal and socioeconomic contrasts, makes it ripe for setting a scene and unraveling a story.
In Play of Light, I’ve incorporated two things I happen to love—the Cape in the summertime and art. I’ve always enjoyed looking at art, ever since my mother first took me to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Finding paintings to match the mood of each chapter was truly a labor of love. Did you notice the chapters were all named for paintings?
List of paintings and artists by chapter:
Chapter 1 - Approaching Storm by Eugene Louis Boudin
Chapter 2 - The Persistence of Memory by Salvadore Dalí
Chapter 3 - The Parting Kiss by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema
Chapter 4 - Sojourn by Stephen Dinsmore
Chapter 5 - The Bay of Naples by William Stanley Haseltine
Chapter 6 - The Disappointment by Karol Bak
Chapter 7 - Keeping Secrets by Edward Loedding
Chapter 8 - Don’t Be Scared by Jesse Willcox-Smith
Chapter 9 - You Are My Music by Ruth Palmer
Chapter 10 - The Day before Parting by Jozef Israëls
Chapter 11 - A Sudden Swarm of Winged Creatures Brushed Past Her by Arthur Rackham
Chapter 12 - The Lost Path by Richard Redgrave
Chapter 13 - Longing by Jill McLean
Chapter 14 - Red Balloon by Paul Klee
Chapter 15 - Shimmering Substance by Jackson Pollack
Chapter 16 - In Search of Truth by Helen Lurye
Chapter 17 - Two Hearts by Charlene Zatloukal
Chapter 18 - When Flowers Return by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema
Chapter 19 - Ground Swell by Edward Hopper
Chapter 20 - Vulnerability by Dene Croft
Chapter 21 - Mick Jagger by Andy Warhol
Chapter 22 - Strength by Joy Hartsfield
Chapter 23 - The Reunion of the Soul and the Body by William Blake
Chapter 24 - Do Not Leave Me by Albena Vatcheva
Chapter 25 - Light at the End of the Day by Kiril Stanchev
Thank you for taking a chance on Play of Light.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider supporting an indie author by leaving a review. Reviews are a valuable resource in helping readers find other books they may enjoy.
Connect with Debra:
Facebook
Twitter
Email
Read other books by Debra Doxer
This ebook was designed and formatted by
www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com
Artisan ebooks for discerning authors and publishers.
Play of Light
Copyright 2014 by Debra Doxer
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by Sarah Hansen
Edited by Pam Berehulke
Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Other Books by Debra Doxer
Quote
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Author’s Note
Connect with the Author
About the Book Designer
Copyright Notice
