“Figured it’d be safer,” he returned. Surprisingly, he started to put the cigar box back into its hole again. How many things had he loved and enjoyed only to have to leave them behind?
“Sam, let’s take the box home,” I suggested.
He considered it, and finally decided, “Of course, you’re right.” He handed it to me, and I took charge of it. Sam rose from our spot on the floor and pulled me up. We lazily made our way back to the Jeep. I stowed the box on the floor of the passenger seat, and was about to remark on how special it was that he’d brought me here when he took my hand.
“It’s not over yet,” he told me. He grabbed a small cooler from the back, and led me to the right of the house.
We hiked through the woods a quarter mile, all the while Sam held my hand and tugged me along saying things like, “You’re going to love this” and “I can’t wait for you to see.” And just when I thought we could be lost, the forest opened up.
A meadow stretched across the side of a hill, the grasses reached waist high. Tiny yellow buds on their super model stems dotted the greenery. Intermingled, were velvety gray and blue weeds that looked like wheat. We stood at the edge of a gorgeous, untouched, deep pasture.
“I remember thinking this was just a different type of ocean. Even has waves,” Sam told me. “What does it make you want to do?”
Without hesitation, I answered, “Run.” We took off, racing into the waves of grasses. The blades tickled my legs, and I giggled like a child. Halfway up, Sam dropped the cooler, grabbed my hands and spun me around. Our feet tangled and we toppled down together, letting the sea of green and yellow overtake us. We laid there, out of breath and laughing.
Sam moved in over me, and we fell into kissing. No fear, just true love boundless and brilliant.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Art of Distraction
Ocean creatures are masters at the art of distraction. Deep-sea squid shoot out clouds of bioluminescence. Many octopi squirt black ink. Deep ocean worms release balloon-like bombs to lure predators away. Camouflage, mimicry, and movement are all ways creatures in the ocean distract their enemies from the prize – themselves. Distraction is a good thing because it not only saves little sea creatures’ butts, but it gives them an escape.
The art of distraction had been lost to me, until today.
Though kissing didn’t last as long as I’d hoped (Sam, always the gentleman, put on the brakes), the pleasant distractions continued. At the top of the hill, the tall stems shortened to regular grass, soft and thick. Down in the valley, was the backside of a small town’s main street. At the end of a strip of old buildings (much like the ones on Tipee Island), stood an even taller white brick business that shadowed a wide parking lot, shared by a place called Shady Meadows – a retirement home.
“This is how I found the house again,” Sam told me, pointing to the broadside of the white building.
There was nothing particularly special to it that I could tell, but there was an interesting flurry of activity in the parking lot. Long folding tables had been set up. People were gathering with lawn chairs and blankets. Nurses rolled and strolled residents of Shady Meadows to areas in the parking lot. We’d arrived to watch the setup for something, but of what I couldn’t identify. Why would a bunch of people gather to sit around a parking lot? Small towns are boring, but not that boring. Are they?
Sam set up a picnic for us, while a crowd formed below facing the barren white wall. As people arrived, they set food on the long tables forming a buffet. A few men were running cords and wires, bringing speakers out of a van, setting up equipment.
“They’re going to show a movie, aren’t they?” I questioned.
He smiled. “They do it every night in the spring and summer, weather permitting.”
“That’s nice.”
“Used to come out here and watch,” he told me. I moved onto Sam’s blanket. He handed me a cold beer. “The only downside was that I could smell all that delicious food people always brought, but was afraid to go down and grab a plate.”
“How come? You could’ve blended.”
Sam shook his head. “Nah, my folks always told me to keep a low profile. If I brought attention to myself, they’d try to take me away and stick me in an institution.”
I gasped. “Oh, Sam.”
Sam smiled. “When I asked them what an institution was, they explained it was like a hospital, and you know how much I love hospitals.” He chuckled. Sam avoided hospitals like other people avoided spiders or snakes or lima beans.
“They made you afraid to get to know anyone,” I said.
“Uncle Ken and Aunt Beverly turned all that around,” he said, “but before they brokered for my release from my parents, life was, well, it was-”
“Lonely,” I finished. He clinked his beer bottle with mine, and sat next to me on the blanket. “But, not anymore.”
“Never again,” he agreed with a smile. “It’s like all those things I missed as a child, God just saved it all up. I’m getting it back, with interest.” I hoped that was true. Sam’s nomadic life with his drugged up parents had thankfully ended once his Aunt Beverly and Uncle Ken had stepped in, but the scars would last forever. If anyone deserved a heaping of God’s blessings, it was surely Sam, but I wasn’t sure how I could possibly contribute. I’d been more of a curse than a blessing.
With the sun sinking just behind us, the screen below flickered to life. A countdown ensued, just like films of the old days, and the crowd cheered and counted along with it.
“What’s the movie?” I asked impatiently.
“The Princess Bride,” Sam said, and I laughed.
“Only one of my top five favorite movies of all time,” I announced. The movie began, and Sam brought out sub sandwiches for dinner. We ate, and drank, and laughed, and watched completely distracted from our lives, our problems. I wanted it to last forever.
The spell was broken sometime after Westley died. I was lying against Sam’s chest. His arms wrapped around me. I could feel his breath on my neck.
“I got you something,” he whispered. Cold metal slid against my throat.
A quick scream leapt out of me. I jumped up. Faces from the valley shot up in our direction. Sam stood, waved off the onlookers, and extended his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking.”
My face flushed with embarrassment. Overtop of him, I said, “Sorry, Sam. You just surprised me.” My hands were shaking, and seemed to match the sudden kick-up of my heart. I flicked my wrists, as if drying wet hands. “Didn’t mean to freak out.”
Sam moved closer to me. “It’s my fault,” he returned, his eyes scrunched together in that concerned way he does, “I should have considered, um, it just didn’t occur to me-”
“Considered what?”
“Um, hyperarousal-”
“What?” I insisted.
“Hyperarousal. Being oversensitive to certain triggers after something traumatic has happened to-”
My hands instinctively went to my throat where my attacker had left a few minor cuts. “Have you been Googling me? It wasn’t because of that,” I defended. Was it? The stinging pain from the bruise on my face and the hollow ache on my side were suddenly resurrected by a mere suggestion. “I thought a bug was crawling on my neck.”
Back on the blanket, I straightened out the ends where my jump had pulled them in. Be normal, I told myself. Sam slowly sat down beside me. He stretched out his hand to mine, and dropped the object into my palm.
A gorgeous starfish necklace, silver with sparkly diamonds across its face. I ogled the charm as the chain dangled between my fingers.
“Beautiful,” I whispered.
He smiled. “Just like you. We’re starfish people, Delilah. Our lives have been a series of regenerations. We take the broken pieces and try to patch ourselves together. And it’s not always easy looking past all the bullshit, but all I need in life is right here. You make me fe
el whole again.”
He took the necklace from my hands and carefully hooked it behind my neck. I took a deep breath, and held the pendant against my chest.
“I love it, Sam,” I told him. “You are too good to me.”
He intertwined his fingers with mine. Below us, Westley was brought back to life by the eccentric medicine man. The crowd cheered. I laid my head on Sam’s shoulder.
“New lights for the store, roses, now jewelry,” I listed off uneasily. “Seems like these mysterious trips to Fayetteville have brought out your generous side. As much as I love being showered with gifts, they feel like distractions.”
“What do you mean?” Sam returned. I sat up so I could face him.
“Maybe this is just me, not being able to look past all the bullshit, but I can’t help it. You leave me in the middle of being together because you get a phone call that wasn’t about Aunt Beverly, no matter what you say. The roses came the day after I found out you were gone, again,” I noted, “and now jewelry on really the first opportunity for us to talk about where you’ve been. It’s all perfect, Sam. This place, the picnic, the movie, but something feels wrong. And even though you know you need to tell me what the hell is going on, you don’t. You just let the questions linger, making me feel like an idiot for asking them in the first place.”
“The gifts aren’t manipulations, Delilah,” he breathed out.
“You’re handling me,” I decided sternly. “And bringing me here, to this place, is only more of the same. I get the message, Sam. You shared something about your life, so that I’d be more willing to trust you with mine and so I could feel closer to you without actually being any closer.”
“You do the same thing,” he returned.
“As if hiding something that’s embarrassing for me, that’s going on in my head is the same as taking secret trips,” I countered (I figured it wasn’t a good idea to mention the wee bit of investigating I’d done).
“Secrets are secrets,” Sam returned, “doesn’t matter what variety. My stupid trips don’t have anything to do with us. What’s going on with you, does. I’ve been patient. Done everything I can think of to help you. But you’d rather keep me in the dark.”
“You’re turning this around on me,” I sized up, head shaking.
“Maybe I do handle you,” he said, “but it’s only because I don’t know what to do with you.” Sam turned my face toward him with a gentle brush of his finger. “I don’t doubt your love for me. It’s in your eyes and your smile, pouring off you and filling me up. Everything else disappears with just a look. I love that look. But, it’s everything else. You want me, but you don’t.”
“How can you say that?”
“You’d take me to your bed, but you won’t call me when you’re hurt or tell me when something serious is happening to you. You can’t share your life in pieces. It’s all or nothing.”
My eyes fell. I asked for honesty. He delivered. I should’ve asked for more jewelry instead. Pressing him to open up meant I’d have to, too. It made sense, but being reasonable didn’t make it easy. How am I supposed to tell him that I’m a fruitcake without sounding like a fruitcake? I stared into the ripples of the blanket between our legs, afraid to look at him. Nervousness swirled in my stomach.
Finally, he caught my eyes with his, and said, “What’s it like for you?”
“Drowning,” I answered in little more than a whisper. “It feels like I’m drowning.”
“How?”
“Pressure against my chest, gasping, my hands shake, even that sick feeling after swallowing sea water,” I described slowly, “all at once. It’s like I get caught in a wave and it rolls me over and over until I break out of it and find the surface again.”
“What sets it off?”
“Water,” I said, “bad dreams, memories. Sometimes, I hear Mavis’ voice screaming in my head or I’m wrapped in plastic or a duffle bag or maybe I feel a blade pressed against my neck. I know it’s not real, but it paralyzes me. And my fears are spreading. Sometimes, I don’t even know why it’s happening. I’m afraid of everything.”
“How do you break out of it?”
“I don’t, not really. It’s always there, just waiting,” I admitted, “but, usually I get distracted and it gets pushed back into the shadows again.” I stopped to scoff and shake my head. “I thought I was a weirdo for having nightmares all the time, but that’s nothing compared to this. I’m such a crazy loser.”
“That’s not true. This thing with you, it’ll get better,” he assured me. He shifted on the blanket, and went on, “War is really loud. I remember I was stupidly surprised by it. It’s this wild cacophony of vehicles moving, soldiers yelling, explosions, destruction, bullets, gunfire.” He stopped, shaking his head. “And the noise doesn’t stop when the conflict is over. The ringing in your ears stays with you even when it’s quiet. This is kinda like that. These dangers you’ve faced have stayed with you, chiseled away at your peace of mind, and you’ve got to fix the pieces back in place, one at a time.”
“Does the noise ever stop?”
Sam shrugged. “Gets quieter.” And the power of suggestion made us both quiet. Maybe I hadn’t given Sam enough credit. He had a better grasp on what was happening to me than I did. And maybe my crazy would bring us together, not tear us apart.
“You’re right about Fayetteville. I didn’t want you to know. I’ve actually been three times in the last few weeks. Thought I’d spare us both some grief and just go and come back quickly without making waves. You’ve had so much to deal with, I didn’t want to give you one more thing to worry about,” he insisted. “Seemed easier than explaining.”
“Why?” I prodded.
“Everything about Mason Cook and the reasons why I went are true. He’s started a new business, and needed my help. Because we’ve been through so much together, he knows he can trust me and I have a certain skill set that he needed.”
“A skill set?” I repeated dumbly. “What skill set? What the hell kind of business is he in?”
“The type many former special forces guys get into after they retire from service,” Sam answered. “The kind you don’t talk about.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“And it doesn’t make sense,” I argued. “You’re done with that life. Aren’t you?”
Sam shrugged. “I’m done with it. It’s just not done with me.”
“You were in the special forces?”
“I was a Ranger, but I was a grunt, just like everyone else,” he replied dismissively.
“What skill set?” I asked again.
Sam’s eyebrow perked up against his forehead and his lips pressed together. “I’m good at finding things.”
“What does he need to find?”
Sam smirked. “You’ve reached twenty questions by now.”
I winced.
He said, “I screwed up, trying to keep it from you. I didn’t want you to worry-”
“Going to worry anyway,” I replied, “but at least if you tell me the truth, I’ll have an idea what I’m worrying about.”
Sam grinned shortly. “I’m very safe. You think I’d ever put myself in unnecessary danger when I have you to come home to?”
I raised an eyebrow, but allowed a tiny smile. “Then explain the motorcycle.”
“I’ll give you that,” Sam chuckled, and then, grabbing my hands in his said, “I’m sorry I made you worry. I just knew you wouldn’t like the idea.”
“I don’t,” I admitted, “but I trust that you know what you’re doing. Please, just tell me. It’s jarring to find out your boyfriend’s out of town first from Williams, and then from Jason Kent. Your co-workers know more about what you’re doing than I do.”
“Jason Kent? What were you doing talking to-”
“Oh, nothing,” I cut in, “I just had a few words with him about the Peacock party.”
Sam’s eyes squinted and he said, “Do I still have a job?”
&
nbsp; “Honey, you have job security. Kent’s cheating on his wife with the librarian,” I blurted out. “You might even get a promotion.”
“You didn’t blackmail him, did you?”
I snickered. “Course not. That would be illegal.”
Sam insisted that I tell him what happened with Kent, so while limp Westley stormed the castle with Andre the Giant and Inigo Montoya, I told him that Raina and I had watched the security footage, discovered the affair, and I questioned Kent about what else he may have seen being in that room at the right time.
“It all added up to a big zero,” I lamented.
“The four missing minutes is weird,” Sam allowed, “and that Kayne was so generous with giving you the footage in the first place.” Sam laid back on the blanket, putting his hands behind his head. “And I can’t believe Kent’s cheating on Valerie.”
“She’s pretty hot.”
“No, well not just that,” Sam returned. “She’s hot and rich. Kent doesn’t have to work. Being in law enforcement is a passion of his, not just a job. Valerie’s a trust fund baby, set up for life-”
“So, that’s how she can spend six hours a day training for triathlons,” I mused.
“If she finds out,” Sam smiled, “she’ll not only kick his ass, but leave him broke. I heard Lucius Kayne put together their prenuptial agreement. You don’t think your attack was a warning, do you?”
“The timing is suspicious,” I agreed, “since I questioned Kent just that morning. But, do you really think a guy so passionate about law enforcement would break the law to hide a tryst?”
“Any married man willing to have a tryst at all might be depraved enough to do something drastic to hide it, especially when there’s millions of dollars on the line,” Sam reasoned. “And Kent enjoys his lifestyle. Drives a Porsche. Owns a couple of boats. The guy isn’t modest about his sugar mamma.”
“If, and it’s a huge if, but if I was targeted, then I may have stirred a few more pots than just Jason Kent’s.”
“What do you mean?”
Luna-Sea Page 18
