Summer Sunsets

by Maria Rachel Hooley

  What I wouldn’t give to take that back.

  Chapter Four

  Once Skye and I have washed away the water and sand, we stroll down the beach towards this small family-run seafood restaurant, the same one we’ve eaten at each time we’ve come. Skye enjoys the shrimp. I like the halibut. A soft breeze crests over the waves, and the sky is filled with terns circling in the sky as they call out to one another. The sun sinks lower, dappling the ocean with a fire.

  Skye has chosen a loose spaghetti-strapped sundress that flits in the soft breeze. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose pony, and a few thin strands dance around her face. She wears sandals and sometimes has to shake the sand from them as she walks. Skye is far from graceful, so she often grips my arm to steady herself.

  “Having a little trouble?” I ask as we stop in front of the restaurant, her fingers curl around my forearm. “I mean, I can carry you, if it would help.”

  She finishes with her shoes. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, but I would.”

  “No, I’m good,” she announces and starts for the door again, ignoring me.

  “I can even give you a piggy-back ride, if you want.” I offer in an overtly friendly tone.

  She jumps to the cement and beams at me. “I’m good. See?” She waves at the pavement. “No ride necessary.”

  I’m tempted to hoist her on my back just for the hell of it, but I see a large family heading our way and figure I’ll save the horseplay for later. “So long as you’re sure.”

  “Yep.” She starts walking backwards so she can keep smirking at me.

  Skye doesn’t see the people she’s about to run into, so I grab her arm and tug her toward me to free up some room on the path. Our bodies bump against each other, and she inhales sharply.

  “Devin, what are you doing?” Her dark eyes peer intently at me, and her hands splay at my chest.

  “Trying to keep you from walking into people.” I nod behind her as the family approaches, getting close enough to pass us both. She looks over her shoulder and shakes her head. “Chalk one up to the non-clumsy guy,” she mutters and turns to me. “Thanks, by the way.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Although either of us could easily pull back, we linger like this, our bodies entangled familiarly. She stares at me and I stare at her, at least until the people around us finally pass and we can walk to the door. The setting sun catches the dark highlights in her hair and flashes off it. She’s even got a few freckles on her face just like she had as a teenager, and I feel myself smile.

  “What are you grinning at?” she asks, slowly pulling away.

  “You still have freckles.”

  “So?” she challenges. “I’ve always had freckles.” She stares at the ground as though I’ve embarrassed her.

  “I’d forgotten, that’s all.” I start to reach for the door when I hear someone behind me call my name. I turn and in my peripheral vision see Skye mimicking my movements, her gaze ahead toward a petite blonde named Kimmie Acres. In that instant, Skye folds her arms across her abdomen and steps back as Kimmie steps towards me and wraps her tanned arms around me before I can figure out a way to put some distance between us. Yes, Kimmie’s beautiful if you like the whole Fatal Attraction sort of thing, which I don’t.

  “It’s good to see you,” she whispers in my ear. “I didn’t even know you were coming here.”

  There’s a good reason for that, I think and begin detangling myself from her arms. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure myself.” I turn toward Skye, planning on introducing her, only to find Skye has already slipped into the building. “Look, Kimmie, it’s nice to see you, but I’ve got someone waiting on me, so I’ve got to run.”

  “Okay.” She lifts her hand and gives a little wave with her fingertips. “Bye.”

  Tugging open the door, I find Skye standing by a fish tank, staring straight ahead. “Hey, I was wondering where you went,” I say, frowning.

  “Just thought I’d give you some privacy.” She’s folded her arms across her abdomen again—for Skye, a defensive stance.

  “Privacy?” I start to ask more questions when a server appears to seat us.

  We follow her back to a corner table. I pull Skye’s chair out for her, and once she seats herself, I find my own chair. Already she’s scanning the menu, and her mouth is tight, as though something is bothering her. Getting her to talk about it isn’t going to be easy. It never is.

  I pick up my own menu and start to look at my choices, but the silence between us troubles me. “So what’s going on, Skye?”

  Her dark eyes flash toward me. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “What’s bothering you?” I lean back in my seat, not caring about the menu or anything else, just trying to pry the truth out. That’s what matters.

  “I’m not upset, just hungry.”

  “How long have I known you?” I reach across the table and take her hand. “Spit it out.”

  She says nothing. Then it dawns on me: she’s thinking Kimmie and I have dated. That thought makes me laugh because there’s no way in hell I’d go out with Kimmie Acres. Of course, this really isn’t the best time to be laughing, considering Skye has actually looked up and the frown has deepened, as though she’s figured out I’ve figured out.

  “It’s Kimmie, isn’t it?”

  She pulls her hand back and grips the menu with it. Her charm bracelet jangles as she moves. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know who Kimmie is.”

  I nod back toward the door. “The blonde who stopped me on our way in. That’s Kimmie. And you’re…jealous?” While I’m not sure that’s right, I don’t know what other word would describe her behavior.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffs. “I’m not jealous.”

  I fold my across my chest and narrow my eyes. “Really? Strangely enough, you were fine until I ran into Kimmie. Then suddenly your whole demeanor shifted.”

  “It’s not like I care who you date,” she says, taking a sip of water as the waiter approached to take our order.

  I feel my body tense, and I want to ask, “Don’t you?” but don’t. First of all, the waiter is there, and challenging Skye on this could lead to unpredictable results. Second, even though I suspect how she feels, what if I’m wrong? So instead of rocking the boat, I listen to her order and tell the waiter what I want to eat. After he leaves, I look at her.

  “How’s your mom?” I figure that’s a safe enough question until I figure out how to navigate through the more difficult conversational waters.

  “She’s good. She and Warren are going back to Vegas in a few months to renew their wedding vows and take a real honeymoon, the one they didn’t get the first time.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, and you know it.”

  She looks down. “Sometimes I’m not sure what I know, Devin.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” I say softly. “You always do.”

  Her gaze meets mine, and for an instant I see beyond the walls and armor Skye has built so the fear is right there. I just wish I knew how to make things less rocky for her.

  The rest of the meal passes in small talk, and some part of me wonders if Skye is thinking about Kimmie. I know I’m not. It would be pretty near impossible for me to think about someone so surface-level when Skye is sitting right here, even if she is distant.

  By the time we leave, a cold wind has picked up, gusting inland. Looking at the sky, I realize it’s probably going to storm soon. Skye crosses her arms over her abdomen, and I can see her shiver. To me the wind feels good, so I pull off the long-sleeved button-down I wore over a white tee and say, “Here.” I gesture for her to hold out an arm. I slip the shirt on her.

  “Thanks.”

  Lightning arcs across the sky, and the wind starts to pick up slightly, tousling her hair. “Better?” I ask.

  “Yeah. It stops the wind.” We both look at the heavens. “Storm’s coming.”

  I nod. “Yeah. We’ll be lucky i
f we make it back to the house before the sky opens up. C’mon.” I grab her arm to up her pace.

  We’ve only taken a few steps when the deluge begins, a cold rain so thick it’s like a curtain of water. The wind tries to push us backwards. Sensing Skye is struggling to maintain her footing, I wrap my arm around her and propel us both onward. It takes about five minutes before we even see the house. We’re almost on top of it by then, and we’re both completely soaked.

  I pull her onto the porch and unlock the door. I hear her teeth chattering noisily, and I nudge her inside as I flip on the lights. The white sundress has molded itself to her lithe figure, and the storm has pushed her dark hair from her face in soft waves that shimmer down her back. She’s breath-taking, and I can’t help but stare at her, amazed at how the water beading on her skin seems to accentuate every line and arc of her body.

  “What are you looking at?” she asks, running her fingers through her hair.

  “You’re soaked,” I manage, feeling my throat constricting with desire.

  She turns towards the window and shakes her head. “Great.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, walking to the bathroom and grabbing two towels, one of which I give to her.

  “The only outfit I brought in is the one I’m wearing.” She looks ruefully at her dress.

  I squeeze her shoulder. “I’ll get you something you can wear until tomorrow. I don’t think either of us wants to go out in the rain.”

  “No,” she sighs. “Not especially.”

  I go to one of the dresser drawers and start to grab a tee shirt when I see the ring. For a moment, I pick it up and stare at the diamond. I think about giving it to her when the power suddenly goes off, which is probably a sign on more than one level, so I put it back and find a pair of drawstring shorts to go with the shirt. Then I fumble my way back to Skye as she stands before the window. When my hand touches her shoulder, she jumps, whirling.

  “Crap! You scared me.”

  “Who did you expect it to be?” I ask. “The Staypuff Marshmallow Man?”

  “Funny,” she snaps, taking the clothes I offer. Then she asks, “Can you turn around? I don’t really want to try fumbling in the dark right now.”

  “Okay.” I turn away. In spite of my racing heart, I hear her tug the zipper of the sundress down and the fabric rustles to the floor. I swallow hard, the sounds burning themselves into my brain. I tell myself to focus on something else, anything else—until she says, “Okay, I’m good. You can turn back now.”

  I slowly face her. A jagged clip of lightning arcs across the sky, silhouetting her figure, now covered in my clothing, which is baggy on her. She towels the length of her hair, trying to dry it, and the moisture curls it into loose ringlets.

  “I’m gonna go change,” I tell her, and slip off to the bedroom, where I strip and towel off before putting on clean, dry clothes and stepping back into the living room where Skye waits, still trying to dry her hair.

  “I’ll get some candles from the kitchen. Stay put.” Without waiting for her answer, I drift into the kitchen and begin searching for the candles I’ve seen recently. At first, I don’t remember which cabinet, and my searching fingers keep missing them. Then, as I think back, I head to another cabinet and find them, as well as the matches.

  Lighting the candles, I take a deep breath as the storm rages around us. The wind has now picked up to even more violent gusts, whirling sand into mad dervishes along the beach. The air carries a brittle coolness not customary for this time of summer. I carry one of the candles into the living room and set it on the table so Skye has something to break the darkness with before I go back and get a few more.

  When I return, she’s sitting on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest as though she’s trying to glean some kind of body warmth. A smile tugs at her lips.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, setting the other candles next to the first one. I sit on the couch beside her.

  “I used to think rain and candlelight were romantic, and on the day I first made love to a guy, it would be like this.” She looks at the roof, listening to the rain pound the shingles. A nervous hand shoves a strand of hair behind her ear. “Silly, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not,” I tell her, knowing any other guy would take what she’s saying for an open invitation. They’d be mistaken. Skye doesn’t work that way. “It would be nice to be close to somebody during a storm.”

  “You have to say that,” she argues, pointing a finger at me. “You’re my best friend.”

  Leaning back, I give her one of the looks that tells her she’s deluded. “I don’t have to do anything, Skye—so don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Your hair’s messed up.” She leans towards me and runs her fingers through it, as though she thinks she’ll somehow be able to tame it. Yeah, right.

  I let her play with my hair for a minute before I catch her hand and look her dead in the eye. “So can we have a serious moment here to talk?” I give her fingers a gentle squeeze before turning them loose. Already, I feel my body stiffening, anticipating the conversation going south as it easily could.

  She averts her eyes. “Okay. What do you want to talk about.”

  “How you’re doing.”

  Her shoulders sink, and I can tell that’s really the last thing she wants to talk about. She hates to be vulnerable even with me. “I’m fine. I told you that.”

  I arch an eyebrow, which forces her to rethink the story she’s telling me. “Okay, there’re times I still suffer from the stupid PTSD. It’s no biggie. The therapist from high school said it might always be with me, and that I just needed to learn how to manage it. So that’s what I’m doing.” She folds her arms across her chest sullenly. “Don’t worry. I won’t call you out of the blue anymore with stupid fears about some guy.”

  Before she can react, I reach out and slip my finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look me in the eye. “That’s not the problem, and you know it. I’d rather you called me than not. I just want to make sure that you’re doing okay. It’s my prerogative as your best friend, and you know that, too.”

  “I’ll be okay,” she says in exasperation. “It just takes time.”

  The power stays off, and with that kind of storm raging around us, the only thing to do is try to get some sleep. I think we’re both exhausted, so that won’t be a problem, even with all the thunder and lightning around us, not to mention rain that sounds like hail.

  Although I know Skye will argue, I send her into the bedroom to get some shut-eye while I take the couch. She’s got two candles with her, and I have the other two, not that they cut through much of the darkness. I’m not sure there’s anything that will do that at this point. It’s better than nothing, and even though I know the layout of the house, as I peer down the hall toward the bedroom, I can’t see anything, especially Skye. It’s like that half of the house has ceased to exist. I don’t know if the door is open or closed, not that it matters.

  I stand and jerk the shirt over my head before lying down with the thick, white comforter nestled around my body. In a way, the sound of the storm rumbling above is comforting. I have trouble sleeping when it’s too quiet. It’s too much like I’m waiting for something bad to happen. I just don’t know what it might be.

  It doesn’t take long for me to hear the siren call of blackness and let myself sink toward it, and once I start falling, there’s no easy way to turn back.

  “Devin? Wake up!” Someone shouts my name and jerks at my arm, trying to pull me from the blackness, and I quickly jerk into wakefulness, probably more exhausted than before, if that’s even possible.

  For a moment, the world is just blackness, breath, and pain. Then I remember the dream—the same dream as the other night, except this time it goes on. I’d given Skye CPR repeatedly, but when the EMTs got there, they pronounced her dead without even trying to save her. They said it had been too long, that she was beyond saving. I went nuts as one of them threw a sheet over her head. I actually hit him and
screamed she wasn’t dead. And I started calling her name as though she could answer me.

  Then Skye wakes me.

  I gasp for air, trying to breathe enough to stop the pain in my chest. Again, my body and face are glossed with sweat. All I can hear is the beat of my heart, and I it to slow down, but it keeps racing. There’s nothing I can do about it. Tears pool in my eyes and run down my face, and I wish I could shake the power of the dream, but I can’t. It owns me. It’s always owned me.

  “Devin? Geez, are you all right?” She latches onto my arm and hovers nervously. She’s never seen me after I’ve had that dream. I’ve always been able to hide it until now. Now there’s no way to hide anything. I feel kind of naked and stupid as I wipe my face, trying to clear the tears running down my cheeks.

  “I’m fine,” I say in a gruff voice. “Go back to bed.”

  “Like hell,” she says, suddenly wrapping her arms around me.

  A strangled gasp comes out, and suddenly I’m crying again. Stupid. I’m lecturing her not to worry about PTSD, and I can’t get over something that happened years ago. Some days it’s like it just happened.

  “Shhh,” she whispers. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  Closing my eyes, I wrap my arm around her and hold her as tightly as I can, burying my face in her hair. I don’t know how long we linger like that, slowly rocking back and forth. Times like these, when pain seems to sucker-punch me, it’s like everything stands still. Except the pain. That goes on and on with its nasty rodent feet, continually clawing until all I feel is that I’m on fire somehow and that my world is so broken it can’t be fixed.

  She waits until I’m calm before slowly releasing me, and even though I try to look away, she won’t let me. Her hand finds the trails left by the tears and wipes them away, a concerned frown tugging at her lips. “What just happened, Devin?”

  “Nothing,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about it.”