by Luanne Rice
Several rustic benches had been set along the banks. Jeff let Nell pick one, and he sat down beside her. She was beautiful and seemed nervous. She brushed the long dark hair back from her face, and he felt her staring at him, taking in every detail. He could only imagine how she felt, seeing the strong resemblance to Charlie. Meeting him had been like looking into a mirror.
“Charlie knew he had half-siblings,” Nell said. “He said his father had had kids with other mothers, before he got together with Sheridan…”
“Yeah,” Jeff said. “There are—were—three of us.”
“Who’s the other one?”
“His name’s Clint. But I don’t know him much. He grew up in California, lives there still.”
“Does—did—Charlie know you?” Nell asked, and from the way her pretty mouth quivered, turned down, he could tell the question came from a very tender place.
“No, I can’t say we really got to ‘know’ each other,” Jeff said. “Not so much.”
“But did he ever meet you?”
“Yes,” Jeff said, unable to tell a lie to that question. “That he did.”
“That must have made him so happy,” Nell whispered. He saw her shoulders start to shake; she was crying.
“Nell,” he said, unable to help her, wanting to comfort her, “what’s wrong?”
“I thought we knew everything about each other,” she sobbed. “I thought he told me everything…I never thought we kept secrets.”
Jeff sat paralyzed, watching her bury her face in her delicate hands. He wanted to push her hair back, touch her cheek, but he couldn’t.
“Something as important as having a brother…” she cried. “How could he not have told me about you?”
“Like I said,” Jeff said, “we didn’t really know each other. We would have gotten to, I’m sure, but we never got that chance…. He would have told you, Nell.”
“If there’d been more time?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
She nodded, as if that made sense. He watched her wipe her eyes with the back of her hands. She stared into the slow, dark river. It was all country around here, with rushes growing a little farther along the bank, with stars reflecting in the water. He saw little rings and bubbles, fish swimming down below, heard the croak of a bullfrog from around the river bend.
“When did he—or when did you—get in touch?”
“Well,” he said slowly, not wanting to make a mistake, “you might have known Charlie was looking to get to know our father some.”
“I do know that.”
“That’s pretty much how it came about. My father introduced us.”
“When?” Nell asked. “And where?”
“In New York, right after Charlie got to college,” Jeff said. “Seemed like a good place to meet—Randy didn’t want to have us come on up here, to Connecticut, not with Charlie’s mom around and feeling the way she does about him.”
“She has good reason,” Nell said, giving him a steady gaze.
“I know,” Jeff said quickly. “So does my mother. Randy wasn’t exactly…well, he wasn’t exactly a model dad when I was young. Same for Charlie, I suspect.”
“That’s for sure.”
“But Randy’s different now, Nell. He’s sorry for not being there for us when we were young. He had a heart attack a few years ago, and it showed him what was important in life. He vowed to be there for us.”
“Be there for his sons?” Nell asked.
Jeff nodded.
“But he wasn’t! Not for Charlie! As time went on, Charlie began to hold it more and more against his father. He was going to make a documentary about ‘missing’ parents—fathers who choose not to be there for their kids.”
Jeff felt a quick surge of anger. She didn’t know Randy, everything he’d put himself through, and everything he’d suffered—because of his own mistakes—just like he was suffering now, all over again. But he quickly calmed down. She just didn’t have all the information. He could easily forgive her for that—just as he could forgive Charlie for wanting to expose something on film, something that wasn’t there anymore.
“Randy would be the first to admit he hurt us,” Jeff said. “But he’s not that way now. That heart attack really changed him, made him see the light.”
“Okay,” Nell said. “If you say so. I wonder whether Charlie would see it that way.”
“I think he did,” Jeff said, unable to stop the lie.
“You say that as if you talked about it!”
“Well, not exactly. Not in so many words. But Charlie was pretty friendly to him. To us…”
“How long had you been in Randy’s life?”
“Just three years,” Jeff said. “Three. I was twenty-two when he first got in touch with me. We had some rough patches, but…” He paused, thinking. “It’s good to have a father. I even changed my name back to his.”
“Changed your name?”
“Yeah,” he said, and he felt a pang, thinking of his mother and her reaction. “I took his name—Quill. Jeff Quill, that’s me.”
Jeff remembered Charlie’s reaction when he’d heard the same thing. The memory was charged and made his pulse race, but he didn’t let it show. He calmed himself right now, letting himself realize he was sitting next to Nell on a bench by a river. Their arms were pressed together, and she was looking up at him with such need and trust in her eyes, as if he held the answer to every single thing she needed to ask. Maybe, if he was careful, he could make things right for both of them.
“Why did you run before?” she asked.
“I told you…I wanted to see you, but I wasn’t ready.” He swallowed, staring into the weeds along the riverbank. “I needed to visit my brother’s grave. I just…to know him so short a time, and to lose him. It’s huge.”
“I know,” she said.
“He talked about you. It’s weird.” He looked deeply into her green eyes, felt as if he’d been staring into them for years. “I looked up and saw you there, and I felt as if I knew you. I was going to introduce myself, but then you called his name.”
“Charlie.”
He nodded. “I…kind of freaked out.”
“I guess I can see why,” she said slowly. “I did, too.”
“I know we look so much alike. And man, when I met him, I realized we were alike in so many ways. So having you call me by his name…”
“It must have been unsettling.”
“To say the least,” he said.
“I still can’t believe he didn’t tell me about you,” she said, sounding stunned. “And if he kept that from me, oh God.” She drew in a sharp breath, then looked up at him. “Maybe there were other things.”
“I don’t think so, Nell,” he said quietly.
“Would you tell me if you knew?”
He nodded.
“There’s a girl,” she said. “I…don’t think they ever met. But it’s possible. Maybe they did. Someone…well, this guy Gavin thinks maybe there was something between them. Charlie and the girl.”
“What’s her name?”
“She’s the bass player for Cumberland,” Nell said, looking into his eyes.
“Lisa Marie Langton,” Jeff said slowly. He caught the shock in her expression, and he realized she’d taken his answer for assent—that yes, there’d been something between Charlie and Lisa. Jeff felt stabbed by the thought of it.
Nell gasped and jumped up. He felt her trying to read his face: did she see in his eyes the fact he was trying to hold himself back from telling her he had a picture of Charlie with his arm around Lisa? It had been taken ten minutes after they’d all met, such an innocent, exuberant moment. Remembering it made Jeff close his eyes, weave in his seat.
“What is it?” she asked, grabbing his shirt, just as she had in the grocery store. “What happened? Tell me there was nothing between them—I know Charlie, know he wouldn’t do that to me…”
Jeff wanted to tell her the whole story, but he couldn’t. He knew it wou
ld devastate her, it would destroy him. So he just kept his eyes closed, lowered his face into his hands, heard himself moan out loud.
It must have been more than Nell thought she could stand. Whatever she thought he was about to tell her, she wasn’t ready to hear. She took off, running barefoot across the inn’s lawn. He heard her truck start up, pull away, gravel flying.
She thought he was staying here, a guest at the inn, in one of the cottages. But of course he wasn’t, so he got into his car and headed down the road behind her. If she looked in her rearview mirror, there he would be. She’d see his eyes, Charlie’s eyes. She’d know he hadn’t finished his story, he still had something to tell her, almost none of it about Lisa.
And he hoped she wouldn’t think too carefully about the timetable of what he’d told her already. He hoped she wouldn’t catch him in one of the few lies he’d dared to tell to this girl he’d cared about even before they met.
Cared about a lot. His brother had loved Nell.
And in spite of everything, that mattered to Jeff.
SHERIDAN WAS SITTING in the living room, feeling the night breeze coming through the open window, as she strummed her guitar. The white curtains moved like ghosts, dancing in the sea air; staring across the water, she saw lights on Gavin’s boat. She’d been working on a new song, inspired by Stevie’s painting and parting words. She had the verse and chorus, and she was playing with the bridge, working it out, when she heard a noise just outside.
“Is someone there?” she called.
No one answered. She felt prickles on the back of her head, wheeled around and saw a shadow just outside the window. Was it her imagination, or was someone hiding out there? Ever since last night, she’d felt her family’s magic swirling around. Her grandmother had said magic was seasonal; it diminished in autumn, and hibernated in winter, and renewed in spring, and became powerful in summer.
Still holding her guitar, she walked into the kitchen, peered out the window at the backyard. Summer was in full bloom: the night smelled of jasmine, beach roses, pine, and salt. She felt the sea breeze blowing her hair, and she thought of going out for a walk. But her skin tingled again, and she stayed inside. She had the feeling someone was watching her.
Standing at the door, she heard footsteps on the path up from the beach. Someone was hurrying, coming fast. Sheridan stared, waiting for the person to come around the corner. She felt tension building, and when Gavin came into sight, she let out a long breath—so glad to see him, but still rattled by the sensation of being watched.
“Did you pass anyone?” she asked.
“No, why?”
“I thought I heard someone,” she said, staring down the dark path. Then she looked up at Gavin and smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said. “I saw your light.”
“I saw yours, too.”
“I wanted to come up and say goodnight.”
She smiled, opened the back door to let him in. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt. Seeing him in the glow of her kitchen night-light, she thought he looked the same as he had twenty years ago; she stood there mesmerized, caught in the past.
“You haven’t seen Stevie tonight, have you?” he asked.
“No,” she said, suddenly worried it could be the baby. “I visited her this afternoon. Why? Is she okay?”
“Fine,” he said, quickly. “Better than fine.”
“What, then?”
“I ran into her on the beach earlier; she was taking a walk, and she gave me some news. She said she wanted you to be the first to know, but she wanted me to be the one to tell you. She sent me up here….”
“What is it?” Sheridan asked.
“She and Jack are getting married,” Gavin said.
“That’s good,” Sheridan said softly, thinking of the talk she and Stevie had had earlier. “I’m so happy for them. Wow, she changed her mind pretty fast. I wonder what happened between our visit and her seeing you?”
“I think Jack talked to her,” he said. “In a different way. And she was ready to listen—also in a different way.” He paused, gazing into her eyes.
“People change their minds,” she said.
“I’m counting on that,” he said, staring at her. The intensity of his gaze made her take a step back. She felt suddenly on guard, folding her arms across her chest, looking down at her feet. He came closer; her heart started pounding.
“Don’t, Gavin,” she said.
“Sheridan, look at me.”
She shook her head slowly, keeping her head down. He stood right there, so close she could feel the warmth of his skin. He touched her shoulder, running his hand down her arm. She could barely breathe.
“You just said it yourself,” he said. “People change their minds.”
“Not us,” she said. “We had our time.”
“Yes,” he said. “And we’re having it again.”
His words broke her heart open. She didn’t want to look into his face, but she couldn’t help herself. His eyes sparked, reflecting the light. She watched the way he stared at her, not smiling, as if he was as full of regret as she was. She wanted to say something, to make sense of the moment, but she couldn’t speak.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since last night,” he said, taking her face between his hands, kissing her. She knew she should pull back, but instead she stood on tiptoes to meet him. His body pressed into hers, and she pressed back. His lips were on hers, and he touched her tongue with his, and everything dropped away.
They moved into the living room, holding each other. She pushed her guitar aside so they could sit on the wicker sofa. They kissed again, and she leaned into him. His body felt so solid and hard; his chest was a rock. He held her tight. His touch wasn’t light—he gripped her. But somehow it felt like the most tender and gentle touch she’d ever felt.
She opened her eyes while they kissed, to look at him. Maybe she needed to make sure this was really happening. She’d dreamed of love her whole life. She’d once had it with Gavin, but she’d let it go, and she’d made a mistake that had brought her Charlie, and then Charlie had gone, too. She held Gavin and saw him, and she knew this was real and she was wide-awake.
Music of the water and wind came through the window, and the leaves on the trees rustled in the breeze. Sheridan closed her eyes again, wanting to be lost in the kiss. His arms were around her, his hands trailing down her back. His touch felt like fire, and she arched into his body. She traced his upper arms, feeling nothing but muscle, and his kiss was soft, aching, and intense.
The kiss ended, but he kept his forehead resting against hers, stroking her cheek with his hand. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. Waves broke and broke on the beach below, one after the other. It would go on forever. The sound was a blanket, holding Sheridan and Gavin in the eternity of Hubbard’s Point.
“Why did I mess things up before?” he asked.
“You?” she asked. “It was me. I didn’t believe…”
He waited for her to finish her thought, but she wasn’t sure exactly what she meant to say. She hadn’t believed they could be together, she hadn’t believed they could overcome their differences. He’d been on the submarine, she’d been in Nashville, and she’d moved on. Randy had come along. And even after she’d figured out the truth about him, she hadn’t trusted that Gavin could settle down, really love her and another man’s son. That they could all make a good life together.
“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re here now.”
“Close your eyes and listen to the waves,” she said. He did, and so did she, and she leaned back into the circle of his arm. They sat there quietly for a few minutes. She wanted to say, Isn’t this the same as it ever was? It was almost possible to believe that no time had passed at all.
“Familiar sound,” he said after a while. “I’ve been at a lot of beaches, on a lot of waterfronts, but I’d know Hubbard’s Point waves anywhere. It’s Long Island Sound, so they’re smaller than ocean waves; but it’s the ea
stern end of the Sound, Orient Point is just across, so there is less protection and some oceanic action. And it’s a sand beach down below, not rock…so the splash is soft, not hard.”
“I’ve listened to those waves every day this year,” she said. “At first the noise sounded so harsh. I’d think, another wave Charlie won’t hear. And another, and another. But now…” She trailed off.
“What?” he asked.
“They bring me peace. I think, Charlie swam in those waves. He walked the beach so often, loved it so much.”
“It’s the same sand, the same water. It doesn’t change.”
“Yes,” she said, looking at him. “Having you here made me realize that.”
“Me? In what way?”
“I’ve been thinking about the past,” she said. “How we used to be together. I had those thoughts about the waves and beach—about you. It’s all the same, the exact same water and sand, as when you and I were young. The beach kept us together, even when we were apart. So it will keep me and Charlie…together, even though he’s not here anymore.”
“I was afraid that my coming here was too hard on you,” he said.
“It was, at first,” she said. “For all sorts of reasons. Seeing you reminded me of how badly I’d screwed things up…. But also, knowing you were here to look into Charlie’s death.” She stopped, shivering.
“I don’t know how much you want to hear about what I’m finding out.”
“I want to know,” she said, gazing at him hard. “But I have to tell you something, too.”
“What, Sheridan?”
“Charlie loved Nell. No matter what you say, I’ll never believe he would have done anything to hurt her.”
“Understood,” he said.
Did that mean he believed her, agreed with her? Or was he just acknowledging what she held true for herself? She realized how much she needed him to see Charlie through her eyes.
