Sex, Lies & Sweet Tea

by Kris Calvert

  “Fish, dive, swim, camp.”

  “You dive?”

  “Got certified when I was fourteen.”

  “Here?”

  “No,” I replied. “Actually, I was certified in Shadeland. At the old rock quarry.”

  “I didn’t know they did that.”

  “I don’t think they do anymore. I don’t know if it would even be safe now. I’m pretty sure it’s full of gators these days.”

  “Still, it’s pretty cool you scuba,” she said, looking at the basket.

  “I do,” I agreed, picking it up and bringing it to our blanket. “And this is a great little place to do it. I’ll take you sometime. You don’t need much of a lesson as long as we take a fairly shallow dive.”

  “Is there a house on the island?”

  “On the other side. I didn’t take you there because I didn’t want you to think I expected anything tonight,” I said with a sigh as I began to unpacked.

  “Too late for that, huh?” Samantha blushed.

  I searched the basket to find the wine and champagne in a chiller. The food was packaged in aluminum tins with clear lids so I could easily tell what was in each container. I handed the glass plates, wine and champagne glasses to Sam.

  “This is a little more than a picnic.”

  “If you would be so kind as to put the place settings together, Miss Samantha.”

  I grabbed the four glass holders and screwed them into the sand next to each of us. “Nice. They think of everything these days,” she said, marveling at the wine glass holders now secured.

  I opened the first bottle of Chateau Margaux and poured her a taste. “Fabulous,” she confirmed, circling the wine in her glass and sniffing the bouquet before taking a sip. The fire danced on her face as she placed the crystal glass to her lips. She was magical and she was casting a spell over me.

  “Everything look okay to you?” I asked, seeking approval.

  “Yes,” she said with a happy sigh. “Who made the fire?”

  “I suppose whomever the smart person was that also left us the beach towels. I probably didn’t do a very good job of planning this so spur of the moment.”

  “No,” she murmured, touching my hand and sending chills throughout my body. “It’s amazing. Everything about it is amazing. Just like you.” She took another sip of her wine and looked to the heavens. “We have stars again tonight.”

  “I checked the weather closely. We won’t get caught in the rain again,” I laughed.

  “I don’t know. I kinda liked the way that worked out,” she said coyly.

  “Me too, sweetheart.”

  I knew in my heart there wasn’t going to be a perfect moment tonight to talk with her about her new phone and decided now was as good a time as any. I took a deep breath and spoke. “I have something for you and I want to give it to you now so if you get mad at me, I can make it up to you, before we head back to Shadeland.”

  “Okay,” she agreed cautiously.

  I leaned into the picnic basket. “It’s nothing big,” I said, handing her the business card with Randall’s information.

  “It’s a phone number. Are you giving me your digits, Mac?”

  “It’s not my phone number.”

  The smile faded from her face. “Whose number is it?”

  “It’s Randall’s.”

  “Our server from last night?” She gave me a puzzled look.

  “Randall is back in my employ at Lone Oak,” I explained.

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I didn’t like you leaving my house this morning in a cab. And it occurred to me that there could be other times you might need something and I or someone else might not be available. I want you to call Randall.”

  I didn’t know how to interpret the blank look on her face.

  “You want Randall to be my Timms?”

  “It’s not like that at all, Sam. I know you are a smart, intelligent self-sufficient woman. I’m not trying to insult you—I just want to be there for you.”

  “You mean you want Randall to be there for me.” She shifted her weight away from me, looking hurt.

  “This isn’t the way I wanted this to unfold, Sam.” I stammered through the words, taking her hand in mine. “I don’t have many things or people in my life that I truly care about, that I truly love. But the ones I do care about, I want to take care of. Do you understand?”

  She nodded without looking at me.

  “I don’t want you to ever worry that you can’t get home or be in a situation you can’t get out of. Randall is a phone call away. He is on call for you. Always.”

  “So don’t call you, call Randall.”

  “No, sweetheart,” I said, quickly getting frustrated. “You can always call me, but if you can’t for some reason or I’m not around, I want you to call Randall. That’s all.”

  “Okay,” she replied quietly. “I understand. And this is because I took a cab home this morning?”

  “I never want you in a cab. Not ever again.”

  “What’s the big deal?” she asked, throwing her hands up in the air, perturbed.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I assured her.

  “You’re making it a big deal—with phone numbers and Randall and Driving Miss Daisy.”

  “You’re too good to be riding in a cab, okay?” There it was. I was found out. I wanted to take care of her every need. She didn’t need me, but I needed her. I loved her.

  I moved in and hugged her neck, wanting her to understand.

  “Okay, I get it,” she said.

  “I don’t think you do, but that’s okay. Someday you will. Will you just do something for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Keep his card and number with you. You may never need it, or even want to use it, but you’ll have it.”

  “Okay.” She placed it in her tiny purse and snapped the top closed.

  “Thank you,” I sighed in relief.

  “Can we move on from this?” she asked.

  “Yes, baby,” I replied, nuzzling her face in mine. “Let’s eat and enjoy the stars. I even have dessert.” I kissed her. “Don’t be upset with me, please.”

  “I’m not, Mac. You are just a lot to take in at times, that’s all. I’m not used to this kind of attention. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, let alone one who rides around on a white horse in shining armor,” she said, taking a sip of her wine.

  “I’m far from that, Sam. I’m just an ordinary man who cares a great deal for an extraordinary woman.”

  She smiled at my comment and I leaned in to kiss her, knowing that just one kiss was never enough.

  “Mac, I know your intentions are good, so I won’t fuss at you any longer.”

  “Thank you.” I was grateful I made it through my explanation without totally cocking up the evening. “Now, how can I make it up to you?”

  “What’s for dessert?” She batted her blues at me and smiled.

  “Chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne. Are you interested?”

  “Only if you are going to feed them to me.”

  “You only need to ask, my love.”

  As the evening wore on, the Dom Perignon was gone and the strawberries had all been eaten, I stoked the fire and went to the picnic basket to retrieve the last thing I wanted to do tonight.

  “What’s that?” she asked as I pulled my dad’s old book from the picnic basket.

  “A book.”

  “I can see that,” she replied with a sarcastic laugh. “Who is the book by?”

  “Cummings.”

  “What’s E.E. Cummings doing at our picnic on the beach—two cars, one boat and a plane ride away from Shadeland?”

  “Lay your head in my lap, my darling, and I will show you.”

  I opened the book to a well-worn break in the old binding and began to read to her:

  “Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are
things which enclose me, or which I cannot touch because they are too near. Your slightest look easily will unclose me though I have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens, touching skillfully, mysteriously her first rose or if your wish be to close me, I and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing. I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “My father used to read poetry to my mother. It was kinda their little secret.”

  “How’d you find out about it?”

  “When I was home from boarding school for Christmas one year, I overheard my dad reading to my mother by the fire in the study. Later I asked him about it, and he said he’d read to Mom, even before they were married.”

  “That’s very sweet—and romantic.”

  “Cummings was my dad’s favorite. Now that I’m older I know why.”

  “Really? Why?” she asked, looking up from my lap and into me.

  “Because many of his poems celebrate love, and my dad loved my mother like no other.”

  “Read the last line again.”

  “I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.”

  “Your father thought your mom could understand him in a way that no one else could.”

  “She did.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Samantha said.

  “It’s you.” Unable to keep my feelings under wraps, I bent over her to kiss her. Letting the silence linger into the night, I worried that I’d said too much. I’d already halfway told her I loved her, and now compared her to my mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if she never wanted to see me again.

  She kept her head in my lap, shifting her position to stare out at the ocean.

  “I don’t want to leave, baby.”

  “No, I know,” she agreed. “I need to get back, and it’s going to take us a little while to do that.”

  “Sam?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “What? Crazy, widow with child?” she asked with a giggle.

  “No, someone who makes me want a real life.”

  “Don’t you have a real life now?”

  “I have a life filled with work and responsibility. A life filled with what people have always expected of me—what I expected of myself.”

  Her delicate fingers traced my lips. “And you don’t want to be that person?” she asked as she searched my face with intent.

  I kissed her open palm. “I want to be an authentic person—one who lives within the life they’ve chosen, but who’s happy. My father did it. My grandfather did it too. All the Callahan men, blissfully happy with their families.”

  She stared at me without saying a word. She saw through me—all the way to my soul.

  “I think,” she began, “everyone is broken in some way. It’s what makes us human. Maybe we need our other half to mend the fragile part that’s splintered inside, to show us the parts of ourselves that are strong. I think when you’re broken and in pain, even in a small way, it makes you feel as if everything is broken when it’s not. I see the real you, Mac. I wish you could too.”

  I nodded. Afraid if I opened my mouth, I would ruin the beauty of the moment. If I’d ever prayed to God for a woman like this in my life, I didn’t remember it. But I was thankful He had willed her into my existence.

  She sat up and her hair now completely out of her once perfect ponytail was flying in the ocean breeze. I helped her to her feet and pulled her in close. Hugging her tightly, I never wanted to let go.

  “I don’t want to leave,” I said softly, leaning down to pick up the book. “But I know we have to.”

  “What about the basket and wine bottles? Or the fire?”

  “I have someone coming to take care of it,” I said, smiling at her. “Let me carry you back to the boat.”

  The tide was lower now, and so I rolled up my jeans and handed Sam our shoes. I picked her up like a new bride, and carried her through the water back to the boat. After I started it up, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and sent three texts: one to the caretaker on the island, one to our driver and the last one to Jack, our pilot. I slowly backed the boat off the shore as Sam sat in the seat next to me, tilting her head back in the Gulf wind. We rode in silence all the way back to the marina. I’d never heard anyone sum up love and togetherness the way she had. I didn’t know if I could respond without my voice cracking with emotion. Her inner grace rivaled her outer beauty. There was no one like her.

  We landed at the marina fifteen minutes later to find our driver patiently waiting at the end of the dock. I was almost depressed knowing the evening was coming to a close and I would have to say good-bye.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said. “Ma’am.” He tipped his hat to Samantha.

  I nodded, waiting for Sam to climb into the car. The driver shut the door behind me and we were all alone, the privacy screen already up.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” Samantha said, scooting closer to me.

  “You’re welcome.” I wrapped my arm around her. “Are you cold? Can I get you anything?”

  “No,” she laughed, soft and low. “I’m fine. You don’t always have to tend to my every want or need.”

  Yes, I do. You make me want to. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

  “I’m very comfortable. Right here in your arms.”

  I kissed her head and stayed silent. We were an easy twenty minutes to the tarmac in Pensacola, loading quickly for takeoff. Montgomery was only thirty minutes away. I didn’t know how I was going to fill the moments and yet I didn’t want the night to end. Usually I would just be my witty, confident self. Samantha had left me speechless in more than one way. She didn’t initiate conversation, seeming happy in our quiet time together.

  After takeoff, I led her back to the couches again. Even if I couldn’t find the right words, I would hold her in my arms until I had to let her go.

  “Come here, baby,” I drawled, brushing her hair from her face. She curled up beside me laying her head on my chest and I sighed with contentment as she drifted off.

  “Will you hand me the book in my seat?” I asked Michelle quietly, careful not to wake Samantha. She nodded and promptly handed me the book.

  I adjusted my body just enough to turn the pages without disturbing her, and quietly read aloud to Sam in her slumber:

  “I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart. I am never without it, anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me, is your doing, my darling. I fear no fate. For you are my fate, my sweet. I want no world. For beautiful you are my world, my true. And it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows. Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide. And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.”

  I closed the book and watched her sleep. Before we landed I picked up a small tablet on the table beside our seats and wrote a note, placing it in the pocket of her sundress. The words belonged to Cummings. But I couldn’t describe the ache in my heart any better.

  Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

  – M.

  16

  SAMANTHA

  I woke, not to my usual bedside visit from Dax,
but to my phone buzzing with a text message on the nightstand.

  MAC: I loved watching you sleep in my arms last night.

  SAM: I loved being in your arms last night. Thank you for my note. I found it when I got home.

  MAC: You are very welcome. It’s true.

  SAM: I’ve got it by my bedside. Why are you up so early? It’s 5 a.m.

  MAC: Can’t sleep. I hope I didn’t wake you. I just can’t get you out of my head. May I see you today?

  I thought long and hard before I made my next move. I could invite him to spend the day with us. But I didn’t want to expose Dax to someone he could get attached to that would ultimately leave. He’d never really had a true father figure in his life, and you don’t miss what you’ve never had.

  SAM: I promised Dax I would spend the day with him.

  MAC: May I see you for dinner tomorrow night after work?

  SAM: Yes.

  MAC: I’ll pick you up from Autumn Valley. Have a great day baby. xoxo

  SAM: xoxo

  I placed my phone back on the nightstand and rolled over. I pushed my hair from my face and held my head. What was I doing? I’d always been someone who made good choices, and I didn’t know if I was following my heart too closely and not listening enough to my head.

  I climbed out of bed, knowing there was only one other person who would be up this early and would know what to say to me.

  I dressed in my sweat pants and Princeton sweatshirt and left the house as quietly as possible, leaving a note to let Polly know I would be back before breakfast.

  It was still dark as I made my way to Autumn Valley, and I would need my employee badge to get through the front door so early. “Good morning,” I greeted the night watchman.

  “Hello, Miss. I need to see your ID.”

  “Sure.” I pulled my security badge from my pocket and showed him my face, which matched the photo on the card.

  “Miss Peterson,” he said. “So you’re in the administration office?”

  “Yes.”

  “You guys have been busy, I’ve seen more of y’all in the late night and early morning that any other department.”

  “Really?” I asked, making conversation while I signed my name to the after hours sheet.