He was silent for a few moments and I thought maybe he wanted me to say something, lift my head from his chest, but then he placed his hand on top of my head and kept it there.
“We started playing for the school and local parties, until there was this large fund-raiser for foster kids. We knew we had to play it, so we did. Isabelle sang backup. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
Now he lifted my chin. “See? Boring.”
I shook my head. “No, beautiful. You made something of . . . nothing. It’s beautiful. Where did you get the name of the band?”
“Well, we didn’t mean for it to stick. We called that first concert Unknown Souls for the kids who had been forgotten, like Isabelle, and then it just stuck.”
“Now it’s scrawled across your very own tour bus. Overnight success.”
“Yeah, five years until overnight success.”
I smiled, settled into the current again. Now was probably a very good time to escape, to swim parallel to shore.
I touched the side of Jack’s face. “I’m so sorry you went through so much bad stuff. I just figured you’d moved on with your life and totally forgotten about . . .”
“I never forgot.” His voice came hoarse.
I thought of the Claddagh ring at home. I wished I could raise my hand and show it to him, and we’d laugh about it. “How about a girlfriend, wife, fiancée?”
“It’s hard when all I do is . . . leave. We don’t stay in one place for very long—like that country song, ‘Lot of Leaving Left to Do.’ ”
“Leave,” I said, and tasted the word, its meaning. “Isabelle?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve tried.” He leaned over the railing, tossed a rock into the water. “It’s easier, and it’s also harder than it used to be. But . . . really, you don’t want to hear about it.”
“I guess you need to get back to the concert. . . . Doesn’t it start”—I looked at my watch—“in less than an hour?”
“Yes . . . but I need to hear about you. Where have you been? What’s shaped your life until now? And how in the hell did you end up in a café in Savannah?” He leaned toward me. “And did you find me or did I find you?”
“Neither . . . just coincidence. Well, sort of.” I felt an inner quiver, as if I’d had too much caffeine. “Part of my job at the PGA TOUR is to plan a benefit event after the tournament.”
“You work for the tour?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I thought that maybe, just maybe I could talk you and your band into playing at the benefit. So I did come to Savannah to hear your concert . . . and I’ve just had a lot of weird things happen that pointed to you.” I said it, then turned away, shook my head. “We’ve got to get you back to work, right?”
He placed his hands on my shoulders, twirled me around.
“Nice blow-off there. Okay, let’s go.”
There was so much about him that was familiar: the same grin and tilt of his head, the golden specks in his eyes in the exact same pattern—like small internal bursts of light. His shoulders had remained broad: a restful place. He still had his walk, a relaxed gait with long strides that reminded me of a Southern drawl . . . easy, slow, and yet you get there in the same amount of time.
Yet there was also unfamiliarity now: his long wavy hair, his partial beard, muscles that had only been hinted at back then. His voice was deeper now, fuller, as if it hid secrets.
We were walking toward the auditorium when I stopped, touched his elbow. “I do need a band for my event. . . . I know you guys are way too big now. I guess it was an excuse to see how you were doing.”
“As if you need an excuse. You did promise that you’d find me. Remember?”
“I think you promised to find me,” I said, and then in an instinct I thought long gone, I reached up and touched his hair, ran my fingers through it.
“I remember all of it,” he said.
“Me too.” I nodded toward the coliseum. “Let’s get you back to work.”
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s. But, Kara, if you need a band—give me the date, I’ll do the best I can to work it in.”
“You’d do that?”
He nodded.
“You’d be a lifesaver.”
“I do believe I’ve been that before. Why stop now?”
I took a quick breath; my eyebrows shot up. “Oh, my God, the day the boat tipped and hit me on the head . . . you pulled me out.”
“Oh, how easily you forget the things I’ve done for you.”
“Oh, please. . . .” I tilted my head back and rolled my eyes. “Must we now talk of all you’ve ever done for me?”
“No, we don’t have that much time.” He walked ahead of me and waved toward the coliseum. “The show must go on.”
I caught up to him, and we strode in silence, and I understood that seeing Jack was nothing more than a nice reunion, visiting an old acquaintance. Leaving was inevitable; it loomed before us as it had that summer morning thirteen years ago. Life, like the river, had moved on, and so would we.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The concert exceeded my expectations in every way. I’d believed that true beauty resided only within the tumul tuous natural world outside my door, or within classical music and the human form, but this concert took me away on wings of something far beyond my experience.
Jack had dropped me off to the side where I could see half the stage. Isabelle came to me, grabbed a water bottle and drank it, narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re not messing with Jack, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s different, better than anyone you know.”
I nodded. “I know . . . I knew him—”
“Before me, I know that. But you haven’t known him after me.” Isabelle’s lip curled up on the left side.
“I wasn’t going to say that. . . . I was going to say I knew him a long time ago. That’s all. I’m not messing with anyone.”
She nodded and returned to the stage, where her voice—rough and melodic—came through the echoing speakers as she backed up a song with Jimmy. I attempted to hear the words, but found I could only take them in a visceral manner, not understanding the exact meaning.
I lost myself in the music until we returned to their hotel. I curled up in the corner of the couch and watched, listened as the group talked about how the concert had gone, where they needed to make changes and how to switch the song list around.
I closed my eyes and allowed the conversation to soothe me like a lullaby, laughter punctuating each sentence. When quiet followed, I opened my eyes to see Jack staring at me. We were the only ones remaining in the room.
“Where did everyone go?” I stretched.
“It’s two a.m.—they’ve gone to bed.”
“It’s two in the morning?” I shot to my feet, glanced around the room for my purse with a frantic twist of my head.
“You can have the bed, Kara. I’ll sleep on the couch.” Jack pointed to the rumpled all-white bed.
I shook my head. “I’ve got to go home.”
He laughed, but with a sweet sound behind it—like a best friend laughs at your bad joke. “And exactly how do you plan to do that?”
I groaned. “There’s no way I could drive an hour and a half right now. I don’t even know where my car is. . . .” I plopped back down on the couch.
Jack sat down beside me and draped his arm around my shoulder. “Go—you take the bed.”
“I couldn’t do that to you,” I said, and yawned. “Jack?”
“Yes?” He pulled me closer.
“Did you write all those songs?” I closed my eyes again, the smooth current pulling me under.
“Yes.” His voice came soft, like cashmere thrown over my shoulders.
“Hmmm,” I think I said, then slid into the warm, plush place of his words, his shoulder.
The stars above me flared bright, exploding outward like large magnolia blossoms reaching toward earth. I lay on my back, reaching for them, laughing, calling out, “I saw them
first.”
Jack lay next to me, and the sand wrapped us together in a blanket as warm as seawater. He reached up, grabbed a starflower and rolled over, handed one to me.
I took it from him and touched his face. “I love you, Jack Sullivan. I just completely love you.”
I glanced down to see the star he’d handed me, to hold it tight, but instead found a golden ring—a Claddagh ring with a diamond center flaring outward.
I gasped and reached for him, but found a handful of sand, grating, cold. I tried to sit up but couldn’t; the earth held me flat. I cried out, “Jack,” and my voice came hoarse, scraped raw.
Hands wrapped around my middle and the stars disappeared behind a fog so thick I believed it was made of wool—pure dark surrounded me and I was alone. I fought against the force around me, pulled away.
“Kara.” Jack’s voice came through the fog rolling over the stars.
“Jack.” I reached up for him.
His hand grasped my shoulders; I jolted awake in the hotel room, holding on to Jack as though I were drowning. I released him, rubbed my face. “Oh . . . oh.”
“Bad dream?” He touched my cheek.
I stared at him, almost expecting a star, a diamond star set in the middle of a gold ring of hands, heart, and crown. I shook my head, but was unable to shake off the emotion, the truth of the dream. I believed he was there still, with me, on the beach, with my confession.
I closed my eyes, certain he’d heard me. He pulled me toward him and I fell against him, and into sleep once again.
The morning came stark and bright as someone touched my face: Jack. The words I’d uttered in my dream hung above me like a flare, luminous in their import. I closed my eyes to avoid the open-heart emotions inside me.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” he said, sleep in his own voice.
It was a dream, only a dream, I reminded myself. This was a hotel room and a couch. I smiled, sat up, and opened both eyes. “I’m so sorry I fell asleep here. I’ll help pay for the room.”
He laughed, looking down at me. “You’ve got to be kidding. You were adorable. One minute you were talking and laughing, the next you were curled and—”
I grimaced. “I do that. When I’m done, I’m done. I didn’t disturb you, did I?”
“No. . . . I’d have let you sleep even longer, but we have to pack the bus and play in Jacksonville tonight.”
The blinking light of the clock across the room caught my eye. “It’s ten o’clock?”
Jack sat down next to me on the couch. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and a black T-shirt, looking like a young boy.
I stretched. “It felt great to sleep so long . . . .”
“Then you must’ve needed it.” He reached over to touch my arm, or maybe my face, but his hand wavered in the air, then fell in his lap.
“Not really . . . I’ve slept a lot lately. I was just so . . . comfortable.”
“You were on a couch.”
“No . . . comfortable in a different way.” Then I realized how I must have looked: wrinkled clothes, messy hair, morning breath. I jumped up. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”
“You had a bad dream in the middle of the night . . . you remember?”
I closed my eyes, opened them. “It wasn’t a bad dream. . . .”
“You were calling out like you were scared.”
“I wasn’t scared . . . I was—” I held up my hand. “Just a dream.”
I stood, stretched, and went to the bathroom to stare at my well-rested self. Where were the purplish-green bags under my eyes? The listless look of fatigue? I grabbed a cloth and washed my face, then used a corner of it to brush my teeth with toothpaste from a crushed tube. I tried to fix my hair, but I needed a shower. My car? Where was my car? The world came rushing on at me like a released thunderstorm.
I came out of the bathroom, attempting to pull some of the tangles out of my hair. “My car.”
“We’ll drop you off.” He grinned. “You are so damn cute.”
“I need to get home . . . .”
“I know. Your cell phone has been ringing off the hook, by the way.”
“Oh,” I groaned. “How could I not have heard it?”
“You were . . . in a coma.” He stretched. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and then we’ll get out of here.”
I lifted my cell from my purse, flipped open the cover. Eighteen missed calls. I glanced at Jack; my heart puffed up, then deflated. “They’ve probably sent out a search crew by now.”
“Call and let them know you’re okay—we’ll leave in fifteen minutes.”
I took the phone and walked out onto a miniature deck off the room, closed the French door behind me. I stared at the phone, trying to decide whom to call—and then dialed Charlotte’s number first.
“Where the hell are you?” Her voice came through the line without a hello.
“Savannah.”
“What?”
I laughed. “I’ll explain later . . . when I get home in a couple hours. Just relax. Will you tell everyone I’m okay? I’ll call you when I get home.”
“You know Peyton is looking for you.”
“I figured.”
“Listen, Kara. Call me when you’re in the car on the way home. I want to tell you something before you talk to Peyton.”
“What is it?”
“Just call me from the road, okay? And how is Jack?”
“Good, he asked about you. And it’s not what you think . . . I didn’t spend the night with him. Or I did, but not like that. And—”
“Yes?”
“I’ll call you when I get to my car.”
“Good idea, Kara.” She laughed. “I sure hope you had a great time . . . getting me all worried like that should most definitely have been worth it.”
“Absolutely,” I said, and glanced back into the room; Jack stood in front of his open suitcase with a towel wrapped around his waist. “I’ve got to go.”
“Call me.” Charlotte hung up without saying good-bye. I stood and stared out over the courtyard. Jasmine sprayed across the cobblestones and a gazebo across the back area; paving stones led through bushes and flowering plants I wished I could name. Jack came outside; his arms whispered around my waist. I started to turn.
“No,” he said. “Let me say something without you talking.”
I nodded and felt his chin atop my head. “I know you have to go home. I know you have an entirely full life with a wedding and family and a fantastic job. And I have a tour. But please know how much it meant to me that you found me, that you came here.”
I nodded, glad he’d asked me not to speak, because I couldn’t have anyway.
Then he turned me around. “And if we can possibly play for your charity event, we will.” He handed me a card with various numbers written on it.
“It’s in a few weeks—second weekend in April.”
He gave me a thumbs-up. “I think that’s a free weekend, but let me check with the guys.” He motioned toward the door with his head. “Let’s go.”
“Jack?”
“Yes?” He looked over his shoulder as he opened the door into the room.
“Thank you. That was the most fun I’ve had in as long as I can remember.”
“Any time, Kara. Any time.”
I wanted to grab that promise and hide it until I needed it.
The car thrummed with all my thoughts, everything I’d seen and done and said and heard over the last few hours. Not even a full day had passed and yet so much had happened. I reached for the phone to call Peyton; he’d be on his way home from Miami this morning. Then I remembered I’d promised Charlotte I’d call her first.
She beat me to the dialing; my cell phone rang. I yanked it from the console. “I’m here. I’m on my way home,” I told her.
“Okay....”
“This’ll be fun—explaining where I was.”
“Business, Kara. Business.”
I blew out a long breath. Change of subject woul
d be good. I couldn’t speak of my last hours with Jack until I’d absorbed them in some way. “How was your date with that Tom guy? You’ve been out with him a few times now.”
“Good, nice guy. Really. Hey, I want to ask you a question—and don’t . . .”
“Go ahead, Charlotte. Don’t preamble your question. I hate that.”
“Did you know Peyton was engaged twice before?”
“No . . . ,” I whispered, air rushing from my lungs. “No, I didn’t. I don’t think that is true.”
“It is.”
“How do you know?” My gut felt as though someone were squeezing me around my middle. I pulled over to the side of I-95, parked in the emergency lane. “How in the hell do you know this and I don’t?”
“Well, when I was out with Tom, he mentioned how much better the guys on the tour like you than his other fiancées.”
“That’s it? Some offhand comment made by another golfer?”
“It wasn’t an offhand comment. I asked him about them.”
“And?” Now my head lay on top of the steering wheel; my heart fluttered like it wanted to stop completely.
“Just come on home and we’ll talk . . . I don’t want you driving into the Savannah River. I know how you drive when you’re preoccupied.”
“I’ve pulled over, and if you don’t finish telling me what you know . . .”
“Okay, it’s not that big a deal, I guess.”
“Two other fiancées. That seems like a sort of big deal, Charlotte.”
“Okay—I guess they didn’t last long, which is probably why he hasn’t said anything.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m sure Tom doesn’t know Peyton very well.”
“Finish, Charlotte.”
“Tom said Peyton likes to have someone . . . there during his tournaments. It has always worked out well for him.”
“Okay, who were they?”
“I have no idea. Really.”
When Light Breaks Page 13
