Turtle Soup

by Danielle Thorne

  "Sara swims," Carly adlibbed, and Sara colored.

  "You're coming along," Jack said. He took the bag up in his arms. "You just need to stay calm, and don't look up."

  "Don't look up?"

  "As in when you're high, you don't look down. So when you're down, don't look up. It unnerves some people. The surface looks far away."

  Sara sighed. "I'll have to work on that. And the surface is far away, by the way."

  "It's only fifteen feet. You don't need to go any deeper than that if a few meters bother you."

  "It wouldn't bother me," Carly interjected.

  "You're too young."

  "Actually she's not," Jack said.

  Sara shook her head. "No way."

  "It's not for you to decide," Carly argued. "Mom might let me."

  "Good luck with that."

  Jack grinned at Carly. "If you want a lesson and it's okay with your mom, give me a call."

  "Jack!" Exasperated Sara pointed to the door. "Go eat your dinner."

  He laughed and gave Carly a little wave. "I'll see you girls later."

  "Sunday," Sara corrected. "Trudy said you wanted to meet Sunday to go over a menu."

  "Sure," he said suddenly casual, "Sunday." Then he was gone.

  ****

  After stopping by the deli to leave a box of food on the stoop for Polk, Sara headed over to Jack's place Sunday afternoon. A short drive from the aquarium, it was a block from the historical Castleberry Hill area. The cultural arts and the nearby Olympic park meant professionals lived in the area, affluent and on the go.

  Sara stopped at the gate and admired the architecture. The landscaped community was a Shangri La in the middle of the city. It must have come with a staggering price tag. He met her at the door, swinging it open just as she took her finger from the buzzer.

  "Hi." He had on a pair of khakis cut off at the knee. A short-sleeved oxford was unbuttoned all way down, draped over a faded tee shirt from an Eagles concert.

  "Eagles?"

  "I'm a fan."

  "The real thing?" She eyed it more closely.

  "Always."

  She tried not to show she was impressed. "Where do you want me?"

  He hurried over to a leather couch and shuffled some cushions. "Here." As she took a seat, he shoved some papers over to a corner of a slate coffee table. She laid open her planner and dug through her purse for a pen.

  "Do you want a drink?"

  "Sure, why not?" Caught off guard he hurried into the adjacent kitchen.

  "What time in the evening do you want to have this get together?"

  "About five-thirty," he answered from within the fridge.

  "That's a little early."

  He'd returned, standing over her with a bottled water. His face flickered with doubt. "What? Seven-thirty? I don't know what time you people eat around here."

  "You people?"

  "You Southerners, you Georgians. Whatever."

  "It depends on the menu. Do you want a light dinner or something with courses?"

  "No appetizers," Jack said stubbornly. "We've done appetizers. I want a meal, lots of good food, good drink." He crashed into the sofa beside her and crossed a leg over his knee.

  "I'll let you take care of the drink part," Sara said wryly. "I'm not a bartender. How do you feel about chicken?"

  "I get a lot of chicken at home. And fish. And rice," he added.

  "Okay," said Sara. "How about meat or something vegetarian?"

  "I'm not a vegetarian. I love animals but I'm not above eating them."

  She let out an exasperated sigh. "Beef?"

  "Perfect." Jack grinned showing his teeth. His eyes crinkled at the corners in charming crow's feet. She felt like he'd just baited a line but she was determined to keep her cool.

  "Steak?"

  "Can you cook steak?"

  "Yes," Sara returned, somewhat offended. "I can roast beef, too."

  "Roast beef sounds good."

  He looked out a pair of French doors that led to a small patio. "I have a patio set." He led her to a small pavilion surrounded by a brick privacy wall. The patio had a glass table for six under a taupe canvas tent. There were brass lanterns and a copper fire pit.

  "Nice," Sara admitted. "You'll want to do this in the evening then. I'd say about six-thirty. You can light the lamps for a little ambience."

  "It's a party of eight, including me. Small, private."

  They took a couple chairs from the table and planned the rest of the menu outside. Jack seemed content with most of her ideas and Sara was just happy they were getting along. He must have sensed her thoughts for he suddenly grew quiet as she put her notes away.

  "If there's anything else you think of, just call my cell." She scribbled her number down on a scrap of paper and handed it to him.

  After sticking it in his shirt pocket, he leaned back, laced his fingers together, and studied her with dark eyes.

  "What?"

  "I was just wondering if you're doing this because you have to, or if you're trying to be nice."

  "Maybe it's both."

  "I appreciate it." He looked past her shoulder as if he saw something more interesting.

  "It's fine. I need the business."

  He stood abruptly and offered his hand. "Business." Sara shook it though it made her feel silly.

  "Thanks for helping me in class."

  "You're doing fine."

  "I don't know if I'm going to make it." She motioned to her face. "The mask thing bothers me. I don't know if I can get used to taking it off underwater and putting it back on."

  "Just take it one step at a time."

  "I don't know."

  "Practice." Jack grabbed a hold of her hand again and pressed it. "It'll become more familiar and you won't even think about it."

  "I don't like the cold water hitting my face. It makes me inhale." She realized she was complaining and bit her lip.

  "Once you have it happen when you least expect it, and you realize you can put the mask back on and get the water out without surfacing, you'll never worry about it again."

  "And what if I can't?"

  "You'd be amazed what you can do when you don't have any choice. We're loaded with survival instincts. We just don't use them very often so we don't understand them."

  "Maybe I'll ask Guffin to rip my mask off when I'm not expecting it."

  "I'd be happy, too." He gave her a mischievous grin. "But it's not something you need to do at the bottom of the pool until you can do it in shallow water. You might hurt yourself."

  "I know. My parents drowned when I was in high school." Jack's face fell. "They were in a car accident, on the way to Chattanooga." Sara twisted her fingers. She didn't know why she was telling him. "Their car went off a bridge over the Chattahoochee. They couldn't get out." She shook her head in a disbelief that hadn't faded. "In eight feet of water. I don't know what…" She ran out of words.

  Jack didn't say anything either but his eyes were full of compassion. She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Anyway, I get it."

  "Good," he said shortly. He suddenly moved into her and they embraced awkwardly. The unspoken memory of the kiss reared its head. Sara felt herself go warm, willed her heart to stop, but it betrayed her. She felt his breath on her neck and the hesitance in his arms.

  "Goodbye, Jack," she said firmly. She picked her planner up off the ground where she had unwittingly dropped it.

  "Okay, then," he said casual again. He let her out the front door. "See you later," he called, and she waved. She could hardly get the key into the ignition because of her trembling fingers.

  Chapter Ten

  In class the next evening, Jack tried to give Sara her space. Guffin took her down to the bottom of the pool and let her explore. She seemed to have no trouble catching on to buoyancy and swam like she was comfortable in the water. When the time came for the students to practice underwater skills, she disappeared up to the shelf from where she would only observe.

 
; Guffin asked him to practice buddy breathing with a coed so he didn't have the chance to work with her in the shallow water. She must have removed her hoses, her BC, and tried the mask technique with another assistant while he was distracted. She was gone when he climbed out of the pool and headed for the shower.

  A few days later at Turtle Soup, he found Carly working a Sudoku puzzle. "Hey, kiddo, what's for dinner?"

  The girl put down her work and gave Jack a glittering smile. "Hi, Jack!"

  "Shouldn't you be at home watching cartoons?"

  "I don't watch cartoons."

  "How about soaps?" Carly snorted in disgust and he could tell he'd hit the nail on the head. "You're never too old for Looney Tunes."

  "Speaking of loony," she said in distain. She walked over to the soup and lifted a lid. "Don't you ever get tired of eating soup?"

  "Don't let your aunt hear you." He scanned the menu. "I'd like a salad if you have one."

  "We got macaroni salad and some tossed greens."

  "That sounds great. And cookies. As always, I'll take a dozen."

  "Of what?"

  He studied the array. "The coconut macaroons look great."

  "They are. I made them."

  "You should be at the mall chasing boys."

  "I don't chase boys," sniffed Carly. "Besides, I do get paid, you know. Don't you ever get a day off?"

  "No, I don't have a reason to, but I can take off when I need to."

  "Must be nice."

  "To work seven days a week?"

  "Do you work this hard at home?"

  Jack smiled. "All work and no play."

  "How can you not play at home? Don't you live on a boat?"

  "You think I live on a boat?"

  "Makes sense to me."

  "I have a house in St. John's, where I grew up. I only stay in Atlanta four to six months and then it's to sea."

  "So where do you go?"

  "The Mediterranean, Australia, South Africa."

  "Madagascar?"

  "Been there."

  "Sara's on a rampage over vanilla beans."

  Jack made a noise of agreement. "Their rainforests are being destroyed to grow something you can get in Mexico."

  Sara breezed in from the back with a towel thrown over her shoulder. "Vanilla? I'd love to see Madagascar." Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her blouse dappled with flour.

  "How's the menu coming along?" asked Jack.

  "It's going okay. I'll have to get there early so I can set up. What time will you be back from the office?"

  "Between five and five-thirty. I have a key for you." He held up a brass key tied to a leather strap.

  Sara laid it beside the register.

  "How come you're working this poor kid to death?"

  "She volunteered," Sara said defensively. "She has a mother and her mother approves."

  Carly was watching Jack with a faint smile on her face. "My mom works late most nights."

  "That's too bad."

  "Doesn't matter," the girl said quickly. She handed Jack a sealed plastic container with his salad. "Don't crush the cookies," she added.

  "Did you ask your mother about diving lessons?"

  "She said not yet. We're going to see if Sara can pass first."

  "She'll pass with flying colors."

  When Sara blushed at his faith, he felt a swell of affection. "I guess I'll see you this weekend," he said and when she nodded, he imagined he saw a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes.

  Conner called that night. They went over hatchling stats for the month and when they were finished talking shop, Jack asked about the lionfish. "Anymore show up?"

  "Not on our watch. Scott heard they've seen several around Exumas."

  "So in other words, they're here."

  "In the Bahamas, yeah."

  "Make sure Scott is thorough."

  "Don't worry, Jack, we'll keep our eyes open."

  Jack switched tracks. "I gave Sara a key to my house today, for the dinner this weekend. She's going to come over early and set everything up."

  "I thought you were trying to tell me something."

  "You're coming, right?" Jack couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice. It'd be easier to entertain with his wing man at his side. Jessica wouldn't be any help. In fact, she would just make it worse. He'd have to entertain his guests plus keep her happy.

  "I wouldn't miss you and Sara putting on airs for the world. Besides, where else am I going to sleep?"

  "No airs," Jack said seriously. "She likes you and it'll make it more comfortable."

  "You mind if I ask her out for drinks?"

  "We'll have drinks. You don't have to take her anywhere."

  "I can't take the help out?"

  "I thought she wasn't your type."

  "She's not but it's better than hanging out alone."

  "What am I, chopped mackerel?" Jack growled. "We'll go out after we get rid of everybody."

  "Alright, but I'm still asking. She has season passes."

  "If you want tickets, just ask. Or I will."

  "What makes you think she'd give her tickets to you?" Conner teased.

  "We're getting along okay."

  "Since when?"

  Jack hesitated. "Since the class. We worked out our differences."

  "Good, she's nice to have around. And by the way, she is your type."

  "I know my type," Jack said quickly, "and she's—"

  "So she doesn't dive. Big deal."

  "I wouldn't mind going for it if she'd stop second guessing me."

  "All you need to do is learn how to boil water and you two will be a match made in heaven."

  "I don't think I could get the Georgia out of that girl."

  Jack sensed Conner's smile through the phone. "Dude, why would you want to do that?"

  Chapter Eleven

  Sara turned the key to Jack's door and let herself in. The condo smelled faintly of newness: fresh carpet, leather, and the light aroma of fabric softener. The thought of a bottle of Downey hidden in his laundry room made her smile. She walked into the kitchen, her feet sweeping over the ceramic tile. A narrow galley with a long bar, it offered little room for casual entertaining, and none for major baking.

  She riffled through his cabinets before going out to the car for her stuff. He was definitely a minimalist. Two pots and a Teflon skillet. Sara imagined him frying an egg in the morning and choking it down with black coffee before setting off. He probably hadn't had a decent breakfast since he was a child.

  It was hard to concentrate because of an urge to wander through the rooms and pick up his things. True it wasn't his real home; everything was staged, but here and there mementos hinted about the man who lived there.

  She found a remote to a stereo system and watched in fascination as the living room wall came to life with blue lights. A quick run through the disc changer spoke volumes -- Eric Clapton, Jimmy Buffet, and the current copy of Three Doors Down. "Huh," she said to the quiet. A clock on the mantel chimed. He would be home within the hour.

  She hauled in boxes and a cooler, and set the oven to preheat. They had decided on roast beef, rare and sliced thin, with steamed vegetables on the side. Besides a cold bisque, he'd also asked for traditional greens with a raspberry vinaigrette, and some of her homemade bread. She'd baked seven grain rolls the day before, letting them rise in a muffin tin to get an attractive clover shape.

  Dessert had been a no-brainer. He'd insisted on her peaches and cream cheesecake. She set the concoction in the refrigerator, noting he'd picked up wine for her to chill. It would all come together nicely she decided. She shut the oven door on the meat and wiped off her hands just in time to hear the front door open.

  "How's it going?" He walked into the kitchen and threw a pile of mail on the counter with his belongings.

  "You have the cleanest oven I've ever seen."

  "That's because it's never been used."

  Sara laughed. "What's your excuse for the fridge?" "The same."
He grinned. "Mind if I get a drink?"

  "Your kitchen."

  He grabbed a bottled water and slid out of the way, leaning against the counter behind her. The eyes on the back of her neck made her skin crawl and not in a bad way.

  "I'm about done here," she said nervously. She fingered the towel in her hand and motioned toward the patio. "Just need to put the place settings down."

  "You need any help?"

  "No. I'm fine."

  "Don't let me get in your way. You do what you need to do and pretend I'm not here." His eyes drifted toward the stereo and soft murmur of Lionel Ritchie. She'd changed his radio station, but he didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to take a shower."

  Sara tried not to look flustered. "I'll be outside," she repeated. She grabbed the box of flatware, fumbling with it like it was coated in butter. He chuckled under his breath. "Got it. I got it." She hurried for the door.

  "Don't worry," he said wryly, "I wasn't going to ask you to join me."

  Sara laughed nervously, too loud she realized, as she shut the French doors behind her. It was just business, plain and simple. So he'd turned out not to be as cold as she'd first thought, but he was still chauvinistic and bossy.

  "Sara?"

  She spun around dropping a knife to the ground at the same time. "Yes?"

  Jack had taken his shirt off, and was standing in the door in his slacks with an arm raised over his head. "Could you get the phone if anyone calls?"

  Sara stood there speechless waiting for him to say something more. He had the most unnerving stare. He turned on his heel and she watched him go, the trench between his shoulder blades a deep inviting valley.

  She sighed and mentally slapped herself. She'd been out of the dating scene too long. This is what happened when you avoided letting yourself have feelings for anyone. They simmered until the pressure cooker went off, exploding and hitting anyone within range.

  You didn't feel like this with Conner, a little voice argued in her head. She wiped her hands on her pants again and sat down to fold napkins. The rote of it made it too easy for her to picture him a few yards away in the shower.

  Sara stood up and rearranged the hydrangea stalks in her centerpiece with vigor. Okay, so she had feelings for him. Sorta. More like she had a craving. It would pass. Cravings came and went. He wasn't what she was looking for. She needed someone who would be there for her and let her be there for him. Someone who liked being looked after. Someone who appreciated her.