Dear John

One Wilmington, 2000

My name is John Tyree. I was born in 1977, and I grew up in Wilmington, North Carolina, a city that proudly boasts the largest port in the state as well as a long and vibrant history but now strikes me more as a city that came about by accident. Sure, the weather was great and the beaches perfect, but it wasn’t ready for the wave of Yankee retirees up north who wanted someplace cheap to spend their golden years. The city is located on a relatively thin spit of land bounded by the Cape Fear River on one side and the ocean on the other. Highway 17—which leads to Myrtle Beach and Charleston—bisects the town and serves as its major road. When I was a kid, my dad and I could drive from the historic district near the Cape Fear River to Wrightsville Beach in ten minutes, but so many stoplights and shopping centers have been added that it can now take an hour, especially on the weekends, when the tourists come flooding in. Wrightsville Beach, located on an island just off the coast, is on the northern end of Wilmington and far and away one of the most popular beaches in the state. The homes along the dunes are ridiculously expensive, and most of them are rented out all summer long. The Outer Banks may have more romantic appeal because of their isolation and wild horses and that flight that Orville and Wilbur were famous for, but let me tell you, most people who go to the beach on vacation feel most at home when they can find a McDonald’s or Burger King nearby, in case the little ones aren’t too fond of the local fare, and want more than a couple of choices when it comes to evening activities.

Like all cities, Wilmington is rich in places and poor in others, and since my dad had one of the steadiest, solid-citizen jobs on the planet—he drove a mail delivery route for the post office—we did okay. Not great, but okay. We weren’t rich, but we lived close enough to the rich area for me to attend one of the best high schools in the city. Unlike my friends’ homes, though, our house was old and small; part of the porch had begun to sag, but the yard was its saving grace. There was a big oak tree in the backyard, and when I was eight years old, I built a tree house with scraps of wood I collected from a construction site. My dad didn’t help me with the project (if he hit a nail with a hammer, it could honestly be called an accident); it was the same summer I taught myself to surf. I suppose I should have realized then how different I was from my dad, but that just shows how little you know about life when you’re a kid.

My dad and I were as different as two people could possibly be. Where he was passive and introspective, I was always in motion and hated to be alone; while he placed a high value on education, school for me was like a social club with sports added in. He had poor posture and tended to shuffle when he walked; I bounced from here to there, forever asking him to time how long it took me to run to the end of the block and back. I was taller than him by the time I was in eighth grade and could beat him in arm-wrestling a year later. Our physical features were completely different, too. While he had sandy hair, hazel eyes, and freckles, I had brown hair and eyes, and my olive skin would darken to a deep tan by May. Our differences struck some of our neighbors as odd, which made sense, I suppose, considering that he’d raised me by himself. As I grew older, I sometimes heard them whispering about the fact that my mom had run off when I was less than a year old. Though I later suspected my mom had met someone else, my dad never confirmed this. All he’d say was that she’d realized she made a mistake in getting married so young, and that she wasn’t ready to be a mother. He neither heaped scorn on her nor praised her, but he made sure that I included her in my prayers, no matter where she was or what she’d done. “You remind me of her,” he’d say sometimes. To this day, I’ve never spoken a single word to her, nor do I have any desire to do so.

I think my dad was happy. I phrase it like this because he seldom showed much emotion. Hugs and kisses were a rarity for me growing up, and when they did happen, they often struck me as lifeless, something he did because he felt he was supposed to, not because he wanted to. I know he loved me by the way he devoted himself to my care, but he was forty-three when he had me, and part of me thinks my dad would have been better suited to being a monk than a parent. He was the quietest man I’ve ever known. He asked few questions about what was going on in my life, and while he rarely grew angry, he rarely joked, either. He lived for routine. He cooked me scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon every single morning and listened as I talked about school over a dinner he’d prepared as well. He scheduled visits to the dentist two months in advance, paid his bills on Saturday morning, did the laundry on Sunday afternoon, and left the house every morning at exactly 7:35 a.m. He was socially awkward and spent long hours alone every day, dropping packages and bunches of mail into the mailboxes along his route. He didn’t date, nor did he spend weekend nights playing poker with his buddies; the telephone could stay silent for weeks. When it did ring, it was either a wrong number or a telemarketer. I know how hard it must have been for him to raise me on his own, but he never complained, even when I disappointed him.

I spent most of my evenings alone. With the duties of the day finally completed, my dad would head to his den to be with his coins. That was his one great passion in life. He was most content while sitting in his den, studying a coin dealer newsletter nicknamed the Greysheet and trying to figure out the next coin he should add to his collection. Actually, it was my grandfather who originally started the coin collection. My grandfather’s hero was a man named Louis Eliasberg, a Baltimore financier who is the only person to have assembled a complete collection of United States coins, including all the various dates and mint marks. His collection rivaled, if not surpassed, the collection at the Smithsonian, and after the death of my grandmother in 1951, my grandfather became transfixed by the idea of building a collection with his son. During the summers, my grandfather and dad would travel by train to the various mints to collect the new coins firsthand or visit various coin shows in the Southeast. In time, my grandfather and dad established relationships with coin dealers across the country, and my grandfather spent a fortune over the years trading up and improving the collection. Unlike Louis Eliasberg, however, my grandfather wasn’t rich—he owned a general store in Burgaw that went out of business when the Piggly Wiggly opened its doors across town—and never had a chance at matching Eliasberg’s collection. Even so, every extra dollar went into coins. My grandfather wore the same jacket for thirty years, drove the same car his entire life, and I’m pretty sure my dad went to work for the postal service instead of heading off to college because there wasn’t a dime left over to pay for anything beyond a high school education. He was an odd duck, that’s for sure, as was my dad. Like father, like son, as the old saying goes. When the old man finally passed away, he specified in his will that his house be sold and the money used to purchase even more coins, which was exactly what my dad probably would have done anyway.

By the time my dad inherited the collection, it was already quite valuable. When inflation went through the roof and gold hit $850 an ounce, it was worth a small fortune, more than enough for my frugal dad to retire a few times over and more than it would be worth a quarter century later. But neither my grandfather nor my dad had been into collecting for the money; they were in it for the thrill of the hunt and the bond it created between them. There was something exciting about searching long and hard for a specific coin, finally locating it, then wheeling and dealing to get it for the right price. Sometimes a coin was affordable, other times it wasn’t, but each and every piece they added was a treasure. My dad hoped to share the same passion with me, including the sacrifice it required. Growing up, I had to sleep with extra blankets in the winter, and I got a single pair of new shoes every year; there was never money for my clothes, unless they came from the Salvation Army. My dad didn’t even own a camera. The only picture ever taken of us was at a coin show in Atlanta. A dealer snapped it as we stood before his booth and sent it to us. For years it was perched on my dad’s desk. In the photo, my dad had his arm draped over my shoulder, and we were both beaming. In my hand, I was holding a 1926-D buffalo nickel in gem condition, a coin that my dad had just purchased. It was among the rarest of all buffalo nickels, and we ended up eating hot dogs and beans for a month, since it cost more than he’d expected.

But I didn’t mind the sacrifices—for a while, anyway. When my dad started talking to me about coins—I must have been in the first or second grade at the time—he spoke to me like an equal. Having an adult, especially your dad, treat you like an equal is a heady thing for any young child, and I basked in the attention, absorbing the information. In time, I could tell you how many Saint-Gaudens double eagles were minted in 1927 as compared with 1924 and why an 1895 Barber dime minted in New Orleans was ten times more valuable than the same coin minted in the same year in Philadelphia. I still can, by the way. Yet unlike my dad, I eventually began to grow out of my passion for collecting. It was all my dad seemed able to talk about, and after six or seven years of weekends spent with him instead of friends, I wanted out. Like most boys, I started to care about other things: sports and girls and cars and music, primarily, and by fourteen, I was spending little time at home. My resentment began to grow as well. Little by little, I began to notice differences in the way we lived when I compared myself with most of my friends. While they had money to spend to go to the movies or buy a stylish pair of sunglasses, I found myself scrounging for quarters in the couch to buy myself a burger at McDonald’s. More than a few of my friends received cars for their sixteenth birthday; my dad gave me an 1883 Morgan silver dollar that had been minted in Carson City. Tears in our worn couch were covered by a blanket, and we were the only family I knew who didn’t have cable television or a microwave oven. When our refrigerator broke down, he bought a used one that was the world’s most awful shade of green, a color that matched nothing else in the kitchen. I was embarrassed at the thought of having friends come over, and I blamed my dad for that. I know it was a pretty crappy way to feel—if the lack of money bothered me so much, I could have mowed lawns or worked odd jobs, for instance—but that’s the way it was. I was as blind as a snail and dumb as a camel, but even if I told you I regret my immaturity now, I can’t undo the past.

My dad sensed that something was changing, but he was at a loss as to what to do about us. He tried, though, in the only way he knew how, the only way his father knew. He talked about coins—it was the one topic he could discuss with ease—and continued to cook my breakfasts and dinners; but our estrangement grew worse over time. At the same time, I pulled away from the friends I’d always known. They were breaking into cliques, based primarily on what movies they were going to see or the latest shirts they bought from the mall, and I found myself on the outside looking in. Screw them, I thought. In high school, there’s always a place for everyone, and I began falling in with the wrong sort of crowd, a crowd that didn’t give a damn about anything, which left me not giving a damn, either. I began to cut classes and smoke and was suspended for fighting on three occasions.

I gave up sports, too. I’d played football and basketball and run track until I was a sophomore, and though my dad sometimes asked how I did when I got home, he seemed uncomfortable if I went into detail, since it was obvious he didn’t know a thing about sports. He’d never been on a team in his life. He showed up for a single basketball game during my sophomore year. He sat in the stands, an odd balding guy wearing a worn sport jacket and socks that didn’t match. Though he wasn’t obese, his pants nipped at the waist, making him look as if he were three months pregnant, and I knew I wanted nothing to do with him. I was embarrassed by the sight of him, and after the game, I avoided him. I’m not proud of myself for that, but that’s who I was.

Things got worse. During my senior year, my rebellion reached a high point. My grades had been slipping for two years, more from laziness and lack of care than intelligence (I like to think), and more than once my dad caught me sneaking in late at night with booze on my breath. I was escorted home by the police after being found at a party where drugs and drinking were evident, and when my dad grounded me, I stayed at a friend’s house for a couple of weeks after raging at him to mind his own business. He said nothing upon my return; instead, scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon were on the table in the mornings as usual. I barely passed my classes, and I suspect the school let me graduate simply because it wanted me out of there. I know my dad was worried, and he would sometimes, in his own shy way, broach the subject of college, but by then I’d made up my mind not to go. I wanted a job, I wanted a car, I wanted those material things I’d lived eighteen years without.

I said nothing to him about it one way or the other until the summer after graduation, but when he realized I hadn’t even applied to junior college, he locked himself in his den for the rest of the night and said nothing to me over our eggs and bacon the next morning. Later that evening, he tried to engage me in another discussion about coins, as if grasping for the companionship that had somehow been lost between us.

“Do you remember when we went to Atlanta and you were the one who found that buffalo head nickel we’d been looking for for years?” he started. “The one where we had our picture taken? I’ll never forget how excited you were. It reminded me of my father and me.”

I shook my head, all the frustration of life with my dad coming to the surface. “I’m sick and tired of hearing about coins!” I shouted at him. “I never want to hear about them again! You should sell the damn collection and do something else. Anything else.”

My dad said nothing, but to this day I’ll never forget his pained expression when at last he turned and trudged back to his den. I’d hurt him, and though I told myself I hadn’t wanted to, deep down I knew I was lying to myself. From then on my dad rarely brought up the subject of coins again. Nor did I. It became a yawning gulf between us, and it left us with nothing to say to each other. A few days later, I realized that the only photograph of us was gone as well, as if he believed that even the slightest reminder of coins would offend me. At the time, it probably would have, and even though I assumed that he’d thrown it away, the realization didn’t bother me at all.

Growing up, I’d never considered entering the military. Despite the fact that eastern North Carolina is one of the most militarily dense areas of the country—there are seven bases within a few hours’ driving time from Wilmington—I used to think that military life was for losers. Who wanted to spend his life getting ordered around by a bunch of crew—cut flunkies? Not me, and aside from the ROTC guys, not many people in my high school, either. Instead, most of the kids who’d been good students headed off to the University of North Carolina or North Carolina State, while the kids who hadn’t been good students stayed behind, bumming around from one lousy job to the next, drinking beer and hanging out, and pretty much avoiding anything that might require a shred of responsibility.

I fell into the latter category. In the couple of years after graduation, I went through a succession of jobs, working as a busboy at Outback Steakhouse, tearing ticket stubs at the local movie theater, loading and unloading boxes at Staples, cooking pancakes at Waffle House, and working as a cashier at a couple of tourist places that sold crap to the out-of-towners. I spent every dime I earned, had zero illusions about eventually working my way up the ladder to management, and ended up getting fired from every job I had. For a while, I didn’t care. I was living my life. I was big into surfing late and sleeping in, and since I was still living at home, none of my income was needed for things like rent or food or insurance or preparing for a future. Besides, none of my friends was doing any better than I was. I don’t remember being particularly unhappy, but after a while I just got tired of my life. Not the surfing part—in 1996, Hurricanes Bertha and Fran slammed into the coast, and those were some of the best waves in years—but hanging out at Leroy’s bar afterward. I began to realize that every night was the same. I’d be drinking beers and bump into someone I’d known from high school, and they’d ask what I was doing and I’d tell them, and they’d tell me what they were doing, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out we were both on the fast track to nowhere. Even if they had their own place, which I didn’t, I never believed them when they told me they liked their job as ditch digger or window washer or Porta Potti hauler, because I knew full well that none of those were the kinds of occupations they’d grown up dreaming about. I might have been lazy in the classroom, but I wasn’t stupid.

I dated dozens of women during that period. At Leroy’s, there were always women. Most were forgettable relationships. I used women and allowed myself to be used and always kept my feelings to myself. Only my relationship with a girl named Lucy lasted more than a few months, and for a short time before we inevitably drifted apart, I thought I was in love with her. She was a student at UNC Wilmington, a year older than me, and wanted to work in New York after she graduated. “I care about you,” she told me on our last night together, “but you and I want different things. You could do so much more with your life, but for some reason, you’re content to simply float along.” She’d hesitated before going on. “But more than that, I never know how you really feel about me.” I knew she was right. Soon after, she left on a plane without bothering to say good-bye. A year later, after getting her number from her parents, I called her and we talked for twenty minutes. She was engaged to an attorney, she told me, and would be married the following June.

The phone call affected me more than I thought it would. It came on a day when I’d just been fired—again—and I went to console myself at Leroy’s, as always. The same crowd of losers was there, and I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to spend another pointless evening pretending that everything in my life was okay. Instead, I bought a six-pack of beer and went to sit on the beach. It was the first time in years that I actually thought about what I was doing with my life, and I wondered whether I should take my dad’s advice and get a college degree. I’d been out of school for so long, though, that the idea felt foreign and ridiculous. Call it luck or bad luck, but right then two marines jogged by. Young and fit, they radiated easy confidence. If they could do it, I told myself, I could do it, too.

I mulled it over for a couple of days, and in the end, my dad had something to do with my decision. Not that I talked to him about it, of course—we weren’t talking at all by then. I was walking toward the kitchen one night and saw him sitting at his desk, as always. But this time, I really studied him. His hair was mostly gone, and the little that was left had turned completely silver by his ears. He was nearing retirement, and I was struck by the notion that I had no right to keep letting him down after all he’d done for me.

So I joined the military. My first thought was that I’d join the marines, since they were the guys I was most familiar with. Wrightsville Beach was always packed with jarheads from Camp Lejeune or Cherry Point, but when the time came, I picked the army. I figured I’d be handed a rifle either way, but what really closed the deal was that the marines recruiter was having lunch when I swung by and wasn’t immediately available, while the army recruiter—whose office was right across the street—was. In the end, the decision felt more spontaneous than planned, but I signed on the dotted line for a four-year enlistment, and when the recruiter slapped my back and congratulated me as I went out the door, I found myself wondering what I’d gotten myself into. That was in late 1997, and I was twenty years old.

Boot camp at Fort Benning was just as miserable as I thought it would be. The whole thing seemed designed to humiliate and brainwash us into following orders without question, no matter how stupid they might be, but I adapted more quickly than a lot of the guys. Once I got through it, I chose the infantry. We spent the next few months doing a lot of simulations in places like Louisiana and good old Fort Bragg, where we basically learned the best ways to kill people and break things; and after a while, my unit, as part of the First Infantry Division—aka the Big Red One—was sent to Germany. I didn’t speak a word of German, but it didn’t matter, since pretty much everyone I dealt with spoke English. It was easy at first, then army life set in. I spent seven lousy months in the Balkans—first in Macedonia in 1999, then in Kosovo, where I stayed until the late spring of 2000. Life in the army didn’t pay much, but considering there was no rent, no food expenses, and really nothing to spend my paychecks on even when I got them, I had money in the bank for the first time. Not a lot, but enough.

I spent my first leave at home completely bored out of my mind. I spent my second leave in Las Vegas. One of my buddies had grown up there, and three of us crashed at his parents’ place. I blew through pretty much everything I’d saved. On my third leave, after coming back from Kosovo, I was desperately in need of a break and decided to head back home, hoping the boredom of the visit would be enough to calm my mind. Because of the distance, my dad and I seldom talked on the phone, but he wrote me letters that were always postmarked on the first of every month. They weren’t like the ones my buddies got from their moms or sisters or wives. Nothing too personal, nothing mushy, and never a word that suggested he missed me. Nor did he ever mention coins. Instead, he wrote about changes in the neighborhood and a lot about the weather; when I wrote to tell him about a pretty hairy firefight I’d been in in the Balkans, he wrote back to say that he was glad I survived, but said no more about it. I knew by the way he phrased his response that he didn’t want to hear about the dangerous things I did. The fact that I was in peril frightened him, so I started omitting the scary stuff. Instead, I sent him letters about how guard duty was without a doubt the most boring job ever invented and that the only exciting thing to happen to me in weeks was trying to guess how many cigarettes the other guard would actually smoke in a single evening. My dad ended every letter with the promise that he would write again soon, and once again, the man didn’t let me down. He was, I’ve long since come to believe, a far better man than I’ll ever be.

But I’d grown up in the previous three years. Yeah, I know, I’m a walking cliché—go in as a boy, come out as a man and all that. But everyone in the army is forced to grow up, especially if you’re in the infantry like me. You’re entrusted with equipment that costs a fortune, others put their trust in you, and if you screw up, the penalty is a lot more serious than being sent to bed without supper. Sure, there’s too much paperwork and boredom, and everyone smokes and can’t complete a sentence without cursing and has boxes of dirty magazines under his bed, and you have to answer to ROTC guys fresh out of college who think grunts like me have the IQs of Neanderthals; but you’re forced to learn the most important lesson in life, and that’s the fact that you have to live up to your responsibilities, and you’d better do it right. When given an order, you can’t say no. It’s no exaggeration to say that lives are on the line. One wrong decision, and your buddy might die. It’s this fact that makes the army work. That’s the big mistake a lot of people make when they wonder how soldiers can put their lives on the line day after day or how they can fight for something they may not believe in. Not everyone does. I’ve worked with soldiers on all sides of the political spectrum; I’ve met some who hated the army and others who wanted to make it a career. I’ve met geniuses and idiots, but when all is said and done, we do what we do for one another. For friendship. Not for country, not for patriotism, not because we’re programmed killing machines, but because of the guy next to you. You fight for your friend, to keep him alive, and he fights for you, and everything about the army is built on this simple premise.

But like I said, I had changed. I went into the army as a smoker and almost coughed up a lung during boot camp, but unlike practically everyone else in my unit, I quit and hadn’t touched the things in over two years. I moderated my drinking to the point that one or two beers a week was sufficient, and I might go a month without having any at all. My record was spotless. I’d been promoted from private to corporal and then, six months later, to sergeant, and I learned that I had an ability to lead. I’d led men in firefights, and my squad was involved in capturing one of the most notorious war criminals in the Balkans. My commanding officer recommended me for Officer Candidate School (OCS), and I was debating whether or not to become an officer, but that sometimes meant a desk job and even more paperwork, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that. Aside from surfing, I hadn’t exercised in years before I joined the service; by the time I took my third leave, I’d put on twenty pounds of muscle and cut the flab from my belly. I spent most of my free time running, boxing, and weight lifting with Tony, a musclehead from New York who always shouted when he talked, swore that tequila was an aphrodisiac, and was far and away my best friend in the unit. He talked me into getting tattoos on both arms just like him, and with every passing day, the memory of who I once had been became more and more distant.

I read a lot, too. In the army, you have a lot of time to read, and people trade books back and forth or sign them out from the library until the covers are practically worn away. I don’t want you to get the impression that I became a scholar, because I didn’t. I wasn’t into Chaucer or Proust or Dostoevsky or any of those other dead guys; I read mainly mysteries and thrillers and books by Stephen King, and I took a particular liking to Carl Hiaasen because his words flowed easily and he always made me laugh. I couldn’t help but think that if schools had assigned these books in English class, we’d have a lot more readers in the world.

Unlike my buddies, I shied away from any prospect of female companionship. Sounds weird, right? Prime of life, testosterone-filled job—what could be more natural than searching for a little release with the help of a female? It wasn’t for me. Although some of the guys I knew dated and even married the locals while stationed in Wurzburg, I’d heard enough stories to know that those marriages seldom worked out. The military was hard on relationships in general—I’d seen enough divorces to know that—and while I wouldn’t have minded the company of someone special, it just never happened. Tony couldn’t understand it.

“You gotta come with me,” he’d plead. “You never come.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“How can you not be in the mood? Sabine swears her friend is gorgeous. Tall and blond, and she loves tequila.”

“Bring Don. I’m sure he’d like to go.”

“Castelow? No way. Sabine can’t stand him.”

I said nothing.

“We’re just going to have a little fun.”

I shook my head, thinking that I’d rather be alone than revert to the kind of person I’d been, but I found myself wondering whether I would end up being as monkish as my dad.

Knowing he couldn’t change my mind, Tony didn’t bother hiding his disgust on his way out the door. “I just don’t get you sometimes.”

When my dad picked me up from the airport, he didn’t recognize me at first and almost jumped when I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked smaller than I remembered. Instead of offering a hug, he shook my hand and asked me about the flight, but neither of us knew what to say next, so we wandered outside. It was odd and disorienting to be back at home, and I felt on edge, just like the last time I took leave. In the parking lot, as I tossed my gear in the trunk, I spotted on the back of his ancient Ford Escort a bumper sticker that told people to SUPPORT OUR TROOPS. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant to my dad, but I was still glad to see it.

At home, I stowed my gear in my old bedroom. Everything was where I remembered, right down to the dusty trophies on my shelf and a hidden, half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey in the back of my underwear drawer. Same thing in the rest of the house. The blanket still covered the couch, the green refrigerator seemed to scream that it didn’t belong, and the television picked up only four blurry channels. Dad cooked spaghetti; Friday was always spaghetti. At dinner, we tried to talk.

“It’s nice to be back,” I said.

His smile was brief. “Good,” he responded.

He took a drink of milk. At dinner, we always drank milk. He concentrated on his meal.

“Do you remember Tony?” I ventured. “I think I mentioned him in my letters. Anyway, get this—he thinks he’s in love. Her name’s Sabine, and she has a six-year-old daughter. I’ve warned him that it might not be such a good idea, but he isn’t listening.”

He carefully sprinkled Parmesan cheese over his food, making sure every spot had the perfect amount. “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

After that, I ate and neither of us said anything. I drank some milk. I ate some more. The clock ticked on the wall.

“I’ll bet you’re excited to be retiring this year,” I suggested. “Just think, you can finally take a vacation, see the world.” I almost said that he could come see me in Germany, but I didn’t. I knew he wouldn’t and didn’t want to put him on the spot. We twirled our noodles simultaneously as he seemed to ponder how best to respond.

“I don’t know,” he finally said.

I gave up trying to talk to him, and from then on the only sounds were those coming from our forks as they hit the plates. When we finished dinner, we went our separate ways. Exhausted from the flight, I headed off to bed, waking every hour the way I did back on base. By the time I stirred in the morning, my dad was off at work. I ate and read the paper, tried to contact a friend without success, then grabbed my surfboard from the garage and hitched my way to the beach. The waves weren’t great, but it didn’t matter. I hadn’t been on a board in three years and was rusty at first, but even the little dribblers made me wish I had been stationed near the ocean.

It was early June 2000, the temperature was already hot, and the water was refreshing. From my vantage point on my board, I could see folks moving their belongings into some of the homes just beyond the dunes. As I mentioned, Wrightsville Beach was always crowded with families who rented for a week or more, but occasionally college students from Chapel Hill or Raleigh did the same. It was the latter who interested me, and I noted a group of coeds in bikinis taking their spots on the back deck of one of the houses near the pier. I watched them for a bit, appreciating the view, then caught another wave and spent the rest of the afternoon lost in my own little world.

I thought about paying a visit to Leroy’s but figured that nothing or no one had changed except for me. Instead, I grabbed a bottle of beer from the corner store and went to sit on the pier to enjoy the sunset. Most of the people fishing had already begun clearing out, and the few who remained were cleaning their catch and tossing the discards in the water. In time, the color of the ocean began changing from iron gray to orange, then yellow. In the breakers beyond the pier, I could see pelicans riding the backs of porpoises as they skimmed through the waves. I knew that the evening would bring the first night of the full moon—my time in the field made the realization almost instinctive. I wasn’t thinking about much of anything, just sort of letting my mind wander. Believe me, meeting a girl was the last thing on my mind.

That was when I saw her walking up the pier. Or rather, two of them walking. One was tall and blond, the other an attractive brunette, both a little younger than me. College students, most likely. Both wore shorts and halters, and the brunette was carrying one of those big knit bags that people sometimes bring to the beach when they plan to stay for hours with the kids. I could hear them talking and laughing, sounding carefree and vacation-ready as they approached.

“Hey,” I called out when they were close. Not very smooth, and I can’t say I expected anything in response.

The blonde proved me right. She took one glimpse at my surfboard and the beer in my hand and ignored me with a roll of her eyes. The brunette, however, surprised me.

“Hiya, stranger,” she answered with a smile. She motioned toward my board. “I’ll bet the waves were great today.”

Her comment caught me off guard, and I heard an unexpected kindness in her words. She and her friend continued down to the end of the pier, and I found myself watching her as she leaned over the railing. I debated whether or not I should stroll over and introduce myself, then decided against it. They weren’t my type, or more accurately, I probably wasn’t theirs. I took a long pull on my beer, trying to ignore them.

Try as I might, though, I couldn’t stop my gaze from drifting back to the brunette. I tried not to listen to what the two girls were saying, but the blonde had one of those voices impossible to ignore. She was talking endlessly about some guy named Brad and how much she loved him, and how her sorority was the best at UNC, and the party they had at the end of the year was the best ever, and that the other should join next year, and that too many of her friends were hooking up with the worst kind of frat guys, and one of them even got pregnant, but it was her own fault since she’d been warned about the guy. The brunette didn’t say much—I couldn’t tell whether she was amused or bored by the conversation—but every now and then, she would laugh. Again, I heard something friendly and understanding in her voice, something akin to coming home, which I’ll admit made no sense at all. As I set aside my bottle of beer, I noticed that she’d placed her bag on the railing.

They had been standing there for ten minutes or so before two guys started up the pier—frat guys, I guessed—wearing pink and orange Lacoste shirts over their knee-length Bermuda shorts. My first thought was that one of these two must be the Brad that the blonde had been talking about. Both carried beers, and they grew furtive as they approached, as if intending to sneak up on the girls. More than likely the two girls wanted them there, and after a quick burst of surprise, complete with a scream and a couple of friendly slaps on the arm, they’d all head back together, laughing and giggling or doing whatever it was college couples did.

It may have turned out that way, too, for the boys did just what I thought they would. As soon as they were close, they jumped at the girls with a yell; both girls shrieked and did the friendly slap thing. The guys hooted, and pink shirt spilled some of his beer. He leaned against the railing, near the bag, one leg over the other, his arms behind him.

“Hey, we’re going to be starting the bonfire in a couple of minutes,” orange shirt said, putting his arms around the blonde. He kissed her neck. “You two ready to come back?”

“You ready?” the blonde asked, looking at her friend.

“Sure,” the brunette answered.

Pink shirt pushed back from the railing, but somehow his hand must have hit the bag, because it slid, then tumbled over the edge. The splash sounded like a fish jumping.

“What was that?” he asked, turning around.

“My bag!” the brunette gasped. “You knocked it off.”

“Sorry about that,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry.

“My purse was in there!”

He frowned. “I said I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got to get it before it sinks!”

The frat brothers seemed frozen, and I knew neither of them had any intention of jumping in to get it. For one thing, they’d probably never find it, and then they’d have to swim all the way back to shore, something that wasn’t recommended when one had been drinking, as they obviously had been. I think the brunette read pink shirt’s expression as well, because I saw her put both hands on the upper rail and one foot on the bottom.

“Don’t be dumb. It’s gone,” pink shirt declared, putting his hand on hers to stop her. “It’s too dangerous to jump. There might be sharks down there. It’s just a purse. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I need that purse! It’s got all my money in there!”

It wasn’t any of my business, I knew. But all I could think as I leapt to my feet and rushed toward the edge of the pier was, Oh, what the hell….

Two

I suppose I should explain why I jumped into the waves to retrieve her bag. It wasn’t that I thought she would view me as some sort of hero, or because I wanted to impress her, or even because I cared in the slightest how much money she’d lost. It had to do with the genuineness of her smile and the warmth of her laugh. Even as I was plunging into the water, I knew how ridiculous my reaction was, but by then it was too late. I hit the water, went under, and popped to the surface. Four faces stared down at me from the railing. Pink shirt was definitely annoyed.

“Where is it?” I shouted up at them.

“Right over there!” the brunette shouted. “I think I can still see it. It’s going down….”

It took a minute to locate it in the deepening twilight, and the surge of the ocean was doing its best to drive me into the pier. I swam to the side, then held the bag above the water as best I could, despite the fact that it was already soaking. The waves made the swim back to shore less difficult than I’d feared, and every now and then I’d look up and see the four people following along with me.

I finally felt bottom and trudged out of the surf. I shook the water from my hair, started up the sand, and met them halfway up the beach. I held out the bag.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you,” the brunette said, and when her eyes met mine, I felt something click, like a key turning in a lock. Believe me, I’m no romantic, and while I’ve heard all about love at first sight, I’ve never believed in it, and I still don’t. But even so, there was something there, something recognizably real, and I couldn’t look away.

Up close, she was more beautiful than I’d first realized, but it had less to do with the way she looked than the way she was. It wasn’t just her slightly gap-toothed smile, it was the casual way she swiped at a loose strand of hair, the easy way she held herself.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said with something like wonder in her voice. “I would have gotten it.”

“I know.” I nodded. “I saw you getting ready to jump.”

She tilted her head to the side. “But you felt an uncontrollable need to help a lady in distress?”

“Something like that.”

She evaluated my answer for a moment, then turned her attention to the bag. She began removing items—her wallet, sunglasses, visor, a tube of sunscreen—and handed them all to the blonde before wringing out the bag.

“Your pictures got wet,” said the blonde, flicking through the wallet.

The brunette ignored her, continuing to wring one way and then the next. When she was finally satisfied, she took back the items and reloaded her bag.

“Thank you again,” she said. Her accent was different from that of eastern North Carolina, more of a twang, as if she’d grown up in the mountains near Boone or near the South Carolina border in the west.

“No big deal,” I mumbled, but I didn’t move.

“Hey, maybe he wants a reward,” pink shirt broke in, his voice loud.

She glanced at him, then back at me. “Do you want a reward?”

“No.” I waved a hand. “Just glad to help.”

“I always knew chivalry wasn’t dead,” she proclaimed. I tried to detect a note of teasing, but I heard nothing in her tone to indicate that she was poking fun at me.

Orange shirt gave me the once-over, noting my crew cut. “Are you in the marines?” he asked. He tightened his arms around the blonde again.

I shook my head. “I’m not one of the few or the proud. I wanted to be all that I could be, so I joined the army.”

The brunette laughed. Unlike my dad, she’d actually seen the commercials.

“I’m Savannah,” she said. “Savannah Lynn Curtis. And these are Brad, Randy, and Susan.” She held out her hand.

“I’m John Tyree,” I said, taking it. Her hand was warm, velvety soft in places but callused in others. I was suddenly conscious of how long it had been since I’d touched a woman.

“Well, I feel like I should do something for you.”

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“Have you eaten?” she asked, ignoring my comment. “We’re getting ready to have a cookout, and there’s plenty to go around. Would you like to join us?”

The guys traded glances. Pink-shirted Randy looked downright glum, and I’ll admit that made me feel better. Hey, maybe he wants a reward. What a putz.

“Yeah, come on,” Brad finally added, sounding less than thrilled. “It’ll be fun. We’re renting the place next to the pier.” He pointed to one of the houses on the beach, where half a dozen people lounged on the deck out back.

Even though I had no desire to spend time with more frat brothers, Savannah smiled at me with such warmth that the words were out before I could stop them.

“Sounds good. Let me go grab my board from the pier and I’ll be there in a bit.”

“We’ll meet you there,” Randy piped up. He took a step toward Savannah, but she ignored him.

“I’ll walk with you,” Savannah said, breaking away from the group. “It’s the least I can do.” She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “See you all in a few, okay?”

We started toward the dune, where the stairs would lead us up to the pier. Her friends lingered for a minute, but when she fell in step beside me, they slowly turned and began making their way down the beach. From the corner of my eye, I saw the blonde turn her head and glance our way from beneath Brad’s arm. Randy did too, sulking. I wasn’t sure that Savannah even noticed until we’d walked a few steps.

“Susan probably thinks I’m crazy for doing this,” she said.

“Doing what?”

“Walking with you. She thinks Randy’s perfect for me, and she’s been trying to get us together since we got here this afternoon. He’s been following me around all day.”

I nodded, unsure how to respond. In the distance, the moon, full and glowing, had begun its slow rise from the sea, and I saw Savannah staring at it. When the waves crashed and spilled, they flared silver, as if caught in a camera’s flash. We reached the pier. The railing was gritty with sand and salt, and the wood was weathered and beginning to splinter. The steps creaked as we ascended.

“Where are you stationed?” she asked.

“In Germany. I’m home on leave for a couple of weeks to visit my dad. And you’re from the mountains, I take it?”

She glanced at me in surprise. “Lenoir.” She studied me. “Let me guess, my accent, right? You think I sound like I’m from the sticks, don’t you.”

“Not at all.”

“Well, I am. From the sticks, I mean. I grew up on a ranch and everything. And yes, I know I have an accent, but I’ve been told that some people find it charming.”

“Randy seemed to think so.”

It slipped out before I could catch myself. In the awkward silence, she ran a hand through her hair.

“Randy seems like a nice young man,” she remarked after a bit, “but I don’t know him that well. I don’t really know most of the people in the house all that well, except for Tim and Susan.” She waved a mosquito away. “You’ll meet Tim later. He’s a great guy. You’ll like him. Everybody does.”

“And you’re all down here on vacation for a week?”

“A month, actually—but no, it’s not really a vacation. We’re volunteering. You’ve heard of Habitat for Humanity, right? We’re down here to help build a couple of houses. My family’s been involved with it for years.”

Over her shoulder, the house seemed to be coming to life in the darkness. More people had materialized, the music had been turned up, and every now and then I could hear laughter. Brad, Susan, and Randy were already surrounded by a group of coeds drinking beer and looking less like do-gooders than college kids trolling for a good time and a chance to hook up with someone of the opposite sex. She must have noticed my expression and followed my gaze.

“We don’t start until Monday. They’ll find out soon enough that it’s not all fun and games.”

“I didn’t say anything….”

“You didn’t have to. But you’re right. For most of them, it’s their first time working with Habitat, and they’re just doing it so they have something different to put on their resume when they graduate. They have no idea how much work is actually involved. In the end, though, all that matters is that the houses get built, and they will. They always do.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Every summer since I was sixteen. I used to do it with our church, but when I went off to Chapel Hill, we started a group there. Well, actually, Tim started it. He’s from Lenoir, too. He just graduated and he’ll start on his master’s degree this fall. I’ve known him forever. Instead of spending the summer working odd jobs at home or doing internships, we thought we could offer students a chance to make a difference. Everyone chips in for the house and pays their own expenses for the month, and we don’t charge anything for the labor we do on the houses. That’s why it was so important that I get my bag back. I wouldn’t have been able to eat all month.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t have let you starve.”

“I know, but it wouldn’t be fair. They’re already doing something worthy, and that’s more than enough.”

I could feel my feet slipping in the sand.

“Why Wilmington?” I asked. “I mean, why come here to build houses, instead of somewhere like Lenoir or Raleigh?”

“Because of the beach. You know how people are. It’s hard enough to get students to volunteer their time for a month, but it’s easier if it’s in a place like this. And the more people you have, the more you can do. Thirty people signed up this year.”

I nodded, conscious of how close together we were walking. “And you graduated, too?”

“No, I’ll be a senior. And I’m majoring in special education, if that’s your next question.”

“It was.”

“I figured. When you’re in college, that’s what everyone asks you.”

“Everyone asks me if I like being in the army.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know.”

She laughed, and the sound was so melodic that I knew I wanted to hear it again.

We reached the end of the pier, and I grabbed my board. I tossed the empty beer bottle into the garbage can, hearing it clank to the bottom. Stars were coming out overhead, and the lights from the houses outlined along the dunes reminded me of bright jack-o’-lanterns.

“Do you mind if I ask what led you to join the army? Given that you don’t know whether you like it, I mean.”

It took me a second to figure out how to answer that, and I shifted my surfboard to my other arm. “I think it’s safest to say that at the time, I needed to.”

She waited for me to add more, but when I didn’t, she simply nodded.

“I’ll bet you’re glad to be back home for a little while,” she said.

“Without a doubt.”

“I’ll bet your father is glad, too, huh?”

“I think so.”

“He is. I’m sure he’s very proud of you.”

“I hope so.”

“You sound like you’re not certain.”

“You’d have to meet my dad to understand. He’s not much of a talker.”

I could see the moonlight reflected in her dark eyes, and her voice was soft when she spoke. “He doesn’t have to talk to be proud of you. He might be the kind of father who shows it in other ways.”

I thought about that, hoping it was true. While I considered it, there was a loud scream from the house, and I caught sight of a couple of coeds near the fire. One of the guys had his arms wrapped around a girl and was pushing her forward; she was laughing and fighting him off. Brad and Susan were snuggling together nearby, but Randy had vanished.

“You said you don’t know most of the people you’ll be living with?”

She shook her head, her hair sweeping her shoulders. She swiped at another strand. “Not too well. We met most of them for the first time at the sign-up, then again today when we got here. I mean, we might have seen each other around campus now and then, and I think a lot of them know each other already, but I don’t. Most of them are in fraternities and sororities. I still live in a dorm. They’re a nice bunch, though.”

As she answered, I got the feeling she was the kind of person who would never say a bad thing about anyone. Her regard for others struck me as refreshing and mature, and yet, strangely, I wasn’t surprised. It was part of that indefinable quality I’d sensed about her from the beginning, a manner that set her apart.

“How old are you?” I asked as we approached the house.

“Twenty-one. I just had a birthday last month. You?”

“Twenty-three. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No. I was an only child. Just me and my folks. My parents still live in Lenoir, and they’re happy as clams after twenty-five years. Your turn.”

“The same. Except for me, it’s always been just me and my dad.”

I knew my answer would lead to a follow-up about the status of my mother, but to my surprise, it didn’t come. Instead she asked, “Was he the one who taught you to surf?”

“No, I picked that up on my own when I was a kid.”

“You’re good. I was watching you earlier. You made it look so easy, graceful even. It made me wish I knew how.”

“I’d be happy to teach you if you want to learn,” I volunteered. “It’s not that hard. I’ll be out tomorrow.”

She stopped and fixed her gaze on me. “Now, don’t make offers you’re not sure you intend to keep.” She reached for my arm, leaving me speechless, then motioned toward the bonfire. “You ready to meet some people?”

I swallowed, feeling a sudden dryness in my throat, which was just about the strangest thing that had ever happened to me.

The house was one of those big three-storied monsters with the garage on the bottom and probably six or seven bedrooms. A massive deck circled the main level; towels were slung over the railings, and I could hear the sound of multiple conversations coming from all directions. A grill stood on the deck, and I could smell the hot dogs and chicken cooking; the guy leaning over it was shirtless and wearing a do-rag, trying to come across as urban cool. It wasn’t working, but it did make me laugh.

On the sand out front, the fire was set into a pit, with several girls in oversize sweatshirts seated in chairs circling it, all pretending to be oblivious to the boys around them. Meanwhile, the guys stood just beyond them, looking as if they were trying to pose in a way that accentuated the size of their arms or sculpted abs and acting as if they didn’t notice the girls at all. I’d seen all this at Leroy’s before; educated or not, kids were still kids. They were in their early twenties, and lust was in the air. Throw in the beach and beer, and I could guess what would happen later; but I would be long gone by then.

When Savannah and I drew near, she slowed before pointing. “How about over there, by the dune?” she suggested.

“Sure.”

We took a seat facing the fire. A few of the other girls stared, checking out the new guy, before retreating into their conversations. Randy finally wandered toward the fire with a beer, saw Savannah and me, and quickly turned his back, following the example of the girls.

“Chicken or hot dog?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to all of this.

“Chicken.”

“What do you want to drink?”

The firelight made her look newly mysterious. “Whatever you’re having’s fine. Thanks.”

“I’ll be right back.”

She headed toward the steps, and I forced myself not to follow. Instead I walked toward the fire, slipped off my shirt, and laid it over an empty chair, then returned to my seat. Glancing up, I saw do-rag flirting with Savannah, felt a surge of tension, then turned away to get a better grip on things. I knew little about her and knew even less about what she thought of me. Besides, I had no desire to start something I couldn’t finish. I was leaving in a couple of weeks, and none of this would amount to anything. I told myself all those things, and I think I partially convinced myself that I’d head home just as soon as I finished eating, when my thoughts were interrupted by the sight of someone approaching. Tall and lanky, with dark hair that was already receding parted neatly to the side, he reminded me of those guys you met from time to time who looked middle-aged from birth.

“You must be John,” he said with a smile, squatting in front of me. “My name’s Tim Wheddon.” He extended his hand. “I heard what you did for Savannah—I know she was grateful you were there.”

I shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Despite my initial wariness, his smile was more genuine than either Brad’s or Randy’s had been. Nor did he mention my tattoos, which was unusual. I suppose I should mention they

weren’t exactly small and covered most of my arms. People have told me I’ll regret it when I’m older, but at the time I got them, I really didn’t care. I still don’t.

“Do you mind if I take a seat?” he asked.

“Help yourself.”

He made himself comfortable, neither crowding me nor sitting too far away. “I’m glad you could come. I mean, it’s not much, but the food’s good. Are you hungry?”

“Actually, I’m starved.”

“Surfing will do that to you.”

“Do you surf?”

“No, but spending time in the ocean always makes me hungry. I remember that from being on vacation as a kid. We used to go to Pine Knoll Shores every summer. Have you been there?”

“Only once. I had all I needed here.”

“Yeah, I suppose you did.” He motioned to my board. “You like the long boards, huh?”

“I like ’em both, but the waves here are better suited for the long ones. You need to ride in the Pacific to really enjoy a short board.”

“Have you been there? Hawaii, Bali, New Zealand, places like that? I’ve read they’re the ultimate.”

“Not yet,” I said, surprised he’d know about them. “One day, maybe.”

A log crackled, sending small sparks up to the sky. I brought my hands together, knowing it was my turn. “I hear you’re here to build some homes for the poor.”

“Did Savannah tell you that? Yeah, that’s the plan, anyway. They’re for a couple of really deserving families, and hopefully they’ll be in their own homes by the end of July.”

“That’s a good thing you’re doing.”

“It’s not just me. But hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Let me guess, you want me to volunteer?”

He laughed. “No, nothing like that. That’s funny, though—I’ve heard that before. People see me coming and usually they run the other way. I guess I’m way too easy to read. Anyway, I know it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you know my cousin. He’s stationed at Fort Bragg.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m posted in Germany.”

“At Ramstein?”

“No. That’s the air force base. But I’m relatively close. Why?”

“I was in Frankfurt last December. I spent Christmas there with my family. That’s where we’re originally from, and my grandparents still live there.”

“Small world.”

“Have you learned any German?”

“Not a bit.”

“Me neither. The sad thing is, my parents are fluent and I’ve heard it at home for years, and I even took a class in it before I went. But I just didn’t get it, you know? I think I was lucky to pass the class, and all I could do was nod at the dinner table and pretend I understood what everyone was saying. The only saving grace was that my brother was in the same boat, so we could feel like morons together.”

I laughed. He had an open, honest face, and despite myself, I liked him.

“Hey, can I get you anything?” he asked.

“Savannah’s taking care of it.”

“I should have guessed. Perfect hostess and all that. Always has been.”

“She said you two grew up together?”

He nodded. “Her family’s ranch is right next to ours. We went to the same schools and attended the same church for years, and then we were at the same university. She’s kind of like my little sister. She’s special.”

Despite the sister comment, I got the impression by the way he said “special” that his feelings ran a little deeper than he was letting on. But unlike Randy, he didn’t seem at all jealous about

the fact that she’d invited me here. Before I could puzzle over it, Savannah appeared on the stairs and stepped onto the sand.

“I see you met Tim,” she said, nodding. In one hand were two plates with chicken, potato salad, and chips; in the other were two cans of Diet Pepsi.

“Yeah, I just wanted to come over and thank him for what he did,” Tim explained, “then decided to bore him with family stories.”

“Good. I was hoping you two would have a chance to meet.” She held up her hands; like Tim, she ignored the fact that I was shirtless. “The food’s ready. Would you like my plate, Tim? I can go up and get another.”

“Nah, I’ll get it,” Tim said, standing. “Thanks, though. I’ll let you two dig in.” He brushed the sand from his shorts. “Hey, it was nice meeting you, John. If you’re in the area again tomorrow or whenever, you’re always welcome.”

“Thanks. Nice meeting you, too.”

A moment later, Tim was heading up the stairs. He didn’t look back, merely called out a friendly hello to someone going in the opposite direction, then bounded up the rest of the way.

Savannah handed me the plate and some plastic utensils, switched hands and offered me a soda, then took a seat beside me. Close, I noticed, but not quite close enough to touch. She propped her plate on her lap, then reached for her can before hesitating. She held up the can.

“You were drinking beer earlier, but you said to get whatever I was getting, so I brought you one of these. I wasn’t quite sure what you wanted.”

“The soda’s fine.”

“You sure? There’s plenty of beer in the coolers, and I’ve heard about you army guys.”

I snorted. “I’m sure,” I said, opening my can. “I take it you don’t drink.”

“I don’t,” she said. No defensiveness or smugness in her tone, I noted, just the truth. I liked that.

She ate a bite of her chicken. I did the same, and in the silence, I wondered about her and Tim and whether she was aware of how he really felt about her. And I wondered how she felt about him. There was something there, but I couldn’t figure it out, unless Tim was right and it was a sibling-type thing. I somehow doubted that was the case.

“What do you do in the army?” she asked, finally putting down her fork.

“I’m a sergeant in the infantry. Weapons squad.”

“What’s it like? I mean, what do you do every day? Do you shoot guns, or blow things up, or what?”

“Sometimes. But actually, it’s pretty boring most of the time, at least when we’re on base. We assemble in the morning, usually around six or so, make sure everyone’s there, and then we break into squads to exercise. Basketball, running, weight lifting, whatever. Sometimes there’s a class that day, anything from assembling and reassembling our weapons, or a night-terrain class, or we might head to the rifle range, or whatever. If nothing’s planned, we just head back to the barracks and play video games or read or work out again or whatever for the rest of the day. Then we reassemble at four o’clock and find out what we’re doing tomorrow. Then we’re done.”

“Video games?”

“I work out and read. But my buddies are experts at games. And the more violent the game, the more they like it.”

“What do you read?”

I told her, and she considered it. “And what happens when you’re sent to a war zone?”

“Then,” I said, finishing my chicken, “it’s different. There’s guard duty, and things are always breaking and need to be fixed, so you’re busy, even when you’re not out on patrol. But the infantry are the forces on the ground, so we spend a big chunk of our time away from camp.”

“Do you ever get scared?”

I searched for the right answer. “Yeah. Sometimes. It’s not like you’re walking around terrified all the time, even when things are going to hell all around you. It’s just that you’re… reacting, trying to stay alive. Things are happening so fast that you don’t have time to think much of

anything except doing your job and trying not to die. It usually affects you afterward, once you’re clear. That’s when you realize how close you came, and sometimes you get the shakes or puke or whatever.”

“I’m not sure I could do what you do.”

I wasn’t sure if she expected a response to that, so I switched topics. “Why special education?” I asked.

“It’s kind of a long story. You sure you want to hear it?”

When I nodded, she drew a long breath.

“There’s this boy in Lenoir named Alan, and I’ve known him all my life. He’s autistic, and for a long time no one knew what to do with him or how to get through to him. And it just got to me, you know? I felt so bad for him, even when I was little. When I asked my parents about it, they said that maybe the Lord had special plans for him. It didn’t make any sense at first, but Alan had an older brother who was so patient with him all the time. I mean always. He never got frustrated with him, and little by little, he helped Alan. Alan’s not perfect by any stretch—he still lives with his parents, and he’ll never be on his own—but he’s not as lost as he was when he was younger, and I just decided that I wanted to be able to help kids like Alan.”

“How old were you when you decided that?”

“Twelve.”

“And you want to work with them in a school?”

“No,” she said. “I want to do what Alan’s brother did. He used horses.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “With autistic kids… it’s like they’re locked into their own little worlds, so usually school and therapy are based on routine. But I want to show them experiences that can open new doors for them. I’ve seen it happen. I mean, Alan was terrified of the horses at first, but his brother kept trying, and after a while, Alan got to the point where he would pat them or rub their noses, then later even feed them. After that, he started to ride, and I remember watching his face the first time he was up there… it was just so incredible, you know? I mean, he was smiling, just as happy as a kid could be. And that’s what I want these kids to experience. Just… happiness, even if it’s only for a short while. That’s when I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Maybe open a riding camp for autistic kids, where we can really work with them. So maybe they can feel that same happiness that Alan did.”

She put down her fork as if embarrassed, then set her plate off to the side.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“We’ll see if it happens,” she said, sitting up again. “It’s just a dream for now.”

“I take it you like horses, too?”

“All girls love horses. Don’t you know that? But yes, I do. I have an Arabian named Midas, and it kills me sometimes that I’m here when I could be off riding him.”

“The truth comes out.”

“As it should. But I’m still planning to stay here. I’ll ride all day, every day, when I get back. Do you ride?”

“I did once.”

“Did you like it?”

“I was sore the next day. It hurt to walk.”

She giggled, and I realized I liked talking to her. It was easy and natural, unlike with so many people. Above me, I could see Orion’s belt; just over the horizon on the water, Venus had appeared and glowed a heavy white. Guys and girls continued to tramp up and down the stairs, flirting with booze-induced courage. I sighed.

“I should probably get going so I can visit with my dad for a while. He’s probably wondering where I am. If he’s still awake, that is.”

“Do you want to call him? You can use the phone.”

“No, I think I’ll just head out. It’s a long walk.”

“You don’t have a car?”

“No. I hitched a ride this morning.”

“Do you want Tim to drive you home? I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You said it was a long walk, right? I’ll have Tim drive you. Let me get him.”

She raced off before I could stop her, and a minute later Tim was following her out of the house. “Tim is happy to take you,” she said, looking way too pleased with herself.

I turned toward Tim. “You sure?”

“No problem at all,” he assured me. “My truck’s out front. You can just put your board in the back.” He motioned to the board. “Need a hand?”

“No,” I said, rising, “I got it.” I went to the chair and slipped on my shirt, then picked up my board. “Thanks, by the way.”

“My pleasure,” he said. He patted his pocket. “I’ll be back in a second with the keys. It’s the green truck parked on the grass. I’ll meet you out front.”

When he was gone, I turned back to Savannah. “It was nice meeting you.”

She held my gaze. “You too. I’ve never hung out with a soldier before. I felt sort of… protected. I don’t think Randy’ll give me any trouble tonight. Your tattoos probably scared him away.”

I guess she had noticed them. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You know where I’ll be.”

I wasn’t sure whether that meant she wanted me to come visit again or didn’t. In many ways, she remained a complete mystery to me. Then again, I barely knew her at all.

“But I am a little disappointed that you forgot,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“Forgot what?”

“Didn’t you say that you’d teach me how to surf?”

If Tim had any inkling of the effect Savannah had on me or that I’d be visiting again the next day, he gave no indication. Instead he focused mainly on the drive, making sure he was heading in the right direction. He was the kind of driver who stopped the car even when the light was yellow and he could have sailed through.

“I hope you had a good time,” he said. “I know it’s always strange when you don’t know anyone.”

“I did.”

“You and Savannah really hit it off. She’s something, isn’t she? I think she liked you.”

“We had a nice conversation,” I said.

“I’m glad. I was a little worried about her coming down here. Last year her parents were with us, so this is the first time she’s been on her own like this. I know she’s a big girl, but these aren’t the kind of people she usually hangs out with, and the last thing I wanted was for her to be fending off guys all night.”

“I’m sure she could have handled it.”

“You’re probably right. But I get the feeling that some of these guys are pretty persistent.”

“Of course they are. They’re guys.”

He laughed. “I guess you’re right.” He motioned toward the window. “Which way now?”

I directed him through a series of turns, then finally I told him to slow the car. He stopped in front of the house, where I could see the light from my dad’s den, glowing yellow.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, opening my door.

“No problem.” He leaned over the seat. “And listen, like I said, feel free to stop by the house anytime. We work during the week, but weekends and evenings are usually clear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised.

Once inside, I went to my dad’s den and opened the door. He was peering at the Greysheet and jumped. I realized he hadn’t heard me come in.

“Sorry,” I said, taking a seat on the single step that separated the den from the rest of the house. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” was all he said. He debated whether to set aside the Greysheet, then did.

“The waves were great today,” I commented. “I’d almost forgotten how fantastic the water feels.”

He smiled but again said nothing. I shifted slightly on the step. “How’d work go?” I asked.

“The same,” he said.

He lapsed back into his own thoughts, and all I could think was that the same thing could be said about our conversations.

Three

Surfing is a solitary sport, one in which long stretches of boredom are interspersed with frantic activity, and it teaches you to flow with nature, instead of fighting it… it’s about getting in the zone. That’s what the surfing magazines say, anyway, and I mostly agree. There’s nothing quite as exciting as catching a wave and living within a wall of water as it rolls toward shore. But I’m not like a lot of those dudes with freeze-dried skin and stringy hair who do it all day, every day, because they think it’s the be—all and end—all of existence. It isn’t. For me, it’s more about the fact that the world is crazy noisy almost all the time, and when you’re out there, it’s not. You’re able to hear yourself think.”

This is what I was telling Savannah, anyway, as we made our way toward the ocean early Sunday morning. At least, that’s what I thought I was saying. For the most part, I was just sort of rambling, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that I really liked the way she looked in a bikini.

“Like horseback riding,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Hearing yourself think. That’s why I like riding, too.”

I’d shown up a few minutes earlier. The best waves were usually early in the morning, and it was one of those clear, blue-sky days portending heat that meant the beach would be packed again. Savannah had been sitting on the steps out back, wrapped in a towel, the remains of the bonfire before her. Despite the fact that the party had no doubt gone on for hours after I’d left, there wasn’t a single empty can or piece of trash anywhere. My impression of the group improved a bit.

Despite the hour, the air was already warm. We spent a few minutes in the sand near the water’s edge going over the basics of surfing, and I explained how to pop up on the board. When Savannah thought she was ready, I waded in carrying the board, walking beside her.

There were only a few surfers out, the same ones I’d seen the day before. I was trying to figure out the best place to bring Savannah so she’d have enough room when I realized I could no longer see her.

“Hold on, hold on!” she shouted from behind me. “Stop, stop…”

I turned. Savannah was on her tiptoes as the first splashes of water hit her belly, and her upper body was immediately covered in gooseflesh. She appeared to be trying to lift herself from the water.

“Let me get used to this….” She gave a few quick, audible gasps and crossed her arms. “Wow. This is really cold. Holy cow!”

Holy cow? It wasn’t exactly something my buddies would say. “You’ll get used to it,” I said, smirking.

“I don’t like being cold. I hate being cold.”

“You live in the mountains where it snows.”

“Yeah, but we have these things called jackets and gloves and hats that we wear to keep warm. And we don’t thrust ourselves into arctic waters first thing in the morning.”

“Funny,” I said.

She continued to hop up and down. “Yeah, real funny. I mean, geez!”

Geez? I grinned. Her breathing gradually began to even out, but the gooseflesh was still there. She took another tiny step forward.

“It works best if you just jump right in and go under instead of torturing yourself in stages,” I suggested.

“You do it your way, I’ll do it mine,” she said, unimpressed with my wisdom. “I can’t believe you wanted to come out now. I was thinking sometime in the afternoon, when the temperature was above freezing.”

“It’s almost eighty degrees.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, finally acclimating. Uncrossing her arms, she took another series of breaths, then dipped maybe an inch. Steeling herself, she slapped a bit of water on her arms. “Okay, I think I’m getting there.”

“Don’t rush for me. Really. Take your time.”

“I will, thank you,” she said, ignoring the teasing tone. “Okay,” she said again, more to herself than me. She took a small step forward, then another. As she moved, her face was a mask of concentration, and I liked the way it looked. So serious, so intense. So ridiculous.

“Quit laughing at me,” she said, noting my expression.

“I’m not laughing.”

“I can see it in your face. You’re laughing on the inside.”

“All right, I’ll stop.”

Eventually she waded out to join me, and when the water was up to my shoulders, Savannah climbed on the board. I held it in place, trying again not to stare at her figure, which wasn’t easy, considering it was right in front of me. I forced myself to monitor the swells behind us.

“Now what?”

“Do you remember what to do? Paddle hard, grab the board on both sides near the front, then pop up to your feet?”

“Got it.”

“It’s kind of tough at first. Don’t be surprised if you fall, but if you do, just roll with it. It usually takes a few times to get it.”

“Okay,” she said, and I saw a small swell approaching.

“Get ready…,” I said, timing it. “Okay, start paddling….”

As the wave hit us, I pushed the board, giving it some momentum, and Savannah caught the wave. I don’t know what I expected, except that it wasn’t to see her pop straight up, keep her balance, and ride the wave all the way back to shore, where it finally petered out. In the shallow water, she jumped off the board as it slowed and turned with dramatic flair toward me.

“How was that?” she called out.

Despite the distance between us, I couldn’t look away. Oh man, I suddenly thought, I’m in real trouble.

“I did gymnastics for years,” she admitted. “I’ve always had a good sense of balance. I suppose I should have said something about that while you were telling me I was going to wipe out.”

We spent more than an hour in the water. She popped up every time and rode the waves to shore with ease; though she couldn’t steer the board, I had no doubt that if she wanted to, she would be able to master that in no time.

Afterward, we returned to the house. I waited out back while she went upstairs. While a few people had risen—three girls were on the deck staring at the ocean—most were still recovering from the night before and nowhere to be seen. Savannah emerged a couple of minutes later in shorts and a T-shirt, holding two cups of coffee. She sat beside me on the steps as we faced the water.

“I didn’t say you’d wipe out,” I clarified. “I just said that if you did, you should roll with it.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, her expression mischievous. She pointed to my cup. “Is your coffee okay?”

“Tastes great,” I said.

“I have to start my day with coffee. It’s my one vice.”

“Everyone’s got to have one.”

She glanced at me. “What’s yours?”

“I don’t have any,” I answered, and she surprised me by giving me a playful nudge.

“Did you know that last night was the first night of the full moon?”

I did but thought it best not to admit it. “Really?” I said.

“I’ve always loved full moons. Ever since I was a kid. I liked to think that they were an omen of sorts. I wanted to believe they always portended good things. Like if I was making a mistake, I would have the chance to start over.”

She said nothing else about it. Instead she brought the cup to her lips, and I watched as the steam wreathed her face.

“What’s on your agenda today?” I asked.

“We’re supposed to have a meeting sometime today, but other than that, nothing. Well, except for church. For me, I mean. And, well, whoever else wants to go. Which reminds me—what time is it?”

I checked my watch. “A little after nine.”

“Already? I guess that doesn’t give me much time. Service is at ten.”

I nodded, knowing our time together was almost up.

“Do you want to go with me?” I heard her ask.

“To church?”

“Yeah. To church,” she said. “Don’t you go?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. It was obviously important to her, and though I got the impression that my answer would disappoint, I didn’t want to lie. “Not really,” I admitted. “I haven’t been to church in years. I mean, I used to go as a kid, but…” I trailed off. “I don’t know why,” I finished.

She stretched her legs out, waiting to see if I would add more. When I didn’t, she arched an eyebrow. “So?”

“What?”

“Do you want to go with me or not?”

“I don’t have any clothes. I mean, this is all I have, and I doubt if I have enough time to go home, shower, and get back in time. Otherwise I would.”

She gave me the once-over. “Good.” She patted my knee, the second time she’d touched me. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

“You look great,” Tim assured me. “The collar’s a little snug, but I don’t think anyone will be able to tell.”

In the mirror, I saw a stranger dressed in khakis and a pressed shirt and tie. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a tie. I wasn’t sure I was happy about any of this or not. Tim, meanwhile, was way too chipper about the whole thing.

“How’d she talk you into this?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

He laughed and, leaning over to tie his shoes, winked. “I told you she likes you.”

We’ve got chaplains in the army, and most of them are pretty good guys. On base, I got to know a couple of them fairly well, and one of them—Ted Jenkins—was the kind of guy you trusted on the spot. He didn’t drink, and I’m not saying he was one of us, but he was always welcome when he showed up. He had a wife and a couple of rugrats, and he’d been in the service for fifteen years. He had personal experience when it came to struggles with family and military life in general, and if you ever sat down to talk with him, he really listened. You couldn’t tell him everything—he was an officer, after all—and he ended up coming down fairly hard on a couple of guys in my platoon who admitted their escapades a bit too freely, but the thing was, he had this kind of presence that made you want to tell him anyway. I don’t know what it was other than the fact that he was a good man and a hell of an army chaplain. He talked about God just as naturally as you might talk about your friend, not in that preachy, irritating way that generally turns me off. Nor did he press you to attend services on Sundays. He sort of left it up to you, and depending what was going on or how dangerous things got, he might find himself talking to either one or two people or a hundred. Before my platoon was sent to the Balkans, he probably baptized fifty people.

I’d been baptized as a kid, so I didn’t go that route, but like I said, it had been a long time since I’d been to service. I’d stopped going with my dad a long time ago, and I didn’t know what to expect. Nor can I honestly say I was looking forward to it, but in the end, the service wasn’t that bad. The pastor was low-key, the music was all right, and time didn’t drag by the way it always seemed to when I was little. I’m not saying I got much out of it, but even so, I was glad I went, if only so I could talk about something new with my dad. And also because it gave me just a bit more time with Savannah.

Savannah ended up sitting between Tim and me, and I watched her from the corner of my eye as she sang. She had a quiet, low-key singing voice but was always in tune, and I liked the way it sounded. Tim stayed focused on the scriptures, and on the way out, he stopped to visit with the pastor while Savannah and I waited in the shade of a dogwood tree out front. Tim looked animated as he chatted with the pastor.

“Old friends?” I asked, nodding toward Tim. Despite the shade, I was getting hot and could feel trails of perspiration beginning to form.

“No. I think his dad was the one who told him about this pastor. He had to use MapQuest last night to find this place.” She fanned herself; in her sundress, she reminded me of a proper southern belle. “I’m glad you came.”

“So am I,” I agreed.

“Are you hungry?”

“Getting there.”

“We have some food back at the house, if you want some. And you can give Tim his clothes back. I can tell you’re hot and uncomfortable.”

“It’s not half as hot as helmets, boots, and body armor, trust me.”

She tilted her head up at me. “I like hearing you talk about body armor. Not a lot of guys in my classes talk like you. I find it interesting.”

“You teasing me?”

“Just noting for the record.” She leaned gracefully against the tree. “I think Tim’s finishing up.”

I followed her gaze, noticing nothing different. “How can you tell?”

“See how he brought his hands together? That means he’s getting ready to say good-bye. In just a second, he’s going to put his hand out, he’ll smile and nod, and then he’ll be on his way.”

I watched Tim do exactly as she predicted and amble toward us. I noted her amused expression. She shrugged. “When you live in a small town like mine, there’s not much to do other than watch people. You begin to see patterns after a while.”

There’d probably been too much Tim-watching in my humble opinion, but I wasn’t about to admit it.

“Hey there…” Tim raised a hand. “You two ready to head back?”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” she pointed out.

“Sorry,” he said. “We just got to talking.”

“You just get to talking with anyone and everyone.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m working on being more standoffish.”

She laughed, and while their familiar banter put me momentarily outside their circle of intimacy, all was forgotten when Savannah looped her arm through mine on our way back toward the car.

Everyone was up by the time we got back, and most were already in their bathing suits and working on their tans. Some were lounging on the upper deck; most were clustered together on the beach out back. Music blasted from a stereo inside the house, coolers of beer stood refilled and ready, and more than a few were drinking: the age-old cure for the hangover headache. I passed no judgment; a beer sounded good, actually, but given that I’d just been to church, I figured I should pass.

I changed my clothes, folding Tim’s the way I’d learned in the army, then returned to the kitchen. Tim had made a plate of sandwiches.

“Help yourself,” he said, gesturing. “We have tons of food. I should know—I’m the one who spent three hours shopping yesterday.” He rinsed his hands and dried them on a towel. “All right. Now it’s my turn to change. Savannah will be out in a minute.”

He left the kitchen. Alone, I looked around. The house was decorated in that traditional beachy way: lots of bright-colored wicker furniture, lamps made with seashells, small statues of lighthouses above the mantel, pastel paintings of the coast.

Lucy’s parents had owned a place like this. Not here, but on Bald Head Island. They never rented it out, preferring to spend their summers there. Of course, the old man still had to work in Winston-Salem, and he and the wife would head back for a couple of days a week, leaving poor Lucy all alone. Except for me, of course. Had they known what was happening on those days, they probably wouldn’t have left us alone.

“Hey there,” Savannah said. She’d donned her bikini again, though she was wearing shorts over the bottoms. “I see you’re back to normal.”

“How can you tell?”

“Your eyes aren’t bulging because your collar’s too tight.”

I smiled. “Tim made some sandwiches.”

“Great. I’m starved,” she said, moving around the kitchen. “Did you grab one?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Well, dig in. I hate to eat alone.”

We stood in the kitchen as we ate. The girls lying on the deck hadn’t realized we were there, and I could hear one of them talking about what she did with one of the guys last night, and none of it sounded as though she were in town on a goodwill mission for the poor. Savannah wrinkled her nose as if to say, Way too much information, then turned to the fridge. “I need a drink. Do you want something?”

“Water’s fine.”

She bent over to grab a couple of bottles. I tried not to stare but did so anyway and, frankly, enjoyed it. I wondered whether she knew I was staring and assumed she did, for when she stood up and turned around, she had that amused look again. She set the bottles on the counter. “After this, you want to go surfing again?”

How could I resist?

We spent the afternoon in the water. As much as I enjoyed the up-close-Savannah-lying-on-the-board view I was treated to, I enjoyed the sight of her surfing even more. To make things even better, she asked to watch me while she warmed up on the beach, and I was treated to my own private viewing while enjoying the waves.

By midafternoon we were lying on towels near, but not too near, the rest of the group behind the house. A few curious glances drifted in our direction, but for the most part, no one seemed to care that I was there, except for Randy and Susan. Susan frowned pointedly at Savannah; Randy, meanwhile, was content to hang out with Brad and Susan as the third wheel, licking his wounds. Tim was nowhere to be seen.

Savannah was lying on her stomach, a tempting sight. I was on my back beside her, trying to doze in the lazy heat but too distracted by her presence to fully relax.

“Hey,” she murmured. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

I rolled my head in the sand. “What about them?”

“I don’t know. Why you got them, what they mean.”

I propped myself on one elbow. I pointed to my left arm, which had an eagle and banner. “Okay, this is the infantry insignia, and this”—I pointed to the words and letters—“is how we’re identified: company, battalion, regiment. Everyone in my squad has one. We got it just after basic training at Fort Benning in Georgia when we were celebrating.”

“Why does it say ‘Jump-start’ underneath it?”

“That’s my nickname. I got it during basic training, courtesy of our beloved drill sergeant. I wasn’t putting my gun together fast enough, and he basically said that he was going to jump-start a certain body part if I didn’t get my act in gear. The nickname stuck.”

“He sounds pleasant,” she joked.

“Oh yeah. We called him Lucifer behind his back.”

She smiled. “What’s the barbed wire above it for?”

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “I had that one done before I joined.”

“And the other arm?”

A Chinese character. I didn’t want to go into it, so I shook my head. “It’s from back in my ‘I’m lost and don’t give a damn’ stage. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Isn’t it a Chinese character?”

“Yes.”

“Then what does it mean? It’s got to mean something. Like bravery or honor or something?”

“It’s a profanity.”

“Oh,” she said with a blink.

“Like I said, it doesn’t mean anything to me now.”

“Except that maybe you shouldn’t flash it if you ever go to China.”

I laughed. “Yeah, except that,” I agreed.

She was quiet for a moment. “You were a rebel, huh?”

I nodded. “A long time ago. Well, not really that long ago. But it seems like it.”

“That’s what you meant when you said the army was something you needed at the time?”

“It’s been good for me.”

She thought about it. “Tell me—would you have jumped for my bag back then?”

“No. I probably would have laughed at what happened.”

She evaluated my answer, as if wondering whether to believe me. Finally, she drew a long breath. “I’m glad you joined, then. I really needed that bag.”

“Good.”

“What else?”

“What else what?”

“What else can you tell me about yourself?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to know?”

“Tell me something no one else knows about you.”

I considered the question. “I can tell you how many ten-dollar Indians with a rolled edge were minted in 1907.”

“How many?”

“Forty-two. They were never intended for the public. Some men at the mint made them for themselves and some friends.”

“You like coins?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

I hesitated while Savannah reached for her bag. “Hold on,” she said, rummaging through it. She pulled out a tube of Coppertone. “You can tell me after you put some lotion on my back. I feel like I’m getting burned.”

“Oh, I can, huh?”

She winked. “It’s part of the deal.”

I applied the lotion to her back and shoulders and probably went a bit overboard, but I convinced myself that she was turning pink and that having a sunburn of any sort would make her work the next day miserable. After that, I spent the next few minutes telling her about my grandfather and dad, about the coin shows and good old Eliasberg. What I didn’t do was specifically answer her question, for the simple reason that I wasn’t quite sure what the answer was. When I finished she turned to me.

“And your father still collects coins?”

“All the time. At least, I think so. We don’t talk about coins anymore.”

“Why not?”

I told her that story, too. Don’t ask me why. I knew I should have been putting my best foot forward and tossing out crap to impress her, but with Savannah that wasn’t possible. For whatever reason, she made me want to tell the truth, even though I barely knew her. When I finished she was wearing a curious expression.

“Yeah, I was a jerk,” I offered, knowing there were other, probably more accurate words to describe me back then, all of which were profane enough to offend her.

“It sounds like it,” she said, “but that’s not what I was thinking. I was trying to imagine you back then, because you seem nothing like that person now.”

What could I say that wouldn’t sound bogus, even if it was true? Unsure, I opted for Dad’s approach and said nothing.

“What’s your dad like?”

I gave her a quick recap. As I spoke, she scooped sand and let it trail through her fingers, as if concentrating on my choice of words. In the end, surprising myself again, I admitted that we were almost strangers.

“You are,” she said, using that nonjudgmental, matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve been gone for a couple of years, and even you admit that you’ve changed. How could he know you?”

I sat up. The beach was packed; it was the time of day when everyone who planned to come was already here, and no one was quite ready to leave. Randy and Brad were playing Frisbee by the water’s edge, running and shouting. A few others wandered over to join them.

“I know,” I said. “But it’s not just that. We’ve always been strangers. I mean, it’s just so hard to talk to him.”

As soon as I said it, I realized she was the first person I’d ever admitted it to. Strange. But then, most of what I was saying to her sounded strange.

“Most people our age say that about their parents.”

Maybe, I thought. But this was different. It wasn’t a generational difference, it was the fact that for my dad, normal chitchat was all but impossible, unless it dealt with coins. I said nothing more, however, and Savannah smoothed the sand in front of her. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “I’d like to meet him.”

I turned toward her. “Yeah?”

“He sounds interesting. I’ve always loved people who have this… passion for life.”

“It’s a passion for coins, not life,” I corrected her.

“It’s the same thing. Passion is passion. It’s the excitement between the tedious spaces, and it doesn’t matter where it’s directed.” She shuffled her feet in the sand. “Well, most of the time, anyway. I’m not talking vices here.”

“Like you and caffeine.”

She smiled, flashing the small gap between her two front teeth. “Exactly. It can be coins or sports or politics or horses or music or faith… the saddest people I’ve ever met in life are the ones who don’t care deeply about anything at all. Passion and satisfaction go hand in hand, and without them, any happiness is only temporary, because there’s nothing to make it last. I’d love to hear your dad talk about coins, because that’s when you see a person at his best, and I’ve found that someone else’s happiness is usually infectious.”

I was struck by her words. Despite Tim’s opinion that she was naive, she seemed far more mature than most people our age. Then again, considering the way she looked in her bikini, she probably could have recited the phone book and I would have been impressed.

Savannah sat up beside me, and her gaze followed mine. The game of Frisbee was in full swing; as Brad zipped the disk, a couple of others went running for it. They both dove for it simultaneously, splashing in the shallows as their heads collided. The one in red shorts came up empty, swearing and holding his head, his shorts covered in sand. The others laughed, and I found myself smiling and wincing simultaneously.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

“Hold on,” she said instead. “I’ll be right back.” She trotted over to red shorts. He saw her approaching and froze, as did the guy next to him. Savannah, I realized, had pretty much the same effect on every guy, not just me. I could see her talking and smiling, turning that earnest gaze on the guy, who nodded as she spoke, looking like a chastised adolescent. She returned to my side and sat again. I didn’t ask, knowing it wasn’t my business, but I knew I was telegraphing my curiosity.

“Normally, I wouldn’t have said anything, but I asked him to keep his language in check because of all the families out here,” she explained. “There are lots of little kids around. He said he would.”

I should have guessed. “Did you suggest he use ‘Holy cow’ or ‘Geez’ instead?”

She squinted at me mischievously. “You liked those expressions, didn’t you.”

“I’m thinking of passing them on to my squad. They’ll add to our intimidation factor when we’re busting down doors and launching RPGs.”

She giggled. “Definitely scarier than swearing, even if I don’t know what an RPG is.”

“Rocket-propelled grenade.” Despite myself, I liked her more with every passing minute. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I don’t have any plans. Well, except for the meeting. Why? Did you want to bring me to meet your father?”

“No. Well, not tonight, anyway. Later. Tonight, I wanted to show you around Wilmington.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I’ll have you back whenever you want. I know you’ve got to work tomorrow, but there’s this great place that I want to show you.”

“What kind of place?”

“A local place. Specializes in seafood. But it’s more of an experience.”

She wrapped her arms around her knees. “I usually don’t date strangers,” she finally said, “and we only met yesterday. You think I can trust you?”

“I wouldn’t,” I said.

She laughed. “Well, in that case, I suppose I can make an exception.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m a sucker for honest guys with crew cuts. What time?”

Four

I was home by five, and though I didn’t feel sunburned—that Southern European skin again—the burn was obvious when I showered. The water stung as it ricocheted off my chest and shoulders, and my face made me feel as if I were running a low fever. Afterward, I shaved for the first time since I’d been home and dressed in a clean pair of shorts and one of the few relatively nice button-down shirts I owned, light blue. Lucy had bought it for me and swore the color was perfect for me. I rolled up the sleeves and left the shirt untucked, then rummaged through my closet for an ancient pair of sandals.

Through the crack in the door, I could see my dad at his desk, and it struck me that for the second night in a row I’d made other plans for dinner. Nor had I spent any time with him this weekend. He wouldn’t complain, I knew, but I still felt a pang of guilt. After we stopped talking about coins, breakfast and dinner were the only things we shared, and I was now depriving him even of that. Maybe I hadn’t changed as much as I thought I had. I was staying in his home and eating his food, and I was just about to ask him whether I could borrow his car. In other words, pretty much leading my own life and using him in the process. I wondered what Savannah would say to that, but I think I already knew the answer. Savannah sometimes sounded a lot like the little voice that had taken up residence in my head but never bothered paying rent, and right now it whispered that if I felt guilty, maybe I was doing something wrong. I resolved that I would spend more time with him. It was a cop-out and I admitted it, but I didn’t know what else to do.

When I opened the door, Dad looked startled to see me.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, taking my usual seat.

“Hi, John.” As soon as he spoke, he glanced at his desk and ran a hand over his thinning hair. When I added nothing, he realized that he should ask me a question. “How was your day?” he finally inquired.

I shifted in my seat. “It was great, actually. I spent most of the day with Savannah, the girl I told you about last night.”

“Oh.” His eyes drifted to the side, refusing to meet mine. “You didn’t tell me about her.”

“I didn’t?”

“No, but that’s okay. It was late.” For the first time, he seemed to realize I was dressed up, or at least as dressed up as he’d ever seen me, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask about it.

I tugged at my shirt, letting him off the hook. “Yeah, I know, trying to impress her, right? I’m taking her out to dinner tonight,” I said. “Is it okay if I borrow the car?”

“Oh… okay,” he said.

“I mean, did you need it tonight? I might be able to call a friend or something.”

“No,” he said. He reached into his pocket for the keys. Nine dads out of ten would have tossed them; mine held them out.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Just tired,” he said.

I stood and took the keys. “Dad?”

He glanced up again.

“I’m sorry about not having dinner with you these last couple of nights.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand.”

The sun was beginning its slow descent, and as I pulled out, the sky was a swirl of fruity colors that contrasted dramatically with the evening skies I’d come to know in Germany. Traffic was horrendous, as it usually was on Sunday nights, and it took almost thirty exhaust-fumed minutes to get back to the beach and pull in the drive.

I pushed open the door to the house without knocking. Two guys seated on the couch watching baseball heard me come in.

“Hey,” they said, sounding uninterested and unsurprised.

“Have you seen Savannah?”

“Who?” one of them asked, obviously paying me little attention.

“Never mind. I’ll find her.” I crossed the living room to the back deck, saw the same guy as the night before grilling again and a few others, but no sign of Savannah. Nor could I see her on the beach. I was just about to go back in when I felt someone tapping my shoulder.

“Who are you looking for?” she asked.

I turned around. “Some girl,” I said. “She tends to lose things at piers, but she’s a quick learner when it comes to surfing.”

She put her hands on her hips, and I smiled. She was dressed in shorts and a summer halter, with a hint of color in her cheeks, and I noticed she’d applied a bit of mascara and lipstick. While I loved her natural beauty—I am a kid from the beach—she was even more striking than I remembered. I caught the whiff of some lemony fragrance as she leaned toward me.

“That’s all I am? Some girl?” she asked. She sounded both playful and serious, and for an instant, I fantasized about wrapping my arms around her right then and there.

“Oh,” I said, feigning surprise. “It’s you.”

The two guys on the couch glanced toward us, then returned to the screen.

“You ready to go?” I asked.

“I’ve just got to get my purse,” she said. She retrieved it from the kitchen counter, and we started for the door. “And where are we going, by the way?”

When I told her, she lifted an eyebrow.

“You’re taking me to eat at a place with the word shack in the name?”

“I’m just an underpaid grunt in the army. It’s all I can afford.”

She bumped against me as we walked. “See, this is why I usually don’t date strangers.”

The Shrimp Shack is in downtown Wilmington, in the historic area that borders the Cape Fear River. At one end of the historic area are your typical tourist destinations: souvenir stores, a couple of places specializing in antiques, a few upscale restaurants, coffee shops, and various real estate offices. At the other end, however, Wilmington displayed its character as a working port city: large warehouses, more than one of which stood abandoned, and a few other dated office buildings only half-occupied. I doubted that the tourists who flocked here in the summer ever ventured toward this other end. This was the direction I turned. Little by little, the crowds faded away until no one was left on the sidewalk as the area grew more dilapidated.

“Where is this place?” Savannah asked.

“Just a little farther,” I said. “Up there, at the end.”

“It’s kind of out of the way, isn’t it?”

“It’s kind of a local institution,” I said. “The owner doesn’t care if tourists come or not. He never has.”

A minute later, I slowed the car and turned into a small parking lot bordering one of the warehouses. A few dozen cars were parked in front of the Shrimp Shack, as they always were, and the place hadn’t changed. As long as I’d known it, it had looked run-down, with a broad, cluttered porch, peeling paint, and a crooked roofline that made it appear as if the place were about to fall over, despite the fact that it had been weathering hurricanes since the 1940s. The exterior was decorated with nets, hubcaps, license plates, an old anchor, oars, and a few rusty chains. A broken rowboat sat near the door.

The sky was beginning its lazy fade to black as we walked to the entrance. I wondered whether I should reach for Savannah’s hand, but in the end I did nothing. While I may have had some version of hormone-induced success with women, I had very little experience when it came to girls I cared about. Despite the fact that only a day had passed since we’d met, I already knew I was in new territory.

We stepped onto the sagging porch, and Savannah pointed to the rowboat. “Maybe that’s why he opened a restaurant. Because his boat sank.”

“Could be. Or maybe someone just left it there and he never bothered to remove it. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she said, and I pushed open the door.

I don’t know what she expected, but she wore a satisfied expression as she stepped inside. There was a long bar off on one side, windows that overlooked the river, and, in the main seating area, wooden picnic benches. A couple of waitresses with big hair—they hadn’t seemed to change any more than the decor—were moving among the tables, carrying platters of food. The air held the greasy smell of fried food and cigarette smoke, but somehow it seemed just right. Most of the tables were filled, but I motioned toward one near the jukebox. It was playing a country-western song, though I couldn’t have told you who the singer was. I’m more of a classic-rock fan.

We wove our way among the tables. Most of the customers looked as if they worked hard for a living: construction workers, landscapers, truckers, and the like. I hadn’t seen so many NASCAR baseball hats since… well, I’d never seen that many. A few guys in my squad were fans, but I never got the appeal of watching a bunch of guys drive in circles all day or figured out why they didn’t post the articles in the automotive section of the paper instead of the sports section. We sat across from each other, and I watched Savannah take in the room.

“I like places like this,” she said. “Was this your regular hangout when you lived here?”

“No, this was more of a special-occasion place. Usually I hung out at a place called Leroy’s. It’s a bar near Wrightsville Beach.”

She reached for a laminated menu sandwiched between a metal napkin holder and bottles of ketchup and Texas Pete hot sauce.

“This is way better,” she said. She opened the menu. “Now, what’s this place famous for?”

“Shrimp,” I said.

“Gee, really?” she asked.

“Seriously. Every kind of shrimp you can imagine. You know that scene in Forrest Gump when Bubba was telling Forrest all the ways to prepare shrimp? Grilled, sauteed, barbecued, Cajun shrimp, lemon shrimp, shrimp Creole, shrimp cocktail… That’s this place.”

“What do you like?”

“I like ’em chilled with cocktail sauce on the side. Or fried.”

She closed the menu. “You pick,” she said, sliding her menu toward me. “I trust you.”

I slipped the menu back into its place against the napkin holder.

“So?”

“Chilled. In a bucket. It’s the consummate experience.”

She leaned across the table. “So how many women have you brought here? For the consummate experience, I mean.”

“Including you? Let me think.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “One.”

“I’m honored.”

“This was more of a place for me and my friends when we wanted to eat instead of drink. There was no better food after a day spent surfing.”

“As I’ll soon find out.”

The waitress showed up and I ordered the shrimp. When she asked what we wanted to drink, I lifted my hands.

“Sweet tea, please,” Savannah said.

“Make it two,” I added.

After the waitress left, we settled into easy conversation, uninterrupted even when our drinks arrived. We talked about life in the army again; for whatever reason, Savannah seemed fascinated by it. She also asked about growing up here. I told her more than I thought I would about my high school years and probably too much about the three years before enlistment.

She listened intently, asking questions now and then, and I realized it had been a long time since I’d been on a date like this; a few years, maybe more. Not since Lucy, anyway. I hadn’t seen any reason for it, but as I sat across from Savannah, I had to rethink my decision. I liked being alone with her, and I wanted to see more of her. Not just tonight, but tomorrow and the next day. Everything—from the easy way she laughed to her wit to her obvious concern for others struck me as fresh and desirable. Then again, spending time with her also made me realize how lonely I’d been. I hadn’t admitted that to myself, but after just two days with Savannah, I knew it was true.

“Let’s get some more music going,” she said, interrupting my thoughts.

I rose from my seat, rummaged through my pockets for a couple of quarters, and dropped them in. Savannah put both hands on the glass and leaned forward as she read the titles, then picked a few songs. By the time we got back to the table, the first was already going.

“You know, I just realized that I’ve done all the talking tonight,” I said.

“You are a chatty thing,” she observed.

I freed my utensils from the rolled-up paper napkin. “How about you? You know all about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“Sure you do,” she said. “You know how old I am, where I go to school, my major, and the fact that I don’t drink. You know I’m from Lenoir, live on a ranch, love horses, and spend my summers building homes for Habitat for Humanity. You know a lot.”

Yeah, I suddenly realized, I did. Including things she hadn’t mentioned. “It’s not enough,” I said. “Your turn.”

She leaned forward. “Ask what you will.”

“Tell me about your parents,” I said.

“All right,” she said, reaching for a napkin. She wiped the condensation from her glass. “My mom and dad have been married for twenty-five years, and they’re still happy as clams and madly in love. They met in college at Appalachian State, and Mom worked at a bank for a couple of years until she had me. Since then, she’s been a stay-at-home mom, and she was the kind of mom who was there for everyone else, too. Classroom helper, volunteer driver, coach of

our soccer team, head of the PTA, all that kind of stuff. Now that I’m gone, she spends every day volunteering for other things—the library, schools, the church, whatever. Dad is a history teacher at the school, and he’s coached the girls volleyball team since I was little. Last year they made it to the state finals, but they lost. He’s also a deacon in our church, and he runs the youth group and the choir. Do you want to see a picture?”

“Sure,” I said.

She opened her purse and removed her wallet. She flipped it open and pushed it across the table, our fingers brushing.

“They’re a little ragged at the edges from being in the ocean,” she said, “but you get the idea.”

I turned the photo around. Savannah took more after her father than her mother, or had at least inherited the darker features from him.

“Nice-looking couple.”

“I love ’em,” she said, taking the wallet back. “They’re the best.”

“Why do you live on a ranch if your dad is a teacher?”

“Oh, it’s not a working ranch. It used to be when my grandfather owned it, but he had to sell bits and pieces to pay the taxes on it. By the time my dad inherited it, it was down to ten acres with a house, stables, and a corral. It’s more like a great big yard than a ranch. It’s the way we always refer to it, but I guess that conjures up the wrong image, huh?”

“I know you said you did gymnastics, but did you play volleyball for your dad?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, he’s a great coach, but he always encouraged me to do what was right for me. And volleyball wasn’t it. I tried and I was okay, but it wasn’t what I loved.”

“You loved horses.”

“Since I was a little girl. My mom gave me this statue of a horse when I was really little, and that’s what started the whole thing. I got my first horse for Christmas when I was eight, and it’s still the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received. Slocum. She was this really gentle old mare, and she was perfect for me. The deal was that I had to take care of her—feed her and brush her and keep her stall clean. Between her, school, gymnastics, and taking care of the rest of the animals, that was pretty much all I had time for.”

“The rest of the animals?”

“When I was growing up, our house was kind of like a farm. Dogs, cats, even a llama for a while. I was a sucker when it came to strays. My parents got to the point where they wouldn’t even argue with me about it. There were usually four or five at any one time. Sometimes an owner would come, hoping to find a lost pet, and he’d leave with one of our recent additions if he couldn’t find it. We were like the pound.”

“Your parents were patient.”

“Yes,” she said, “they were. But they were suckers for strays, too. Even though she’d deny it, my mom was worse than me.”

I studied her. “I’ll bet you were a good student.”

“Straight A’s. I was valedictorian of my class.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why?”

I didn’t answer. “Did you ever have a serious boyfriend?”

“Oh, now we’re getting down to the nitty-gritty, huh?”

“I was just asking.”

“What do you think?”

“I think,” I said, dragging out the words, “I have no idea.”

She laughed. “Then… let’s let that question go for now. A little mystery is good for the soul. Besides, I’d be willing to bet you can figure it out on your own.”

The waitress arrived with the bucket of shrimp and a couple of plastic containers of cocktail sauce, set them on the table, and refilled our tea with the efficiency of someone who’d been doing it for way too long. She turned on her heels without asking whether we needed anything else.

“This place is legendary for its hospitality.”

“She’s just busy,” Savannah said, reaching for a shrimp. “And besides, I think she knows you’re grilling me and wanted to leave me to my inquisitor.”

She cracked the shrimp and peeled it, then dipped it in the sauce before taking a bite. I reached in the pail and set a couple on my plate.

“What else do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Anything. What’s the best thing about being in college?”

She thought about it as she filled her plate. “Good teachers,” she finally said. “In college, you can sometimes pick your professors, as long as you’re flexible with your schedule. That’s what I like. Before I started, that was the advice my dad gave me. He said to pick classes based on the teacher whenever you can, not the subject. I mean, he knew that you had to take certain subjects to get a degree, but his point was that good teachers are priceless. They inspire you, they entertain you, and you end up learning a ton even when you don’t know it.”

“Because they’re passionate about their subjects,” I said.

She winked. “Exactly. And he was right. I’ve taken classes in subjects I never thought I’d be interested in and as far away from my major as you can imagine. But you know what? I still remember those classes as if I were still taking them.”

“I’m impressed. I thought you’d say something like going to the basketball games was the best part about being in college. It’s like a religion at Chapel Hill.”

“I enjoy those, too. Just like I enjoy the friends I’m making and living away from Mom and Dad and all that. I’ve learned a lot since I left Lenoir. I mean, I had a wonderful life there, and my parents are great, but I was… sheltered. I’ve had a few eye-opening experiences.”

“Like what?”

“Lots of things. Like feeling the pressure to drink or hook up with a guy every time I went out. My first year, I hated UNC. I didn’t feel like I fit in, and I didn’t. I begged my parents to let me come home or transfer, but they wouldn’t agree. I think they knew that in the long run I’d regret it, and they were probably right. It wasn’t until some time during my sophomore year that I met some girls who felt the same way I did about those types of things, and it’s been a lot better ever since. I joined a couple of Christian student groups, I spend Saturday mornings at a shelter in Raleigh serving the poor, and I feel no pressure at all to go to this or that party or date this or that guy. And if I do go to a party, the pressure doesn’t get to me. I just accept the fact that I don’t have to do what everyone else does. I can do what’s right for me.”

Which explained why she was with me last night, I thought. And right now, for that matter.

She brightened. “It’s kind of like you, I guess. In the past couple of years, I’ve grown up. So in addition to both of us being expert surfers, we have that in common, too.”

I laughed. “Yeah. Except that I struggled a lot more than you did.”

She leaned forward again. “My dad always said that when you’re struggling with something, look at all the people around you and realize that every single person you see is struggling with something, and to them, it’s just as hard as what you’re going through.”

“Your dad sounds like a smart man.”

“Mom and Dad both. I think they both graduated in the top five in college. That’s how they met. Studying in the library. Education was really important to both of them, and they sort of made me their project. I mean, I was reading before I got to kindergarten, but they never made it seem like a chore. And they’ve talked to me like I was an adult for as long as I can remember.”

For a moment, I wondered how different my life would have been had they been my parents, but I shook the thought away. I knew my father had done the best he could, and I had no regrets about the way I’d turned out. Regrets about the journey, maybe, but not the destination. Because however it had happened, I’d somehow ended up eating shrimp in a dingy downtown shack with a girl that I already knew I’d never forget.

After dinner, we headed back to the house, which was surprisingly quiet. The music was still playing, but most people were relaxing around the fire, as if anticipating an early morning. Tim sat among them, engrossed in earnest conversation. Surprising me, Savannah reached for my hand, halting me in my tracks before we reached the group.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said. “I want to let dinner settle just a little before I sit down.”

Above us, a few wispy clouds were spread among the stars, and the moon, still full, hovered just over the horizon. A light breeze fanned my cheek, and I could hear the ceaseless motion of the waves as they rolled up the shore. The tide had gone out, and we moved to the harder, more compact sand near the water’s edge. Savannah put a hand on my shoulder for balance as she removed one sandal, then another. When she finished, I did the same, and we walked in silence for a few steps.

“It’s so beautiful out here. I mean, I love the mountains, but this is wonderful in its own way. It’s… peaceful.”

I felt the same words could be used to describe her, and I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I can’t believe that I only met you yesterday,” she added. “It seems like I’ve known you much longer.”

Her hand felt warm and comfortable in mine. “I was thinking the same thing.”

She gave a dreamy smile, studying the stars. “I wonder what Tim thinks about this,” she murmured. She glanced at me. “He thinks I’m a little naive.”

“Are you?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted, and I laughed.

She went on. “I mean, when I see two people heading off on a walk like this, I’m thinking, Oh, that’s sweet. I’m not thinking they’re going to hook up behind the dunes. But the fact is, sometimes they do. I just never realize it beforehand, and I’m always surprised when I hear about it later. I can’t help it. Like last night, after you left. I heard about two people here who did just that, and I couldn’t believe it.”

“I would have been more surprised if it hadn’t happened.”

“That’s what I don’t like about college, by the way. It’s like a lot of people don’t believe these years really count, so you’re allowed to experiment with… whatever. There’s such a casual view about things like sex and drinking and even drugs. I know that sounds really old-fashioned, but I just don’t get it. Maybe that’s why I didn’t want to go sit by the fire like everyone else. To be honest, I’m kind of disappointed in those two people I heard about, and I don’t want to sit there trying to pretend that I’m not. I know I shouldn’t judge, and I’m sure they’re good people since they’re here to help, but still, what was the point? Shouldn’t you save things like that for someone you love? So that it really means something?”

I knew she didn’t want answers, nor did I offer any.

“Who told you about that couple?” I asked instead.

“Tim. I think he was disappointed, too, but what’s he going to do? Kick them out?”

We had gone a good way down the beach, and we turned around. In the distance, I could see the circle of figures silhouetted by the fire. The mist smelled of salt, and ghost crabs scattered to their holes as we approached.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was out of line there.”

“About what?”

“For being so… upset about it. I shouldn’t pass judgment. It’s not my place.”

“Everyone judges,” I said. “It’s human nature.”

“I know. But… I’m not perfect, either. In the end, it’s only God’s judgment that matters, and I’ve learned enough to know that no one can presume to know the will of God.”

I smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“The way you talk reminds me of our chaplain. He says the same thing.”

We strolled down the beach, and as we neared the house, we moved away from the water’s edge, into the softer sand. Our feet slipped with every step, and I could feel Savannah tighten her grip on my hand. I wondered whether she would let go when we got close to the fire, and I was disappointed when she did.

“Hey,” Tim called out, his voice friendly. “You’re back.”

Randy was there, too, and he wore his usual sulky expression. Frankly, I was getting a bit tired of his resentment. Brad stood behind Susan, who was leaning into his chest. Susan seemed undecided about whether to pretend to be happy, so she could learn the details from Savannah, or to be upset for Randy’s benefit. The others, obviously indifferent, went back to their conversations. Tim stood and made his way toward us.

“How was dinner?”

“It was great,” Savannah said. “I got a taste of local culture. We went to the Shrimp Shack.”

“Sounds like fun,” he commented.

I strained to detect any undercurrent of jealousy but found none. Tim motioned over his shoulder and went on. “Do you two want to join us? We’re just winding down, getting ready for tomorrow.”

“Actually, I’m a bit sleepy. I was just going to walk John to his car, and after that I’ll turn in. What time do we need to be up?”

“Six. We’ll have breakfast and be at the site tomorrow by seven-thirty. Don’t forget your sunscreen. We’ll be out in the sun all day.”

“I’ll remember. You should remind everyone else.”

“I have,” he said. “And I’ll do it again tomorrow. But you just wait—some folks won’t listen and they’ll get fried.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.

“All right.” He turned his attention to me. “I’m glad you came by today.”

“Me too,” I said.

“And listen, if you find yourself bored in the next couple of weeks, we could always use an extra hand.”

I laughed. “I knew it was coming.”

“I am who I am,” he said, holding out his hand. “But either way, I hope to see you again.”

We shook hands. Tim went back to his seat, and Savannah nodded toward the house. We made our way toward the dune, stopped to put our sandals back on, then followed the wooden pathway, through the sea grass, and around the house. A minute later, we were at the car. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out her expression.

“I had a good time tonight,” she said. “And today.”

I swallowed. “When can I see you again?”

It was a simple question, expected even, but I was surprised to hear the desire in my tone. I hadn’t even kissed her yet.

“I suppose,” she said, “that depends on you. You know where I am.”

“How about tomorrow night?” I blurted out. “I know of another place that has a band, and it’s a lot of fun.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about the night after? Would that be okay? It’s just that the first day at the site is always… exciting and tiring at the same time. We have a big group dinner, and I really shouldn’t miss it.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, thinking it wasn’t fine at all.

She must have heard something in my voice. “Like Tim said, you’re welcome to come by if you’d like.”

“No, that’s okay. Tuesday night’s fine.”

We continued to stand there, one of those awkward moments I’ll probably never get used to, but she turned away before I could attempt a kiss. Normally, I would have plunged ahead just to see what happened; I may not have been open about my feelings, but I was impulsive and quick to action. With Savannah, I felt oddly paralyzed. She didn’t appear to be in any hurry, either.

A car passed by, breaking the spell. She took a step toward the house, then stopped and put her hand on my arm. In an innocent gesture, she kissed me on the cheek. It was almost sisterly, but her lips were soft and the scent of her engulfed me, lingering even after she pulled back.

“I really did have a good time,” she murmured. “I don’t think I’ll forget about today for a long, long time.”

I felt her hand leave my arm, and then in a whisper she vanished, retreating up the stairs of the house.

At home later that night, I found myself tossing and turning in bed, reliving the events of the day. Finally I sat up, wishing I had told her how much our day had meant to me. Outside my window, I saw a shooting star cross the sky in a brilliant streak of white. I wanted to believe it was an omen, though of what, I wasn’t sure. Instead, all I could do was replay Savannah’s gentle kiss on my cheek for the hundredth time and wonder how I could be falling for a girl that I’d met only the day before.

Five

Mornin’, Dad,” I said, staggering into the kitchen. I squinted in the bright morning light and saw my dad standing in front of the stove. The smell of bacon filled the air.

“Oh… hi, John.”

I plopped myself on the chair, still trying to wake up. “Yeah, I know I’m up early, but I wanted to catch you before you headed off to work.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay. Let me just get a bit more food going.”

He seemed almost excited, despite this wrinkle in the routine. It was times like these that let me know he was glad I was home.

“Is there any coffee?” I asked.

“It’s in the pot,” he said.

I poured myself a cup and wandered to the table. The newspaper lay as it had arrived. My dad always read it over breakfast, and I knew enough not to touch it. He had always been funny about being the first to read it, and he always read it in exactly the same order.

I expected my dad to ask how the evening had gone with Savannah, but instead he said nothing, preferring to concentrate on his cooking. Noting the clock, I knew Savannah would be leaving for the site in a few minutes, and I wondered whether she was thinking about me as much as I was thinking about her. In the rush of what was no doubt a chaotic morning for her, I doubted she was. The realization made me ache unexpectedly.

“What did you do last night?” I finally asked, trying to get my mind off Savannah. He kept on cooking as if he hadn’t heard me. “Dad?” I said.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“How’d it go last night?”

“How’d what go?”

“Your night. Anything exciting happen?”

“No,” he said, “nothing.” He smiled at me before turning a couple of slices in the pan. I could hear the sizzling intensify.

“I had a great time,” I volunteered. “Savannah’s really something. We actually went to church together yesterday.”

Somehow I thought he’d ask more about it, and I’ll admit that I wanted him to. I imagined that we might have a real conversation, the kind that other fathers might have with their sons, that he might laugh and maybe crack a joke or two. Instead, he turned on another burner. He sprayed a small frying pan with oil and poured in the egg batter.

“Would you mind putting some bread in the toaster?” he asked.

I sighed. “No,” I said, already knowing that we’d eat in silence. “No problem at all.”

I spent the rest of the day surfing, or rather, trying to surf. The ocean had calmed overnight, and the small swells were nothing to get excited about. Making matters worse, they broke nearer to shore than they had the day before, so even if I did find a few worth riding, the experience didn’t last long before the waves petered out. In the past, I might have gone to Oak Island or even driven up to Atlantic Beach, where I could catch a ride out to Shackleford Banks in the hope that I’d find something better. Today, I just wasn’t in the mood.

Instead, I surfed where I had the previous two days. The house was a little way down the beach, and it looked almost uninhabited. The back door was closed, the towels were gone, and no one passed by the window or stepped out on the deck. I wondered when everyone would be getting back. Probably around four or five o’clock, and I had already made the decision that I’d be long gone by then. There was no reason to be here in the first place, and the last thing I wanted Savannah to think was that I was some kind of stalker.

I left around three and swung by Leroy’s. The bar was darker and dingier than I remembered, and I hated the place as soon as I walked in the door. I had always thought of it as a pro bar, as in professional alcoholics bar, and I saw the proof as lonely men sat hovering over glasses of Tennessee’s finest, hoping for refuge from life’s problems. Leroy was there, and he recognized me when I walked in. When I took a seat at the bar, he automatically brought a glass to the beer tap and began filling it.

“Long time no see,” he commented. “You keeping out of trouble?”

“Trying,” I grunted. I glanced around the bar as he slid the glass in front of me. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said, motioning over my shoulder.

“Good. It’s all for you. You gonna eat anything?”

“No. This is fine, thanks.”

He wiped the counter in front of me, then flipped the rag over his shoulder and moved away to take someone else’s order. A moment later, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Johnny! What’re you doing here?”

I turned and saw one of the many friends I had come to despise. That’s the way it was here. I hated everything about the place, including my friends, and I realized that I always had. I had no idea why I’d come, or even why I’d ever made this a regular hangout, other than the fact that it was here and I had no place else to go.

“Hey, Toby,” I said.

Tall and scrawny, Toby took a seat beside me, and when he turned to face me, I saw that his eyes were already glassy. He smelled as if he hadn’t showered in days, and his shirt was stained. “You still playing Rambo?” he asked, his words slurred. “You look like you’ve been working out.”

“Yeah,” I said, not wanting to go into it. “What are you doing these days?”

“Hanging out, mainly. For the last couple of weeks, anyway. I was working at Quick Stop until a couple of weeks ago, but the owner was a real ass.”

“Still living at home?”

“Of course,” he said, sounding almost proud of the fact. He tipped the bottle and took a long drink, then focused on my arms. “You look good. You been working out?” he asked again.

“A little,” I said, knowing he didn’t remember he’d already asked.

“You’re big.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Toby took another drink.

“Hey, there’s a party tonight at Mandy’s,” he said. “You remember Mandy, right?”

Yeah, I remembered. A girl from my past who lasted less than a weekend. Toby was still going on.

“Her parents are up in New York or someplace like that, and it should be a real banger. We’re just having a little pre-party to get us in the proper mood. You want to join us?”

He motioned over his shoulder toward four guys at a corner table littered with three empty pitchers. I recognized two from my past life, but the others were strangers.

“I can’t,” I said, “I’m supposed to be meeting my dad for dinner. Thanks, though.”

“Blow him off. It’s going to be a blast. Kim’ll be there.”

Another woman from my past, another reminder that made me wince inside. I could barely stomach the person I used to be.

“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. I stood, leaving the mostly full glass in front of me. “I promised. And he’s letting me stay with him. You know how it is.”

That made sense to him, and he nodded. “Then let’s get together this weekend. A bunch of us are heading up to Ocracoke to go surfing.”

“Maybe,” I said, knowing there wasn’t a chance.

“Your dad still have the same number?”

“Yeah,” I said.

I left, sure that he’d never call and that I’d never return to Leroy’s.

On my way home, I picked up steaks for dinner, along with a bag of salad, some dressing, and a couple of potatoes. Without a car, it wasn’t easy carrying the bag along with my surfboard all the way back home, but I didn’t really mind the walk. I’d done it for years, and my shoes were a whole lot more comfortable than the boots I’d grown used to.

Once home, I dragged the grill from the garage, along with a bag of briquettes and lighter fluid. The grill was dusty, as if it hadn’t been used for years. I set it up on the back porch and emptied out the charcoal dust before hosing off the cobwebs and letting it dry in the sun. Inside, I added some salt, pepper, and garlic powder to the steaks, wrapped the potatoes in foil and put them in the oven, then poured the salad in a bowl. Once the grill was dry, I got the briquettes going and set the table out back.

Dad walked in just as I was adding the steaks to the grill.

“Hey, Dad,” I said over my shoulder. “I thought I’d make us dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” he said. It seemed to take him an instant to grasp the fact that he wouldn’t be cooking for me. “Okay,” he finally added.

“How do you like your steak?”

“Medium,” he said. He continued to stand near the sliding glass door.

“It looks like you haven’t used the grill since I left,” I said. “But you should. There’s nothing better than a grilled steak. My mouth was watering all the way home.”

“I’m going to go change my clothes.”

“Steaks will be done in about ten minutes.”

When he left I went back into the kitchen, took out the potatoes and the bowl of salad—along with dressing, butter, and steak sauce—and put them on the table. I heard the patio door slide open, and my dad emerged carrying two glasses of milk, looking like a cruise ship tourist. He was dressed in shorts, black socks, tennis shoes, and a flowered Hawaiian shirt. His legs were painfully white, as if he hadn’t worn shorts in years. If ever. Thinking back, I’m not sure I’d ever seen him in shorts. I did my best to pretend he looked normal.

“Just in time,” I said, returning to the grill. I loaded both plates with steaks and set one in front of him.

“Thanks,” he said.

“My pleasure.”

He added salad to his plate and poured the dressing, then unwrapped his potato. He added butter, then poured steak sauce onto the plate, making a small puddle. Normal and expected, except for the fact that he did all this in silence.

“How was your day?” I asked, as always.

“The same,” he answered. As always. He smiled again but added nothing else.

My dad, the social misfit. I wondered again why he found conversation so difficult and tried to imagine what he’d been like in his youth. How had he ever found someone to marry? I knew the last question sounded petty, but it hadn’t come from spite. I was genuinely curious. We ate for a while, the clatter of forks the only sound to keep us company.

“Savannah said she’d like to meet you,” I finally said, trying again.

He cut at his steak. “Your lady friend?”

Only my dad would phrase it that way. “Yeah,” I said. “I think you’ll like her.”

He nodded.

“She’s a student at UNC,” I explained.

He knew it was his turn, and I could sense his relief when another question came to him. “How did you meet her?”

I told him about the bag, painting the picture, trying to make the story as humorous as possible, but laughter eluded him.

“That was kind of you,” he observed.

Another conversation stopper. I cut another piece of steak. “Dad? Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Of course not.”

“How did you and Mom meet?”

It was the first time I’d asked about her in years. Because she’d never been part of my life, because I had no memories, I’d seldom felt the need to do so. Even now, I didn’t really care; I just wanted him to talk to me. He took his time adding more butter to his potato, and I knew he didn’t want to answer.

“We met at a diner,” he said finally. “She was a waitress.”

I waited. Nothing more seemed forthcoming.

“Was she pretty?”

“Yes,” he said.

“What was she like?”

He mashed the potato and added salt, sprinkling it with care. “She was like you,” he concluded.

“What do you mean?”

“Umm…” He hesitated. “She could be… stubborn.”

I wasn’t sure what to think or even what he meant. Before I could dwell on it, he rose from the table and seized his glass.

“Would you like some more milk?” he asked, and I knew he would say no more about her.

Six

Time is relative. I know I’m not the first to realize it and far from the most famous, and my realization had nothing to do with energy or mass or the speed of light or anything else Einstein might have postulated. Rather, it had to do with the drag of hours while I waited for Savannah.

After my dad and I finished dinner, I thought about her; I thought of her again soon after I woke. I spent the day surfing, and though the waves were better than they’d been the day before, I couldn’t really concentrate and decided to call it quits by midafternoon. I debated whether or not to grab a cheeseburger at a little place by the beach—the best burgers in town, by the way—but even though I was in the mood, I just went home, hoping that I could talk Savannah into a burger later. I read a bit of the latest Stephen King novel, showered and threw on a pair of jeans and a polo, then read for another couple of hours before glancing at the clock and realizing only twenty minutes had passed. That’s what I meant by time being relative.

When my dad got home, he saw the way I was dressed and offered his keys.

“Are you going to see Savannah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, rising from the couch. I took the keys. “I might be late getting in.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Okay,” he said.

“Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Okay.” For a reason I couldn’t understand, he sounded almost scared.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“I’ll probably be sleeping.”

“I didn’t mean it literally.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

I headed for the door. Just as I opened it, I heard him sigh.

“I’d like to meet Savannah, too,” he said in a voice so soft, I barely heard it.

The sky was still bright and the sun was bending light across the water when I arrived at the house. As I got out, I realized I was nervous. I couldn’t remember the last time any girl had made me nervous, but I couldn’t shake the thought that somehow things might have changed between us. I didn’t know how or why I felt that way; all I knew was that I wasn’t sure what I’d do if my fears proved correct.

I didn’t bother knocking and simply wandered in. The living room was empty, but I could hear voices down the hall, and there was the usual collection of people on the back deck. I stepped out, asking for Savannah, and was told she was at the beach.

I trotted down to the sand and froze when I saw her seated near the dune, next to Randy, Brad, and Susan. She hadn’t noticed me, and I heard her laugh at something Randy said. She and Randy looked as much a couple as Susan and Brad. I knew they weren’t, that they were probably just talking about the house they were building or sharing experiences from the last couple of days, but I didn’t like it. Nor did I like the fact that Savannah was sitting as close to Randy as she’d been to me. As I stood there, I wondered whether she even remembered our date, but she smiled when she saw me as if nothing were amiss.

“There you are,” she said. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Randy grinned. Despite her comment, he wore an almost victorious expression. When the cat’s away, the mice are at play, he seemed to be saying.

Savannah stood and ambled toward me. She was wearing a white sleeveless blouse and a light, flowing skirt that swayed when she walked. I could see the additional color on her shoulders that spoke of hours in the sun. When she got close, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on my cheek.

“Hi,” she said, circling an arm around my waist.

“Hi.”

She leaned back slightly, as if evaluating my expression. “You look like you missed me,” she said, her voice teasing.

As usual, I couldn’t think of a response, and she winked at my inability to admit that I had. “Maybe I missed you, too,” she added.

I touched her bare shoulder. “You ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she said.

We started toward the car and I reached for her hand, her touch making me feel all was right with the world. Well, almost….

I straightened. “I saw you talking to Randy,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

She squeezed my hand. “You did, huh?”

I tried again. “I take it you two got to know each other while you were working.”

“We sure did. I was right, too. He’s a nice young man. After he finishes here, he’s heading up to New York for a six-week internship at Morgan Stanley.”

“Hmm,” I grunted.

She laughed under her breath. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“Good,” she concluded, squeezing my hand again. “Because there’s no reason to be.”

I hung on those last few words. She needn’t have said them, but I couldn’t be happier that she had. When we reached the car, I opened her door.

“I was thinking of taking you out to Oysters,” I said. “It’s a nightclub a little way down the beach. They’ll have a band later, and we could go dancing.”

“What are we doing until then?”

“Are you hungry?” I asked, thinking about the cheeseburger I’d passed on earlier. “A little,” she said. “I had a snack when I got back, so I’m not too hungry yet.”

“How about a walk on the beach?”

“Hmm… maybe later.”

It was obvious that she already had something in mind. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to do?”

She brightened. “How about if we go say hi to your father.”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” she said. “Just for a little while. Then we can get something to eat and go out dancing.”

When I hesitated, she put a hand on my shoulder. “Please?”

I wasn’t all that happy about going, but the way she asked made it impossible for me to say no. I was getting used to that, I suppose, but I would rather have had her all to myself for the rest of the evening. Nor did I understand why she wanted to see my dad tonight, unless it meant she wasn’t quite as thrilled as I was at the prospect of being alone. To be honest, the thought depressed me.

Still, she was in a good mood as she talked about the work they’d accomplished over the last couple days. Tomorrow, they planned to start on the windows. Randy, it turned out, had worked alongside her on both days, which explained their “newfound friendship.” That’s how she described it. I doubted Randy would have described his interest in the same way.

We pulled into the drive a few minutes later, and I noted the light in my father’s den. When I turned off the engine, I fiddled with the keys before getting out.

“I told you my father is quiet, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It doesn’t matter, though. I just want to meet him.”

“Why?” I asked. I know how it sounded, but I couldn’t help it.

“Because,” she said, “he’s your only family. And he was the one who raised you.”

Once my dad got over the shock of my return with Savannah in tow and the introductions were made, he ran a quick hand over his wispy hair and stared at the floor.

“I’m sorry we didn’t call first, but don’t blame John,” she said. “It was all my fault.”

“Oh,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“Did we catch you at a bad time?”

“No.” He glanced up, then back to the floor again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

For a moment, we all stood in the living room, none of us saying anything. Savannah wore an easy smile, but I wondered if my dad even realized it.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, as if suddenly remembering he was supposed to play host.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said. “John tells me that you’re quite the coin collector.”

He turned to me, as if wondering whether he should answer. “I try,” he finally said.

“Is that what we so rudely interrupted?” she asked, using the same teasing tone she used with me. To my surprise, I heard my dad give a nervous laugh. Not loud, but a laugh nonetheless. Amazing.

“No, you didn’t interrupt. I was just examining a new coin I got today.”

As he spoke, I could sense him trying to gauge how I’d react. Savannah either didn’t notice or pretended not to. “Really?” she asked. “What kind?”

My dad shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then, to my astonishment, he looked up and asked her, “Would you like to see it?”

We spent forty minutes in the den.

For the most part, I sat in the den and listened to my dad tell stories I knew by heart. Like most serious collectors, he kept only a few coins at home, and I didn’t have any idea where the rest of them were stored. He would rotate part of the collection every couple of weeks, new coins appearing as if by magic. Usually there were never more than a dozen in his office at any one time and never anything valuable, but I got the impression that he could have been showing Savannah a common Lincoln penny and she would have been entranced. She asked dozens of questions, questions either I or any book on coin collecting could have answered, but as the minutes passed, her questions became more subtle. Instead of asking why a coin might be particularly valuable, she asked when and where he’d found it, and she was treated to tales of boring weekends of my youth spent in places like Atlanta and Charleston and Raleigh and Charlotte.

My dad talked a lot about those trips. Well, for him, anyway. He still had a tendency to retreat into himself for long stretches, but he probably said more in those forty minutes to her than he’d said to me since I’d arrived home. From my vantage point, I saw the passion she had referred to, but it was a passion I’d seen a thousand times before, and it didn’t alter my opinion that he used coins as a way to avoid life instead of embracing it. I’d stopped talking to him about coins because I wanted to talk about something else; my father stopped talking because he knew how I felt and could discuss nothing else.

And yet…

My dad was happy, and I knew it. I could see the way his eyes gleamed as he gestured to a coin, pointing out the mint mark or how crisp the stamp had been or how the value of a coin might differ because it had arrows or wreaths. He showed Savannah proof coins, coins minted at West Point, one of his favorite type to collect. He pulled out a magnifying glass to show her flaws, and when Savannah held the magnifying glass, I could see the animation on my father’s face. Despite my feelings about coins, I couldn’t help smiling, simply to see my father so happy.

But he was still my dad, and there was no miracle. Once he’d shown her the coins and told her everything about them and how they’d been collected, his comments grew further and further apart. He began to repeat himself and realized it, causing him to retreat and grow even quieter. In time, Savannah must have sensed his growing discomfort, for she gestured to the coins atop the desk.

“Thank you, Mr. Tyree. I feel like I’ve really learned something.”

My dad smiled, obviously drained, and I took it as my cue to stand.

“Yeah, that was great. But we should probably be going,” I said.

“Oh… okay.”

“It was wonderful meeting you.”

When my dad nodded again, Savannah leaned in and gave him a hug.

“Let’s do this again sometime,” she whispered, and though my dad hugged her back, it reminded me of the lifeless hugs I’d received as a child. I wondered if she felt as awkward as he obviously did.

In the car, Savannah seemed lost in thought. I would have asked about her impressions of my father but wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. I know my dad and I didn’t have the best relationship, but she was right when she’d said he was the only family I had and had raised me. I could complain about him, but the last thing I wanted to hear was someone else doing it, too.

Still, I didn’t think she would say anything negative, simply because it wasn’t in her nature, and when she turned to me, she was smiling.

“Thanks for bringing me by to meet him,” she said. “He’s got such a… warm heart.”

I’d never heard anyone describe him that way, but I liked it.

“I’m glad you liked him.”

“I did,” she said, sounding sincere. “He’s… gentle.” She glanced at me. “But I think I understand why you got in so much trouble when you were younger. He didn’t strike me as the kind of father who would lay down the law.”

“He didn’t,” I agreed.

She shot me a playful scowl. “And mean old you took advantage.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”

She shook her head. “You should have known better.”

“I was just a kid.”

“Ah, the old youth excuse. You know that doesn’t hold water, don’t you? I never took advantage of my parents.”

“Yes, the perfect child. I think you mentioned that.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, of course not.”

She continued to stare at me. “I think you are,” she finally decided.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

She thought about my answer. “Well, maybe I deserved that. But just so you know, I wasn’t perfect.”

“No?”

“Of course not. I remember quite plainly, for instance, that in fourth grade I got a B on a test.”

I feigned shock. “No! Don’t tell me that!”

“It’s true.”

“How did you ever recover?”

“How do you think?” She shrugged. “I told myself it would never happen again.”

I didn’t doubt it. “Are you hungry yet?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

She drew up her hair in a sloppy ponytail, then let it go. “How about a big, juicy cheeseburger?”

As soon as she said it, I found myself wondering if Savannah was too good to be true.

Seven

I must admit that you bring me to eat at the most interesting places,” Savannah said, glancing over her shoulder. In the distance beyond the dune, we could see a long line of customers snaking away from Joe’s Burger Stand in the middle of a gravel parking lot.

“It’s the best in town,” I said, taking a bite of my enormous burger.

Savannah sat close to me in the sand, facing the water. The burgers were fantastic, nice and thick, and though the French fries were a bit too greasy, they hit the spot. As she ate, Savannah stared at the sea, and in the waning light I found myself thinking that she seemed even more at home here than I did.

I thought again about the way she’d talked to my father. About the way she talked to everyone, for that matter, including me. She had the rare ability to be exactly what people needed when she was with them and yet still remain true to herself. I couldn’t think of anyone who remotely resembled her in appearance or personality, and I wondered again why she’d taken a liking to me. We were as different as two people could be. She was a mountain girl, gifted and sweet, raised by attentive parents, with a desire to help those in need; I was a tattooed army grunt, hard around the edges, and largely a stranger in my own home. Remembering how she’d been with my dad, I could tell how gracefully her parents had raised her. And as she sat beside me, I found myself wishing that I could be more like her.

“What are you thinking?”

Her voice, probing yet gentle, pulled me away from my thoughts.

“I was wondering why you’re here,” I confessed.

“Because I like the beach. I don’t get to do this very often. It’s not like there are any waves or shrimp boats where I’m from.”

When she saw my expression, she tapped my hand. “That was flippant,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’m here because I want to be here.”

I set aside the remains of my burger, wondering why I cared so much. It was a new feeling for me, one I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to. She patted my arm and turned toward the water again.

“It’s gorgeous out here. All we need is a sunset over the water, and it would be perfect.”

“We’d have to go to the other side of the country,” I said.

“Really? You’re trying to tell me the sun sets in the west?”

I noted the mischievous gleam in her eye.

“That’s what I hear, anyway.”

She’d eaten only half of her cheeseburger, and she slipped it into the bag, then added the remains of mine as well. After folding the bag over so the wind wouldn’t blow it away, she stretched out her legs and turned to me, looking at once flirtatious and innocent.

“You want to know what I was thinking?” she asked.

I waited, drinking in the sight of her.

“I was thinking that I wished you’d been with me the last couple of days. I mean, I enjoyed getting to know everyone better. We ate lunch together, and the dinner last night was a lot of fun, but it just felt like something was wrong, like I was missing something. It wasn’t until I saw you walking up the beach that I realized it was you.”

I swallowed. In another life, in another time, I would have kissed her then, but even though I wanted to, I didn’t. Instead, all I could do was stare at her. She met my gaze without a hint of self-consciousness.

“When you asked me why I was here, I made a joke because I thought the answer was obvious. Spending time with you just feels… right, somehow. Easy, like the way it’s supposed to be. Like it is with my parents. They’re just comfortable together, and I remember growing up thinking that one day I wanted to have that, too.” She paused. “I’d like you to meet them one day.”

My throat had gone dry. “I’d like that, too.”

She slipped her hand easily into mine, her fingers intertwining with my own.

We sat in peaceful silence. At the water’s edge, terns were bobbing their beaks into the sand in search of food; a cluster of seagulls broke as a wave rolled in. The sky had grown darker and the clouds more ominous. Up the beach, I could see scattered couples walking under a spreading indigo sky.

As we sat together, the air filled with the crashing of the surf. I marveled at how new everything felt. New and yet comfortable, as if we’d known each other forever. Yet we weren’t even a real couple. Nor, a voice in my head reminded me, is it likely you ever will be. In a little more than a week, I’d be heading back to Germany and this would all be over. I’d spent enough time with my buddies to know that it takes more than a few special days to survive a relationship that spanned the Atlantic Ocean. I’d heard guys in my unit swear they were in love after coming off leave—and maybe they were—but it never lasted.

Spending time with Savannah made me wonder whether it was possible to defy the norm. I wanted more of her, and no matter what happened between us, I already knew I’d never forget anything about her. As crazy as it sounded, she was becoming part of me, and I was already dreading the fact that we wouldn’t be able to spend the day together tomorrow. Or the day after, or the day after that. Maybe, I told myself, we could beat the odds.

“Out there!” I heard her cry. She pointed toward the ocean. “In the breakers.”

I scanned an ocean the color of iron but didn’t see anything. Beside me, Savannah suddenly stood up and started running toward the water.

“Come on!” she shouted over her shoulder. “Hurry!”

I rose and started after her, puzzled. Breaking into a run, I closed the gap between us. She stopped at the water’s edge, and I could hear her breaths coming fast.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“Right there!”

When I squinted, I saw what she’d been referring to. Three of them were riding the waves, one after the next, then disappearing from view in the shallows, only to reappear again a little ways down the beach.

“Young porpoises,” I said. “They pass by the island almost every evening.”

“I know,” she said, “but it looks like they’re surfing.”

“Yeah, I suppose it does. They’re just having fun. Now that everyone’s out of the water, they feel like it’s safe to play.”

“I want to go in with them. I’ve always wanted to swim with the dolphins.”

“They’ll stop playing, or they’ll just move down the beach to where you can’t reach them. They’re funny that way. I’ve seen them while surfing. If they’re curious, they’ll come within a few feet and give you the once-over, but if you try to follow them, they’ll leave you in the dust.”

We continued to watch the porpoises as they moved away from us, eventually vanishing from view under a sky that had grown opaque.

“We should probably get going,” I said.

We made our way back to the car, stopping to pick up the remains from our dinner.

“I’m not sure the band will be playing yet, but it shouldn’t be long.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m sure we can find something to do. Besides, I should warn you, I’m not much of a dancer.”

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. We could go someplace else if you’d like.”

“Like where?’

“Do you like ships?”

“What kind of ships?”

“Big ones,” I said. “I know this place where we can see the USS North Carolina.”

She made a funny face, and I knew the answer was no. Not for the first time did I wish I had my own place. Then again, I was under no illusions that she’d follow me home if I did. If I were her, I wouldn’t go either. I’m only human.

“Wait,” she said, “I know where we can go. I want to show you something.”

Intrigued, I asked, “Where?”

Considering Savannah’s group had started their work only yesterday, the house was surprisingly far along. Most of the framing was already finished, and the roof had been raised as well. Savannah stared out the window of the car before turning to me.

“Would you like to walk around? See what we’re doing?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

I followed her out of the car, noting the play of moonlight on her features. As I stepped onto the dirt of the work site, I realized I could hear songs from a radio emanating from one of the kitchen windows of the neighbors. A few steps from the entrance, Savannah motioned around the structure with obvious pride. I moved close enough to slip my arm around her, and she tilted her head against my shoulder as she relaxed into me.

“This is where I’ve spent the last couple of days,” she almost whispered in the nighttime quiet. “What do you think?”

“It’s great,” I said. “I’ll bet the family is thrilled.”

“They are. And they’re such a great family. They really deserve this place since it’s been such a struggle for them. Hurricane Fran destroyed their home, but like so many others, they didn’t have flood insurance. It’s a single mom with three kids—her husband ran out on her years ago—and if you met the family, you’d love them. The kids all get good grades and sing in the youth choir at church. And they’re just so polite and gracious… you can tell their mom has worked hard to make sure they turn out right, you know?”

“You’ve met them, I take it?”

She nodded toward the house. “They’ve been here the last couple of days.” She straightened. “Would you like to look around inside?”

Reluctantly, I let her go. “Lead the way.”

It wasn’t a large place—about the same size as my dad’s—but the floor plan was more open, which made it seem larger. Savannah took me by the hand and walked me through each room, pointing out features, her imagination filling in the detail. She mused about the ideal wallpaper for the kitchen and the color of tile in the entryway, the fabric of the curtains in the living room, and how to decorate the mantel over the fireplace. Her voice conveyed the same wonder and joy she’d expressed when seeing the porpoises. For an instant, I had a vision of what she must have been like as a child.

She led me back to the front door. In the distance, the first rumblings of thunder could be heard. As we stood in the doorway, I drew her near.

“There’s going to be a porch, too,” she said, “with enough room for a couple of rocking chairs, or even a swing. They’ll be able to sit out here on summer nights, and congregate here after church.” She pointed. “That’s their church right over there. That’s why this location is so perfect for them.”

“You sound like you really got to know them.”

“No, not really,” she said. “I talked to them a little bit, but I’m just guessing about all this. I’ve done that with every house I’ve helped to build—I walk through and try to imagine what the owners’ lives will be like. It makes working on the house a lot more fun.”

The moon was now hidden by clouds, darkening the sky. On the horizon, lightning flashed, and a moment later a soft rain began to fall, pattering against the roof. The oak trees lining the street, heavy with leaves, rustled in the breeze as thunder echoed through the house.

“If you want to go, we should probably leave before the storm hits.”

“We don’t have anywhere to go, remember? Besides, I’ve always loved thunderstorms.”

I pulled her closer, breathing in her scent. Her hair smelled sweet, like ripe strawberries.

As we watched, the rain intensified into a steady downpour, falling diagonally from the sky. Streetlamps provided the only light, casting half of Savannah’s face in shadow.

Thunder exploded overhead, and the rain began coming down in sheets. I could see the rain blowing onto the sawdust-covered floor, forming wide puddles in the dirt, and I was thankful that despite the rain, the temperature was warm. Off to the side, I spotted some empty crates. I left her side to collect them, then began to stack them into a makeshift seat. It wouldn’t be all that comfortable, but it would be better than standing.

As Savannah took a seat next to me, I suddenly knew that coming here had been the right thing to do. It was the first time we’d really been alone, but as we sat side by side, it felt as though we’d been together forever.

Eight

The crates, hard and unforgiving, made me question my wisdom, but Savannah didn’t seem to mind. Or pretended not to. She leaned back, felt the edge of the rear crate press into her skin, then sat up again.

“Sorry,” I said, “I thought it would be more comfortable.”

“It’s okay. My legs are exhausted and my feet hurt. This is perfect.”

Yes, I thought, it was. I thought back to nights on guard duty, when I’d imagine sitting beside the girl of my dreams and feeling all was right with the world. I knew now what I’d been missing all these years. When I felt Savannah rest her head on my shoulder, I found myself wishing I hadn’t joined the army. I wished I weren’t stationed overseas, and I wished I’d chosen a different path in life, one that would have let me remain a part of her world. To be a student at Chapel Hill, to spend part of my summer building houses, to ride horses with her.

“You’re awful quiet,” I heard her say.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking about tonight.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Yeah, good things,” I said.

She shifted in her seat, and I felt her leg brush against mine. “Me too. But I was thinking about your dad,” she said. “Has he always been like he was tonight? Kind of shy and glancing away when he talks to people?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“Just curious,” she said.

A few feet away, the storm seemed to be reaching its climax as another sheet of rain broke from the clouds. Water poured off all sides of the house like waterfalls. Lightning flashed again, closer this time, and thunder crashed like a cannon. Had there been windows, I imagined they would have rattled in their casings.

Savannah scooted closer, and I put my arm around her. She crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned against me, and I felt as if I could hold her this way forever.

“You’re different from most of the guys I know,” she observed, her voice low and intimate in my ear. “More mature, less… flighty, I guess.”

I smiled, liking what she said. “And don’t forget my crew cut and tattoos.”

“Crew cut, yes. Tattoos… well, they sort of come with the package, but no one’s perfect.”

I nudged her and pretended to be wounded. “Well, had I known how you feel, I wouldn’t have got them.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, pulling back. “But I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that. I was speaking more about how I’d feel about getting one. On you, they do tend to project a certain… image, and I suppose it fits.”

“What image is that?”

She pointed to the tattoos, one by one, starting with the Chinese character. “This one tells me that you live life by your own rules and don’t always care what people think. The infantry one shows that you’re proud of what you do. And the barbed wire… well, that goes with who you were when you were younger.”

“That’s quite the psychological profile. Here I thought it was just that I liked the designs.”

“I’m thinking about getting a minor in psychology.”

“I think you already have one.”

Though the wind had picked up, the rain finally began to slow.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asked, switching gears suddenly.

Her question surprised me. “That came out of the blue.”

“I’ve been told that being unpredictable adds to the mysteriousness of women.”

“Oh, it does. But to answer your question, I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

I hesitated, trying to think of what to say. “I dated a girl a few years back, and at the time, I knew I was in love. At least, that’s what I’d told myself. But now, when I think back, I’m just… not sure anymore. I cared about her and I enjoyed spending time with her, but when we weren’t together, I barely thought about her. We were together, but we weren’t a couple, if that makes any sense.”

She considered my answer but said nothing. In time, I turned toward her. “How about you? Have you ever been in love?”

Her face clouded. “No,” she said.

“But you thought you were. Like me, right?” When she inhaled sharply, I went on. “In my squad, I have to use a bit of psychology, too. And my instincts tell me there was a serious boyfriend in your past.”

She smiled, but there was something sad in it. “I knew you’d figure it out,” she said in a subdued voice. “But to answer your question, yes, there was. During my freshman year in college. And yes, I did think I loved him.”

“Are you sure you didn’t love him?”

It took her a long time to answer. “No,” she murmured. “I’m not.”

I stared at her. “You don’t have to tell me—”

“It’s okay,” she said, raising her hand to cut me off. “But it’s hard. I’ve tried to forget about it, and it’s something that I’ve never even told my parents. Or anyone, for that matter. It’s such a cliché, you know? Small-town girl goes off to college and meets a handsome senior, who’s also president of his fraternity. He’s popular and rich and charming, and the little freshman is awed that he could be interested in someone like her. He treats her like she’s special, and she knows that other freshman girls are jealous, so she begins to feel special, too. She agrees to go to the winter formal at one of these fancy out-of-town hotels with him and some other couples, even though she’s been warned that the guy isn’t as kind or sensitive as he appears to be, and that in reality, he’s the kind of boy who carves notches in his bed frame for every girl he’s had.”

She closed her eyes, as if summoning the energy to continue. “She goes against the better judgment of her friends, and even though she doesn’t drink and he happily brings her a soda, she starts getting woozy anyway, and he offers to take her back to the hotel room so she can lie down. And the next thing she knows, they’re on the bed kissing, and she likes it at first, but the room is really spinning, and it doesn’t occur to her until later that maybe someone—maybe him—put something in her drink and that carving another notch with her name on it had been his goal all along.”

Her words began to come faster, tumbling over one another. “And then he starts groping at her breasts and her dress gets torn and then her panties get torn, too, but he’s on top of her and he’s

so heavy and she can’t get him off, and she feels really helpless and wants him to stop since she’s never done this before, but by then she’s so dizzy she can barely talk and can’t call for help, and he probably would have had his way with her except that another couple who was staying in the room happened to show up, and she staggers out of the room crying and holding her dress. Somehow she finds her way to the lobby bathroom and keeps crying there, and other girls she’d traveled to the formal with come in and see the smeared mascara and torn dress and instead of being supportive, they laugh at her, acting like she should have known what was coming and got what she deserved. Finally she ends up calling a friend who hopped in his car and drove out there to pick her up, and he was smart enough not to ask any questions the whole way back.”

By the time she finished, I was rigid with anger. I’m no saint with women, but I’ve never once in my life considered forcing a woman to do something she rather wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could muster.

“You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do it.”

“I know. But I don’t know what else to say. Unless…” I trailed off, and after a moment she turned to me. I could see the tears running down her cheeks, and the fact that she’d been crying so silently made me ache.

“Unless what?”

“Unless you want me to… I don’t know. Beat the crap out of him?”

She gave me a sad little laugh. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do just that.”

“I will,” I said. “Just give me a name, but I promise to leave you out of it. I’ll do the rest.”

She squeezed my hand. “I know you would.”

“I’m serious,” I said.

She gave a wan smile, looking simultaneously world-weary and painfully young. “That’s why I won’t tell you. But believe me, I’m touched. That’s sweet of you.”

I liked the way she said it, and we sat together, hands clasped tightly. The rain had finally stopped, and in its place I could hear the sounds of the radio next door again. I didn’t know the song, but I recognized it as something from the early jazz era. One of the guys in my unit was a fanatic about jazz.

“But anyway,” she went on, “that’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t always easy my freshman year. And it was the reason I wanted to quit school. My parents, bless their hearts, thought that I was homesick, so they made me stay. But… as bad as it was, I learned something about myself. That I could go through something like that and survive. I mean, I know it could have been worse—a lot worse—but for me, it was all I could have handled at the time. And I learned from it.”

When she finished, I found myself remembering something she’d said. “Was Tim the one who brought you back from the hotel that night?”

She looked up, startled.

“Who else would you call?” I said by way of explanation.

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. And he was great. To this day, he hasn’t asked about the specifics, and I haven’t told him. But since then he’s been a little protective, and I can’t say that I mind.”

In the silence, I thought about the courage she had shown, not only that night, but afterward. Had she not told me, I would never have suspected anything bad had ever happened to her. I marveled that despite what happened, she had managed to hold on to her optimistic view of the world.

“I promise to be a perfect gentleman,” I said.

She turned to me. “What are you talking about?”

“Tonight. Tomorrow night. Whenever. I’m not like that guy.”

She traced a finger along my jaw, and I felt my skin tingle beneath her touch. “I know,” she said, sounding amused. “Why do you think I’m here with you now?”

Her voice was so tender, and again, I suppressed the urge to kiss her. It wasn’t what she needed, not now, even though it was difficult to think of anything else.

“Do you know what Susan said after that first night? Once you left and I went back to the group?”

I waited.

“She said you looked scary. Like you were the last person on earth she would have ever wanted to be alone with.”

I grinned. “I’ve been told worse,” I assured her.

“No, you’re missing my point. My point is that I remember thinking that she didn’t know what she was talking about, because when you first handed me my bag on the beach, I saw honesty and confidence and even something tender, but nothing frightening at all. I know it sounds crazy, but it felt like I already knew you.”

I turned away without responding. Below the streetlamp, mist was rising from the ground, a remnant of the heat of the day. Crickets had begun to sound, singing to one another. I swallowed, trying to soothe the sudden dryness in my throat. I looked at Savannah, then up to the ceiling, then to my feet, and finally back to Savannah again. She squeezed my hand, and I drew a shaky breath, marveling at the fact that while on an ordinary leave in an ordinary place, I’d somehow fallen in love with an extraordinary girl named Savannah Lynn Curtis.

She saw my expression but misinterpreted it. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” she whispered. “I do that sometimes. Act too forward, I mean. I just blurt out what I’m thinking without taking into account how it might come across to others.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” I said, turning her face to me. “I’ve just never had anyone say anything like that to me before.”

I almost stopped there, aware that if I kept the words inside, the moment would pass and I would escape without putting my feelings on the line.

“You have no idea how much the last few days have meant to me,” I began. “Meeting you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I hesitated, knowing that if I stopped now, I’d never be able to say it to anyone. “I love you,” I whispered.

I had always imagined the words would be hard to say, but they weren’t. In all my life, I’d never been as sure of anything, and as much as I hoped to one day hear Savannah say these words to me, what mattered most was knowing that love was mine to give, without strings or expectations.

Outside, the air was beginning to cool, and I could see pools of water shimmering in the moonlight. The clouds had begun to break up, and between them, an occasional star blinked, as if to remind me of what I’d just admitted.

“Did you ever imagine something like this?” she wondered aloud. “You and me, I mean?”

“No,” I said.

“It scares me a little.”

My stomach flipped, and all at once, I was sure she didn’t feel the same way.

“You don’t have to say it back to me,” I began. “That’s not why I said it—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “You don’t understand. I wasn’t scared because you told me. I got scared because I wanted to say it, too: I love you, John.”

Even now, I’m still not sure how it happened. One instant we were talking, and in the next she leaned toward me. For a second, I wondered whether kissing her would break the spell we both were under, but it was too late to stop. And when her lips met mine, I knew that I could live to be a hundred and visit every country in the world, but nothing would ever compare to that single moment when I first kissed the girl of my dreams and knew that my love would last forever.

Nine

We ended up staying out late. After we left the house, I took Savannah back to the beach, and we walked the long stretch of sand until she began to yawn. I walked her to the door, and we kissed again as moths darted in the porch light.

Although it seemed I’d been thinking about Savannah a lot the day before, it didn’t compare with how obsessed I was the following day, though the feeling was different. I found myself smiling for no good reason, something even my father noticed when he got home from work. He didn’t comment on it—I hadn’t expected him to, of course—but he didn’t seem surprised when I patted his back upon learning that he planned on making lasagna. I talked endlessly about Savannah, and after a couple of hours, he wandered back to his den. Even though he’d said little, I think he was happy for me and even more pleased that I’d been willing to share. I was sure of it when I got home later that night and found a platter of fresh-baked peanut-butter cookies on the counter, along with a note that informed me that plenty of milk could be found in the refrigerator.

I took Savannah out for ice cream, then drove her to the touristy part of downtown Wilmington. We strolled through the shops, where I discovered she had an interest in antiques. Later I took her to see the battleship, but we didn’t stay long. She’d been right; it was boring. Afterward, I took her home, where we sat around the bonfire with her housemates.

The next two nights, Savannah came over to my house. My dad cooked both evenings. On the first evening, Savannah asked my dad nothing about coins, and conversation was a struggle. My dad mainly listened, and though Savannah kept up a pleasant front and tried to include him, force of habit led the two of us to talk to each other while my dad focused on his plate. When she left, Savannah’s brow was creased, and though I didn’t want to believe that her initial impression of him had changed, I knew that it had.

Surprisingly, she asked to return the following evening, where once again she and my father found themselves in the den, discussing coins. As I watched them, I wondered what Savannah was making of a situation that I’d long since grown used to. At the same time, I prayed that she would be more understanding than I had once been. By the time we left, I realized that I’d had nothing to worry about. Instead, as we drove back to the beach, she spoke about my dad in glowing terms, particularly praising the job he’d done raising me. While I wasn’t sure what to make of it, I breathed a sigh of relief that she seemed to have accepted my dad for who he was.

By the weekend, my appearance at the beach house was becoming a regular occurrence. Most of the people in the house had learned my name, though they still showed little interest in me, exhausted as they were by the day’s hard work. Most of them were clustered around the television by seven or eight, instead of drinking and flirting on the beach. Everyone looked sunburned, and all wore Band-Aids on their fingers to cover their blisters.

On Saturday night, people in the house had found additional reservoirs of energy, and I showed up just as a group of guys were unloading case after case of beer from the back of a van. I helped carry them up and realized that since the first night I’d seen Savannah, I hadn’t had so much as a sip of alcohol. Like the weekend before, the grill was going and we ate near the bonfire; afterward we went for a walk on the beach. I’d brought a blanket and a picnic basket filled with late night snacks, and while lying on our backs, we watched a show of falling stars, staring in amazement as the flashes of white raced across the sky. It was one of those perfect evenings with just enough breeze to keep us from being either hot or cold, and we talked and kissed for hours before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

When the sun began its rise from the sea on Sunday morning, I sat up beside Savannah. Her face was lit with the glow of dawn, and her hair fanned out over the blanket. She had one arm across her chest and another above her head, and all I could think was that I would like to spend every morning for the rest of my life waking up beside her.

We went to church again, and Tim was his regular chipper self, despite the fact that we’d barely spoken a word to him all week. He asked me again whether I’d like to help on the house. I told him that I’d be leaving the following Friday, and therefore I didn’t know how much help I could be.

“I think you’re wearing him down,” Savannah said, smiling at Tim.

He raised his hands. “At least you can’t say I didn’t try.”

It was perhaps the most idyllic week I’d ever spent. My feelings for Savannah had only grown stronger, but as the days wore on, I began to feel a gnawing anxiety at how soon all of this would be ending. Whenever those feelings arose, I tried to force them away, but by Sunday night, I could barely sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned, and thought of Savannah, and tried to imagine how I could be happy knowing she was across the ocean and surrounded by men, one of whom might come to feel exactly the way I did about her.

When I arrived at the house on Monday evening, I couldn’t find Savannah. I had someone check her room, and I poked my head into every bathroom. She wasn’t on the deck out back or on the beach with the others.

I went down to the beach and asked around, receiving mainly shrugs of indifference. A couple of people hadn’t even realized she was gone, but finally one of the girls—Sandy or Cindy, I wasn’t sure—pointed down the beach and said they’d seen her head that way about an hour earlier.

It took a long time to find her. I walked the beach in both directions, finally focusing on the pier near the house. On a hunch, I climbed the stairs, hearing the waves crashing below me. When I caught sight of Savannah, I thought she’d come out to the pier to look for porpoises or watch the surfers. She was sitting with her knees pulled up, leaning against a post, and it was only when I got close that I realized she was crying.

I’d never known quite what to do when I saw a girl cry. In all honesty, I never knew what to do when anyone cried. My father never cried, or if he did, it was never in my presence. And the last time I’d cried had been in the third grade, when I’d fallen from the tree house and sprained my wrist. In my unit, I’d seen a couple of the guys cry, and I’d usually pat them on the back and then wander away, leaving the whys and what can I dos to someone with more experience.

Before I could decide what to do, Savannah saw me. She hurriedly swiped at her red and swollen eyes, and I heard her draw a couple of steadying breaths. Her bag, the one I’d rescued from the ocean, was sandwiched between her legs.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, and my heart clenched.

“Do you want to be alone?”

She considered it. “I don’t know,” she said at last.

Not knowing what else to do, I stood where I was.

Savannah sighed. “I’ll be okay.”

I slipped my hands in my pockets as I nodded. “Would you rather be alone?” I asked again.

“Do I really have to tell you?”

I hesitated. “Yeah.”

She gave a melancholy laugh. “You can stay,” she said. “In fact, it might be nice if you came and sat by me.”

I took a seat and then, after a brief period of indecision, slipped my arm around her. For a while, we sat together without saying anything. Savannah inhaled slowly, and her breathing became steadier. She wiped at the tears that continued to slide down her cheeks.

“I bought you something,” she said after a while. “I hope you’re okay with it.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I mumbled.

She sniffled. “Do you know what I was thinking about when I came out here?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I was thinking about us,” she said. “The way we met and how we talked that first night, how you flashed your tattoos and gave Randy the evil eye. And your goofy expression when we went surfing the first time, after I rode the wave to shore….”

When she trailed off, I squeezed her waist. “I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

She tried to rally with a shaky grin but didn’t quite succeed. “I remember everything about those first few days,” she said. “And the same goes for the whole week. Spending time with your dad, going out for ice cream, even staring at that dumb boat.”

“We won’t go back,” I promised, but she raised her hands to stop me.

“You’re not letting me finish,” she said. “And you’re missing my point. My point is that I loved each and every moment of it, and I didn’t expect that. I didn’t come here for that, just like I didn’t come here to fall in love with you. Or, in a different way, with your father.”

Chastened, I said nothing.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think your dad is fantastic. I think he’s done a wonderful job raising you, and I know you don’t, and…”

When she seemed to run out of words, I shook my head, perplexed. “And that’s why you were crying? Because of the way I feel about my dad?”

“No,” she said. “Weren’t you listening?”

She paused, as if trying to organize her chaotic thoughts. “I didn’t want to fall in love with anyone,” she said. “I wasn’t ready for that. I’ve been through that once, and afterwards I was a mess. I know it’s different, but you’ll be leaving in just a few days and all this will be over… and I’ll be a mess again.”

“It doesn’t have to be over,” I protested.

“But it will be,” she said. “I know we can write and talk on the phone now and then, and we could see each other when you come home on leave. But it won’t be the same. I won’t be able to see your silly expressions. We won’t be able to lie on the beach together and stare at the stars. We won’t be able to sit across from each other and talk and share secrets. And I won’t feel your arm around me, like I do now.”

I turned away, feeling a rising sense of frustration and panic. Everything she was saying was true.

“It just hit me today,” she went on, “while I was browsing in the bookstore. I went there to get you a book, and when I found it, I started imagining how you’d react when I gave it to you. The thing was, I knew that I’d see you in just a couple of hours, and then I would know, and that made it okay. Because even if you were upset, I knew that we’d get through it because we could work it out face-to-face. That’s what I came to realize while sitting out here. That when we’re together, anything is possible.” She hesitated, then continued. “Pretty soon, that’s not going to be possible anymore. I’ve known since we met that you’d only be here for a couple of weeks, but I didn’t think that it was going to be this hard to say good-bye.”

“I don’t want to say good-bye,” I said, gently turning her face to mine.

Beneath us, I could hear the waves crashing against the pilings. A flock of seagulls passed overhead, and I leaned in to kiss her, my lips barely brushing hers. Her breath smelled of cinnamon and mint, and I thought again of coming home.

Hoping to take her mind off such gloomy thoughts, I gave her a brisk squeeze and pointed at the bag. “So what book did you buy me?”

She seemed puzzled at first, then remembered she’d mentioned it earlier. “Oh yeah, I guess it’s time for that, huh?”

By the way she said it, I suddenly knew she hadn’t bought me the latest Hiaasen. I waited, but when I tried to meet her eyes, she turned away.

“If I give it to you,” she said, her voice serious, “you have to promise me that you’ll read it.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “Sure,” I said, drawing out the word. “I promise.”

Still, she hesitated. Then she reached into her bag and pulled it out. When she handed it to me, I read the title. At first, I didn’t know what to think. It was a book—more like a textbook, actually—about autism and Asperger’s. I had heard of both conditions and assumed I knew what most people did, which wasn’t much.

“It’s by one of my professors,” she explained. “She’s the best teacher I’ve had in college. Her classes are always filled, and students who aren’t registered sometimes drop in to talk to her. She’s one of the foremost experts in all forms of developmental disorders, and she’s one of the few who focused her research on adults.”

“Fascinating,” I said, not bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm.

“I think you might learn something,” she pressed.

“I’m sure,” I said. “It looks like there’s a lot of information there.”

“There’s more to it than just that,” she said. Her voice was quiet. “I want you to read it because of your father. And the way you two get along.”

For the first time, I felt myself stiffen. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I’m not an expert,” she said, “but this book was assigned both semesters that I had her, and I must have studied it every night. Like I said, she’s interviewed more than three hundred adults with disorders.”

I withdrew my arm. “And?”

I knew she heard the tension in my voice, and she studied me with a trace of apprehension.

“I know I’m only a student, but I spend a lot of my lab hours working with children who have Asperger’s… I’ve seen it up close, and I’ve also had the chance to meet a number of the adults my professor had interviewed.” She knelt in front of me, reaching out to touch my arm. “Your father is very similar to a couple of them.”

I think I already knew what she was getting at, but for whatever reason, I wanted her to say it directly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded, forcing myself not to pull away.

Her answer was slow in coming. “I think your father might have Asperger’s.”

“My dad isn’t retarded….”

“I didn’t say that,” she said. “Asperger’s is a developmental disorder.”

“I don’t care what it is,” I said, my voice rising. “My dad doesn’t have it. He raised me, he works, he pays his bills. He was married once.”

“You can have Asperger’s and still function….”

As she spoke, I flashed on something she had said earlier. “Wait,” I said, trying to remember how she’d phrased it and feeling my mouth go dry. “Earlier, you said you think my dad did a wonderful job in raising me.”

“Yeah,” she said, “and I mean that….”

My jaw tightened as I figured out what she was really saying, and I stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. “But it’s because you think he’s like Rain Man. That considering his problem, he did a good job.”

“No… you don’t understand. There’s a spectrum of Asperger’s, from mild to severe—”

I barely heard her. “And you respect him for the same reason. But it’s not as if you really liked him.”

“No, wait—”

I pulled away and got to my feet. Suddenly needing space, I walked to the railing opposite her. I thought of her continual requests to visit with him… not because she wanted to spend time with him. Because she wanted to study him.

My stomach knotted, and I faced her. “That’s why you came over, isn’t it.”

“What—”

“Not because you liked him, but because you wanted to know if you were right.”

“No—”

“Stop lying!” I shouted.

“I’m not lying!”

“You were sitting there with him, pretending to be interested in his coins, but in reality you were evaluating him like some monkey in a cage.”

“It wasn’t like that!” she said, rising to her feet. “I respect your dad—”

“Because you think he’s got problems and overcame them,” I snarled, finishing for her. “Yeah, I get it.”

“No, you’re wrong. I like your dad….”

“Which is why you ran your little experiment, right?” My expression was hard. “See, I must have forgotten that when you like someone, you do things like that. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

She shook her head. “No!” For the first time, she seemed to question what she’d done, and her lip began to quiver. When she spoke again, her voice trembled. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. But I just wanted you to understand him.”

“Why?” I said, taking a step toward her. I could feel my muscles tensing. “I understand him fine. I grew up with him, remember? I lived with him.”

“I was trying to help,” she said, eyes downcast. “I just wanted you to be able to relate to him.”

“I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t want your help. And why is it any of your damn business, anyway?”

She turned away and swiped at a tear. “It’s not,” she said. Her voice was almost inaudible. “I thought you’d want to know.”

“Know what?” I demanded. “That you think something’s wrong with him? That I shouldn’t expect to have a normal relationship with him? That I have to talk about coins if I want to talk to him at all?”

I didn’t hide the anger in my voice, and from the corner of my eyes, I saw a couple of fishermen turn our way. My gaze kept them from coming closer, which was probably a good thing. As we stared at each other, I didn’t expect Savannah to answer, and frankly, I didn’t want her to. I was still trying to get my mind around the fact that the hours she had spent with my dad were nothing but a charade.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

I blinked, unsure that she’d said what I thought she had. “What?”

“You heard me.” She gave a small shrug. “Maybe that’s the only thing you’ll ever talk about with your father. It might be all he can do.”

I felt my hands clench into fists. “So you’re saying it’s all up to me?”

I didn’t expect her to answer, but she did.

“I don’t know,” she said, meeting my eyes. I could still see her tears, but her voice was surprisingly steady. “That’s why I bought the book. So you can read it. Like you said, you know him better than I do. And I never said he’s unable to function, because obviously he does. But think about it. His unchanging routines, the fact that he doesn’t look at people when he talks to them, his nonexistent social life…”

I whirled away, wanting to hit something. Anything.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice low.

“Because if it was me, I’d want to know. And I’m not saying it because I wanted to hurt you or insult your father. I told you because I wanted you to understand him.”

Her candor made it painfully clear that she believed what she was saying. Even so, I didn’t care. I turned and started up the pier. I just wanted to get away. From here, from her.

“Where are you going?” I heard her call out. “John! Wait!”

I ignored her. Instead I picked up the pace, and a minute later I reached the stairs of the pier. I pounded down them, hit the sand, and headed for the house. I had no idea whether Savannah was behind me, and as I neared the group, faces turned toward me. I looked angry, and I knew it. Randy was holding a beer, and he must have seen Savannah approaching because he moved to block my path. A couple of his frat brothers did the same.

“What’s going on?” he called out. “What’s wrong with Savannah?”

I ignored him and felt him grab my wrist. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Not a wise move. I could smell beer on his breath and knew that the alcohol had given him courage.

“Let go,” I said.

“Is she okay?” he demanded.

“Let go,” I said again, “or I’ll break your wrist.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” I heard Tim call out from somewhere behind me.

“What did you do to her?” Randy demanded. “Why’s she crying? Did you hurt her?”

I could feel the adrenaline surge into my bloodstream. “Last chance,” I warned.

“There’s no reason for this!” Tim shouted, closer this time. “Just relax, you guys! Knock it off!”

I felt someone try to grab me from behind. What happened next was instinctive, over in a matter of seconds. I drove my elbow hard into his solar plexus and heard a sudden groaning exhale; then I grabbed Randy’s hand and quickly twisted it to its snapping point. He screamed and dropped to his knees, and in that instant I felt someone else rushing toward me. I swung an elbow blindly and felt it connect; I felt cartilage crunch as I turned, ready for whoever came next.

“What did you do?” I heard Savannah scream. She must have come running once she saw what was going on.

On the sand, Randy was wincing as he clutched his wrist; the guy who’d grabbed me from behind was gasping and on all fours.

“You hurt him!” she whimpered as she rushed past me. “He was just trying to stop the fight!”

I turned. Tim was sprawled on the ground, holding his face, blood gushing through his fingers. The sight seemed to paralyze everyone except Savannah, who dropped to her knees at his side.

Tim moaned, and despite the hammering in my chest, I felt a pit form in my stomach. Why did it have to be him? I wanted to ask if he was okay; I wanted to tell him I hadn’t meant for him to get hurt and that it wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t started it. But it wouldn’t matter. Not now. I couldn’t pretend as if they should forgive and forget, no matter how much I wished it hadn’t happened.

I could barely hear Savannah fretting as I began to back away. I eyed the others warily, making sure they’d let me leave, not wanting to hurt anyone else.

“Oh, geez… oh, no. You’re really bleeding… we’ve got to get you to a doctor….”

I continued to back away, then turned and climbed the stairs. I moved quickly through the house, then back down to my car. Before I knew it, I was on the street, cursing myself and the entire evening.

Ten

I didn’t know where to go, so I drove around aimlessly for a while, the events of the evening replaying in my mind. I was still angry at myself and what I’d done to Tim—not so much the others, I admit—and angry at Savannah for what had happened on the pier.

I could barely remember how it had started. One minute I was thinking that I loved her more than I’d ever imagined possible, and the next minute we were fighting. I was outraged by her subterfuge yet couldn’t understand why I was this angry. It wasn’t as if my dad and I were close; it wasn’t as if I even thought I really knew him. So why had I been so angry? And why was I still?

Because, the little voice inside me asked, there’s a chance she might be right?

It didn’t matter, though. Whether he was or wasn’t, so what? How was that going to change anything? And why was it any of her business?

As I drove, I kept veering from anger to acceptance and back to anger again. I found myself reliving the sensation of my elbow crushing Tim’s nose, which only made it worse. Why had he come at me? Why not them? I wasn’t the one who’d started it.

And Savannah… yeah, I might be able to head over there tomorrow to apologize. I knew she honestly believed what she was saying and that in her own way, she was trying to help. And maybe, if she was right, I did want to know. It would explain things….

But after what I did to Tim? How was she going to react to that? He was her best friend, and even if I swore it had been an accident, would it matter to her? How about what I’d done to the others? She knew I was a soldier, but now that she’d seen a small part of what that meant, would she still feel the same way about me?

By the time I found my way home, it was past midnight. I entered the darkened house, peeked into my dad’s den, then proceeded to the bedroom. He wasn’t up, of course; he went to bed at the same time every night. A man of routine, as I knew and Savannah had pointed out.

I crawled into bed, knowing I wouldn’t sleep and wishing I could start the evening over again. From the moment she’d given me the book, anyway. I didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. I didn’t want to think about my dad or Savannah or what I’d done to Tim’s nose. But all night long I stared at the ceiling, unable to escape my thoughts.

I got up when I heard my dad in the kitchen. I was wearing the same clothes from the evening before, but I doubted he was aware of it.

“Mornin’, Dad,” I mumbled.

“Hey, John,” he said. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Sure,” I said. “Coffee ready?”

“In the pot.”

I poured myself a cup. As my dad cooked, I noted the headlines in the newspaper, knowing he would read the front section first, then metro. He would ignore the sports and life section. A man of routine.

“How was your night?” I asked.

“The same,” he said. I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t ask me anything in return. Instead, he ran the spatula through the scrambled eggs. The bacon was already sizzling. In time, he turned to me, and I already knew what he would ask.

“Would you mind putting some bread in the toaster?”

My dad left for work at exactly 7:35.

Once he was gone, I scanned the paper, uninterested in the news, at a loss as to what to do next. I had no desire to go surfing, or even to leave the house, and I was wondering whether I should crawl back into bed to try to get some rest when I heard a car pull up the drive. I figured it might be someone dropping off a flyer offering to clean the gutters or power-wash the mold from the roof; I was surprised when I heard a knock.

Opening the door, I froze, caught completely off guard. Tim shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Hi, John,” he said. “I know it’s early, but do you mind if I come in?”

A wide strip of medical tape bridged his nose, and the skin surrounding both eyes was bruised and swollen.

“Yeah… sure,” I said, stepping aside, still trying to process the fact that he was here.

Tim walked past me and into the living room. “I almost didn’t find your house,” he said. “When I dropped you off before, it was late and I can’t say I was paying that much attention. I drove by a couple of times before it finally registered.”

He smiled again, and I realized he was carrying a small paper sack.

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked, snapping out of my shock. “I think there still might be a cup left in the pot.”

“No, I’m fine. I was up most of the night, and I’d rather not have the caffeine. I’m hoping to lie down when I get back to the house.”

I nodded. “Hey, listen… about what happened last night,” I began. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He held up his hands to stop me. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t. And I should have known better. I should have tried to grab one of the other guys.”

I inspected him. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It just happened to be one of those nights in the emergency room. It took a while to see a doctor, and he wanted to call someone else in to set my nose. But they swore it would be good as new. I might have a small bump, but I’m hoping it gives me a more rugged appearance.”

I smiled, then felt bad for doing so. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” he said. “And I appreciate it. But that’s not the reason I came here.” He motioned to the couch. “Do you mind if we sit? I still feel a little woozy.”

I sat on the edge of the recliner, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. Tim sat on the sofa, wincing as he got comfortable. He set the paper bag off to the side.

“I want to talk to you about Savannah,” he said. “And about what happened last night.”

The sound of her name brought it all back, and I glanced away.

“You know we’re good friends, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Last night in the hospital, we talked for hours, and I just wanted to come here to ask you not to be angry with her for what she did. She knows she made a mistake and that it wasn’t her place to diagnose your father. You were right about that.”

“Why isn’t she here, then?”

“Right now, she’s at the site. Someone’s got to be in charge while I recuperate. And she doesn’t know I’m here, either.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know why I got so mad in the first place.”

“Because you didn’t want to hear it,” he said, his voice quiet. “I used to feel the same way whenever I heard someone talk about my brother, Alan. He’s autistic.”

I looked up. “Alan’s your brother?”

“Yeah, why?” he asked. “Did Savannah tell you about him?”

“A little,” I said, remembering that even more than Alan, she talked about the brother who’d been so patient with him, who’d inspired her to major in special education.

On the couch, Tim winced as he touched the bruising under his eye. “And just so you know,” he went on, “I agree with you. It wasn’t her place, and I told her so. Do you remember when I said that she was naive sometimes? That’s what I meant. She wants to help people, but sometimes it doesn’t come across that way.”

“It wasn’t just her,” I said. “It was me, too. Like I said, I overreacted.”

His gaze was steady. “Do you think she might be right?”

I brought my hands together. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but…”

“But you don’t know. And if so, whether it even matters, right?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. “Been there, done that,” he said. “I remember what my parents and I went through with Alan. For a long time we didn’t know what, if anything, was wrong with him. And you know what I’ve decided after all this time? It doesn’t matter. I still love him and watch out for him, and I always will. But… learning about his condition did help make things easier between us. Once I knew… I guess I just stopped expecting him to behave in a certain way. And without expectations, I found it easier to accept him.”

I digested this. “What if he doesn’t have Asperger’s?” I asked.

“He might not.”

“And if I think he does?”

He sighed. “It’s not that simple, especially in milder cases,” he said. “It’s not as if you can pull a vial of blood and test for it. You might get to the point where you think it’s possible, and that’s as far as you’ll ever get. But you’ll never know for sure. And from what Savannah said about him, I honestly don’t think much will change. And why should it? He works, he raised you… what more could you expect from a father?”

I considered this while images of my dad flashed through my head.

“Savannah bought you a book,” he said.

“I don’t know where it is,” I admitted.

“I’ve got it,” he said. “I brought it from the house.” He handed me the paper bag. Somehow the book felt heavier than it had the night before.

“Thanks.”

He rose, and I knew our conversation was nearing the end. He moved to the door but turned with his hand on the knob.

“You know you don’t have to read it,” he said.

“I know.”

He opened the door, then stopped. I knew he wanted to add something else, but, surprising me, he didn’t turn around. “Would you mind if I asked a favor?”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t break Savannah’s heart, okay? I know she loves you, and I just want her to be happy.”

I knew then that I’d been right about his feelings for her. As he walked to the car, I watched him from the window, certain that he was in love with her, too.

I put the book aside and went for a walk; when I got back to the house, I avoided it again. I can’t tell you why I did so, other than that it frightened me somehow.

After a couple of hours, however, I forced the feeling away and spent the rest of the afternoon absorbing its contents and reliving memories of my father.

Tim had been right. There wasn’t any clear-cut diagnosis, no hard-and-fast rules, and there was no way I’d ever know for certain. Some people with Asperger’s had low IQs, while other, even more severely autistic people—like the Dustin Hoffman character in Rain Man—were regarded as geniuses in particular subjects. Some could function so well in society that no one even knew; others had to be institutionalized. I read profiles of people with Asperger’s who were prodigies in music or mathematics, but I learned that they were as rare as prodigies among the general population. But most important, I learned that when my dad was young, there were few doctors who even understood the characteristics or symptoms and that if something had been wrong, his parents might never have known. Instead, children with Asperger’s or autism were often lumped with the retarded or the shy, and if they weren’t institutionalized, parents were left to comfort themselves with the hope that one day their child might grow out of it. The difference between Asperger’s and autism could sometimes be summed up by the following: A person with autism lives in his own world, while a person with Asperger’s lives in our world, in a way of his own choosing.

By that standard, most people could be said to have Asperger’s.

But there were some indications that Savannah had been right about my father. His unchanging routines, his social awkwardness, his lack of interest in topics other than coins, his desire to be alone—all seemed like quirks that anyone might have, but with my father it was different. While others might freely make those same choices, my father—like some people with Asperger’s—seemed to have been forced to live a life with these choices already predetermined. At the very least, I learned that it might explain my father’s behavior, and if so, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t change, but that he couldn’t change. Even with all the implied uncertainty, I found the realization comforting. And, I realized, it might explain two questions that had always plagued me regarding my mother: What had she seen in him? And why had she left?

I knew I’d never know, and I had no intention of delving further. But with a leaping imagination in a quiet house, I could envision a quiet man who struck up a conversation about his rare coin collection with a poor young waitress at a diner, a woman who spent her evenings lying in bed and dreaming of a better life. Maybe she flirted, or maybe she didn’t, but he was attracted to her and continued to show up at the diner. Over time, she might have sensed the kindness and patience in him that he would later use in raising me. It was possible that she interpreted his quiet nature accurately as well and knew he would be slow to anger and never violent. Even without love, it might have been enough, so she agreed to marry him, thinking they would sell the coins and live, if not happily ever after, at least comfortably ever after. She got pregnant, and later, when she learned that he couldn’t even fathom the idea of selling the coins, she realized that she’d be stuck with a husband who showed little interest in anything she did. Maybe her loneliness got the better of her, or maybe she was just selfish, but either way she wanted out, and after the baby was born, she took the first opportunity to leave.

Or, I thought, maybe not.

I doubted whether I would ever learn the truth, but I really didn’t care. I did, however, care about my father, and if he was afflicted with a bit of faulty wiring in his brain, I suddenly understood that he’d somehow formed a set of rules for life, rules that helped him fit into the world. Maybe they weren’t quite normal, but he’d nonetheless found a way to help me become the man I was. And to me, that was more than enough.

He was my father, and he’d done his best. I knew that now. And when at last I closed the book and set it aside, I found myself staring out the window, thinking how proud I was of him while trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

When he returned from work, my dad changed his clothes and went to the kitchen to start the spaghetti. I studied him as he went through the motions, knowing I was doing exactly the same thing that I’d grown angry at Savannah for doing. It’s strange how knowledge changes perception.

I noted the precision of his moves—the way he neatly opened the box of spaghetti before setting it aside and the way he worked the spatula in careful right angles as he browned the meat. I knew he would add salt and pepper, and a moment later he did. I knew he would open the can of tomato sauce right after that, and again, I wasn’t proved wrong. As usual, he didn’t ask about my day, preferring to work in silence. Yesterday I’d attributed it to the fact that we were strangers; today I understood that there was a possibility we always would be. But for the first time in my life, it didn’t bother me.

Over dinner I didn’t ask about his day, knowing he wouldn’t answer. Instead, I told him about Savannah and what our time together had been like. Afterward, I helped him with the dishes, continuing our one-sided conversation. Once they were done, he reached for the rag again. He wiped the counter a second time, then rotated the salt and pepper shakers until they were in exactly the same position they’d been in when he arrived home. I had the feeling that he wanted to add to the conversation and didn’t know how, but I suppose I was trying to make myself feel better. It didn’t matter. I knew he was ready to retreat to the den.

“Hey, Dad,” I said. “How about you show me some of the coins you’ve bought lately? I want to hear all about them.”

He stared at me as if uncertain he’d heard me right, then glanced at the floor. He touched his thinning hair, and I saw the growing bald spot on the top of his head. When he looked up at me again, he looked almost scared.

“Okay,” he finally said.

We walked to the den together, and when I felt him place a gentle hand on my back, all I could think was that I hadn’t felt this close to him in years.

Eleven

The following evening, as I stood on the pier admiring the silver play of moonlight on the ocean, I wondered whether Savannah would show. The night before, after spending hours examining coins with my father and enjoying the excitement in his voice as he described them, I drove to the beach. On the seat beside me was the note I’d written to Savannah, asking her to meet me here. I’d left the note in an envelope I’d placed on Tim’s car. I knew that he would pass along the envelope unopened, no matter how much he might not want to. In the short time I’d known him, I’d come to believe that Tim, like my father, was a far better person than I would ever be.

It was the only thing I could think to do. Because of the altercation, I knew I was no longer welcome at the beach house; I also didn’t want to see Randy or Susan or any of the others, which made it impossible to contact Savannah. She didn’t have a cell phone, nor did I know the phone number at the beach house, which left the note as my only option.

I was wrong. I’d overreacted, and I knew it. Not just with her, but with the others on the beach. I should have simply walked away. Randy and his buddies, even if they lifted weights and considered themselves athletes, didn’t stand a chance against someone trained to disable people quickly and efficiently. Had it happened in Germany, I might have found myself locked up for what I’d done. The government wasn’t too fond of those who used government-acquired skills in ways the government didn’t approve.

So I’d left the note, then watched the clock all the next day, wondering if she would show. As the time I had suggested came and went, I found myself glancing compulsively over my shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief when a figure appeared in the distance. From the way it moved, I knew it had to be Savannah. I leaned against the railing as I waited for her.

She slowed her steps when she spotted me, then came to a stop. No hug, no kiss—the sudden formality made me ache.

“I got your note,” she said.

“I’m glad you came.”

“I had to sneak away so no one knew you were here,” she said. “I’ve overheard a few people talking about what they would do if you showed up again.”

“I’m sorry,” I plunged in without preamble. “I know you were just trying to help, and I took it the wrong way.”

“And?”

“And I’m sorry for what I did to Tim. He’s a great guy, and I should have been more careful.”

Her gaze was unblinking. “And?”

I shuffled my feet, knowing I wasn’t really sincere in what I was about to say, but knowing she wanted to hear it anyway. I sighed. “And Randy and the other guy, too.”

Still, she continued to stare. “And?”

I was stumped. I searched my mind before meeting her eyes. “And…” I trailed off.

“And what?”

“And…” I tried but couldn’t come up with anything. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “But whatever it is, I’m sorry for that, too.”

She wore a curious expression. “That’s it?”

I thought about it. “I don’t know what else to say,” I admitted.

It was half a second before I noticed the tiniest hint of a smile. She moved toward me. “That’s it?” she repeated, her voice softer. I said nothing. She came closer and, surprising me, slipped her arms around my neck.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered. “There’s no reason to be sorry. I probably would have reacted the same way.”

“Then why the inquisition?”

“Because,” she said, “it let me know that I was right about you in the first place. I knew you had a good heart.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just what I said,” she answered. “Later—after that night, I mean—Tim convinced me that I had no right to say what I did. You were right. I don’t have the ability to do any sort of professional evaluation, but I was arrogant enough to think I did. As for what happened on the beach, I saw the whole thing. It wasn’t your fault. Even what happened to Tim wasn’t your fault, but it was nice to hear you apologize anyway. If only to know you could do it in the future.”

She leaned into me, and when I closed my eyes, I knew I wanted nothing more than to hold her this way forever.

Later, after we’d spent a good part of the night talking and kissing on the beach, I ran my finger along her jaw and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the book. I think I understand my dad a little better now. We had a good time last night.”

“I’m glad.”

“And thanks for being who you are.”

When she wrinkled her brow, I kissed her forehead. “If it wasn’t for you,” I added, “I wouldn’t have been able to say that about my dad. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Though she was supposed to work at the site the following day, Tim had been understanding when she explained that it would be the last chance for us to see each other before I returned to Germany. When I picked her up, he walked down the steps of the house and squatted next to the car, at eye level with the window. The bruises had darkened to deep black. He stuck his hand through the window.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, John.”

“You too,” I said, meaning it.

“Keep safe, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I answered as we shook hands, struck by the feeling that there was a connection between us.

Savannah and I spent the morning at the Fort Fisher Aquarium, bewitched by the strange creatures displayed there. We saw gar with their long noses, and miniature sea horses; in the largest tank were nurse sharks and red drum. We laughed as we handled the hermit crabs, and

Savannah bought me a souvenir key chain from the gift shop. For some strange reason there was a penguin on it, which amused her no end.

Afterward, I took her to a sunny restaurant near the water, and we held hands across the table as we watched the sailboats rocking gently in their slips. Lost in each other, we barely noticed the waiter, who had to come to the table three times before we’d even opened our menus.

I marveled at the easy way Savannah showed her emotions and the tenderness of her expression as I told her about my dad. When she kissed me afterward, I tasted the sweetness of her breath. I reached for her hand.

“I’m going to marry you one day, you know.”

“Is that a promise?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Well, then you have to promise that you’ll come back for me when you get out of the army. I can’t marry you if you’re not around.”

“It’s a deal.”

Later, we strolled the grounds of the Oswald Plantation, a beautifully restored antebellum home that boasted some of the finest gardens in the state. We walked along the gravel paths, skirting clusters of wildflowers that bloomed a thousand different colors in the lazy southern heat.

“What time do you fly out tomorrow?” she asked. The sun was beginning its gradual descent in the cloudless sky.

“Early,” I said. “I’ll probably be at the airport before you wake up.”

She nodded. “And you’ll spend tonight with your dad, right?”

“I was planning on it. I probably haven’t spent as much time with him as I should have, but I’m sure he’d understand—”

She shook her head to stop me. “No, don’t change your plans. I want you to spend time with your dad. I was hoping you would. That’s why I’m with you today.”

We walked the length of an elaborate hedge-lined path. “So what do you want to do?” I asked. “About us, I mean.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” she said.

“I know it won’t,” I said. “But I don’t want all this to end.” I stopped, knowing words wouldn’t be enough. Instead, from behind, I slipped my arms around her and drew her body into mine. I kissed her neck and ear, savoring her velvety skin. “I’ll call you as much as I can, and I’ll write you when I can’t, and I’ll get another leave next year. Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll go.”

She leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of my face. “You will?”

I squeezed her. “Of course. I mean, I’m not happy about leaving you, and I wish more than anything that I was stationed nearby, but that’s all I can promise right now. I can request a transfer as soon as I get back, and I will, but you never know how those things go.”

“I know,” she murmured. For whatever reason, her solemn expression made me nervous.

“Will you write me?” I asked.

“Duh,” she teased, and my nervousness disappeared. “Of course I will,” she said, smiling. “How can you even bother to ask? I’ll write you all the time. And just so you know, I write the best letters.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “In my family, that’s what we do on just about every holiday. We write letters to those people who we care a lot about. We tell them what they mean to us and how much we look forward to the time when we’ll get to see them again.”

I kissed her neck again. “So what do I mean to you? And how much are you looking forward to seeing me again?”

She leaned back. “You’ll have to read my letters.”

I laughed, but I felt my heart breaking. “I’m going to miss you,” I said.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about it.”

“That’s because I already cried about it, remember? Besides, it’s not like I’ll never see you again. That’s what I finally realized. Yeah, it’ll be hard, but life moves fast—we’ll see each other again. I know that. I can feel that. Just like I can feel how much you care for me and how much I love you. I know in my heart that this isn’t over, and that we’ll make it through this. Lots of couples do. Granted, lots of couples don’t, but they don’t have what we have.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted it more than anything, but I wondered if it was really that simple.

When the sun had disappeared below the horizon, we walked back to the car, and I drove her to the beach house. I stopped a little way down the street so no one in the house could see us, and when we got out of the car, I put my arms around her. We kissed and I held her close, knowing for certain that the next year would be the longest in my life. I wished fervently that I’d never joined up, that I were a free man. But I wasn’t.

“I should probably be going.”

She nodded, beginning to cry. I felt a knot form in my chest.

“I’ll write you,” I promised.

“Okay,” she said. She swiped at her tears and reached into her handbag. She pulled out a pen and a small slip of paper. She began scribbling. “This is my home address and phone number, okay? And my e-mail address, too.”

I nodded.

“Remember that I’ll be changing dorms next year, but I’ll let you know my new address as soon as I get it. But you can always reach me through my parents. They’ll forward anything you send.”

“I know,” I said. “You still have my information, right? Even if I go on a mission somewhere, letters will reach me. E-mail, too. The army’s pretty good at setting up computers, even in the middle of nowhere.”

She hugged her arms like a forlorn child. “It scares me,” she said. “You being a soldier, I mean.”

“I’ll be okay,” I reassured her.

I opened the car door, then reached for my wallet. I slipped the note she scribbled inside, then opened my arms again. She came to me and I held her for a long time, imprinting the feel of her body against mine.

This time, it was she who pulled away. She reached into her handbag again and pulled out an envelope.

“I wrote this for you last night. To give you something to read on the plane. Don’t read it until then, okay?”

I nodded and kissed her one last time, then slipped behind the wheel of the car. I started the car, and as I began to pull away, she called out, “Say hello to your father. Tell him that I might stop by sometime in the next couple of weeks, okay?”

She took a step backward as the car began to roll. I could still see her through the rearview mirror. I thought about stopping. My dad would understand. He knew how much Savannah meant to me, and he would want us to have one last evening together.

But I kept moving, watching her image in the mirror grow smaller and smaller, feeling my dream slip away.

Dinner with my dad was quieter than usual. I didn’t have the energy to attempt a conversation, and even my dad realized it. I sat at the table as he cooked, but instead of focusing on the preparation, he glanced my way every now and then with muted concern in his eyes. I was startled when he turned off the burner and approached me.

When close, he put a hand on my back. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. I knew he understood that I was hurting, and he stood without moving, as if trying to absorb my pain in the hope of taking it from me and making it his own.

In the morning, Dad drove me to the airport and stood beside me at the gate while I waited for my flight to be called. When it was time, I rose. My dad held out his hand; I hugged him instead. His body was rigid, but I didn’t care. “Love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, John.”

“Find some good coins, okay?” I added, pulling back. “I want to hear all about them.”

He glanced at the floor. “I like Savannah,” he said. “She’s a nice girl.”

It came out of the blue, but somehow it was exactly what I wanted to hear.

On the plane, I sat with the letter Savannah had written me, holding it in my lap. Though I wanted to open it immediately, I waited until we’d lifted off from the runway. From the window, I could see the coastline, and I searched first for the pier, then the house. I wondered whether she was still sleeping, but I wanted to think that she was out on the beach and watching for the plane.

When I was ready, I opened the envelope. In it, she’d placed a photograph of herself, and I suddenly wished I had left her one of me. I stared at her face for a long time, then set it aside. I took a deep breath and began to read.

Beyond the window and through the tears in my eyes, I could see a layer of clouds spread beneath me. I had no idea where we were. All I knew was that I wanted to turn around and go back home, to be in the place I was meant to be.