Summer's Child (19 page)

W
HAT WAS SHE GOING TO DO ABOUT
R
ORY
?

Grace drove through the darkness toward Rodanthe, that one thought blocking all others from her mind. She had never treated anyone this way before. Never used another person for her own gain. It had gotten out of hand, and she didn’t know how to fix it. She was driven to see him…but only because it put her so close to Shelly.

Shelly was stunning! She had been an ethereal vision, walking through those sea oats, golden in the early-evening light. She looked so healthy, and Grace clung to that reassuring fact. But Pamela had looked healthy, too. She wished Shelly was not constantly taking those solo walks on the beach. How quickly did she walk? How strenuously?

Shelly was tall and lithe, just like Grace had been at that age. She had the body and the presence of a model. She remembered what Rory had said: Grace looked like a model, too.

Oh, Rory
, she thought,
if only you knew.

She’d first heard those words when she was sixteen years old. She’d been walking alone through the shopping center where she and her best friend, Bonnie, had after-school jobs, when a man suddenly stepped in front of her. She’d had to stop short
to avoid running into him. He was probably her mother’s age, maybe a little older. He had silver hair, but his face was relatively unlined and his blue eyes smiled at her. For someone his age, he was very handsome.

He apologized for disturbing her, then told her his name was Brad Chappelle and he ran a modeling agency. “I’m walking through the shopping center today, looking for girls who might be model material,” he said. “And I have to tell you that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve stumbled across in my search so far this year.”

Already shy, Grace could think of nothing to say in response to such an effusive compliment, and the man continued talking.

“You’ll have to get some photographs taken for a portfolio,” he said, “and then you’ll have to go through the training program at my agency. It will cost you some money, but you’ll easily make ten times that in your first year as a model. I can practically guarantee it.”

He wanted money. Was that what this was about? Some sort of scam?

“I really don’t have any money,” she said.

He studied her for a moment. “Well, in your case, if you can spring for the photographs, I’ll cover the training program for you,” he said. “I think you’ll be a good investment.”

He told her she would need her mother’s permission to take classes at the agency, and Grace thought that would be a major stumbling block. Her mother always seemed to view Grace as more of a liability than an asset, and she was indeed resistant to the idea—at first. Once Brad talked to her about Grace’s earning potential, though, she readily gave her permission.

Getting pictures taken for her initial portfolio turned out to be one of the most awkward afternoons of Grace’s life as she tried unsuccessfully to relax in front of the camera. The pho
tographer was nice about it, telling her how much more confident she would feel after taking Brad’s modeling course.

She loved the classes at the agency right from the start. Since grade school, she had been teased about her height and her thin form. Now, her height, her slender body, her high cheekbones were the envy of other girls, and she found herself walking tall. She knew she was Brad’s favorite among his students, and she felt his eyes on her as she moved through the class. Admiration was in his face, and after the fourth or fifth class, he told her that she had a natural ability in addition to her beauty. Grace overheard one of the more experienced models say that Brad was grooming her for the big time.

Her first real assignment came that summer, at a fashion show at Beck’s, a local department store. Brad invited her mother as his special guest, which told everyone who hadn’t already figured it out that Grace was his pet. It was the first time her mother had seen her model, and the show went spectacularly well. Grace’s mother could not mask her pride at seeing her daughter, a changed young woman, on the runway. Grace was no longer painfully shy; she no longer walked hunched over to mask her height.

After that show, Grace’s mother began buying fashion magazines. She’d point to pictures in the magazine and hold them out in front of Grace. “Maybe you should have your hair cut like this girl’s,” she would say. Or, “If you’d do those leg lifts, you’d get a better rear end for those clothes you have to wear.” Grace’s mother and Brad conspired to persuade her to quit high school and focus entirely on her career, but Grace refused. She loved modeling, but she was beginning to envy her classmates’ normal lives as they entered their senior year. Bonnie was still her best friend, but things had changed. Bonnie had met a boy over the summer, and she usually had a date on Saturday nights. Grace often worked on Saturdays and was too tired to go out
when evening rolled around. Not that anyone was asking her out, anyway.

As she was drawn deeper into her modeling career and became aware of the life-style Brad’s more experienced models were living, Grace grew uncomfortable. Most of the other models were older and out of school. Drugs were rampant, and although she didn’t think Brad used drugs himself, he turned a blind eye to whatever his girls were doing to get themselves through their grueling schedules. There were more and more fashion shows out of town, and Grace had little choice but to skip school in order to take those jobs.

Her relationship with Brad was gradually changing. While the other models might be driven to shows in Washington or Philadelphia in a specially equipped van, Brad often asked Grace to ride with him in his car. At first, she thought this was because he knew she didn’t fit in with the other girls and that she felt awkward with them. But she began to realize that he no longer thought of her as simply one of his blossoming models. She would catch him staring at her when she was doing nothing more than putting on her makeup or eating her dinner of fish and vegetables. He hugged her often. He hugged the other girls, as well, but she knew there was something different in the way he touched her.

One night, while driving back from a fashion show in Washington, he was uncharacteristically quiet in the car. She was tired, so she didn’t mind. Resting her head against the car window, she had nearly dozed off when his voice broke the silence.

“I know this is crazy,” he said, his gaze fixed out the front window of the car, “and I have no idea how you’ll react to this, but…I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while now.”

She turned her head in his direction, waiting.

He glanced at her, and for the first time since she’d known
him, he looked unsure of himself. “I’ve fallen in love with you,” he said.

The words stunned her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She had no idea how to respond.

“I know, I know,” he said hurriedly. “I’m old enough to be your father. And believe me, I’ve been fighting the feelings. But I can’t help myself. I’ve been attracted to you from the very beginning, and you’ve just become more…appealing to me as you’ve matured and grown as a model. You project this…savvy innocence. It’s irresistible, Grace.”

She couldn’t help being flattered that a man like Brad Chappelle was interested in her, but she still felt shocked by his admission.

“Say something, Grace,” he said. His voice was almost pleading.

“I’m very grateful for what you’ve done for me,” she said slowly. “And…I do love you, Brad.” She did. He was the dearest man she’d ever known. He’d become like a father to her, and more. But she knew that would not be the best thing to say right now. “I’m not
in
love with you, though. I’ve never thought of you that way.” She had to be honest with him. He was handsome, kind and generous, but nothing could change his age.

Brad sighed. “See what I mean?” he asked. “Any of the other girls would have said, ‘oh, I love you, too, Brad,’ just to stay on my good side. But not you. I knew I could trust you to tell me how you’re really feeling. I certainly won’t push you, Grace. But I want you to know how I feel, in case that makes a difference to you. In case you might just possibly start looking at me…‘that way,’ as you say.”

When she got home that night, she called Bonnie, even though it was quite late. She lay on her bed and told Bonnie, in perfect detail, what Brad had said to her.

“I’m in shock,” Bonnie said when Grace had finished her story.

“And I’m mixed up,” Grace said.

“I think it’s neat that he’s interested in you,” Bonnie said. “He’s really cute, don’t you think?”

No, she didn’t think Brad was “cute.” Bonnie’s seventeen-year-old boyfriend, Curt, was “cute.” Grace longed for Bonnie’s normal, teenage-girl life.

“Can you picture going to bed with him?” Bonnie asked.

“
No
,” Grace said, although she had never even kissed a boy, so it was difficult to imagine actually sleeping with one. And Brad was no boy.

There was a knock on her bedroom door.

“Grace?” Her mother opened the door and poked her head inside. “Hang up,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”

Something in her mother’s voice told her not to argue.

“I have to go, Bonnie,” she said. She hung up the phone and waited as her mother sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I happened to overhear your conversation with Bonnie,” her mother began. “And I heard what you said about Brad.”

Grace had been in her bedroom with the door closed while talking with Bonnie. Her mother must have had her ear pressed against the door, eavesdropping. Either that, or she’d been listening on the extension. Grace swallowed her rage; it would do no good to express it. “I was talking to Bonnie,” she said, “not you.”

“I think it’s wonderful.” Her mother ignored the barb. “Do you realize how lucky you are? Do you know how many women would give their right arm for a man like Brad Chappelle? He has money. He has power.”

“But I’m not in love with him,” Grace said, shocked that her mother would want her involved with a man as old as Brad.

“Love can come later. Love can grow,” her mother philosophized. “You just have to be willing to allow it to happen.”

“He’s too old for me,” Grace said.

Her mother leaned toward her, clutching Grace’s arm in her hand. “You owe him a great deal, Grace,” she said. “Have you thought about that? About how much he’s done for you? You need to keep him happy.”

“You sound like you’re more concerned about Brad’s happiness than you are about mine,” Grace said, freeing her arm from her mother’s grasp.

“I don’t think you know yet
what
will make you happy,” her mother said, standing up. “I want you to think seriously about this, all right? You need to give Brad a chance.”

Grace lay back on her bed after her mother left the room. She shut her eyes, remembering Brad’s kind, open face as he admitted his feelings for her. She was afraid. Afraid of needing Brad’s approval so much that she’d hurt him to get it.

She never realized that she was the one who would end up being hurt.

T
HE PILOT’S EYES WERE BROWN
. B
ROWN AND HUGE AND
terrified as her face slipped into the black water. Daria clung to her arm, trying to hold her above the water’s surface, but the plane was going down. She turned to see Shelly hanging by her hands from the propeller, dragging the plane and the pilot under. She screamed at Shelly to let go, but Shelly hung on
.

“You don’t really want me to let go,” she called out to Daria. And the plane slipped under, taking the pilot with it, dragging Daria beneath the water’s surface as she tried vainly to pull the pilot up again.

Daria sat up in bed, gasping for air as if she had in fact been underwater for far too long. Her sheets were soaked with sweat, and it took her a moment to get her bearings. She was in her bedroom at the Sea Shanty, and the room was dark and eerily still. She could barely hear the waves breaking on the beach.

Relief washed over her at finding herself on dry land, but it was relief tainted with sorrow: it had been a dream, yes, but a dream too rooted in reality.

Sleep would never come now, she knew, and she didn’t dare close her eyes again for fear of the pilot’s return. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her robe, then walked barefoot down
stairs and out onto the front steps of the Sea Shanty. The night was warm and balmy, the sort of Outer Banks summer night she had treasured all of her life, but the soft air and rhythmic lapping of the ocean on the shore didn’t soothe her the way it usually did. She leaned back against the porch door and looked up at the stars.

Poll-Rory’s porch door squeaked open, and in a moment Rory was walking across the cul-de-sac toward her. She sat up straight.

“What are you doing up?” His voice was quiet, as though he didn’t want to wake anyone. He sat down next to her on the steps.

“I could ask you the same question,” she said.

“I’m a night person,” Rory said simply. “What’s your excuse?”

She rested her head on her arms. “Nightmare,” she said. “That plane crash. The pilot drowned in front of my eyes one more miserable time.”

He put his hand on the back of her neck, massaging lightly, and she closed her eyes, willing him to keep it there.

“You can’t get away from that night, can you?” he said.

“Shelly was a bitch in this one,” Daria said, shuddering at the memory of her sister’s belligerence. “She wouldn’t let go of the propeller. She said I didn’t want her to. What the heck does that mean?”

Rory’s fingers dug a little deeper, slipping beneath her hair. “I’m not much of a believer in the deep meaning of dreams,” he said. “I think you still have some unfinished business regarding that night. That’s all.”

He was right. “I keep wondering about the pilot’s family,” she said. Her cheek rested on her knee, and the words slipped slowly from her mouth. “I don’t know anything about her life. I don’t know how she came to be a pilot at eighteen. I don’t know if she had sisters and brothers, or a boyfriend who thinks he can’t live without her. I don’t even know her name,
although I probably knew it at the time of the accident. I wish I’d made an attempt to get in touch with her family. I was the last person with her. If I’d lost someone close to me, I’d want to know what their last minutes had been like. Although, in this case, it sure wouldn’t be comforting information. And I couldn’t tell them what really happened, just like I haven’t told anyone else.”

“Except me,” Rory said.

She opened her eyes and raised her head to smile at him. “Except you,” she agreed.

He dropped his hand from her neck to his lap. “Well, it isn’t too late, is it?” he asked. “Don’t you think they’d appreciate hearing from you, even after all this time? If I were in their shoes, it would make me feel good that the EMT still cared so much about what happened. And maybe it would help you, Daria. Maybe you’d stop being haunted by it all.”

“I hadn’t really thought of doing that,” Daria said. “I guess I’m afraid to, since I’d have to lie about what happened.”

“But wouldn’t you feel better to see that they’ve been able to go on with their lives? Assuming, of course, that they
have
been able to go on,” he said. “I guess that would be the risk you’d take by getting in touch with them. But no matter what you found out, at least you’d be dealing with reality instead of your fantasy. I bet it would put an end to your nightmares.”

“Maybe I will,” Daria said, and the idea gave her some relief. Rory was right. It would be good to know, in concrete terms, exactly how the pilot’s family was faring.

They both started at the sound of a bark and turned toward the beach to see Linda and three of her dogs crossing the dune to the cul-de-sac. Linda waved when she saw them and continued walking toward her cottage, the panting of the dogs loud and harsh in the still air.

“Someone else is having trouble sleeping tonight,” Rory said.