The Seacrest (8 page)

Was it because I’d been so ridiculously out of control that night? I’d been so randy, I couldn’t think straight, and the whole memory embarrassed me. She’d been cool and collected, in complete control. And as if it were a favor she bestowed on a needy peasant, she’d touched me with her soft hands and I’d burst into the night, in seconds.

Men were supposed to be proud of their ability to control themselves, weren’t they? We are supposed to hold off, to reel it back, to wait until just the right time so both partners could climax together. At least that’s what I’d read in some of Jax’s smutty novels he kept under his mattress.

Yet here I was, so darned horny I couldn’t wait one minute. Not even a minute. It was humiliating.

I imagined Sassy telling her friends about the poor, sex-crazed boy she’d helped out the other night on the beach. I pictured them laughing at me.

I’m such a loser.

The half bottle of wine I’d pinched from the fridge three nights ago lay warm on the sand beside my sneakers and two blankets. One to lie on, one to cover us if we got cold. I’d even brought my mp3 player and a small set of speakers to set the mood. I knew Sassy loved The Doors, a band she said her father had introduced her to when she was younger. Their first album lay ready and queued on my playlist.

By nine o’clock, I’d almost decided to give up. Waiting was not only excruciatingly boring, but totally exhausting, and my father had started to comment on my sluggish behavior every morning when he dragged me out of bed at six to work on the farm. I must have fallen asleep a little after nine, because around nine-thirty, she touched my lips with hers and woke me.

My eyes opened with a start. I stretched and smiled. “You’re here.”

She reached for me and laid her head against my chest. We sat together on the biggest rock on the breakwater. “I wanted to come. But my aunt…she died.”

“Oh, no, Sassy. I’m so sorry.” My mind raced.
Her aunt died? How horrible. But at least she didn’t reject me.
“I thought you didn’t want to see me any more.”

Her head moved against my chest. “Oh, no. I was dying to see you, Finn.”

Now my heart leapt and my stupid body started reacting the way it had the other night, the way it always seemed to respond to Sassy.

“I didn’t know how to contact you,” I said, still unsettled by the last few days of doubt.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Will you ever tell me?”

She looked up at me, her big eyes full of woe. “I’ll have to some day. But I’m afraid it’ll ruin everything.”

“My mom wants you to come to dinner soon.”

She stiffened. “I…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Because you’d have to give your real name?”

“Sort of. But mostly because I think we should keep this quiet. If my father finds out, we’re done.” She snuggled against me again, as if to lose herself in my embrace, to forget about whatever it was that tormented her.

“You know I’ll never leave you, Sassy. No matter what your father says, no matter what you tell me about your family.”

Her eyes lifted to mine. “I know, Finn. But that’s not really it.”

My eyebrow arched. “Then what is it?”

She hesitated, then whispered. “It’s my father, like I said. If he knows we’re dating, he’ll kill me. And he’ll stop it. Cold.”

“How could he stop us?” I asked, tilting her face up to mine. I kissed her soft lips.

“He could. He’d send me away.”

“Where?”

“To boarding school. He’s threatened it many times.”

“But those places are expensive, Sassy. How could he afford it?”

She didn’t say anything, and I figured maybe there was a scholarship or something for poorer families.

“Just kiss me, Finn.”

I kissed her long and hard, then took her hand and led her down the jetty. “I brought some special stuff for tonight, see?”

She nodded with a tired smile at the wine and blankets. “Nice.”

“And I’ve got music. The Doors.”

Her smile grew, just a little. “I love them.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay?” I put my arm around her and we started walking toward the shore, where high tide rushed against a ragged line of shells and seaweed.

“Just tired. We had the funeral today. So many people. So many tears. It was really hard.”

I hugged her sideways. “I can’t imagine losing a family member,” I said. “I’ve never been to a funeral.”

“It’s awful. You have to act civil to everyone, even people you don’t like. And then there’s the whole food thing. You have to put out food for all the vultures who come to the service, even if they didn’t like or know the person who died. They drink and eat and hang around your house for hours, laughing and drinking and sometimes just whispering when they see you noticing them having too much fun.”

“Sounds horrible.”

We walked in the cold surf, automatically heading for our cove.

“Finn?”

I stopped to face her in the moonlight. “Yes?”

“You’re my salvation, you know. I can escape it all when I’m with you. You make me forget…”

I hugged her close, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear. “I’m glad. I feel the same way. I’m whole when I’m with you.”

She clung to me then, and began to cry. After a long time, my feet felt cold and she shivered. Wiping her tears, she raised her eyes to mine. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. I really hated her, Finn. She was terrible to me. Awful. She was so despicable; I’d go to bed in tears most nights. But I can’t stop crying about it.”

I hugged her and shushed her and walked her up to the cove. “I know. Shh. It’s okay. It’s just normal to feel this way when someone dies.” I had no idea if I was right, but it sounded good.

I realized with certainty as she looked at me through the silvery moonlight that tonight would not be the night we joined together. It wouldn’t be right. It would be taking advantage.

And I also realized that in no uncertain terms, this was the girl I wanted to share my life with. Forever.

Me and Sassy. Together forever.

I took her hand and led her back to the jetty. In spite of my good intentions, I didn’t think I could restrain myself on a blanket in the sand next to the most beautiful girl in the world.

Chapter 17

July 14
^th
, 2013

11:00 A.M.

A
ce went inside first.

When I unlocked the big front door with trembling fingers, my loyal dog—who’d never been here in his life—pushed through the door, walked to the hearth in the great room, circled on the braided rug, and promptly lay down.

Libby sidled close behind me with a nervous whisper. “Look at Ace. He’s making himself right at home.”

Somehow, this simple action by my beloved dog made all the difference. If Ace didn’t sense spirits lingering, sadness permeating the wooden floors and wallpapered walls, if he didn’t hesitate to plop down in front of the fireplace, why should I?

I walked toward him, taking in the furniture and photos on the mantle.

How was it possible? Jax had recreated everything from our childhood, including a lookalike couch, tables, chairs, and even the pictures on the walls. He must’ve scoured antique stores for years to find these pieces. And the couch? How could he have found the exact fabric? The same design as the 1970s version my mother lovingly protected with plastic until I was twenty-two years old?

I suppose he could have commissioned the work, found an upholsterer and searched data banks of fabric. Apparently he had the money for it.

But to Jax’s credit—as spooky as it was—he’d done it.

I was home.

“Oh, look!” Libby pointed to the photos on the mantle. There I was, in a huge framed print. I stood smiling with a trophy, standing in front of my baseball team who crowded me with long-lost smiles on their faces.

My brother kept pictures of me in his home? Prominently displayed on the mantle?

To the right stood a photo of my grandfather, sitting atop his houseboat in ragged cutoffs with a drink in his hands, his skin all sun-creased and weather-wise. His eyes were hidden behind shades, but I knew they penetrated the camera lens with truth-seeking ferocity. A fishing rod rested in a holder by his side, and the Atlantic Ocean glistened in the background.

My eyes scanned the rest of the crowded mantle, zooming now from right to left and back again. Jax and me in our swimming trunks at the beach at age five and six. My mother and father with arms around each other on vacation in Maine. Me and my dog Mr. Jingles, posing for the camera on my tenth birthday. Jax and me on horses at the riding stables.

How had he done this? The pictures should have been destroyed in the fire.

Weren’t they?

The couch that I was sure had gone up in flames hadn’t been more than ten feet from the mantle.

How could he have saved these pictures? Or reproduced them?

A thought struck me.

Gramps.

Gramps had always insisted on my mother sending him copies of our photos. Every single one had to be made in duplicate and promptly mailed to him in Florida. And for Christmas, he always wanted copies of the enlargements my mother framed and hung on our walls.

That
had
to be it.

I thought back to my beloved grandfather and wondered if he were looking down on me, too. I knew he was in a Heaven that featured big marlin and bright sunshine, endless spans of calm seas and big, trouble-free boat engines. And plenty of gin on ice.

He’d died one year after the fire, in a freak storm off the coast of one of the islands he so loved. It had been fitting, in a way. He’d gone down with his boat, and had been laid to rest in the sea.

Libby touched my arm. “Penny for your thoughts?”

I shook myself back to the present and tossed her a half smile. “Just thinking about Gramps.”

She slid an arm through mine, surprising me once again with her friendly ways. “I loved that guy.”

“Everyone did,” I said, walking around the living room now, running my fingers along the top of the old cherry dry sink, noting burn marks on the corner. “I just wish I’d seen him one more time. I kind of disappeared after the fire. I think he would’ve made me feel better about it, somehow.”

“Yeah, but remember, he lost his only son in that fire. And he loved your mother like a daughter, didn’t he? Never mind the unthinkable loss of little Eva. He was hurting, too.” She followed my gaze and bent down to trace the contours of a burn on the bottom corner of the piece. “Wow. It looks like some of this stuff survived the fire.”

I nodded. “Guess so. I never came back after they let me out of the hospital. I didn’t want to see the damage.”

She lowered her eyes and took my hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there to help you through it. I was taking finals at the Sorbonne. I didn’t find out until after the funerals.”

Why would she have been there, anyway? We weren’t dating or anything at the time.
“I know. It’s okay. I wouldn’t have known if you were there or missing. I kind of lost it. They had me locked up in that place for almost a month before they thought I’d be okay.”

“Did Jax come to see you while you were in the hospital?” she asked.

I walked into the dining room, where memories flooded me once again. “No. Er, well, yes. But I refused to see him.”

She followed me, running her fingers over the white linen tablecloth. It looked as if it were never used, as if it and the centerpiece of pinecones and fake berries my mother always kept on the table hadn’t seen diners around it since that awful day.

“You blame him for the fire, don’t you?” she said.

I nodded. “He had just started smoking a few months earlier, but my parents didn’t know and would have killed him if they found out. I figured he’d been sneaking one that night. He must have fallen asleep on the couch.” I choked on the last few words, embarrassed that I could barely talk about it. Still.

“Is that what the police report said?”

I looked at her with renewed interest. “Why?”

She turned away from me and picked up a figurine in the china cabinet. “I don’t know. It’s just I…”

“What?”

“You hear things, you know. Around town.”

“What did you hear?”

She walked away again, examining the hand-sewn sampler on the wall. “Nothing.”

I strode to her side and caught her wrist in my hand, turning her toward me. “What did you hear?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she pulled her hand away. “You’re hurting me, Finn.”

Remorse flooded me. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

She sighed and pulled out one of the dining room chairs, perching on the seat with hands clasped and head down. “I just heard all sorts of things. That it was electrical. That it was a cigarette. I never knew what the final word was.”

I dropped onto a chair beside her, and memories of the night rammed into me.

Jax pulling on me, dragging me out of bed. Struggling through the smoke-filled room and staring in horror at the flames that engulfed the hallway to my parents’ and sister’s bedrooms.

“It was so awful,” I said, unable to look at her.

Libby’s hands rubbed my back, up and down in soft circles. She pulled me to her, and stroked my hair with her long, slim fingers. I raised a tear-stained face to hers, seeing her clearly, for the time in a long time.

Then she kissed me.

Chapter 18

July 30
^th
, 1997

10:00 P.M.

W
e’d been getting closer each night, exploring the intimate, warm, secret places on each other’s bodies, and learning what strange and wonderful things felt good to each other. Tongues and fingers licked and touched and invaded places I’d never imagined could feel so good. Sassy said she’d learned from books, but I figured she’d also absorbed some of it from that boy from Yarmouth who’d had her before me. I hated to think of him, and pushed the thoughts away.