When Light Breaks (22 page)

I nodded, but felt as though he had just sunk my dreams with the anchor of reason. And he was probably right—I couldn’t do one more thing right now even if I wanted to, even if I was accepted into the program.

“Let’s be rational,” he said. “If you’re talking about this to make me mad, to get back at me because of what I didn’t tell—”

“Speaking of—I do have a couple questions about that.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Go ahead, Kara. What do you want to know? I thought we reached the end of this last night.”

“Who were they?”

His answers were robotic, empty. “Mia Garbinski and Emily Williams.”

“You’re right. I don’t know them.” I lifted my wineglass, tilted it toward Peyton. “Go ahead.”

“Nothing else to tell.”

“Who broke off the engagements?”

“Me.”

“Why?”

“My mother couldn’t stand Mia and Emily was clingy and needy, freaked out about everything I ever did, everywhere I went.”

“I’m not sure your mom likes me much, either.”

He squeezed my hand. “I love you.”

For the first time the words sounded hollow, empty of anything but the outline of the letters. “You do?”

“How can you doubt that? Kara, I am so sorry about all of this. Please let it go. I can’t take it when you’re upset . . . but quitting your job, running off to take some art classes, will not get back at me.”

“I am not quitting my job—I’m exploring my options. I just want you to understand something: I am not asking for your permission. I am telling you about it because you’re about to be my husband. I don’t know if I’ll do it, I don’t even know if I’d get in the program, but I really
want
to do it. I feel like it is . . .” I searched for the right word, then looked up to him. “A hint of who I’m supposed to be.”

“What does that mean? That doesn’t make any sense at all. Of course you’re already who you’re supposed to be.” He held his hand out to me. “My sweet, adorable Kara.”

My heart skittered across his words, like a flat rock thrown over the water, then sank. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them, reached across the table for his out-held hand.

“Okay, let’s talk about something else. Tell me a little bit about this investment.”

Conversation smoothed into our regular cadence while I waited for the waters inside my heart to quiet. When he dropped me off at home, he kissed me. “We’re okay, right?”

“Perfect,” I said, and touched the side of his face.

I stood on the porch and watched Peyton’s car disappear. Darkness came complete on that night. The stars and thin, waxing moon hid behind low clouds—as if someone had forgotten to turn on the night-light. I looked over to Jack’s old house.

Could it have been only two days since I last saw him? It seemed as though a lifetime of events had happened since the concert—my discovery of Mama’s dying wish, learning that Peyton had been engaged before, and Maeve falling into a coma. Time, like the river below Jack and me in Savannah, just kept moving. I didn’t even know him anymore—I only knew what I remembered, what had happened between us a long way up the river, a distance not measured in miles, but in lost years.

I looked up to the night sky, then sat on a rocker and stared out to the road, to the neighbor’s front lights. A motor thrummed at the end of the road, then stopped in front of my house. I squinted and leaned forward. A man stepped out, stood with his hands on his hips and stared at my home. I stood to walk inside, then turned back to glance again at the confident manner in which he stood, as though he knew how to keep the earth solidly beneath his feet. Jack.

I waved; he didn’t wave back. He turned to the house next door—his old home. He couldn’t see me in the dark night, but I saw him backlit against a streetlamp. I walked down the steps and moved toward his truck, came up beside him before he heard me.

He jumped as I stepped closer.

“Kara,” he said, then laughed. “Never sneak up on a man like that.”

“What are you doing?” I patted his truck.

“This is embarrassing, but I came to—see the old house. I haven’t really seen it since we moved, except for the other day when I drove past quickly.”

I pointed toward his house. “It looks different, doesn’t it? At least five families have lived there, and each one has changed something about it.”

“You know,” he said, “you haven’t left and you remember better, I’m sure. But I’ve lived ten, twelve places since here, and I really had forgotten a lot of it, a lot of those times and days. Until I saw you.” He turned back to me and touched the side of my face. I backed away in a slight movement.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I came in the dark so you wouldn’t see me. Guess that plan didn’t work.”

“Why didn’t you want me to see you?” I leaned against his truck.

“I didn’t want you to think I was trying to mess with your life, since you’re engaged and all that.”

I laughed. “Now why would I think that?”

“Because I am,” he said, and pinched the tip of my nose.

“You’re what?”

“Wanting to mess with your life.”

“Jack—”

“But I won’t. I promise.”

“You’re not messing with my life.”

He faced me with his left shoulder against the truck. “Do you remember the ring I gave you?”

I nodded.

“You really do?”

“Yes, I really do. In fact, I still have it.”

In the light of the flickering gas lamp, his eyebrows rose. “You do?”

“I do. It’s dented, but I have it.”

“I bought that for your fifteenth birthday. I thought I’d give it to you down by the footbridge and ask you to go steady with me.” He laughed. “Steady? No one says that anymore, do they?”

“No,” I said.

“I bought it at the downtown jewelry store—McRorey’s. Do you remember that place?”

“It’s still there, still run by Mr. McRorey.”

“Wow, how old is he now?”

“Jack—it’s only been thirteen years . . . or so. He’s in his sixties, I think.”

“Thirteen years—seems like a lifetime. Well, he talked me into that ring when I was going to buy you a star pendant.”

“For our game of who saw the first star. . . .”

“Well, Mr. McRorey told me the ring stood for love, loyalty, and friendship. And well, then—back then, I mean—I thought that’s what we stood for.”

“That is awful sweet.”

“Or just awful, huh?” he asked.

“No. Just sweet.”

“I don’t know what happened to that boy.” He sighed. “Why don’t you just go on in”—he waved toward my house—“and forget you saw me. I really didn’t mean to bother you. I just came to take a little walk down memory lane.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m . . .” I fought for the right words and came up with something completely inadequate. “Glad to see you.”

A clap of thunder met my lukewarm declaration. I jumped as rain pelted us in a sudden downpour. Jack grabbed my hand, pulled me toward the side of the lawn, toward our tree cavern of the past.

We ran toward the line of oaks. I laughed, immediately soaked. “I don’t think we can squeeze in there anymore.”

We ducked together under the branches. Jack pulled me to him. “Looks like we still fit.”

I didn’t know whether he meant that we fit together or that we fit under the tree. I scooted backward on my bottom. “Wow, I
do
still fit in here.” I looked up at him. “I haven’t come in here since you left.”

“Really?”

“I waited.” I picked a leaf off the lower root, feeling I could say anything, that the thoughts and emotions would stay here, under the tree, and not be carried outside with us.

“You waited for me?” He touched my bottom lip, held his finger there.

Everything in me stilled: thoughts, reactions, rationalizations all quieted. I touched his hand. “A long time. Then I finally had to stop. . . .”

He leaned toward me now, never moving his hand. “Am I too late? Did you wait too long?” Then his hand moved as his lips touched mine, found my mouth.

Thunder pounded our hideout; I jumped back. “Jack . . .”

“Wow, this place is so full of . . . so much.”

“I know.”

He pushed the wet hair off my face. “How could you still live here and not feel the past all the time? Your mama, my daddy, us?”

“Just because you stay in one place doesn’t mean life doesn’t go on as it went on for you—new experiences, new people. You don’t have to leave to move on.”

“But sitting here with you, under these roots, it’s like time never moved, like—”

An unbidden tear escaped my eye; I wiped it away. “Don’t, Jack. I’m confused enough. Don’t do this. You’re remembering what we had then, who I was then. Memory and love are elusive enough. I can’t confuse what I remember with what is real.”

“No,” he said, and put both hands in my hair now. “I know the difference.”

I turned away. “Please. I’ve had an awful night. Can we change the subject?” The rain pelted the trees, creating a symphony that I wanted to slip into like a silk nightgown.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low and raspy, “change of subject coming up. How did you end up being an event planner for the golf tour?”

“I’m called a service manager. Daddy got me an internship during college and . . .”

“You just stayed?”

“Yes. It’s a great job. . . . I have thought about changing, though.”

“To do what?”

I held the words tightly; I couldn’t bear to share my desire one more time and have it shot down, ridiculed. I shook my head. “I’m just thinking—that’s all, just thinking.”

“About?”

In the shadowed cave, I spoke. “I’m exploring . . . going to photography school.”

“Now that, sweet Kara, is something I would expect you to be doing. You have always loved nature, loved capturing it in pictures. You should definitely—” He stopped, placed his hand over mine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t give you my opinion. I don’t know you well enough to . . .”

“But you do,” I said. “You do know me well enough.” I wanted to reach for Jack, hold him, but I pushed my hands under my bottom. “What ever happened to your dad?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Mom kept us moving. He never caught up with us and she never told me. I’ve thought about trying to find him, but—why?”

“Because he’s your dad.”

“Who beat us, beat his wife and drank his way into oblivion. He’s probably dead or in jail or . . . on the street.”

“I guess I’d just want to know.”

“That’s because you love your dad.”

“Well, then, how’s your mom?”

“I think she’s finally come to a peaceful place in her life. She lives in Virginia Beach in a small cottage behind some sand dunes.”

“Please send her my love.”

“I will.”

The rain had stopped now; the thunderstorm disappeared as fast as it had come, as though it had only visited to force us back under our trees.

Then there was nothing left to do but touch his cheek, run my finger along his chin.

“One,” I said in a whisper.

“One what?”

I shook my head. “Oh, just damn, Jack.”

He smiled, crooked, sweet. “Kara.”

“This is absolutely not in my plans,” I said.

“Yeah, you weren’t exactly dressed for an evening in the root caves.”

I looked down at my off-white pants, my pink blouse. “Ruined.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely ruined.” He grinned, reached for me again.

“Jack, I don’t want to do it all . . . wrong. Mess things up. Please let me sort this out. I think we’re mixing up the past with now, story with truth. . . .”

He closed his eyes, nodded.

We shimmied our way out of the trees, stood and looked at each other over the wet grass.

I hesitated, then spoke. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

“I don’t want to bother you or your family. But I do want you to know that if you still need a band for that benefit in a few weeks, we can do it. No problem.”

“Really?” I hugged him. “That is just such awesome news. When I go to work tomorrow I won’t get fired. The only thing I could find during this time of year—wedding and graduation season—was a string quartet. This is just so great.” I reached my hand up to give Jack a high five, and he hit my hand, laughed with his head back.

“I’m glad I can make you so happy,” he said. “Doesn’t take much, does it?”

I reached for my engagement ring, twisted it around my finger. “Come on in, have a drink—celebrate that I will not have my butt chewed out tomorrow morning.”

By the time we entered the house and I’d poured us each a glass of wine, Daddy came home. He stood in the doorway of the library, narrowed his eyes at both of us.

“Jack Sullivan?” Daddy took another step into the room.

Jack nodded. “Yes, sir.” He held out his hand. “Good to see you.”

Daddy shook his hand. “I can honestly say I never thought I’d see you in this house again.”

Jack dropped his hand, placed his glass of wine on the side table. “I should probably be going now.” He nodded at me. “Kara, we’ll talk soon and I’ll get the details for the concert.” He moved toward the entranceway.

“No,” I said, “don’t leave.” I glanced at my father. “That was so rude, Daddy. He just stopped by to say hello and bail me out of big trouble.”

“Trouble?” Daddy raised his bushy eyebrows.

“Yes, I lost the band for the benefit and Jack’s band is going to save my . . . job.”

Daddy nodded at Jack. “Thank you.” But his words were empty of anything but indifference. Then he gave me the look: the one I’d dreaded my entire childhood. His eyebrows moved together, then down. His mouth pursed forward, but he didn’t speak. I felt like I was eleven years old and late for dinner, late for something—just late. When love is sparse in a house without a mama and with an angry sister, when approval has love as its sidestepping companion, disapproval is avoided at all costs.