The Summer's End (28 page)

She went in the bathroom to wash her face, apply moisturizer, and run a brush through her hair. Tucking it behind her ears, she stared at her face. It was her usual, familiar face . . . but different. She'd gained a few pounds since she'd arrived at Sea Breeze, mostly muscle from running and gardening. Her face had lost its gauntness. Leaning closer to the mirror, she could see the faint smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose and cheekbones.
Despite her maniacal application of sunscreen and wearing of hats, her fair skin freckled. Yet she preferred the healthy-looking, soft glow of color to her normally alabaster skin. Her red hair had blond streaks from the sun and had grown from its chin-length, sharply contoured blunt cut to fall loosely to her shoulders. Harper applied lip gloss and turned away from the mirror. This was her, she thought—au naturel. And that was enough.

Taylor rang the doorbell at Sea Breeze precisely at seven o'clock. They decided to stay local and eat sushi at Bushido restaurant on the Isle of Palms. The thick tension floating between them had each behaving in an exceedingly polite manner. More so than on their first date. The mood was decidedly uncomfortable. Before climbing into the truck, Taylor took her hand to stop her.

“Can we talk now?” Taylor asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“If you wish.” Harper was being curt but she couldn't help herself. She was hurt and angry and, yes, pissed off.

“Let's take a walk on the beach,” Taylor suggested.

September was just around the corner, and Harper noticed small changes on the beach. The sun was setting earlier. Already the sky had shifted from blue to the mystical blend of periwinkle and lavender that preceded a sunset. The white-tipped ocean was iridescent as it reflected the silvery violet.

A sprinkling of color was returning to the dunes as the wildflowers opened up to the cooling temperatures. She spied the first spires of goldenrod, sea oxeye, and her favorite, yellow primrose. She spied a large cluster of shorebirds in the distance, early birds in the migration south along the Atlantic Flyway.
Soon the monarch butterflies would be passing through. Harper had always left the lowcountry for home in the North by this late in the season. She was pleased that this year, for the first time, she'd see the subtle changes of autumn at the beach.

They walked side by side, not holding hands, close to the shoreline. Harper usually ran on the beach in the morning, when the sand was wiped smooth by the outgoing tide. Now the beach was covered with footprints and the occasional litter from thoughtless visitors.

Taylor removed his sunglasses and stuck them into his shirt pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead. But I really do hope you'll quit someday. Those things will kill you.”

His lips curved slightly as he put a cigarette into his mouth. “Glad you care.”

She stopped and waited while his large hands cupped the cigarette and he lit it, then took a long drag.

Walking again, he turned his head, his gaze steady. “I'm sorry I didn't call.”

She looked away, thinking,
Too little, too late.
“I'm sorry, too.”

“Will you give me a chance to explain?”

He'd heard her tone and knew she was putting up walls. She looked at him, walking erect, but his eyes spoke of the turmoil he was in.

She swept a lock of hair from her face, already damp from the humidity. “All right.”

“I didn't call because after you left I went into my shell. It's what I do when I need to decompress. It's a survival pattern. I call it turtling. I tuck in and get quiet. It's different from relaxing. It's kind of zoning out.” He took another drag on the cigarette. “See, when I didn't call, it's
not because you didn't matter to me. It's because you matter so much.”

Harper didn't understand just yet, but felt a quickening of hope.

“There are a lot of symptoms with PTSD. You know about the anxiety, hypervigilance, depression. For me, the worst was sleeping.” He laughed shortly. “That's a gross understatement. We all have problems with falling asleep, or waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep. But I had nightmares.” He rubbed his jaw, collecting his thoughts. “Bad. Worse, they were so damn real. When I was dreaming, I was
there,
reliving the experience. When that happens, your whole body reacts, your heart starts pumping and your blood races. I was trained to fight, and if someone woke me up while I was in one of those dreams, I'd go right into fight mode. I'd grab my gun and search the room.” Taylor raked his hair, visibly shaken. “Hell, I wasn't even awake. I could have killed someone.”

Harper remained silent, listening.

“When I first got home from war, I didn't leave the house. I kept away from crowds, shopping centers, anywhere people gathered. I was always on high alert. I had a girlfriend back then. We'd dated in college. Real nice girl. She wrote to me while I was away. But when I came back, she couldn't deal with me. She said I'd changed. She tried, but . . .” He shrugged. “We broke up.”

Harper conjured up this pretty woman holding his hand, her photograph in his wallet. Someone he'd wanted to marry, perhaps. Harper couldn't help the flare of jealousy. “Did you see her when you returned home this time?”

Taylor shook his head. “She's married now. Wouldn't be right. And I've moved on.”

As quickly as Harper had conjured up the woman, she disappeared into the ether. “What turned things around for you?”

“Thor.” He smiled.

“Thor . . .”

“He's more than a dog. He was my salvation. We were together twenty-four/seven. Thor sleeps beside my bed, and if I go into REM and start having a nightmare, he wakes me up. When I open my eyes and see him, I know I'm okay.”

“Do you still have nightmares?”

Taylor stopped walking and turned to face her. “Not in a long time. Like I said, I'm feeling good. I go out and leave him at home all the time. But . . .” Taylor looked at the sea again, his mouth pinched. After a moment he looked back at her, holding her gaze. “Harper, I worry that it might come back. I'm afraid, if we're sleeping together, I might have a nightmare and hurt
you.
I couldn't bear that.”

Harper caught her breath, understanding. Harper knew that his not calling her the past few days, his “turtling,” was not about his
not
thinking of her. Quite the contrary, he was only thinking of her.

“I'm glad you told me this.” Harper reached out to take his hand. “I just wish you'd have told me right away.” She laughed shortly. “Texted me, at least.”

Taylor played with her fingers. “It's hard to explain all that in a text.”

“The closer we get, the more we have to trust each other.”

He looked up from their joined hands. “So, I take it by that that you'll see me again?”

A smile twitched at her lips. “Oh, yes.”

The tension fled from his face and he smiled. He began walking again, but Harper pulled at his arm, stopping him. “Don't be shy about asking for your space when you need it, Taylor. Take all the time and space you need. Just tell me. Okay?”

Taylor's eyes kindled. “I don't want any space between us now.” He leaned toward her, sliding his arms around her, and pulled her closer.

Later they ate dinner at Bushido as planned. It was a favorite among locals and tourists alike, the subtly Asian atmosphere sleek and inviting. Once they were seated, the waitress promptly came to take their drink order.

“I'll have a mango martini.”

Taylor looked at the waitress. “A mango martini and a pale ale.”

The waitress quickly returned with their drinks and stood poised for their order. “Do you need more time?”

Harper looked at Taylor with one brow raised. From his wry grin, she knew he'd caught the double entendre.

“Yes, please,” he told the waitress.

Harper took a long sip of her martini, enjoying the chilled sweetness.

Taylor leaned across so his face was close to Harper's. He couldn't withhold the wide grin that spread across his face. “I got the job!”

Harper was taken aback. “My God, that was fast. Congratulations!”

“You're looking at Boeing's new project manager. I start training in three weeks.”

Harper clapped her hands together in delight. “I'm so proud of you.”

Taylor took a pull from his beer, then shook his head as though he still couldn't believe the news. “You know, two years ago, I didn't think I had a future. It's one of the symptoms of PTSD. I know that now, but back then I was deep in the dark. I didn't expect to have a career, marriage, children. A normal life. So now, to get this great job, to have you by my side . . .” He shook his head again. “I feel on top of the world.” He raised his bottle of beer. “Here's to the future!”

Harper raised her glass and they clinked. In her mind she wondered,
What future
? She sipped the martini, then set the glass on the small square napkin. “So”—she looked into his eyes—“you'll be here in Charleston.”

“Right.”

“But I'll be in New York.”

Taylor's arm froze midair. He drank from his glass, then set it on the table. “Is that definite?”

“I don't have any other plans.”

“You're moving back in with your mother?” His tone reflected his disbelief.

“No,” she replied in a rush. “But I'm moving back to New York. Probably.”

“Why New York?”

“New York is still the heart of the publishing industry in this country. It's where the jobs are. But if not New York, it'll be London.”

Taylor's eyes widened. “As in London, England?”

“Of course London, England. There are serious publishing jobs there. My grandparents live not far from the city. It makes sense.”

“Aren't
there jobs you could get here?”

“Maybe. But far fewer opportunities. Smaller companies. Anyway, why would I do that?”

Taylor leaned back in his chair and spread out his hands. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

Harper bent her head. Her toes curled in her shoes.

“What about everything you said about loving this place?” Taylor's tone had suddenly gone dull. “Feeling at home here?”

“It's all very good to feel at home here. Unfortunately, the place I call home is being sold, and there's that business of having to get a job and finding a place to live.” She said softly, “You could come to New York with me.”

“What? I just got this job. And it's exactly what I was looking for!”

“So, it's me that has to relocate.”

He looked broadsided. “Whoa, are we really having this discussion? Already?”

Harper let her fingers run down the stem of her glass, trying to hold her tongue. Taylor had made his decision, found a job, and his path was paved. He was assuming that she'd simply follow suit, only he'd ignored the possibility that she'd be applying for a job outside of Charleston.

And wasn't she being just as overbearing with Taylor? She'd blithely been assuming that he'd consider a move to New York with her. But he'd been ambitious and beaten her to the punch by landing a great job in Charleston. Meanwhile, here it was already the end of August and she had yet to lift one finger to prepare for the fall.

“Yes, we're having this discussion,” she replied evenly. “If you want any input into whether I go or stay.”

“It's simple. Stay.”

“Oh, Taylor . . .”

Their eyes met and they both looked away.

Harper drained her martini glass. “We could have a long-distance relationship,” suggested Harper, breaking the silence. “I could fly in on weekends or sometimes you could come to New York.”

“My schedule is going to be crazy during training—day shifts, night shifts, weekends. It'll be hard enough trying to find time to be together if you were living here in town. But out of town?” He shook his head. “Forget it. It wouldn't work.”'

“I see. So it's okay for me to move or fly back and forth. But not you.”

“I didn't say that.”

The tang of mango lingered on Harper's tongue as she considered his words. He was holding his ground. Harper knew that if she were more like her mother, she would finish her drink, smile, thank him politely for dinner, and walk out of the restaurant and out of his life. Nothing or no one stood in Georgiana James's way.

But she wasn't like her mother. Nor was she like her father, who couldn't commit. She didn't have any role models to follow in this decision. It was hers alone to make.

The waitress came to take their orders. Harper picked up her menu and scanned it. Her appetite was gone. She ordered a roll of sushi to be polite and another martini. Taylor ordered the nigiri dinner and another beer.

The waitress took the menus and left them in tense silence.