Moondance Beach (17 page)

Clancy stopped walking, nearly tripping on an exposed pine tree root. “Okay. Sure. Whoa.”

“She showed me around her house. You ever seen that place?”

Clancy shook his head. “Just from the outside. It’s pretty wicked, huh?”

Duncan blew out air. “She’s got this art studio that’s . . . I don’t even know how to do it justice. It feels as big as
an aircraft carrier. It’s her world, you know? And she showed it to me.”

“Something happened?”

Duncan laughed. “Maybe I’m making too much of this. That’s why I wanted to ask you what you thought. But we’re in there for a while and having a great conversation. Then out of the blue, she gets nervous on me and tries to shoo me out. Just as I’m heading to the door, I see a drawing on the wall and I . . . Jesus. This is just so weird.”

“What? C’mon! You’re killing me, man.”

“It’s a drawing of Lena that I did when I was fourteen. You know, a couple years after I’d grown out of all the bronchitis and asthma and I really thought I was
the shit
.”

“I vaguely remember a time like that.” Clancy laughed. “But I didn’t know you liked to draw.”

“I don’t. I didn’t. But that one afternoon, Lena and I were hanging out on the side porch and I drew a picture of her. I crumpled it up because I thought it sucked, but she grabbed it and started telling me it was good. And then something happened between us. Honestly, I had forgotten all about it until I saw that drawing in her studio.”

Clancy frowned. “Go on.”

“I kissed her that day. I was fourteen and she was eleven and, looking back, the kiss was way too intense for kids that age. Don’t get me wrong. We didn’t take it any further, but the kiss itself was kind of, I don’t know, powerful, I guess. So it turns out that after all these years, Lena’s still got the drawing I did just before I kissed her.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s professionally framed, very nicely matted and everything like it’s a freakin’ Picasso or something, and there’s my signature, big as day. It’s right there hanging in her studio, twenty years later.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“Yeah.” Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose. “She got mad because I didn’t remember that day. And I was . . . Man, there was something about the whole situation that didn’t sit right with me. It made me feel trapped.”

“Oh.”

“She told me if I didn’t remember the day, then I wouldn’t understand why she kept it. And I left.”

Clancy looked confused. “But now you do remember?”

Duncan remained quiet for a moment. “I walked home from the North Shore, thinking. I realize now that I intentionally pushed that memory aside. I didn’t
want
to remember Lena or that kiss. It was more than I could deal with when I was fourteen.”

Serena had started to fuss. Duncan asked, “Did her pacifier fall out?”

Clancy peeked over the edge of the backpack. “Yeah. Hold up. It’s stuck between the strap and your shirt. Okay—we’re locked and loaded again.”

Duncan didn’t know what else to say. It bothered him—the whole thing bothered him. That he’d shoved the memory away. That he’d had some kind of connection with Lena that he’d forgotten all about. That such a powerful kiss happened when they were kids, and it was followed twenty years later by that kiss in the Safe Haven kitchen. It made his head spin.

“Look, Duncan. Two people can have the same
experience and remember it in completely different ways—it’s normal. That’s why eyewitness testimony is so unpredictable in criminal cases. What I’m saying is, that day obviously meant a lot to Lena, and she wanted to remember it.”

Duncan nodded in agreement.

“I think the real question is—why does that bother you? Are you worried she’s a little obsessed with you? Is that what you’re asking me?”

Duncan shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m asking. All I know is I have absolutely no business blowing on whatever spark is still there between us. I’m outa here, Clancy. I’m not staying. And though Lena is great, she’s not
my
great—you know what I mean? I don’t have room for something like that in my life.”

Clancy gave him a sideways glance.

“What?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, man.”

“Just say it.”

Clancy shoved his hands in the pockets of his police shorts. “You’ve always had it figured out. At twelve you set a course and you’ve never looked back. I’ve watched it happen—you wouldn’t let anybody or anything get in your way, and you sure as hell didn’t have time for any scenic detours.”

Duncan jolted. “Scenic detours? I’ve had plenty of nice-looking women in my life, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m not talking about
women
. I’m talking about
a woman
or your own damn family. The only reason we’ve had a chance to even . . .” Clancy caught himself. He shook his head. “Never mind.”

Duncan couldn’t believe it, but his brother actually looked like he could cry. “Go on.”

“All right.” Clancy focused on Duncan. “The only reason you got to meet Serena here”—he pulled on the baby’s foot—“or play ‘Stinky Joe’ with my little girl is because you got seriously hurt. If you hadn’t been hurt, we wouldn’t have had this time with you. And . . . that would have been a damn shame.” Clancy clamped his jaw tight. “I never fucking thought I’d say this to you, Duncan, but I’ve missed your ass.”

Duncan felt his body freeze up. This was so unexpected. It was downright surreal. “I’m going back to active duty.” He heard the flatness in his own voice.

Clancy laughed. “Oh, we know. It’s what you were meant to do. We get it.”

Duncan shook his head and tried to find the words. “I owe it to my friends, man. I owe it to my best friend, Justin. They’re all dead, and the only way I can make any sense of it is to serve in honor of them.”

“You sure about that? Haven’t you already done your part? The Purple Heart might indicate the Navy thinks you have.”

Duncan tipped his head. “Say what?”

“Listen, all I’m asking is this: who exactly do you go out there and risk your life for, Duncan?”

That was obvious, but Duncan humored his brother. “My fallen friends. My fellow SEALs. My country. The way of life I hold dear. The people I love.”

Clancy gave him a crooked smile. “Who exactly do you hold dear, brother? Who do you love? Because to be honest, I’ve never seen you do much holding and loving. What I’ve seen is a lifetime of pushing away.”

*   *   *

He was a little early, but Duncan figured he and Lena needed to iron out a few things before they spent an
entire evening together. Lena had surely been thinking this thing to death as much as Duncan had. His plan was to ask her just one question: can we figure this out together? And if she said yes, they’d go from there.

Duncan clutched the flowers and rang the doorbell. Nothing.

He rang it again.

Nothing.

Duncan went around to the garage and jumped high enough to see through the windows. Her SUV was parked inside.

This is bullshit
, he thought. It wasn’t right to pretend not to be home. She hadn’t answered his calls or texts, either.

He rang the bell again and thought he heard music. Maybe she wasn’t hiding—maybe she just hadn’t heard him at the door.

He turned the doorknob and the door opened wide with barely a touch. Instantly, he got hit with a full-frontal blast of rock ’n’ roll surging down the stairs. He recognized the tune.

“Lena?”

First he looked toward the kitchen and great room. Then he craned his neck to look down the guest wing. Maybe the size of the house was the problem—the girl needed an intercom system or at least a set of walkies.

“Lena? Hey, Lena; it’s Duncan!” He waited. “Hello?”

Since he’d already entered her home without an invitation, how much worse would it be if he headed upstairs? He repeated her name three times on his way up, and still no answer. At this point, he was starting to worry that something might be wrong.

He got the lay of the land as soon as he reached the
second floor. He smelled the oil paint. The music thumped out of her studio. Exhaust fans whirred and light spilled out into the hallway. She was painting.

“Hey, Lena?”

Duncan turned toward her studio and froze. He might have even stopped breathing. What he saw baffled him, fascinated him, and turned him on—immediately. He knew he had no right to watch this. He should turn right around and leave. He was invading her privacy more than she had ever invaded his. He’d been asleep when she brought him gifts. Duncan had just walked in on Lena while she was in the middle of deeply personal creative work.

Yet he couldn’t walk away.

Lena sang along to the lyrics, her movements like a sad and slow dance. There she was, barefoot and damn near naked, pouring her heart out as she sang, swayed, and painted.

Duncan blinked a few times, just to ensure that this wasn’t another dream. He was watching a wild creature lost in a raw artistic process—a private process. Lena reached and swayed and sang while slashing paint at the dark canvas. Everything in the room was in movement—her body, her brush, her voice, her hair, even the painting itself, with its moody swirls and strange shapes.

She wore nothing but a thong and a skintight camisole top that she’d knotted under her breasts. There were great swaths of black, red, and blue paint all over her forearms and striped around the back of her perfect hips. Duncan sensed the flowers slip from his fingers and hit the floor. He couldn’t stop staring, but he was aware that he couldn’t remain there like a Peeping Tom, either.

Duncan leaned down to retrieve the flowers and
slipped into the studio. He reached into the office area and killed the volume.

Lena spun around with a cry, moving so fast and wildly that she nearly lost her balance. Her eyes were startled but fierce, ready to fight whoever had just invaded her sacred space.

“I’m sorry.” Duncan took a step toward her.

“What the
hell
?” Lena breathed so hard her paint-smeared belly pushed in and out. It was completely wrong of him, but Duncan’s eyes swept down to the thong.

There wasn’t a whole lot more in the front than there was in the back.

“What the hell are you
doing
here?” That’s when Duncan noticed her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “You have no right to just walk in on someone like that!”

“I called your name. You didn’t hear me—”

“You’re damn right I didn’t hear you! I was
working
!”

“I’m here to pick you up for the clambake, Lena.”

She frowned and shook her head. “What?”

“We have a date.”

Lena tossed her paintbrush and palette to the worktable and put her paint-covered hands on her hips. “A date? Funny, but you left me with the distinct impression that our date was off.”

Duncan heard himself moan. This was so not in his wheelhouse. “Did you check your voice mail today? Your texts?”

Lena spun around, scanning the studio for her phone. She hissed. “No. I don’t even know where my phone is.”

Duncan decided it was now safe to approach the irate artist. “You need a security system or a Rottweiler or
something
.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I have a state-of-the-art system, thank you very much.”

“Well, it’s not worth a damn if you don’t turn it on.”

Suddenly self-conscious, Lena tugged her camisole down over her belly, squeezed her legs together, and crossed them in front of her—as if she could hide how ungodly hot she was. “What do you want, Duncan?”

“I want to take a beautiful woman to a clambake on a beautiful summer evening.”

Lena raised her hands in exasperation and let them slap her thighs. “I don’t get it. You ran out of here yesterday like you’d seen a freakin’ ghost!”

Duncan chuckled a little uncomfortably. “I did.” He took a step even closer. “Look, Lena, I’m sorry about how I handled things yesterday. On the walk home the pieces started to fall into place, but by that time it was too late. I’d already come across as an insensitive bastard and I’d pissed you off.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts and stuck out a hip in defiance. Clearly, she wanted him to grovel a bit more.

“I remember now—that day was our first kiss.”

Her body language relaxed a little, but there was nothing close to a smile on her face.

“I’m not the world’s most sentimental guy. It’s one of my primary failings.”

That got a small twitch at one corner of her mouth. The tension released from around her eyes. “Why?”

Duncan realized this was a trick question. “Why what?

“Why do you want to take me to the clambake?”

Duncan had thought it was going to be much trickier than that. He smiled. “Because I made a commitment. I
told you I would pick you up at six, and here I am, a little early, I admit. But I honor my commitments.”

Lena let go with a bitter laugh. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special, Lieutenant. Do you think I should go like this?” Lena twirled around and pretended to hold an invisible skirt. “Or am I underdressed?”