Those Cassabaw Days (16 page)

“Do you like anything current?” he asked as they walked. “Or only things at least eighty years old?”

She finished chewing, glancing upward as she thought. “Sure. I like current, too. My iPhone. The internet is pretty handy. Love my DVR.” She smiled.

“Just checking,” Matt said, and took a bite.

“Oh, my God,” Emily said after her third bite. They were halfway down the pier, she was halfway finished with her mile-long gushy hot dog and she was still going strong. “All this gooey, golden-yellow, cheesy chili sauce. It’s like eating a slathering of liquid treasure.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he muttered, and again laughed inside at her showy choice of words.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, and reached toward him. “You have a smudge of—here.” She swiped at the corner of his mouth with her fingertip. The movement was intimate—too much so. Her wide eyes softened, and he could see the reaction, the surprise. “Good hot dogs, huh?” She turned her face toward the sun, took another bite and started back toward the end of the pier.

They continued walking and eating, and Matt continued pretending she wasn’t getting under his skin. He watched her as they ambled along, behind the screen of his sunglasses. She smiled at everyone; spoke to those who passed at the right time, when her mouth wasn’t full of hot dog.

Parked in his usual spot, next to a piling, sat Gully, an old shrimper who was friends with Jep. Too old to shrimp alone, he instead perched on a bucket and sat with his rod and reel. White mutton chops lined his jaw and he had a match clinched between his teeth. He turned his head as they passed by.

“Well, now, lookie who it is,” Gully said. There was a whistle to some of his words, because he had a big gap between his two front teeth. “Jep’s young’un. How ya doin’, son?”

“Fine, Gully,” Matt answered. Old Gully always got confused about the Malone kids. If they were alone, he thought they were all Jep’s son, Owen. Only when they were all together did he remember.

“Well, good. Tell that old sea scrap Jep he owes me a game of checkers,” Gully said. He motioned his head to the cooler beside him. “Want some mullet? Got a ray in there, too.”

“No, sir. Thanks, though.”

“Hey there,” Emily said beside him. She looked at Gully with a smile.

“Hey there back to you, young lady,” Gully said. He squinted his old eyes at the sun and stared at her. Weathered lines started at the corners of his brows and arced down to his chin. “Who are you?”

“I’m Emily Quinn,” she responded. “Matt’s friend.”

“Cora Quinn’s girl?” Gully asked.

Emily didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, sir.”

“So you’ve come to take over the old Windchimer, eh?” He nodded before she could answer. “Cora talked about you all the time. Yup, she sure did. Said you was gonna come back here one day and doctor ’er back to her glory days.” He turned a bit more, inspecting her closely, and Matt sort of wondered if Gully was talking about Cora or the café. “You gonna do that?”

“Yes, sir, I sure am,” Emily responded. “Just you wait and see. It’s going to be spectacularly lovely.” She cocked her head. “I like your white whiskers. Reminds me of a wonderful wise old catfish—if their whiskers were white, of course.”

“Ha! Is that so? Well, thank you. And about the ’Chimer. That sounds good to me, gal. Now you two run off and finish those hot dogs before they get cold and the chili gets all gummy. I got a taste for some oysters, speaking of gummy.”

Matt laughed and waved and so did Emily, and they continued on.

“I really like Gully,” Emily said. “He looks like Quint from Jaws, but older.”

Matt nodded. “He’s almost ninety, I guess. He calls me Owen most of the time.”

“All of you boys look like Owen. And Jep.” She slid a grin his way. “And that’s a good thing. Handsomest pack of boys in Cassabaw.”

Matt didn’t even know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all.

By the time they reached the end, both had finished their hot dogs. Emily turned her face to him, squinting against the bright sunlight.

“Do I have chili-cheese sauce on my nose? I feel that there is.” She tried licking it. “But I can’t reach it with my tongue.”

“You really are bizarre, Em,” he said, and with the pad of his thumb he wiped off the smudge of yellow—just like she’d done to him earlier. “I’m surprised you even let that much get away.”

“I know, right?” she replied. She smiled. “It was so good I didn’t want to waste a single drop! Thank you.” Turning her face upward, she sighed. “I love how the sun feels when it’s directly overhead and it’s bathing my whole face in warm sunshine.” She closed her eyes and rose up on her tiptoes, balancing herself with her arms up and out like wings on an airplane. She stayed that way several moments.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and noticed how well-shaped her calves were. How perfectly shaped her nose was. How shapely her jaw was. And how beautifully slender and defined her throat was.

“I’m getting as close to the sun as possible,” she answered. Then she lowered her arms and her face, and opened her eyes. “I used to do that, after my parents first died.” She turned toward the sea, draped her arms over the handrail and looked straight down into the choppy Atlantic. “I somehow thought it would help them hear me, you know?” She turned her head, and she kicked the weather-bleached wood from the pier with the toe of her shoes. “That, if I could get closer to them, they could see and hear me better. Maybe even answer back. And that with the sun spilling out all over my face that I’d stand out, among all the other people staring up into Heaven, and they could better pick me out of the crowd.” She quirked a brow at him. “Do you think it worked? Do you think they saw?”

It was at that moment, looking at peculiar, unconventional and outspoken Emily Quinn on the pier with her face tilted toward the sun, its light bathing her features in gold, that he knew no matter what he did, no matter how damn hard he tried, he was just like anyone else Emily encountered. Drawn by her light. Her sincerity. Unable to ignore her presence. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Compulsory. Obligatory.

Matt was, without a sincere doubt in his hard-as-a-rock, ex-marine jarhead, a true and absolute goner.

“I’ve no doubt that they did, Em,” he said against the ocean’s wind.

Emily must’ve heard him because her face broke into a smile, and she heaved a contented sigh.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A
FTER
HAVING DINNER
with Mr. Wimpy and his wife, Emily walked home the way she came, along the Hardens’ lane, up the road a ways and back down her own drive. Darkness had just settled, and as soon as she made it to the porch, she noticed a figure lumbering toward her from the marsh. Unmistakable and familiar, Emily’s heart sped up, and she waved as he grew closer.

“Hey, Matt,” she said brightly.

Bare to the waist, he pulled a T-shirt over his head. “Hey,” he replied. His raspy voice cut through the fast-fading light, and he eyed her feet. Silent, he lifted his gaze to hers, and she could tell it was questioning by the way his one brow quirked up.

“I like the way the crushed oyster shells feel between my bare toes,” she offered, and wiggled said toes into the shells. “All cool and a little sharp, but not too much.” She grinned. “Makes my feet feel all tingly. You should try it.”

His eyes were steady on hers. “Yeah,” he replied. “Maybe.”

“So you’re progressing on the dock?” Emily stared off toward the marsh. “I can’t wait to walk on it again.”

He nodded. “Most of the boards could use replacing, but there are some that are okay. It won’t take too long to finish.” He rubbed his hair with his hand. “The dock-house roof needs replacing. A few boards for the floor. And new screening for the whole thing.”

“Totally doable,” Emily said. “I’ll get it ordered tonight.” She inclined her head to the porch. “Wanna swing for a while?”

In the darkness, his usually emerald eyes seemed obscure as he studied her. She could tell he considered swinging with her. Yet she also sensed his hesitation. Why? she wondered. Still, she urged him despite all those sensations creeping up on her. She slid him a smile. “I like your eyes in the darkness. They’re the color of moss.” She frowned. “Not old moss, because that’s a gray color. I mean new moss.” She smiled. “Or sage. That’s it! A nice, mossy sage.” She cocked her head to the side and raised on her tiptoes, to get a closer look. She squinted in the darkness. “Actually, I think they’re unequivocally perfect.”

Matt’s perfect, mossy, sage-colored eyes glimmered a bit as a ghost of a smile tilted his stoic features. “God, girl,” he muttered. Still, he didn’t break his gaze, and the muscles at his jaws ticked. “You’re crazy.”

Emily lowered off her tiptoes and rubbed her chin with a forefinger. “Crazy is fun. Adventurous.” She grabbed his arm and tugged. “So don’t be a party pooper, Matt Malone.” As she tugged, he moved with her, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Swing with a loon. You might find it’s quite an enjoyable yet perplexing adventure.”

They climbed the porch steps to the veranda and sat on the swing, and Emily pushed off with her bare foot. The night air was humid and the scent of the salty marsh lay heavy around her. She inhaled as deeply as she could, with her eyes closed, and slowly exhaled.

When she opened her eyes, Matt’s weighty gaze watched her close.

“Why do you do that?” he asked.

“What?” She studied him. Waited.

“Say normal things in the most abnormal ways possible.” He shook his head. “And that thing you do, breathing in and out.”

Emily shrugged. “I like to say things in a memorable, unboring way, is all. I mean, if you’re going to take the time to talk you might as well do it in a noteworthy, extraordinary way, don’t you think? And the breathing?” She repeated the action, then turned a crooked smile on him. “I like the way the salty air tickles my nose.” She narrowed her gaze. “Why, does it bother you? Do you think it’s weird?”

Matt stared at her, unfaltering, unwavering, as though trying to pick apart a most complicated row of knotted-up knitting. Slowly, he returned the smile, and the beauty of it shocked her. Caught her off guard despite having the memory of that beautiful smile her entire life. “No, it doesn’t bother me. And yeah. I do think it’s weird.”

A laugh bubbled up in her throat. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” She gave the swing another push, and as she looked down she noticed a wide, puckered, reddish scar at Matt’s tanned knee. With her finger, she grazed it, and saw that it disappeared up the leg of the swim shorts he’d been wearing while working on the dock. She looked up, and he was watching her.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Fell through a mine shaft,” he answered.

Emily nodded. “What about all those marks on your back?”

His expression was nonchalant. “That happened after I was pulled out of the shaft.”

Emily was quiet for a moment. Fear squeezed inside of her. Did Reagan face the same thing? The thought of it sent terror through her. But she’d never been accused of holding her tongue. If something bothered her, she’d voice it. “You were taken prisoner and beaten, weren’t you?”

Matt didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice sounded hollow, acerbic. “You could say that.”

Staring between her feet at the veranda floorboards as she and Matt swung back and forth, with the creak of the chain suspending them echoing through the darkness, she listened to the cicadas, the panicky cry of a marsh bird. She looked at her friend, and didn’t bother hiding the candor she felt. “Do you think my sister is in danger? Like, that kind of danger?”

Matt looked at her. “There will always be risk, Em. But you can’t worry yourself to death over it. Your sister made a choice to join the military. I’ve no doubt she’s good at her job.” He glanced away, then back. “She doesn’t do the same thing I did, Em. So stop worrying, okay?”

Slowly, she nodded and met his gaze. “Your scars? They’re the marks of a fierce warrior. Those scars mean you’re a leader. A person who makes sacrifices. A survivor.” She smiled and softly grazed his cheek with her knuckles. “And I’m so very glad that you are all of that, Matt Malone.”

His eyes were cautious, and they looked even darker now than before. “You don’t know me anymore, Em. I think you like to hold on to the past. To who and what I was. I’m different now.”

She sighed. “You keep saying that, but I do know you.” She noticed how the scar through his brow cut straight through the hair. “I know you’re not twelve. But the traits you had, even back then, of heroism, bravery? It’s all manifested now in your adult self. Still you, Matt Malone. And even though years have separated us, I still feel like I know you better than anyone. You are the same, inside. You always protected me from everybody, and look. Look who you became.” She stared out over the end of the veranda, where it looked like it dropped into a black pit of nothingness. “You became all of those things you were as a boy, only as a man. In a much larger capacity. You saved lives, Matt. You did things no mere everyday human being does.” Her gaze returned to his. “You’re every bit the fierce warrior merman you pretended to be as a kid.”

He shook his head, rose and took the steps off the veranda. Emily followed. “I’ve done things that would make you sick to your stomach.” He stared ahead now, his voice edgy. “The thing is, I’m not ashamed of it. Any of it. My job was to keep others around me alive, no matter the cost.” He looked back at her, his jaw muscles flinching. “Every mission was necessary. I can’t talk about them, but trust me, they were. So I did them. Without thought. Without hesitation. It was us—” he didn’t blink “—or them. Period. And I want you to know that, Em.”

Emily stared at Matt in the shadows of the night. In the heaviness of a sultry evening close to a salt marsh, the humid air hanging like a sopping wet blanket against her skin. She looked beyond him, into his eyes, and she again did not withhold her thoughts.

“I’ve always known it,” she finally said, and brushed his arm with her fingertips. “Always.” She offered him a smile. “And I want you to know
that
, Matt.”

Matt’s eyes dropped to where she’d just touched him; his chest rose with each breath. Then he looked at her, and they were close, and the night air and birds and river stilled around them. It was only Matt. Only her. His eyes darkened to shadows, and he leaned close.