Eight Days in the Sun Page 13

  “Do you want that? Would it make you feel better about yourself?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. After all the surgeries, I’m squeamish about going under a knife again. Even if it’s minor. You don’t think I should do it, do you?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s not my decision.”

  “It’s not your decision, but it does matter what you think. It matters to me.”

  I run my thumb across the underside of her wrist and watch as the small pink heart disappears under the pressure and comes back again. “If it’ll make your life better, then you should do it.”

  “Is there a ‘but’ in there?”

  “Yes.” I hesitate because I completely get why she’d want to eliminate these reminders. “I hope my ‘but’ doesn’t make me sound like an ass.”

  She laughs. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  I shift up. I want her to look at me. To recognize I am being sincere. “If this is about the way you feel about yourself, then do it. But if this is about other people’s reactions, then I don’t think you should.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because fuck them, that’s why.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Every scar you carry tells a story about you, Kiran.”

  She huffs, causing a strand of hair to blow off her forehead. “Yeah, a tragedy. A freaking train wreck.”

  “I read the story differently. To me, they speak volumes about your bravery and courage and survival. You are a survivor, sunshine. That’s something to carry with pride.” I run my finger down her belly across the straight deep vertical line there. “This scar here. I hate that it still hurts you, but I love what it represents.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is where the doctors opened you up and mended you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is the scar that saved your life, Kiran. Why wouldn’t I love it?”

  “I never thought of it like that.” Her voice is thick, cracking on a few words.

  I kiss away the tears in her eyes before they fall. “Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  She narrows her eyes, completely at odds with the way her lower lip trembles. She’s struggling to hold back the dam of emotions. Maybe she’s even mad at me for breaking a few of her carefully constructed levees. “Oh, you didn’t mean to make me cry? Then maybe you should stop saying things that are so sweet they spike my blood sugar.”

  “Yeah, okay. Have it your way. Your ass is too small.”

  She cracks a smile. “That’s better.”

  “Your knees are knobby.”

  “Good.”

  “And don’t even get me started on your nose.”

  She slaps her hand over my mouth. “Watch it, buddy.”

  I tickle her until she’s laughing in hysterics. She falls on her back. I grab hold of her long legs before she can kick me. I don’t retreat except to kiss the tip of her nose. “Your nose is perfect.” I continue to tease her. The room fills with her laugher and sunshine. It’s a song I will never tire of. “You’re such a weirdo, Shenoy. Never had a girl ask me to insult her.”

  “Never had a boy…” She’s laughing so hard she can’t finish the sentence. I let up to allow her to catch her breath. I massage her sides where I tickled her the most.

  “What were you going to say?”

  Her smile falters. “Never had a boy who makes me feel the way you do.”

  Chapter 14

  Mason

  It took a while for Kiran to find her sea legs again. Or maybe I should say surfing legs. But once she gets acclimated, she’s confident, chasing the highest and fiercest waves in an aquamarine one-piece. She offers them to me first. I decline. I’d just wipe out. She knows what to do with them. I do catch a few too, but they are toddler-sized in comparison.

  I sit on my board in the middle of crystal blue water watching her with complete awe. She’s graceful, her long legs manipulating the board with the slightest pressure and twist. It’s almost organic, as if she is an extension of the turbulent water she glides on. I wasn’t sure surfing was a good idea. It requires exertion and it’s taxing. Hell, it’s taxing on my body. The way she bends and weaves, there is no doubt this is painful for her.

  I’m glad we’re doing it. The way she works the board and cyclones through a wave, I am grateful to witness her in this element. There is a reason I suck at surfing. I always believed it was all about technique and physics. It’s not. There is a creativity component. She’s an artist, cresting waves the way birds rise in flight. She’s completely focused and calm in the midst of chaos.

  She lies on her tummy atop the board and paddles over to me. She sits and straddles her board.

  “Impressive stuff, Shenoy.”

  “Thanks. Guess I remembered more than I thought.”

  “Muscle memory is the strongest memory there is.”

  She exhales a long breath, her face turned up toward the low dipping sun. “Thank goodness for that.” She’s still breathing hard.

  “Tired?” I ask.

  “Completely drained.”

  “Are you sore?”

  She nods. “I have some pain pills back in my room.”

  “I’ve never seen you take any pills.”

  “I try not to, but I’ll need them tonight and maybe tomorrow.”

  “So you’re hurting something awful?”

  She rubs her arms. “Yes, but it’s a good kind of sore. When you first asked me to surf with you, it was so spontaneous. All I could think about was pain and fear. This time, I mentally prepared myself to work through it. Yeah, it hurts. Every muscle I own aches right now. But it’s worth it to glide on the water and be completely free.” She graces me with a bright smile. “I have no regrets, Mason. None.” She chews on her lower lip. “Well, maybe one regret.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You won’t be able to fuck me like a rock star tonight.”

  My cock jerks so fast I almost fall off my board. “Yes, I’ll admit it is a disappointment. But just so we’re clear, you’re a rock star too, baby.”

  She tilts her head. Her lips curl into a sexy smile. “We do have a graphic sound when we’re together.”

  “We’re raunchy as hell. But tonight, let’s go for something quieter. I’ll get us take-out Chinese and a six-pack. We can crank up the television and find ourselves a classic movie to fall asleep to. What do you say?”

  “Yes to Chinese. Maybe to classic movie.”

  “Maybe?”

  “By classic, if you’re talking Cary Grant circa nineteen-forties, then I’m your girl. But if your definition of classic is Sylvester Stallone circa nineteen-eighties, I’m hesitating.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a fine nineteen-nineties Bruce Willis vintage flick. The kind of movie that never goes stale.”

  She chuckles. “We’re getting warmer. However, if we’re going nineteen-nineties, then might I suggest some Cruise and Zellweger rom-com action with enough of a sports theme to please any masculine needs?”

  “Baby, you got me at hello.” I hold up my hand. She slaps it in a pretty decent high-five. “Nice negotiating skills, Shenoy.”

  “Nice compromise, Cutler. So the only thing I’ll have to pass on is the beer. Not that you shouldn’t pick up a six-pack for yourself.” She rings out her hair.

  I have no idea what she’s thinking, but damn, I want to kiss the fiery crimson blush from the apples of her cheeks. “I’ll get wine if you prefer.”

  “I’ll stick to Diet Pepsi tonight. I can’t drink on my medication.”

  Her statement reminds me she’s tired. Not that I can’t read it in her face or body. “Maybe we should head back?”

  “Soon. Let’s stay here for a while. At least until the sun starts setting. Do you mind?”

  I kick my feet until my board is closer to hers. “Mind? It would be my pleasure to sit here with you, Miss Kiran, until eve
ry last cow makes it home. But are you sure you don’t need a rest?”

  “Not yet. I don’t want to miss this.”

  “Me either.” I reach for her hand and lock my fingers with hers. “Have you made any decisions about Iowa?”

  Her smile brightens. “Yes. In fact, I called the admissions office this morning.”

  “When?” We’d been together the entire day.

  “When you were sleeping. I woke up early and went to the roof. You know, before I woke you up.”

  “Best way I’ve ever woken up by the way. Did I thank you properly?”

  “You did, and you’re welcome,” she says, her lips twitching at the corners.

  “So? Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the decision?”

  “You’re looking at an official student of the fall class. I’m going to Iowa. Isn’t that great?”

  “Honestly, I never thought I’d tell anyone going to Iowa is a great idea. But in your case, it definitely is. It’s really amazing, Kiran. Congratulations.” I put my arm around her and pull her as close as possible without tipping us over. It’s a little awkward, but not uncomfortable. Never that.

  “I’m taking charge of my life. I’m not a barnacle anymore.”

  I kiss the top of her head. “You never were.”

  She lays her head on my shoulder. We take in the sun’s slow descent. I’m sure the sight is one for the photo album. Except I’m not scanning the horizon, waiting for this day to end. Just the opposite. I want it to go on forever.

  Chapter 15

  Mason

  We never finished the movie. Somewhere between Tom Cruise’s dickish antics and Cuba’s killer money speech, we fell asleep. I wake early this morning to get in a run. The beach usually crowds in the afternoon, but today at six AM there are folks gathering in small groups, collecting shells and rocks. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t much of a run. On the way back, I stop at the café to pick up coffees and some breakfast to-go. I’m gonna eat peaches in bed. And um… We’ll have breakfast too.

  “Care for a cup while you wait?” the waitress asks.

  “Please.” I flip my cup over. “Know what’s going on at the beach today?” I ask the waitress as she pours the coffee.

  “Oh, are they setting up already? It’s our annual sandcastle-building contest. It’s a lot of fun. I believe you can still register.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Would you like an entry form? We have a few left. You just take it to the front desk after you fill it out.”

  It seems like a really silly thing to do. Not to brag, but I’m a damn good sandcastle builder. No, fuck that. I’m an architect. So yeah, I’m geeked about doing this very geeky thing. I’m not sure what Kiran’s take will be, but I hope she’ll warm to the idea.

  “Are teams allowed?” I ask her.

  “Afraid not. It’s individuals only,” she says.

  “Bring me two forms, please.”

  “You’re not getting that prize, man. They might as well cut me the check right now,” the guy in the stool next to me says.

  “Check? How much is the prize?”

  “Check is an overstatement. You get your picture in the local paper and a packet of gift certificates. Doesn’t matter, though, cause that prize is mine.”

  I’m not a big fan of shit talkers, but I dig his self-confidence. It’ll be fun to crush him. Then maybe I’ll stomp on his sandcastle too. “We’ll see about that.”

  I recognize this guy. He’s the same one I saw the first day I checked in. The one who just got married and is staying in the grandiose sweetheart’s suite. He wears a camo baseball cap with Army written in large gold capital letters.

  “You still in?” I ask, gesturing to his hat.

  “Contract ended a year ago. I didn’t renew.” Yeah, he’s a shit talker, but he sits ramrod straight. I missed it that first day, but he has the same stoic look about him I recognize in all the experienced troops, officers, and drill sergeants I met during training. The ones who’d gone into battle and witnessed war firsthand. I couldn’t give that look a name or a clear definition, except I respected the hell out of it.

  “See any action?”

  His fingers tighten around the cup. “More than my fair share, bro. Iraq mostly.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “What about you?”

  “The Marines. Just graduated boot camp.” It feels surreal to even refer to myself as a Marine. But I’m allowed after making it through the most brutal months of my life. The crazy part is that’s just the prep for the real test.

  “You’re in for a long ride, Devil Dog.”

  “So I hear.”

  He smiles and holds out his hand. His handshake is firm. “Rob Jorgenson.”

  “Mason Cutler.”

  “You know what Marine stands for, Cutler?”

  I’m not about to fall for this one. “Yeah, I know. ‘My ass rides in navy equipment.’”

  “I was going for ‘muscles are required, intelligence not essential.’” He laughs and claps me on the back. “Sorry man, I love all my military brothers regardless of branch.” He gestures between us. “But when an army grunt meets a jarhead, there’s gonna be some shit talk.”

  “Fair enough. After all, doesn’t army stand for ‘ain’t ready for the Marines yet’?”

  He nods at my good-natured rib. “Nice one, Semper Fi.”

  “Likewise. Got any advice, brother?”

  He drums his fingers against the counter. “Avoid the Jambalaya MRE. You’ll be in the latrines all day.”

  “Seriously, that’s a real ration?”

  “Yes, and its revolting. Wouldn’t feed that shit to a junkyard dog.”

  “Noted. Any other words of wisdom?”

  “Be prepared.”

  “Yeah, that was a constant theme in boot camp.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not talking about preparing yourself for battle. The Marines do a good job making sure you’re ready for any battle. I’m referring to coming home. See, the world doesn’t stop for you, even if you are defending it. You come home, ready to resume your life. But the thing is, it’s not the same life you remember. You wife’s shacking up with Jody. And Jody is your best friend. Your mom’s not doing so well. The factory in your hometown shut down, and everything is in shambles. It wrecks you.”

  “Didn’t you just get married?”

  “It’s my second marriage. My first wife decided she couldn’t deal. She said her life was on permanent hold.”

  “That sucks, man.”

  He shrugs. “At the time it destroyed me, burned my skull even more than the desert sun. But now, it’s all good. Never thought I’d find someone else.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Turns out, I didn’t have to worry about looking. She found me.” He stands and takes out his wallet.

  The food I ordered sits in front of me. I have no idea how long it’s been there. I hold my hand up before he lays down his cash. “Your coffee is on me.”

  “Thanks, man. I’m still gonna kick your ass in the sand-building contest.”

  I conjure a laugh I don’t feel. “Yeah, like I said, we’ll see.”

  Chapter 16

  Kiran

  Building sandcastles isn’t how I envisioned spending one of our days. There are only two left. But Mason was really excited about it. He told me how his dad took him and Dana to the beach in Charleston most weekends where he taught a young Mason the intricacies of fishing and the fine art of sandcastle building. How could I say no?

  Also, he registered us and paid our entry fees so there’s that too. As a former local, I remember this contest. It seems to have grown in popularity. Several hotels along the beach host it now. At least a hundred people scatter over the beach to stake claim to an area. There are old and young and very young. There are a few professional graphic artists and 3D specialists ready to get their sandcastle on too. Margie Fox from the local news station is here in her white p
antsuit with a huge microphone ready to give a play-by-play.

  Hoping he’s not too invested in this, I glance at him. His face is stone-cold concentration, making it clear he’s not deterred one bit. This is no frolic-on-the-beach, shovel and pail stuff either. There are rules and judges. We’re each given a box with an identical set of tools. We are not allowed to use anything else. Although, we can scavenge the beach for organic items we wish to incorporate. Judging from the piles the rest of the contestants have in front of them, I doubt there is anything left. Everyone has to make some type of sandcastle within four hours. The judge’s scores are based on design, creativity, and overall stability of the structure.

  As soon as the whistle blows to signal the start, Mason grabs every one of his buckets and takes off for the water. A lot of people do. I choose to avoid the herd and organize my tools. There are buckets of various sizes, a few plastic Dixie cups, also in varying sizes, a couple of shovels, and a bunch of plastic tools that look like something I might use to frost a cake.

  When he comes back, buckets full, he starts scraping the sand. Then he wets it down and packs it. He runs off again. This time he packs the buckets with sand. He does this several times. I’m exhausted just watching him. Who knew sandcastle building required so much stamina?

  Meanwhile, I fill up my first bucket and dump it top down.

  “What are you doing, Shenoy?”

  “Um…building a sandcastle.”

  “Darlin’, you have to level the area first. Otherwise, it won’t be structurally sound.”

  “Oh.” I pat down the ground.

  “You have to get water, Kiran. It’s essential.”

  “Fine.” I pick up my bucket and start walking.

  “Take all the buckets, baby.”

  I blow a frustrated sigh. “Mason, stop bossing me. I’m no Frank Lloyd Wright.”

  He chuckles. “More like Frank Lloyd Wrong, sunshine.” His expression sobers when he gazes at me. “Sorry, that came out really….”

  “Dickish.”

  “Was going to say mean, but okay. Look, I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”