Eight Days in the Sun Page 19

  “It makes sense, but I never would have thought of it. I’ll memorize these.”

  I follow Dana around the room as she shows me where she stows the extra sheets and towels. I pause at the few paintings on the far wall. They are garden scenes, the brush strokes broad, the colors intense. “Who painted these?”

  “Grams. She used to paint, and she even had an exhibition once. I guess that’s where Mason gets it from. He got her talent, and I inherited her bad teeth. The DNA gene pool is a bitch. Go figure.”

  “What do you mean he has her talent?”

  Dana shakes her head. “I’m sure he’ll tell you in time.”

  I blink my eyes at the black and white framed picture on the dresser. A gorgeous young woman with Dana’s smile peers at the camera, a baby on one hip and a shotgun on the other. “This is her?”

  “Yep. She was no gatherer woman. She hunted with the boys and managed to take care of a baby too. Not at the same time, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Through the window, I see Mason and Molly come out of the shed. He feels down the side of the shed until he gets to the lock. He closes it and heads back to the front of the house.

  “I guess we should get this good-bye going,” Dana says.

  “Sure.”

  She takes a few steps toward me. “Kiran, please take care of my brother. I don’t say this to him as much as I should, but he’s always been there for me. Everything I am, I owe to him.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Ready to go?” Mason asks, his tall frame taking up most of the doorway.

  “Yes.” Her voice chokes on the single word.

  “Jesus, Dana, are you crying?”

  “Just gonna miss your jerk face.”

  “I’ll miss you too. Now pull yourself together. Those sub-zero sea creatures aren’t going to study themselves.”

  She wipes away a tear with the back of her hand. A car honks on the street.

  “The cab’s here. Where is your luggage?” Mason asks.

  “Still in my room,” Dana says.

  “I’ll fetch it.”

  “Do you need help?” I ask.

  “What I need are some good directions, please.”

  Dana provides them. “On the right-hand side of the door, there are two bags. One is a duffle with a strap. The other one rolls.”

  “Got it.”

  She turns to me once he’s out of the room. “Rule number four is never leave anything on the floor. Not shoes or grocery bags or luggage. If you do have to leave something, let him know where it is. It’s all a tripping hazard. Rule number five is to give detailed directions. If Mason’s about to walk into something, words like ‘watch out,’ don’t really help. Tell him what is in front of him and where things are.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  She looks as if she wants to say more. She blinks her eyes.

  I embrace her. “I’ll take care of him. Trust me.”

  We round the stairs. Mason has no trouble with the luggage. He’s as built as he ever was. In fact, I think he’s even more muscular. No doubt this is due to the treadmill and weight set in the study. He takes her bags out to the waiting cab. He’s not wearing sunglasses today.

  He gives Dana a hug. “Take care of yourself. You call and text as much as you can, you hear me?”

  “I will.” She looks at me. “Thank you, Kiran.”

  “Welcome.”

  She tilts her head toward Mason. “Behave yourself.”

  “Stop harassing me. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

  “I’m holding you to that promise.”

  Mason opens the cab door. “Godspeed, Dana.”

  Dana gives us a dimply smile. “Y’all know the saying ‘I might be out of pocket because I’m on a sea cutter headed to Antarctica?’”

  “No,” I say. ‘I’ve never heard that. Is that something people say?”

  She smiles. “It’s something I get to say. Thanks to you.”

  Chapter 24

  Kiran

  Mason goes back to the shed right away. I hoped for a conversation, but it wasn’t going to happen. I spend the day going over Dana’s rules and familiarizing myself with the house. Finally, I knock on the shed door. Mick Jagger is belting out “Memory Motel.”

  Why this song, Mason? Does it mean something?

  The shed isn’t really a shed. It resembles a little house complete with gray shingle siding and windows. Windows with dark curtains drawn shut. No one answers my knock. I close my hand into a tight fist and pound harder. The music stops, and the door creaks open. He peeks from behind it.

  “I wanted to give you a heads up. I’m starting on dinner.”

  “You don’t have to do that for me. I’m capable of feeding myself.”

  “I promised Dana I’d make sure you had at least one hot meal a day.”

  “I know how to use the stove. You’d be surprised how much I can do.”

  “I am surprised. That’s not the point. This is just dinner. We’re not renegotiating the Geneva contract. I’m making dinner for me, anyway. Don’t worry, I would have made dinner for you whether you were blind or not.” I bite my lip, wishing I could swallow back the last sentence.

  His mouth draws into a thin line. Then he startles me with a laugh. “Well, since you put it that way, I can eat.”

  When he comes into the house, his shirt and jeans are covered with a gray dust. The shirt is tight against his frame, showing off his broad shoulders and muscular back. His jeans are ripped at the knees. His hair is unkempt but in a way that’s completely sexy and touchable.

  “You okay, Kiran?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “You’re breathing a little hard. Are you doing something strenuous over there?”

  “Just setting the table.”

  “How long till supper?”

  “At least twenty minutes.”

  “Let me wash up.”

  When he comes down, he’s freshly showered, smelling of mint and man. His dirty clothes are folded neatly in his hand. He takes them to the laundry room.

  I back out a chair for him. He moves to the chair on the opposite side of the table. He holds it out. We’re in some strange standoff, both of us standing with chairs in front of us.

  “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t sure where you sat.”

  He sits. I take the plate from the chair next to him and move it in front of him.

  “Is lemonade okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I set the glass next to him, hard enough to make a sound. Sound is how he sees distance according to Dana’s list. “It’s chicken with broccoli rabe and a slice of corn bread.”

  He nods.

  “Do you like broccoli rabe?”

  “Yeah, it’s better than broccoli Rick, in my opinion.”

  There are flickers of the silly boy I love within this wounded man. They are filtered rays of light in a dark room. “Did you steal that line from a ten-year-old, Cutler?”

  “Nope. The credit for that genius zinger goes to me.”

  I take the seat I held out. His hands are flat on the table. His shoulders are hunched tightly. He’s nervous. I’m not making it easier. He picks up a fork and moves the food around.

  “Chicken is at six o’clock and the broccoli at twelve. The corn bread is between one and two. It’s cut into a square. I already cut the chicken up for you.”

  “Thank you for the explanation, that’s helpful, but don’t ever cut my food again.”

  “I’m sorry. I just…”

  “I understand you were trying to help. I appreciate it, but I can manage. I’m not helpless in all things.”

  “I don’t believe you’re helpless at all.”

  He doesn’t reply. The clank of forks and knives punctures the silence between us.

  “The shed is really cool. Who made it?” My voice sounds too enthusiastic, clashing with the somber mood.

 
“I did.” He takes another bite of his chicken. I think that’s all he’ll say at first. He points to his eyes. “Before this. I’m not too keen on using power tools yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “Last thing I need is to meet the business end of a table saw. Maybe one day it’ll be different.”

  What? I want to cover him in bubble wrap and not let him out. I wave the silly thought away. He’s trying to find a new normal without any light. It’s something that’s impressive and scary. My God, it’s scary for me. I can’t even imagine what he’s going through.

  “What are you working on in the shed?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  I drop the subject. The silence is almost oppressive.

  “This tastes like Gram’s cornbread.”

  “It is.”

  He drops it on the plate. “Come again?”

  “I mean it’s her recipe. I found a wooden box of index cards with recipes. I thought I’d try one. Hope you don’t mind.” I’d only made cornbread from the box. Doing it from scratch was not in the plan, but I wanted to make our first meal special.

  “Mind? I’m grateful.”

  He takes a while to eat his food, savoring each bite. He asks for seconds.

  “Have you always been able to cook?”

  I’m happy we’re having an actual conversation. “No. I muddled my way through it. When I went to Iowa, I was eating a lot of junk food. I figured if I wanted to eat something good on my budget, I should learn how to cook. So, I bought a bunch of cookbooks at a secondhand store and a cheap set of pans. I made a lot of mistakes at first.”

  “Mistakes?”

  “I burned stuff. Tried to get a little too creative. Accidently used a tablespoon of salt when I needed a teaspoon. That sort of thing.”

  “Looks like you figured it out.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I lied to you earlier.”

  I grip my knees to keep my legs from shaking. Is he going to tell me he didn’t mean those nasty things he said the day I came here?

  “I don’t use the stove yet. The microwave is more my speed. I’m afraid of eating something undercooked or burnt.”

  I’m silent. Upset with him for holding back. Upset with myself because this is hard and his words still sting. They ring in my head, opening up fresh wounds each time. Am I supposed to pretend he didn’t tear off a chunk of my heart? Does he get a free pass to be an ass? But this isn’t about Mason and me. This is about being there for someone who needs you.

  “Aren’t you afraid of burning yourself?”

  “That too, I guess.” He drums his fingers on the table. “How have you been, Shenoy?”

  “Good.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you got? Good?”

  How can you sum up five years in one succinct sentence? “What do you want? A synopsis?”

  “A little more detail would be nice.”

  “You told me you weren’t interested.”

  “My memory is intact. I never said that.”

  “You said you didn’t care about me.”

  His hand slams on the table causing the silverware to jump. “Please, Kiran, cut me some slack. I’m trying to have a normal conversation in the most abnormal situation. Can you try with me?”

  This is hard for him. I stayed to make it easier, but now I’m only adding to his difficulties. I decide to tell him about Iowa. Iowa seems neutral…like Switzerland.

  “I graduated from Iowa. It was cold. Colder than I thought. It took me a while to get used to being completely on my own. I felt awkward the entire first semester. I was that puzzle piece that didn’t fit no matter how hard you pressed it in place. I almost dropped out.”

  “What changed?”

  “I got over myself and started seeing the puzzle differently. I found a group of friends. I started to speak up during discussions. I wrote some essays and short stories I was really proud of and read a ton of amazing books.”

  “That’s great, Kiran.”

  Did you wonder about me over the years, Mason? The way I wondered about you every single day? “How were the last five years for you?”

  “I liked being a Marine. It felt like I belonged to a huge extended family.” He holds his hands up. “That’s about it.”

  I want to ask him more, but it’s clear he’s not ready to talk in details. “Tomorrow, you have therapy, right? Dana gave me the schedule.”

  “Yes. It’ll be a boring day for you. I have rehabilitation, and I see my psychologist. You don’t have to hang around, though. It’s too far to drive back here, but there’s a lot to do in Charleston.”

  “I’ll bring my laptop and work. Maybe we can do something together afterward, though.”

  “I’m not very social these days.”

  “We can just go for a walk, Mason. Maybe get some coffee.”

  “What is this, Kiran? Are you planning to help me get over my fear of driving? Are we gonna jump out of a plane together?”

  I drop my fork. It clatters against the glass. His expression turns contrite. I see the apology written on his face before he even speaks. “Kiran, I’m—”

  “Driving a car is definitely out of the question. But who says we can’t jump out of plane?”

  “Be strapped to some guy and not being able to see the ground would be difficult for me. I need to keep whatever control I can.”

  “What if it was me you were strapped to?”

  “How would that work?”

  “I enjoyed it so much when we did it, I got my certification. You can jump with me. If you trusted me to talk you through it and pull the parachute that is.”

  “You’re kidding. You got certified?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  I stand to clear the table. Remembering Dana’s rule not to move anything, I’m careful to push my chair back in. She even marked the position of the couch with pieces of red tape on the floor in case it shifted.

  “I can clean up,” he says.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You cooked. I’ll do dish duty.”

  “Okay.”

  He feels around the table until he grasps my plate. I don’t move. He’s close to me. I struggle not to wrap my arms around him.

  “By the way, I wasn’t staking my place at the table when I backed out that chair.”

  “What were you doing then?”

  “Holding the chair for you, Kiran.”

  Chapter 25

  Mason

  During the drive to the VA Hospital in Charleston, I suggest we listen to an audio book. Kiran agrees, although I sense she doesn’t want to. I need someone else’s voice in the car with us. Dana’s car isn't very roomy, and I am already struggling not to touch her face or tangle my hands in her hair.

  So we listen as a high-pitched British guy dictates a time-travel psychological thriller. I let her go through the downloaded books on my app. This is what she chose. Maybe because there’s a hint of romance. I don’t have the heart to tell her it ends badly.

  I shift awkwardly in the tiny seat.

  Kiran pauses the audio book. “Maybe you should move your chair back?”

  “Wish I could. This is as far back as it goes. I swear Dana’s car is made for elves.”

  She laughs. I wonder if her mouth is still as sexy as I remember. Does she still mouth the words when she reads?

  “You do look cramped.”

  “It’s funny the stuff you miss. I thought it would be those stunning sights like hiking in the Rocky Mountains or when all the Dogwood trees bloom or those beautiful sunrises we shared.”

  “You don’t miss those things?” she asks, her voice as soft as a whisper.

  “I do, but I remember them.” I point to my head. “Up here. But I know there won’t be any future grand sightings to add to that list. Mostly, it’s the subtle things I miss. Not knowing how someone is looking at me or who’s even
around me. I wonder how Dana looked when I said good-bye to her. I’m missing so much…life.”

  “Dana was sad and excited at the same time. She was fighting a smile and a tear.”

  I nod. That sounded right. I could go on about this, but what use was it? What was the use in telling her how much I miss her smile? How sad it makes me that I’ll never see it again. “I miss driving.”

  “It isn’t much fun in my opinion.”

  “Well, if you’re talking about this automobile, I’d agree. But you’ve never driven a custom-built Firebird, have you?”

  “I’ve never driven any kind of sports car.”

  “It’s more than just the utility of getting from one place to another. I experienced something each time I took a spin. There’s a hypnotic power in the roar of the engine. There’s a grace in the way the car takes turns or climbs a hill.” I bet I sound foolish, going on about a car.

  “I saw it in the garage. It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. I barely drove it and now I’ll probably sell it. Doesn’t make much sense not to. Dana wants nothing to do with it.”

  Her navigator app chimes in, interrupting us with directions.

  “You can turn it off. I can tell you how to get there.”

  “You can?”

  “Yeah, I know this area well. If you can tell me what street we’re on, I can route us.”

  “May I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  “If it’s too private, just tell me.”

  “Ask the dam question, girl.”

  “Can you see anything?”

  “Yeah, I see some stuff. Usually, I can make out light and dark shadows. I can even see dimension if something is moving, like the cars on this road. I can’t make out their specific forms to tell you make and model or anything, but I can see flashes of something zinging by us. If I’m lucky, I get some color too, shades of muted oranges and reds and yellows.” I’m always grateful when I get to see color.

  “When does it happen?”

  It happened the day she came, although it wasn’t exactly a happy day. I remember the sun was bright. I saw her, a slow moving shadow against a sky of yellow. “When there is a lot of light.”