Eight Days in the Sun Read online

  “Right, but I can watch YouTube videos on the subject.”

  Mason laughs. “Yeah, you are a quick study.”

  I decide to leave them alone to catch up. Obviously, Jeff is excited to visit with Mason. “I’ll be right back.”

  I use the restroom. On the way back, I linger to check out the display of all the interesting ice cream flavors. Lana is preparing some complicated concoction for Mason.

  “So, how do you know our Mason, or did you just answer an ad?” Lana asks in a way that makes it very clear “our” Mason is not my Mason.

  “We’ve been friends for a while.”

  She lowers the visor on her head. “Can’t be that long. He’s never mentioned you.”

  “You know him well I take it?”

  “Oh sure, my brother and Mase have been best friends forever.”

  I glance at the table a few feet away. Mason and Jeff are still chatting away. “They seem close.”

  “Mase and I are close too. We’ve been on and off since high school.”

  “Oh.” Oh.

  “Yeah. Even when he left for the Marines, we always got back together again.”

  Even though it’s freezing in here, my insides are on fire.

  She leans toward me, dropping her voice as if we’re confidants sharing a secret. “I plan to ask him out again. I won’t let his disability stop me.”

  I’m speechless… And suddenly I strongly dislike ice cream.

  Lana has three huge scoops in a banana boat container. She spoons hot fudge on top. Despite all these crazy emotions, a warning shoots up like a red flare. “Excuse me, is that for Mason?”

  “Yes,” she says. “I’ll get yours in a minute.”

  “No, it’s not that. Mason can’t have chocolate.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since always. He’s allergic.”

  She sets down the hot fudge ladle. “That’s right. I forgot.”

  “What the hell, Lana. Are you trying to kill him?” Jeff asks.

  “Calm down, man. It won’t kill me. Just gives me a killer headache.” Mason clears his throat. “It’s no trouble, Lana. I’ll just have a plain old scoop of vanilla if you please.”

  She throws her creation in the garbage. I would have felt sorry for her except she curls her mouth somewhere between a smile and sneer. She places a scoop of vanilla in a bowl. She does the same with my green apple.

  I bring our bowls to the table. Mason takes out his wallet. All the bills are folded in different directions so he can tell the notes apart.

  “Your money’s no good here, Cutler,” Jeff says, placing a hand over Mason’s wallet.

  “Let me pay you.”

  “No can do, brother.”

  They argue for a minute before Mason finally concedes. I place Mason’s bowl next to him and hand him his spoon.

  “Think about coming fishing, Cutler. It’s only one day.” Jeff glances at the Cuckoo clock over the ice cream display. “Man, I’m sorry, I’d love to catch up more, but I promised my dad I’d meet him at the farm.”

  “No worries,” Mason says. “We’ll talk soon.”

  “Yeah, for sure.” Jeff turns to me. “It was nice meeting you, Kiran.”

  “You too.”

  Jeff gives Lana instructions to wash the back floor on his way out the door. She sighs before disappearing into the backroom.

  “Mason, if you want to stay here, I can do the grocery shopping and come back for you.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can catch up.”

  His expression is one of puzzlement. “Didn’t Jeff leave?”

  “Yes.” I lean forward. “I meant with Lana.”

  “No thanks.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Let’s go outside and finish our ice cream. If memory serves, there are a couple benches out there.”

  “There are.”

  He slides out of the booth. “Well, c’mon, Shenoy. Ice creams a melting here.”

  We find a bench under the shade of a large oak tree. We sit close enough, mainly because the bench is small. I’m still wound up from the conversation with Lana. Not for the first time, I think I built up those eight days in my head.

  Mason shoulder bumps me. “I can’t believe you remembered I’m allergic to chocolate.”

  “Of course I remember. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.”

  He chuckles. “You did shed a few tears at the time. Thanks for looking out for me.”

  “Well, that is my job.”

  “Are you okay, Shenoy?”

  “Fine.”

  “Why did you think I wanted to hang with Lana just now?”

  “Because she’s your ex.”

  “Ex? Where did you hear that?”

  “From her.”

  “Is that a note of jealousy I’m detecting?”

  No Mason, it’s not a single note. It’s a whole freaking symphony.

  “It’s just jarring running into your ex-girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my ex. To qualify for ex status, you have to be going out in the first place.”

  “You never went out with her?”

  “Maybe two dates back in high school. When I was home on leave a few years ago, we went to the movies with a whole group of people. I wouldn’t count that as a date. She’s my buddy’s kid sister. That’s all.”

  “Were there other girls?” I blurt the question as soon as it enters my head. I’m not even sure if I want him to answer.

  “I had a few dates over the years.”

  “Anything serious?” I hear a horrible screeching sound inside my head. Probably, the metal on metal of broken down brakes that can’t seem to stop the awkward questions.

  “No. I didn’t even go out with the same girl twice. Matter of fact, the only relationship I’ve ever had in my entire life would be the eight days I spent with you. If you quantify that as a relationship.”

  “Oh.” Oh.

  “What about you?”

  I scrape the bottom of my paper cup with the colorful plastic spoon. I’m so unprepared to answer the same question I posed. “I did what you said. I lived my life and went on a few dates.”

  “Anything serious?” When I don’t answer, he bumps me again. “C’mon, spill it.”

  “I had one relationship.”

  His mouth tightens. “How long?”

  “About six months.”

  Mason takes out a plastic bag of treats and feeds Molly. “Who was he?”

  “Are we really doing this?”

  “In all fairness, you started it.”

  True. I take in a sharp breath. “His name was Vic.”

  “For Victor?”

  “For Vickram. A friend at school set us up. She probably matched us because we were the only two Indians in all of Iowa. Or at least, it seemed that way.”

  Mason chuckles, but the sound falls flat and hollow. “Go on.”

  How much more detail does he need? “He was nice. Papa loved him.”

  “He met your father?”

  “When Papa and Linda came to Iowa to visit me, they took us out to dinner. Of course, Vik had all the prerequisites that mattered. He was pre-med, well-bred, and wealthy.”

  “What happened? He sounds perfect.”

  I’m not sure how to answer. Do I tell Mason he never made me laugh? He didn’t make my pulse hum with excitement? In short, he wasn’t Mason. “Maybe on paper he was perfect, but he wasn’t perfect for me. The feelings weren’t there. That was unfair to me. It was really unfair to him. So I broke it off.”

  Mason doesn’t respond except to say we should get on with grocery shopping. We head to the store and fill up the cart. On the ride home, the silence is unbearable.

  “Sam’s selling the store,” I say to fill up the empty air.

  “Why? He loves running the store.”

  “Yeah, but he’s decided to move on. He’s moving to Seattle with his sister. He�
��s selling it all, including the inventory.”

  “I hope whoever buys it takes care of his books.”

  “Me too. Sidney says hi by the way.”

  “Oh, yeah? You’re still in touch?”

  “We’re closer than ever. She’s getting married in a few months. I’m one of her bridesmaids.”

  “No kidding.”

  “No joke. I have a big poufy peach dress with a bow over the butt to prove it.”

  He smiles, a big hearty smile. “I bet you can pull it off.”

  “I don’t think so, but it’s what she wanted. The wedding is going to be at the Wilshire.”

  He’s quiet for a while. Maybe he’s remembering that promise he made to me the night we went swimming. One day I’ll take you to the revolving restaurant on top of the Wilshire Hotel, and we’ll dance.

  “Do you remember Rob?” he asks.

  “Rob, one half of the Jorgensons?”

  “The very one. We exchanged info and kept in touch too.”

  I swallow something bitter. He kept in touch with Rob, but not me? Of course, there were reasons for that. Maybe not logical ones, but I had agreed to them nonetheless. “How is he? How’s Melanie?”

  “They’re doing well. They have two little boys now.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Are you okay, Kiran?”

  No, I’m not okay, Mason. I’m pissed about the fucking years we lost. I’m pissed about the barrier between us now. The one he set up. Before I can rationalize myself off the ledge, something darts in front of the car. I slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the deer. The vehicle screeches. I scream. Molly barks. The deer prances as if it doesn’t have a care in the world. Thank God there wasn’t a car behind me, or there would have been a collision.

  “Kiran!”

  I pull over to the side of the road to calm down. I turn to him. “I’m sorry. A deer ran past us. We missed it, but I had to hit the brakes fast. The car is fine.”

  “Fuck the car. Are you fine?”

  “Besides the fact I almost hit Bambi? Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”

  He expels a low breath. “Now I am. You handled it well.”

  I look down. “Mason?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You can put your arm down now.”

  Across my body is Mason’s arm. It’s extended, straight and rigid, veins flaring, muscles flexing. It has to hurt. He must have held it up as soon as I began our screeching halt. Just like he did back in Jasper the day he let me drive that other car of his.

  Mason, the protector.

  Some things don’t change.

  Chapter 27

  Kiran

  I’m typing away, trying to finish my article when Mason appears in the doorway in black shorts and a faded Dallas Cowboy’s T-shirt. Molly is at his side.

  “Hey, mind if I use the treadmill?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Sure? It sounds like you’re working.”

  “I am, but I don’t mind.”

  I shift my focus back to the screen. I’m writing a book review of the latest Nick Dorsey novel. Each sentence becomes increasingly more difficult. The small desk where I sit is only a few feet away from the treadmill. All I have to do is lift my eyes to see him. He starts with a slow jog. His steps are rhythmic, playing against the hum of the machine.

  “I’m going to put on my ear buds,” I tell him so he’ll know if I’m slow to answer. I don’t have to worry about him. Molly is right there standing to the side, alert and ready to jump behind him to break his fall if needed.

  “Can you turn it on speaker?” he asks. “I usually listen to music when I work out, but my phone’s charging right now.”

  “Any requests?”

  “Something fast. But you choose the music, Miss DJ.” He lifts his eyebrow. “No boy bands, though.”

  Figuring my workout music appropriate, I turn on my playlist.

  Spoon sings “Do You.” Mason increases his speed, the muscles on his arms flexing. I try to keep my hands on my keyboard. Panjabi MC and Jay Z rap “Beware.” Good advice. Mason picks up the tempo. He loses the T-shirt. Oh holy mother of beautiful boys. His body is ripped and toned in all the right places…which is everywhere. A sheen of sweat covers his six-pack abs. His shorts hang just low enough to reveal those indented V-lines around his hipbones.

  There are new tattoos on his sculpted body. The bible quote still covers his right arm, but the star has more shading now. The Marine insignia adorns his right shoulder while intricate black spirals weave around the hard muscles on the right side of his waist.

  Eminem advises me to lose myself. That’s just what I do. Heat travels up my body. I press my legs together. My mouth is dry. My fingers trembling on the keyboard, I try to focus and ignore the hot as hell man in the corner of the room. But how? I know, I’ll search for hysterical kitty videos. That will take my mind off Mason’s Thor-like body.

  My screen fills up with millions of hits. Kitties playing the piano. Kitties running in circles chasing their own tails, kitties doing back flips in midair, kitties prancing around in hilarious dance routines. After three minutes of watching kittens and their silly antics, I realize all the adorable kitties in the world can’t distract me. My willpower withers away. I glance up once more.

  Little Wayne and his friends remind me I’m a sucker for pain. No shit.

  Mason increases the speed on incline. His honey-colored hair turns damp as he sprints. Beads of sweat gather at the corner of his forehead. He takes his discarded shirt and wicks them away. He grunts one of those ferocious, exertion-fueled man-grunts. I sigh. Molly gives me a sideways glance. Yes, she’s on to me. She disapproves of my leering.

  I disapprove of my leering.

  I bite my lower lip so hard it will leave a mark. “Linger” by the Cranberries starts up. The song mocks me. He makes a face to indicate it’s not his preference. Are all the songs on my playlist sexual? I switch it up, opting for my happy playlist. These songs are innocent and barely scratch a PG-rating. Sure enough, the first one is from the Sound of Music soundtrack. Julie Andrews muses about her favorite things.

  “What the fuck, Shenoy?”

  “What? I love musicals. Deal with it.”

  He lets out a frustrated groan. “Dealt.”

  I tap my toe to it. It’s a good choice. After all, this is about as wholesome as I can get. I hum along, mentally patting myself on the back. Then I steal another glance like a thief in the night.

  Solid tan muscles all drenched in sweat

  Oh how gorgeous they glisten

  Reminds me of a muscle that I have been missin’

  A deep blue-eyed stare and a spanking that stings

  These would be some of my favorite things

  A warm husky voice and those strong but soft hands

  Just waiting to quell all my lusty demands

  Harsh breaths, flexing muscles, and big manly grunts

  All of these things go straight to myyyyy…

  Stop…stop…Stop!

  “Shenoy?”

  “Yes!” I scream, almost jumping from my chair. God, please don’t tell me I spoke out loud. I desperately need some bleach to disinfect my dirty mind.

  “Julie Andrews isn’t exactly workout music.”

  Says who? “I can change it.”

  He slows down the pace. “I’m done, anyway.”

  Thank God, stop me before I move on to something really raunchy…like Mary Poppins.

  Chapter 28

  Mason

  The day when my life changed and my world went dark started off normal. Or at least as normal as life is when you’re deployed. I remember having coffee with my CO. Remember taking a morning run through the barracks. Remember going over drills. Remember playing horseshoes with the guys. But before any of those things, I remember waking up and staring at the pictures I taped to the bottom of the top bunk. It was a ritual I did every morning, an opportunity to l
ook at all the people I loved to remind me why I was here.

  There was a photo of Dana and me at her high school graduation, her in a blue cap and gown decked out with golden cords. Next to that was a photo of my dad and me building a sandcastle on the beach and another of us fishing. There was an older picture of my grandpa and dad when Gramps was being awarded the Silver Star for his heroic efforts in the Gulf War.

  I always looked at her photo last. The one where I held her in my arms. I snapped it the night we had a picnic among the ruins of sandcastles. The night she told me she loved me. A night I thought about every night following.

  If I’d known, had some premonition or inkling, that staring at the picture was my last chance to see her face, I would have taken more time.

  Our patrol left in the afternoon on a routine humanitarian mission to deliver aid to the locals. Just another normal day in the desert among poppy fields and damaged buildings. The kids in the village all ran to our truck. They chanted, jumping up and down, while we unloaded bags of rice and cooking oil. A few bags of hard candy for the kids. A boy, no older than fifteen, asked for help with a stalled car.

  Sure, I’ll help you. I know my way around cars. He opened the hood. When I straightened, I noticed how much he was sweating. The way his hands shook when he shoved them into his pockets. Then my body flew back into the air as if I were made of straw or cotton. Shards of sharp glass and metal pelted me, piercing into my flesh and even my brain. Once in a while, I still taste the metal in my mouth and smell the distinct scent of dust and sulfur and toxic chemicals. Sometimes, I even hear the blast echoing in my ears, drowning out all the other noises.

  Like now.

  I wake up sweating. I tell myself I had a dream. But the sounds are still all around me. The air is disappearing. It’s happening again. I am in the war zone once more. But I’m not alone. This time, she’s with me. Oh God.

  “Kiran!”

  I throw off the covers. Molly is next to me. She rubs her fur against my leg to let me know she’s there. Calling Kiran’s name, I run to the stairs. Someone is shooting at the house or bombs are going off somewhere close. Whatever the fuck it is, I have to find Kiran, and we have to get the hell out of the house.

  “Kiran!”