Chasing Sunsets Part 13

Somewhere in the room I heard her voice: "Kim, you are simply amazing, sweetheart. Simply amazing. What made you think to tilt the camera like that . . ."

I shook my head just as a knock echoed through the room. Steven.

When I opened the door, I found Max sitting on his haunches at Steven's feet.

"Hi," he said. Steven wore black vintage wash jeans, a golden tan waffle tee, and Converse shoes.

"Hi."

He looked from me to Max and back to me. "This yours?" A dimple cut deep into his cheek, and I smiled.

"He's my buddy," I said, repeating the words Patsy had spoken to me of Oreo. "Max, this is Steven. Steven, Max."

Steven shifted to a squat with one knee resting on the deck and the other supporting his elbow. He extended his hand, and Max placed his paw dutifully in it. "Nice to meet you, Max."

"Come in," I said. "I'll get my purse."

Max shot in and headed straight for the kitchen, where his food and water bowls waited for him. Steven closed the door and said, "I'm glad you didn't dress up. I forgot to tell you it would be casual."

I picked up my purse and twirled around as I put on my best "stunned" expression. "What? I don't look dressed up?"

Steven c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "You know what I mean."

I nodded. "I do." I started for the door. "Shall we then?"

"We shall."

Steven took me to a rustic waterfront restaurant, Coconuts, which was upstairs over the billiards bar. He escorted me to a table for two next to the window, which overlooked the Gulf and an old fisherman's shack that appeared ready to collapse under the weight of any breeze, no matter how weak. "It's still here," I said.

"The locals call it the Honeymoon Cottage," Steven said.

"I remember."

"This is great seating. We'll have a nice view of the sunset if you decide I'm worth your time and we're still here." I heard the lilt in his voice; it was the same as when we were kids.

I looked out over the water. Black thick ripples bobbed toward the sh.o.r.eline.

A server came to the table and asked for our drink order. "I don't drink alcohol," Steven said to me, "but if you . . ."

"No," I said. "Me either." I looked up at the server. "Sweet iced tea if you have it, please."

"We do," she said.

"Sounds good," Steven said. "Make it two."

Steven pulled the menus from a chrome holder at the end of the table, handed me one, and said, "The coconut shrimp is my favorite."

"With fries?" I asked.

I watched his eyes slide from his open menu to mine. "Yeah," he said, slow and sweet.

My feet tingled. "Coconut shrimp and fries, then."

After he placed our identical orders-which we soon learned came with coleslaw-he rested his elbows on the table, laced his fingers, and said, "So, did you see Rosa?"

I took a sip of tea. "I did."

"What was that look for?"

"What look?"

"You made a face. What happened with Rosa?"

I shrugged. "She's just different than I remember her."

This time, Steven made the face.

"What was that look for?"

He chuckled. "Never mind. Did she say if she could help you find someone?"

"She said she'd try. I don't know, Steven. I felt . . . it seemed like . . . well, like she really didn't want to help me. Like she was holding some kind of grudge or something. I expected her to at the very least be happy to see me."

"Sounds just like Rosa."

"Meaning?"

Steven leaned toward me as though he were about to tell me some grave secret. "Rosa has had some chip on her shoulder since we were teenagers."

"You're kidding."

"I wouldn't kid about those years."

I felt myself grow warm and prayed I wasn't blushing. "Oh, well . . . I guess I will continue to try on my own to find someone. In the meantime, I'm getting a little done around the place."

He smiled again. "Tell me about yourself, Kimberly-Boo."

Just then our dinner was served, so I waited to answer. After the server asked if we needed anything else and then walked away, Steven said, "Do you mind if I say a blessing over our food?"

I blinked. "No. No, of course not."

Steven's prayer was short, to the point. When he was done, he said, "Dig in."

I popped a hot, perfectly seasoned fry in my mouth. "Yum."

"Good, huh?"

"Very." I took another sip of tea and said, "I'm a teacher."

"What?"

I laughed. "You asked me to tell you about myself, remember?"

The dimple returned. "I did, didn't I? Okay, then. What do you teach?"

"Not what. Who. Second grade."

"Hmm . . ." Steven bit into a shrimp.

I nodded, felt my ponytail tickle my skin. "Second graders can be both a challenge and a lot of fun too. Their minds are like sponges."

"Hmm . . ." he repeated.

We both laughed. "What about you?" I asked.

Steven looked out over the water and then back to me. "Well, as you know, I'm tending Dad's business until . . . well, who knows how long. Before I moved here, I lived in Atlanta and worked as an executive manager of one of the malls."

"Really?"

"I couldn't make that up."

I also took a bite of shrimp. "You were right. These are fabulous."

"Not necessarily good for you, but hey . . . what is these days?"

"True."

He took a sip of his tea before asking, "You have sons, you said. Chase and Cody, was it?"

"Chase and Cody, yes." I could feel myself glowing. "I have photos, of course, if you'd like to see." Even as I suggested it, I was reaching for my purse.

Steven wiped his hands on his napkin and then reached across the table as I produced a small photo alb.u.m. He flipped through it, made dutiful noises, then asked, "Did you take these?"

"No. Their father did, actually. And, of course, the school pictures . . ."

Steven looked hard at me as he handed the photo alb.u.m back across the table. "You told me last night that you don't take pictures anymore. Why?"

I shrugged but I didn't answer.

"Your mother?"

I nodded as I felt tears sting the back of my eyes. "Change the subject," I said, nearly choking on the words.

He was quiet before he said, "All right then. What would you like to talk about?"

Part of me wanted him to explain to me what exactly had occurred the year after our summer romance. How he'd so casually tossed aside what we'd had for the girl he'd met at college. But, so far, we were having an okay evening and I didn't want to ruin it, so I said, "You said you have a daughter?"

"Eliza, yes. The apple of my eye." He winked as he wiped his hands again on the napkin and reached for his back pocket. "Now it's your turn to look at photos."

There were four pictures of his daughter between the sides of a black soft leather wallet. The first showed Eliza standing on her grandfather's boat, another was of her high school graduation, and the last two were of her with her father, arms laced, both dressed in formal wear. The photos showed evidence of her being tall, fair in complexion, with long strawberry-blonde hair and dark blue eyes. I noticed that in each photograph she wore an apple-shaped necklace, which I pointed out to Steven.

"The apple of my eye," he said again. "Remember?"

"You said that, yes."

He took the wallet from me and turned the pictures toward himself. "I had that necklace specially made by one of the jewelers at the mall where I worked," he said. "Fourteen karat gold. Rubies and emeralds." He looked up at me. "Cost me a little, but she's worth it."

I found myself in an unlikely place. I didn't know the young woman, and she looked sweet enough. But I didn't want to talk about her anymore. I looked out over the water again, then toward the sky. It had turned dark blue; the clouds the color of pink cotton candy. "Do you think the tide will take the water way out tonight?"

"Might. Would you like to go out for a walk?"

I did. I didn't. I did . . . "No. Not tonight."

I felt Steven's hand brush against mine. "Kim?" I looked at him as I slid my hand to my lap. "What's wrong? Did I say something that's upset you?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm fine, really I am." I forced a smile.

Steven looked down at where his hand continued to rest on the table and said, "I was thinking that maybe tomorrow morning we could watch the sunrise together."

"What does that mean?"

He laughed. "No . . . no, no, no. Nothing like that." He leaned back in his seat. "Man, that sounded like I wanted you to come up and see my etchings, didn't it?"

I nodded. "I should say."

"What I meant was that maybe I could pick you up early. I'll make a thermos of coffee. We can sit near the boat dock and wait for the sun to rise. Then, we can go have some breakfast at Kona Joe's."

It was so tempting. This whole thing . . . so tempting. And, for a moment, I felt as though I were some lovesick heroine in a romance novel, about to fall in love all over again. Maybe for the last time. I imagined the sun rising on the silhouettes of Steven and me, arms wrapped around each other, lips pressed together . . . like when we were young, before our parents even knew we'd snuck out of our respective homes . . .

I shook my head. "I don't think so, Steven."

Disappointment registered on his face. "Maybe another time, then."

"Maybe," I said, though my heart whispered, No. Never.

14.

September 1987-May 1988 In the beginning the letters came often enough. At first, every two days or so but eventually only once a week.

College, Steven wrote, takes up a lot more time than high school, Boo. And I'm not just talking about the frat parties either-ha ha.

I didn't like the idea of Steven at frat parties, and I told him so in a return letter.