Dear John

  "Hmm," I grunted.

  She laughed under her breath. "Don't tell me you're jealous."

  "I'm not."

  "Good," she concluded, squeezing my hand again. "Because there's no reason to be."

  I hung on those last few words. She needn't have said them, but I couldn't be happier that she had. When we reached the car, I opened her door.

  "I was thinking of taking you out to Oysters," I said. "It's a nightclub a little way down the beach. They'll have a band later, and we could go dancing."

  "What are we doing until then?"

  "Are you hungry?" I asked, thinking about the cheeseburger I'd passed on earlier. "A little," she said. "I had a snack when I got back, so I'm not too hungry yet."

  "How about a walk on the beach?"

  "Hmm . . . maybe later."

  It was obvious that she already had something in mind. "Why don't you tell me what you want to do?"

  She brightened. "How about if we go say hi to your father."

  I wasn't sure I'd heard her right. "Really?"

  "Yeah, really," she said. "Just for a little while. Then we can get something to eat and go out dancing."

  When I hesitated, she put a hand on my shoulder. "Please?"

  I wasn't all that happy about going, but the way she asked made it impossible for me to say no. I was getting used to that, I suppose, but I would rather have had her all to myself for the rest of the evening. Nor did I understand why she wanted to see my dad tonight, unless it meant she wasn't quite as thrilled as I was at the prospect of being alone. To be honest, the thought depressed me.

  Still, she was in a good mood as she talked about the work they'd accomplished over the last couple days. Tomorrow, they planned to start on the windows. Randy, it turned out, had worked alongside her on both days, which explained their "newfound friendship." That's how she described it. I doubted Randy would have described his interest in the same way.

  We pulled into the drive a few minutes later, and I noted the light in my father's den. When I turned off the engine, I fiddled with the keys before getting out.

  "I told you my father is quiet, didn't I?"

  "Yeah," she said. "It doesn't matter, though. I just want to meet him."

  "Why?" I asked. I know how it sounded, but I couldn't help it.

  "Because," she said, "he's your only family. And he was the one who raised you."

  Once my dad got over the shock of my return with Savannah in tow and the introductions were made, he ran a quick hand over his wispy hair and stared at the floor.

  "I'm sorry we didn't call first, but don't blame John," she said. "It was all my fault."

  "Oh," he said. "It's okay."

  "Did we catch you at a bad time?"

  "No." He glanced up, then back to the floor again. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said.

  For a moment, we all stood in the living room, none of us saying anything. Savannah wore an easy smile, but I wondered if my dad even realized it.

  "Would you like something to drink?" he asked, as if suddenly remembering he was supposed to play host.

  "I'm fine, thanks," she said. "John tells me that you're quite the coin collector."

  He turned to me, as if wondering whether he should answer. "I try," he finally said.

  "Is that what we so rudely interrupted?" she asked, using the same teasing tone she used with me. To my surprise, I heard my dad give a nervous laugh. Not loud, but a laugh nonetheless. Amazing.

  "No, you didn't interrupt. I was just examining a new coin I got today."

  As he spoke, I could sense him trying to gauge how I'd react. Savannah either didn't notice or pretended not to. "Really?" she asked. "What kind?"

  My dad shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then, to my astonishment, he looked up and asked her, "Would you like to see it?"

  We spent forty minutes in the den.

  For the most part, I sat in the den and listened to my dad tell stories I knew by heart. Like most serious collectors, he kept only a few coins at home, and I didn't have any idea where the rest of them were stored. He would rotate part of the collection every couple of weeks, new coins appearing as if by magic. Usually there were never more than a dozen in his office at any one time and never anything valuable, but I got the impression that he could have been showing Savannah a common Lincoln penny and she would have been entranced. She asked dozens of questions, questions either I or any book on coin collecting could have answered, but as the minutes passed, her questions became more subtle. Instead of asking why a coin might be particularly valuable, she asked when and where he'd found it, and she was treated to tales of boring weekends of my youth spent in places like Atlanta and Charleston and Raleigh and Charlotte.

  My dad talked a lot about those trips. Well, for him, anyway. He still had a tendency to retreat into himself for long stretches, but he probably said more in those forty minutes to her than he'd said to me since I'd arrived home. From my vantage point, I saw the passion she had referred to, but it was a passion I'd seen a thousand times before, and it didn't alter my opinion that he used coins as a way to avoid life instead of embracing it. I'd stopped talking to him about coins because I wanted to talk about something else; my father stopped talking because he knew how I felt and could discuss nothing else.

  And yet . . .

  My dad was happy, and I knew it. I could see the way his eyes gleamed as he gestured to a coin, pointing out the mint mark or how crisp the stamp had been or how the value of a coin might differ because it had arrows or wreaths. He showed Savannah proof coins, coins minted at West Point, one of his favorite type to collect. He pulled out a magnifying glass to show her flaws, and when Savannah held the magnifying glass, I could see the animation on my father's face. Despite my feelings about coins, I couldn't help smiling, simply to see my father so happy.

  But he was still my dad, and there was no miracle. Once he'd shown her the coins and told her everything about them and how they'd been collected, his comments grew further and further apart. He began to repeat himself and realized it, causing him to retreat and grow even quieter. In time, Savannah must have sensed his growing discomfort, for she gestured to the coins atop the desk.

  "Thank you, Mr. Tyree. I feel like I've really learned something."

  My dad smiled, obviously drained, and I took it as my cue to stand.

  "Yeah, that was great. But we should probably be going," I said.

  "Oh . . . okay."

  "It was wonderful meeting you."

  When my dad nodded again, Savannah leaned in and gave him a hug.

  "Let's do this again sometime," she whispered, and though my dad hugged her back, it reminded me of the lifeless hugs I'd received as a child. I wondered if she felt as awkward as he obviously did.

  In the car, Savannah seemed lost in thought. I would have asked about her impressions of my father but wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer. I know my dad and I didn't have the best relationship, but she was right when she'd said he was the only family I had and had raised me. I could complain about him, but the last thing I wanted to hear was someone else doing it, too.

  Still, I didn't think she would say anything negative, simply because it wasn't in her nature, and when she turned to me, she was smiling.

  "Thanks for bringing me by to meet him," she said. "He's got such a . . . warm heart."

  I'd never heard anyone describe him that way, but I liked it.

  "I'm glad you liked him."

  "I did," she said, sounding sincere. "He's . . . gentle." She glanced at me. "But I think I understand why you got in so much trouble when you were younger. He didn't strike me as the kind of father who would lay down the law."

  "He didn't," I agreed.

  She shot me a playful scowl. "And mean old you took advantage."

  I laughed. "Yeah, I suppose I did."

  She shook her head. "You should have known better."

  "I was just a kid."

  "Ah, the old youth excuse. You know tha
t doesn't hold water, don't you? I never took advantage of my parents."

  "Yes, the perfect child. I think you mentioned that."

  "Are you making fun of me?"

  "No, of course not."

  She continued to stare at me. "I think you are," she finally decided.

  "Okay, maybe a little."

  She thought about my answer. "Well, maybe I deserved that. But just so you know, I wasn't perfect."

  "No?"

  "Of course not. I remember quite plainly, for instance, that in fourth grade I got a B on a test."

  I feigned shock. "No! Don't tell me that!"

  "It's true."

  "How did you ever recover?"

  "How do you think?" She shrugged. "I told myself it would never happen again."

  I didn't doubt it. "Are you hungry yet?"

  "I thought you'd never ask."

  "What are you in the mood for?"

  She drew up her hair in a sloppy ponytail, then let it go. "How about a big, juicy cheeseburger?"

  As soon as she said it, I found myself wondering if Savannah was too good to be true.

  Seven

  I must admit that you bring me to eat at the most interesting places," Savannah said, glancing over her shoulder. In the distance beyond the dune, we could see a long line of customers snaking away from Joe's Burger Stand in the middle of a gravel parking lot.

  "It's the best in town," I said, taking a bite of my enormous burger.

  Savannah sat close to me in the sand, facing the water. The burgers were fantastic, nice and thick, and though the French fries were a bit too greasy, they hit the spot. As she ate, Savannah stared at the sea, and in the waning light I found myself thinking that she seemed even more at home here than I did.

  I thought again about the way she'd talked to my father. About the way she talked to everyone, for that matter, including me. She had the rare ability to be exactly what people needed when she was with them and yet still remain true to herself. I couldn't think of anyone who remotely resembled her in appearance or personality, and I wondered again why she'd taken a liking to me. We were as different as two people could be. She was a mountain girl, gifted and sweet, raised by attentive parents, with a desire to help those in need; I was a tattooed army grunt, hard around the edges, and largely a stranger in my own home. Remembering how she'd been with my dad, I could tell how gracefully her parents had raised her. And as she sat beside me, I found myself wishing that I could be more like her.

  "What are you thinking?"

  Her voice, probing yet gentle, pulled me away from my thoughts.

  "I was wondering why you're here," I confessed.

  "Because I like the beach. I don't get to do this very often. It's not like there are any waves or shrimp boats where I'm from."

  When she saw my expression, she tapped my hand. "That was flippant," she said, "I'm sorry. I'm here because I want to be here."

  I set aside the remains of my burger, wondering why I cared so much. It was a new feeling for me, one I wasn't sure I'd ever get used to. She patted my arm and turned toward the water again.

  "It's gorgeous out here. All we need is a sunset over the water, and it would be perfect."

  "We'd have to go to the other side of the country," I said.

  "Really? You're trying to tell me the sun sets in the west?"

  I noted the mischievous gleam in her eye.

  "That's what I hear, anyway."

  She'd eaten only half of her cheeseburger, and she slipped it into the bag, then added the remains of mine as well. After folding the bag over so the wind wouldn't blow it away, she stretched out her legs and turned to me, looking at once flirtatious and innocent.

  "You want to know what I was thinking?" she asked.

  I waited, drinking in the sight of her.

  "I was thinking that I wished you'd been with me the last couple of days. I mean, I enjoyed getting to know everyone better. We ate lunch together, and the dinner last night was a lot of fun, but it just felt like something was wrong, like I was missing something. It wasn't until I saw you walking up the beach that I realized it was you."

  I swallowed. In another life, in another time, I would have kissed her then, but even though I wanted to, I didn't. Instead, all I could do was stare at her. She met my gaze without a hint of self-consciousness.

  "When you asked me why I was here, I made a joke because I thought the answer was obvious. Spending time with you just feels . . . right, somehow. Easy, like the way it's supposed to be. Like it is with my parents. They're just comfortable together, and I remember growing up thinking that one day I wanted to have that, too." She paused. "I'd like you to meet them one day."

  My throat had gone dry. "I'd like that, too."

  She slipped her hand easily into mine, her fingers intertwining with my own.

  We sat in peaceful silence. At the water's edge, terns were bobbing their beaks into the sand in search of food; a cluster of seagulls broke as a wave rolled in. The sky had grown darker and the clouds more ominous. Up the beach, I could see scattered couples walking under a spreading indigo sky.

  As we sat together, the air filled with the crashing of the surf. I marveled at how new everything felt. New and yet comfortable, as if we'd known each other forever. Yet we weren't even a real couple. Nor, a voice in my head reminded me, is it likely you ever will be. In a little more than a week, I'd be heading back to Germany and this would all be over. I'd spent enough time with my buddies to know that it takes more than a few special days to survive a relationship that spanned the Atlantic Ocean. I'd heard guys in my unit swear they were in love after coming off leave--and maybe they were--but it never lasted.

  Spending time with Savannah made me wonder whether it was possible to defy the norm. I wanted more of her, and no matter what happened between us, I already knew I'd never forget anything about her. As crazy as it sounded, she was becoming part of me, and I was already dreading the fact that we wouldn't be able to spend the day together tomorrow. Or the day after, or the day after that. Maybe, I told myself, we could beat the odds.

  "Out there!" I heard her cry. She pointed toward the ocean. "In the breakers."

  I scanned an ocean the color of iron but didn't see anything. Beside me, Savannah suddenly stood up and started running toward the water.

  "Come on!" she shouted over her shoulder. "Hurry!"

  I rose and started after her, puzzled. Breaking into a run, I closed the gap between us. She stopped at the water's edge, and I could hear her breaths coming fast.

  "What's going on?" I said.

  "Right there!"

  When I squinted, I saw what she'd been referring to. Three of them were riding the waves, one after the next, then disappearing from view in the shallows, only to reappear again a little ways down the beach.

  "Young porpoises," I said. "They pass by the island almost every evening."

  "I know," she said, "but it looks like they're surfing."

  "Yeah, I suppose it does. They're just having fun. Now that everyone's out of the water, they feel like it's safe to play."

  "I want to go in with them. I've always wanted to swim with the dolphins."

  "They'll stop playing, or they'll just move down the beach to where you can't reach them. They're funny that way. I've seen them while surfing. If they're curious, they'll come within a few feet and give you the once-over, but if you try to follow them, they'll leave you in the dust."

  We continued to watch the porpoises as they moved away from us, eventually vanishing from view under a sky that had grown opaque.

  "We should probably get going," I said.

  We made our way back to the car, stopping to pick up the remains from our dinner.

  "I'm not sure the band will be playing yet, but it shouldn't be long."

  "It doesn't matter," she said. "I'm sure we can find something to do. Besides, I should warn you, I'm not much of a dancer."

  "We don't have to go if you don't want to. We could go someplace else
if you'd like."

  "Like where?'

  "Do you like ships?"

  "What kind of ships?"

  "Big ones," I said. "I know this place where we can see the USS North Carolina."

  She made a funny face, and I knew the answer was no. Not for the first time did I wish I had my own place. Then again, I was under no illusions that she'd follow me home if I did. If I were her, I wouldn't go either. I'm only human.

  "Wait," she said, "I know where we can go. I want to show you something."

  Intrigued, I asked, "Where?"

  Considering Savannah's group had started their work only yesterday, the house was surprisingly far along. Most of the framing was already finished, and the roof had been raised as well. Savannah stared out the window of the car before turning to me.

  "Would you like to walk around? See what we're doing?"

  "I'd love to," I said.

  I followed her out of the car, noting the play of moonlight on her features. As I stepped onto the dirt of the work site, I realized I could hear songs from a radio emanating from one of the kitchen windows of the neighbors. A few steps from the entrance, Savannah motioned around the structure with obvious pride. I moved close enough to slip my arm around her, and she tilted her head against my shoulder as she relaxed into me.

  "This is where I've spent the last couple of days," she almost whispered in the nighttime quiet. "What do you think?"

  "It's great," I said. "I'll bet the family is thrilled."

  "They are. And they're such a great family. They really deserve this place since it's been such a struggle for them. Hurricane Fran destroyed their home, but like so many others, they didn't have flood insurance. It's a single mom with three kids--her husband ran out on her years ago--and if you met the family, you'd love them. The kids all get good grades and sing in the youth choir at church. And they're just so polite and gracious . . . you can tell their mom has worked hard to make sure they turn out right, you know?"

  "You've met them, I take it?"

  She nodded toward the house. "They've been here the last couple of days." She straightened. "Would you like to look around inside?"

  Reluctantly, I let her go. "Lead the way."

  It wasn't a large place--about the same size as my dad's--but the floor plan was more open, which made it seem larger. Savannah took me by the hand and walked me through each room, pointing out features, her imagination filling in the detail. She mused about the ideal wallpaper for the kitchen and the color of tile in the entryway, the fabric of the curtains in the living room, and how to decorate the mantel over the fireplace. Her voice conveyed the same wonder and joy she'd expressed when seeing the porpoises. For an instant, I had a vision of what she must have been like as a child.