Sun-Kissed Christmas

  Summer was deep in thought when she heard voices coming through the yard. A moment later the screen door opened.

  “All squared away with your notes?” Harris asked as he and Austin came into the living room.

  “Pretty much,” she said. “At least I hope so.”

  With Austin and Harris standing side by side, Summer could see the family resemblance. The wistfulness around the eyes, maybe. Or perhaps it was the secret half smile they both sported, as if only they knew the punch line to some private joke.

  “You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” Harris said, tossing his straw hat onto a carved oak rack.

  “Oh, we should be going,” Summer said. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

  She glanced at Austin, half hoping he’d say “No, let’s stay,” but he didn’t. He probably had plans with Esme for that night. The boat parade, maybe.

  “I make the best grilled swordfish in the Keys,” Harris said. “With a nice pineapple salsa, maybe some sugar snap peas—”

  “Sounds great, Harris,” Austin interrupted, “but I’ve really got to be getting back.”

  “Date with Esme?” Summer inquired.

  Austin shrugged. “Something like that.”

  Harris cast Summer a discreet smile that seemed to be saying, “Don’t feel bad, he’ll come to his senses one of these days.” Or maybe it was just a discreet smile that said, “I pity you, poor dweeb-girl.”

  “I do so hate to dine alone. …” Harris sighed theatrically.

  “What was I thinking?” Austin made a show of checking his watch. “The boat parade doesn’t start till nine, and it’s only an hour’s drive back. Of course we’ll stay.”

  “Shameless manipulation.” Harris winked at Summer. “Works every time. So, anything else I can do to help you with your report?”

  “I did have a couple of questions about the photo album you showed me.”

  “Ask away.”

  “There were some pictures. …” Summer flipped through the pages of Harris’s dusty album. “Here. Is this the buddy you were telling me about who was killed in France? Mario—” She checked her notes. “Fidanza?”

  “Took a bullet in the chest.” Harris gazed at the photo. “Cocky-looking kid, hmm? Had this wonderful baritone, used to sing Italian arias to us.”

  Summer jotted a few words in her notebook. She turned the page. “And here, this woman, the nurse? I was just wondering, since you have a lot of photos of her …”

  A peculiar look came over Harris. He stared at the photo tenderly. “That would be Vera,” he said softly.

  Summer exchanged a look with Austin. He shook his head, clearly mystified.

  “Was she … a friend?” Summer asked.

  “Ah, yes. A friend.” Harris closed the album. “A man has a friend like that once in his lifetime, if he’s been blessed by the stars.”

  He fell silent. Summer had a feeling he didn’t have any more to say. And she didn’t want to pry.

  But Austin was clearly intrigued. “It seems you’ve broken new ground, Summer,” he said. “This is the first I’ve heard about Vera.” He took the album from Harris and studied the pictures. “Now I’m really intrigued. I’ve seen this album before, and I don’t remember ever seeing these pictures, Harris. And believe me, her I’d remember.”

  “Yes, Vera had a lovely smile,” Harris said neutrally. He settled into a leather armchair and began stuffing a pipe with cherry-scented tobacco.

  “So what gives with the pictures? How come I’ve never seen these before?”

  “I suppose—” Harris paused to tamp down the tobacco. “—I kept those photos hidden away in the attic in deference to Louise.” He smiled at Summer. “My wife of over thirty years.”

  “But after Louise died,” Austin persisted, “you brought these out?”

  “An old man, indulging in his memories.” Harris gave an embarrassed shrug.

  “So indulge us,” Austin said with a grin.

  “Austin,” Summer interjected, “maybe Harris doesn’t want—”

  Harris waved a hand. “Oh, there’s not much to tell, really. It was December 1944, and I took some shrapnel in the leg. Vera was a nurse from California at the Forty-first Evac hospital outside of Maastricht, Holland. It was a huge monastery the Nazis had used for Hitler Youth activities, but the army nurses had turned it into a pretty impressive hospital, given how little they had to work with.”

  “So you met Vera there and … ,” Summer prompted, scribbling away in her notebook.

  “And we fell in love instantly.” Harris smiled at Summer. “There’s a reason ‘love at first sight’ is a cliché. It’s because it really happens. But perhaps you already know that.”

  Summer felt heat rise up her neck. She carefully avoided looking at Austin. “Um,” she said in a flustered voice, “so what happened with Vera? If it’s okay to ask?”

  “One thing led to another,” Harris said. “We had so little time together, but every moment was another miracle. Oh, we had so much we shared, Vera and I! We both loved Bach and chocolate and birding.”

  “Birding?” Summer repeated.

  “Bird-watching. Not that we could see any there, of course. With all the shelling, the birds had all but vanished, it seemed. But listen to me carrying on!” Harris paused and took a deep breath. “The last time I saw her, we had this Christmas dinner planned, the two of us, right before I was due to be sent home. My buddy and I went all over the hospital trying to dig up candles and chocolate and anything else we could get our hands on to make a decent dinner. Ended up with C-rations, mostly, and a lantern for candlelight. Set up a little table in a medications tent. Even recruited some friends to croon for us.”

  “Very romantic,” Summer said, smiling.

  “And there was the ring, of course. Used a shoelace for that.” Harris shook his head. “What can I say? I was young, foolish, misguided.”

  “Ring,” Austin repeated, “as in engagement?”

  “That was the idea, yes. However, the best-laid plans of mice and men …” Harris shrugged. “Vera never came that night. I still have that old piece of shoelace. I found out later that she was transferred to another unit. Strange thing was, she requested the transfer. I’ve often wondered why. …”

  “Did you ever try to find her?” Austin asked.

  “Started to look her up once, after Louise died. Spent all day at the public library going through every phone book in existence. Found her sister Rose in Atlanta. She said Vera was living in Florida. Right here in the same state. Said she’d retired from nursing. Said she’d never married.”

  “So you called her?” Summer asked.

  “No, no. I suppose it was just enough to hear her name again.” Harris laughed. “Who knows why we do such things? The heart is an odd muscle indeed.”

  Summer fumbled in her purse for a Kleenex and blew her nose.

  “Now, Summer, it’s hardly a cause for tears. I had my Louise, a wonderful woman. A man couldn’t have asked for a more devoted companion.”

  “I’m sorry.” Summer sniffled. “It’s just that it sounds like one of those black-and-white war movies on the classics channel.”

  “It does at that, doesn’t it? I do sometimes wish I’d tried harder to find her after the war. …” Harris lit his pipe with deliberate care. “But there’s no point in second-guessing. Not now.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, Harris,” Austin said softly.

  “I suppose,” Harris said. He gazed at Austin with a faraway smile. “I’ll tell you this, though. A love remembered with regret is the saddest thing in the world, Austin.”

  “Maybe so, Harris,” Austin replied. “But I’ll tell you this. It makes for some great poetry.”

  Summer watched the string of low-slung buildings along the highway fly by. Tackle shops, surfboard stores, mini-marts, all of them with their garish holiday lights ablaze. She sighed.

  “Not quite what you had in mind for Christmas, huh?” Austin said.

&
nbsp; “I’m boycotting Christmas. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Right. That’ll be the day. Trust me, you’ll find a way to make Christmas happen.”

  Austin grinned, and once again Summer was reminded of Harris. Something about that pensive smile. Although to be fair, Harris had a much better haircut.

  “Maybe you just have the holiday blues,” Austin suggested.

  “Who could blame me?” Summer pointed to a flamingo-shaped sign in front of a motel. The bird was outlined in flaming pink neon and sported a tired-looking wreath around his neck. “This is all so … so un-Christmassy.”

  “The boat parade tonight should be nice. All the sailboats, lit up with lights.”

  “Maybe.” Summer stared out the window. “You meeting Esme there?”

  “Yep.”

  Summer tried her best to look indifferent, but a check in the right side-view mirror told her she just looked a little constipated.

  “Marquez and Diana are going, I think. Probably Seth too. He’s flying in. You could just drop me off there.”

  Austin looked over at her. “How is my old rival doing?”

  “Seth’s fine, I guess. We haven’t really kept in touch. He and Diana have been calling and writing each other a lot, though.”

  “And that’s … okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay. I’d be thrilled if he found somebody.”

  “Even if it turns out to be your cousin? Your cousin who secretly had a tryst with him behind your back? Last Christmas, if I recall the details—”

  “I recall the details pretty well myself. And yes, that would be fine with me.”

  “You’re a better man than I,” Austin said with a chuckle.

  Summer opened her notebook, glancing vaguely at her notes in the fleeting light of the street lamps. The warm, sweet-smelling wind flipped the pages. She was okay with Seth seeing Diana. It was weird, sure, and seriously awkward. But she was okay with it. So why wasn’t she okay with Austin seeing Esme?

  Austin turned right, heading down the long two-lane road that led to the center of town. The sky was a dark violet-blue, fringed with clouds low on the horizon. The ocean moved listlessly, lapping at the pale sand. Through the darkness Summer could barely make out the shape of a small twin-engine plane as it moved beneath the clouds. She watched it slowly bank, lights twinkling like stars.

  The first time she’d seen the Keys had been from a plane. She’d been shocked by the dazzling, too-perfect beauty of it, the islands strung out below her like an endless emerald necklace.

  The first time she’d set eyes on Austin had been on a plane too.

  “There’s a reason ‘love at first sight’ is a cliché,” Harris had said earlier in the afternoon. “It’s because it really happens. But perhaps you already know that.”

  She remembered it so perfectly. She’d been seat 28-A. He’d been seat 28-B. She’d been munching on peanuts. While he was rifling through his backpack, she’d sneaked a glance at him. He had a couple of tiny silver hoops in his ear and a five o’clock shadow. His dark hair did not seem to be operating under any kind of organizing principle. His denim jacket was ripped and faded.

  He’d looked into her eyes, and she’d nearly choked on her peanut. …

  Summer shook herself from her reverie. “You know what Harris told me he was doing for Christmas? He said he was going to repot a Norfolk pine.”

  “So?”

  “So does that sound like a merry Christmas to you?”

  “Depends. You have to understand. For a professor of botany, it’s probably the perfect holiday. And back in the old days, when we were kids, Harris and Louise hardly ever came to visit for the holidays. They were always off traveling the world—picking lichens in Ireland or finding medicinal plants in the Amazon.”

  “He’ll be all alone, Austin. Why don’t you get together with him? What’s your family doing for Christmas, anyway?”

  Austin looked uncomfortable. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I went home for Thanksgiving,” he said slowly. “And my mom, maybe my brother, are coming down here to visit this spring. They’re all doing Christmas back home. But I wasn’t really up for it.” He swallowed. “We were all going to, you know, maybe go visit my dad in the hospital, do up the whole Christmas thing, even though we knew he wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. There was this big fight about it. I thought it was a good idea, my brother hated it. My mom … well, she wasn’t sure. But then my dad kind of went ahead and made the decision for us. He, um … my dad died, Summer.”

  Summer gasped. She touched Austin’s shoulder. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Austin. So sorry.”

  “It’s not like it was exactly a surprise. I mean, I think secretly we were all kind of relieved, not that any of us would actually say anything. He was suffering a hell of a lot.”

  Summer shivered a little, even though the air was warm. “It must have been especially hard for Dave,” she said. “Because he knows he has the Huntington’s gene, I mean. That’s got to be tough.”

  Austin didn’t respond. He slowed to a stop behind a long line of cars heading into a public parking lot near the pier.

  “It was hard,” he said at last, eyed glued on the truck ahead of them. “Seeing your future mapped out for you is, generally speaking, not a good idea.”

  Summer studied him cautiously, trying to read his mood. It was almost impossible to talk to him openly about his father. He became so remote, it was hard to express to him how much she cared and how sorry she felt.

  “I wish I could have been there for you.” Summer hesitated. “I mean, not for you. It’s not like I could have done any good. But with you, you know? I feel like I should have been there. I wish you’d called.”

  Austin reached over and touched her cheek. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I wish I had too.”

  8

  Summer’s Bad Idea

  I didn’t expect there to be so many people,” Summer said as she and Austin snaked their way along a dark path toward the beach.

  Austin paused, surveying the throng. “Give a yell if you spot Esme.”

  The marina and the adjacent public beach were brightly lit and filled with people, many of them camped out on blankets or in beach chairs. Vendors in red Santa hats cruised the area, selling everything from red-and-green cotton candy to conch fritters. A high-school marching band was on the longest wharf, playing an off-key reggae rendition of “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.” In striped tents on the edge of the beach, sellers hawked their wares.

  Summer took in the merchandise as she passed. Handmade ornaments, many featuring flamingos in ski caps. Crocheted Christmas stockings that read Merry Key-Ristmas. Black-velvet paintings of Santa on a surfboard. Suddenly she found herself longing for the nice, wholesome tackiness of the Mall of America, back in Minnesota.

  They broke through the crowd and headed to the water’s edge, finally locating a patch of sand to call their own. “How about we roost here and hope everybody finds us?” Austin suggested.

  Summer nodded, dropping onto the fine white sand. “When do the boats start?” she asked.

  “Nine or nine-thirty, I think,” Austin said.

  A small plane buzzed past, towing a sign that read All U Can Eat Fish at Cap’n Joe’s! Xmas Special— 2-for-1 Beer!

  Summer smiled. “You know what I was thinking about a while ago?”

  “There are no depths to which this country won’t sink to make a buck?”

  “Well, that too.” She picked up a handful of sand and let it drift through her fingers slowly. “I was thinking about that day we met, on the plane.”

  “You said, ‘Hi, I’m twenty-eight-A,’ and I was instantly hooked.”

  “Or was it twenty-eight-B?”

  “No, I’m sure it was twenty-eight-A. This is not something I would forget.” He leaned back on his elbows and nodded. “As a matter of fact, what you actually said was, “Hi, I’m your seat-meat, uh, mate. Twenty-eight-A.”

  “I was st
unned into babble by your incredible charm.”

  “Again, your memory is serving you badly. I was your basic butthead. I didn’t want to be on that plane, and I was mad at the entire planet.”

  Summer nodded. “You were going to see your dad in the hospital. You had every right to be a butthead. And you weren’t anyway.” She paused. “You were just really sad.”

  “I can’t do this,” Austin had said that day, and there’d been such sadness in his dark eyes that for a brief, insane moment, she’d wanted to reach out and hold him.

  He’d flipped open his seat belt, grabbed his backpack, and sprinted down the aisle without another word.

  She’d noticed his notebook on the floor and picked it up, wondering if she should go after him. Flipping guiltily through its pages, she’d come to an unfinished sonnet that began: That I have not yet met your gentle gaze …

  She remembered feeling a little as though she were rifling through someone’s underwear drawer. On the final page was a scrawled note: Testing Thursday, March 21, 2 p.m., Dr. Mitchell. Outpatient clinic.

  She’d grabbed her purse and run down the aisle, clutching the notebook in her hand.

  She’d run off the plane, letting it take off without her, chasing after a complete stranger, even if he did have the most penetrating, sad, tearful eyes she’d ever seen.

  It hadn’t made any sense.

  And it had been the smartest thing she’d ever done. …

  Austin met her eyes, pulling her back into the present. “Yeah. I was really sad.” He reached over and took her hand. “And when I ran off that plane just before it took off, you, for some incredible, unfathomable reason, followed me. Even though you’d been on your way to spend spring break with Seth.”

  “You left your notebook full of poems. I had to rescue ‘Sonnet to a Girl Unmet.’”

  Austin let go of her hand. “Never did finish that.”

  “Maybe,” Summer said slowly, “you met the girl.” She turned to gaze at the sky. The stars glowed and throbbed in the darkness. “So you didn’t need to finish the poem.”

  For a while Austin didn’t respond. At last he shrugged. “Or maybe I met her,” he said, “but I was waiting to see how things turned out. Maybe it’s time I finished it, after all.”