48. Under The Dogwood
48
UNDER THE DOGWOOD
Through the front windshield of his Hilux, Mitch watched Tayla as she waited for her turn in the lineup. She paddled backward several times, moving to the end of the group as if she didn’t have the nerve to take the wave.
Willing her forward, Mitch left the truck and strolled along the beach until he had a better view. The day was hot, and a light breeze stirred the pines. Instead of a wetsuit, she wore a high-necked black rash guard. Although her torso was completely covered, with her hair wet and athletic body glistening in the sunlight, she couldn’t have looked sexier.
And he couldn’t have been prouder.
Tim paddled close by, her partner of choice in the water now. It saddened Mitch. He wanted to be there for Tayla, but maybe she had to conquer her fear without him. As she moved down the lineup, her gaze scanned the shore. She noticed him. Waved.
Her board lifted with the swell, and while he struggled to read her expression, there was no mistaking the determination in her body language. She paddled forward into the pocket, generating enough speed to stand up.
When she glided along the wave, her feet, head, and weight were exactly where they should be. He wanted to jump up and clap, to race into the water and pull her into his arms. Instead, he sat in the sand and watched from behind his sunglasses, wondering if she’d ever change her mind.
At one stage, he thought she might come and say hi, but it was Tim who made that initial contact.
“Thanks for the text,” Mitch said as he continued to watch her. “She’s doing great.”
Tim sat beside him. “Out there, maybe. Not so much otherwise. I’ve never seen her like this…well, not since high school.”
“I feel like we’re caught in a whirlpool, being sucked away from each other.”
“Whatever you do, don’t give up. She loves you, man. She’ll come back.” Tim motioned to the waves. “You coming in?”
“Not today. My wife deserves her time in the sun without me cramping her style. I might go to the falls and lose myself under the veil.” He slapped Tim on the back then gazed out over the water again. “You’ve done a good job. Look at her go.”
Tim shot Mitch a sideways glance and grinned. “You did the groundwork; I just added some encouragement. She’s been at the beach every day this week, spent more time in the water than out, but she keeps getting back on that board. Right. I’m going back in.”
“Enjoy.”
As Mitch watched Tim walk away, he murmured, “And that determination, my friend, is why I’m so in love with her.”
Back in his truck, Mitch was just about to reverse when he noticed Tayla running up the sand toward him. He pushed the gear lever into park and cut the engine, his arm out the window. “Hi. I saw you take the wave. Well done.”
She hesitated, shuffling her feet in the sand. “Thanks. It feels great.”
“Tim tells me you’ve been living at the beach for the past few days. ”
“Yeah, pretty much.” She glanced away briefly, shielding her eyes with her hand. “I was just wondering… It’s Norman’s anniversary tomorrow. Are you going to the cemetery?”
“Yeah, I thought I might. I have to carry on to Luka’s parents’ place after, but I’ll be there around four thirty if you want to meet up.”
“Okay. Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” Her smile gave him hope. He wanted to kiss her with every ounce of passion he could muster, but she didn’t offer him the opportunity.
Mitch put his foot on the brake and started the truck, his gaze focused wholly on Tayla. The saltwater in her hair, that ridiculously sexy rash guard, those long lashes casting feathery shadows across her cheekbones, and her legs—muscular and tanned. She stepped back.
“You look good out there. I’m proud of you.” Before she could reply, he reversed and drove away, the woman he loved a fading image in his rearview mirror.
It was right on four thirty when Mitch pulled into a park outside the gates of the cemetery the following day. Summer had turned humid, the sky dulled with an oppressive haze. He sat for a moment, his thoughts finding order as he watched Tayla crouch beside his grandfather’s grave.
The days without her had been tough. Empty. As he’d walked the Milford Track, consumed by the majestic beauty of nature, it had never occurred to him that when he returned home, excited to see her and desperate to reconnect, she wouldn’t be exactly where he’d left her.
He climbed out of his truck and walked toward her, his grandfather’s last letter slotted in the back pocket of his jeans. She turned as he approached. “I thought you’d be waiting in your car,” he said .
She stood to greet him, her smile soft as she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Yes. I’ve faced a few fears lately. Coming to the cemetery alone being one of them. I feel his spirit here. Maybe that doesn’t make logical sense, but there you go. Besides, I needed to talk to him about the money. I still don’t understand why he chose me.”
Mitch stepped away to place bunches of lemon blossom and lavender on each grave: first his father’s, then his grandmother’s, and finally, Norman’s. “Why is it so hard for you to accept that he loved you?”
She crouched down again and bruised a sprig of lavender between her fingers before inhaling the scent. “I don’t really know the answer to that one.”
“He talked about you sometimes. Usually after a glass or two of tawny port. He’d get quite a glow on and, believe it or not, could be amusing once he relaxed.” He motioned to a park bench under a nearby dogwood tree. “Shall we?”
As Tayla sat, she lifted the hair off her nape and secured it with a band from her wrist. He loved her neck, the creamy skin flawless and soft. She liked to be kissed there, the effect always immediate.
“Whatever you decide about us,” he said, “I want you to have the money. It’s yours, not mine. Even when we married, it wasn’t about the money. With Cherry Grove landlocked by Lime Tree, it made sense for me to buy it when your folks decided to sell. Also, I wanted to protect the river.”
She nodded as she twisted her wedding ring, deep in thought. The fact that she still wore it gave him hope.
“Norman had few acquaintances, and even fewer friends,” he continued “One of the only people who shared his grief, he shunned.”
“You mean your mother?”
“Yes. Mum. She tried to reach out, but he wouldn’t accept it. It made for a fractured family dynamic, something I found hard to understand until I matured. But Norman had a lot of time for you. He said you never expected him to be anyone other than himself. That unconditional acceptance of who he was set you apart from the rest.”
“There were days when I longed to join him in his solitude.” Tayla smiled. “To lounge around in my dressing gown, eat shortbread, and simply be. He loved my shortbread.”
“Yeah. I did too. He’d count how many were left in the jar. I remember when I arrived home drunk from a party once and inhaled six pieces in one sitting.” Mitch chuckled at the recollection. “He was furious and didn’t talk to me for a few days.”
“I can imagine.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
“Anyway, I have something for you. Here.” Mitch handed Tayla the thick white envelope he’d pulled from his pocket. She looked at the inscription. Mitchel Harrington. It was obvious by her expression that she recognized Norman’s fluid hand.
“What is this?”
“Read it.”
Tayla turned the envelope over, opened the flap, and removed the letter. She unfolded it and scanned the text before flicking her sight to the top of the page. Mitch studied her expression with interest.
“… I’ve met a girl who’s stolen my heart. You will know who I mean. With her unique style and poise, she’s not easy to ignore.” Tayla caught his gaze and frowned. “Who does he mean?”
“Keep going. You’ll see.”
She read in silence, her expression alternating between amusement and concern. When she reached the last paragraph, she found her voice again and continued aloud, “ If we lived in a society where elders chose life partners for their offspring, she would be my choice for you. Your loving grandfather, Norman .”
Tayla looked at Mitch and frowned. “Does he mean me?”
“Who else?”
After scanning the page once more, she folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. Handing it to Mitch, she asked, “When did you receive this?”
“It was in the top drawer of his writing desk when he died.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.” She smiled sadly. “He struggled to sustain relationships in real life, but he loved fictitious romance. I remember when we binge-watched The Bridges of Madison County three times in the same week. Apart from Audrey Hepburn, he always said Meryl Streep was the most beautiful woman in film.”
Mitch gazed across the cemetery toward the coast. He’d watched that movie with Norman too and had been so embarrassed by the bathtub scene that he’d made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as it started. “The old guy wanted us to be together,” Mitch said.
“He wanted a lot of things that had no basis in reality.”
Mitch took her hand. “I want it too. Being apart doesn’t work for me, Tayla. And I don’t want to pressure you, I just want you to know how I feel.”
“Even when our relationship is based on a lie? You didn’t choose me, Mitch. I don’t want to be a convenience just because I crashed into your life through a set of circumstances neither of us planned.”
“I get that. But my grandfather chose you, and for once, his perception was spot on. Norman may have been a pigheaded recluse, but he understood love and loss. His awareness never ceases to amaze me.”
Tayla nodded her agreement, but it was clear she was still struggling with her doubts. Pressing her to make a decision right now would only push her away. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t stay away too long. It’s lonely without you in my arms.”
He stood, headed back to the Hilux and jumped inside. She kept eye contact as he peered through the windshield, her brows knitted together with concern. And as he shifted the gear lever into reverse, he remembered the leather jacket he’d bought her, wrapped up on the passenger seat, and wondered if she would ever share his bed again. Ever sit at his table.
Ever come home.
Throughout the following day, that thought stayed front and center in his mind, but when he walked into the kitchen after work, a large jar of shortbread sat on the counter with a handwritten note that said:
Your many acts of kindness have
never gone unnoticed.
Love you.
Tayla. xx