Chapter 15
15
August
T he taunting aroma of the hot, deep-fried tortilla chips and fresh tacos Sophie left me to babysit while she runs a quick errand is quite possibly the biggest test of my willpower to date. She’s been inside the tiny pink-and-white striped building on the side of the road for four minutes now. Not that I’m counting.
Only, I most definitely am.
When she finally emerges, she’s carrying a giant bag of multicolored saltwater taffy. Her white dress billows around her shapely legs as she jogs back to the car, and it’s only then that my gnawing physical hunger makes room for a different kind of desire. One that’s sure to put my current willpower test to shame if she keeps smiling at me like that.
“That was almost a tragedy,” she says as she pops into the car and buckles up again. “They normally close at five, but an employee happened to be there doing inventory so he made an exception for me.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did,” I say wryly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I m ake a show of looking her over before I reverse onto the street again. “I mean, no red-blooded male would have sent you away.”
She laughs like I’m making a joke, but I’m not. First of all, I’m too hungry to joke. Second of all, there is nothing laughable about the level of Sophie’s attractiveness.
“Well, all that matters is that we now have a beach-worthy dessert. Oh, wait. I think I learned that word.”
“Learned what word?” I ask absentmindedly as I park much closer than my usual spot, seeing as we’re not here to surf. Thankfully, I have a blanket in the back that can work for this spontaneous beach picnic. I’ve already spied a spot with little wind interference due to the sand berms.
But Sophie’s in another world. She’s too busy forming her fingers into ... Ah . She taps the circle part of two ASL D s together.
“ Dessert !” she exclaims with pride. “I remembered because it’s like two big bellies bumping together. That was in the basics bonus lesson I took online this week—although, honestly, I think I’d use that sign more than water .”
Despite my increasing hunger pangs, I laugh. But when I collect our food bags from the back seat, I inform Sophie that if I don’t eat within the next five minutes, she’ll need to learn an allotment of new signs, likely those having to do with my untimely death.
She gets out of the car.
There are less than half a dozen cars parked in the small lot behind us, which accounts for the kiteboarders I see on the open water and the older couple tossing a Frisbee into the surf for their golden retriever, as well as a group of teens circling the tide pools on the outskirts of what we can see from the blanket I’ve spread out for us, where it looks like we’ve just opened a Mexican restaurant. In addition to the chips, salsa, queso, and guacamole containers, we also have a platter of fish tacos at our disposal.
It’s after my second helping that the dip in my blood sugar levels finally evens out. And it dawns on me then that Sophie hasn’t said a word since we tapped our respective tacos together in bon appetit fashion and turned our attention to the ocean.
“Yo u’ve gone quiet,” I venture.
“That’s because I’m eating.” Her reply is simple, yet I don’t completely trust it.
In general, the women I’ve shared a meal with in the past have been disgruntled by my lack of communication during a meal. So this is unchartered water.
“You don’t like to talk when you eat?” If this is a test, I don’t want to screw it up.
She dabs the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Sometimes, I guess. But I enjoy savoring the flavors of a good meal. And right now, that good meal is a taco on the beach with a friend.” With a satisfied-sounding sigh, she sets her to-go box on the blanket and takes a slow sip of her bottled water. I try not to stare at the curve of her collarbones or the sweet angles of her face in the waning sunlight. I fail.
“This is a perfect evening, August. Thank you for inviting me.”
There’s not a trace of irony to be found in her statement as she looks from the surf to me, and yet I’m still stuck on the fact that she could have chosen anywhere—any highbrow establishment in any of the affluent cities surrounding us—and she chose this. A quiet evening on a beach as personal to me as my adolescence, eating tacos out of a to-go box.
Sophie Wilder might be the most marriageable woman on the planet.
I blink hard. Did I really just think that?
I wipe my mouth with a napkin before setting the remains of my dinner aside. “If anybody is getting thanked tonight, it’s you—seeing as you likely saved my hand.”
Sophie turns her twinkly eyes on me, and my heart thuds hard in my chest. “It would have been a shame to lose it. It’s such a nice hand.” Though her tone holds the remnant of a tease, the light, familiar way her fingers graze my healing scar is anything but laughable. “I hope you’ll think twice about climbing on top of greenhouses in the future, or at least, if you do, make sure to implement the buddy system.”
“Th e buddy system?” I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Not sure I’m familiar with that terminology in construction.”
“Well, you should be.” She tucks her legs and leans toward me. “Because the buddy system can be used anywhere, in nearly any situation.” Her confidence is captivating. “Let’s take the greenhouse scenario, for example. One buddy would climb onto the damaged roof while wearing a rope that’s attached to the other buddy, who will remain on the ground. Like a safety net of sorts. They’d simply stay connected until the job is done.”
“Ah, I see.” It’s an effort to dull the amusement in my voice. “And in this case, the buddy on the ground would be...”
“Me.” She flattens a hand to her chest.
“And if I was sliding down the corrugated roof—”
“You mean hypothetically?” she teases.
“Yes, if I was hypothetically sliding off the roof, then your plan down below would be to...?”
This stumps her for a second, and I can tell she’s spotting the holes in her logic. “I’d hold on to the rope.”
“And do what with it? Lasso me to the tallest tree before I hit the ground?”
When she breaks into a full-bellied laugh, I listen as the tempting sound of her voice swirls and harmonizes with the rumble of the tide. It feels every bit like the start of a symphony. And for the first time in so long, I allow myself to compose it in my mind, adding in the percussion, and the high notes of a flute, and the low resonance of a cello—
At her light touch on my arm, the growing orchestra in my head fades.
“Where did you go, August?”
I blink and try to form a coherent response. “Nowhere. I’m here, with you.”
To my relief, her expression gentles. “Then can I ask you something I’ve been wondering about?”
“Of course.”
“Why don’t you attend the ASL classes on Tuesday nights?”
I p robably should have anticipated this question. It’s only right she’d be curious, but my answer isn’t quick or uncomplicated. “What do you say we clean up and resume this conversation on the beach?”
“Yes, please.” I help her to her feet as she says, “Make sure you grab our taffy when you put the blanket away.”
As I give her a salute, I notice the shiver she tries to hide, only I know it will be even windier near the water. Back at the car, I find a navy zip-up in the back seat. I give it a quick sniff test before I toss it over my arm, stash the blanket, and collect her bag of colorful taffy as instructed.
“I thought you could also use this.” I hold out the jacket to her.
“Ah, thank you.” She wastes no time putting it on and zipping it up to her throat. As distracting as she is in a dress, the sight of her in my sweatshirt is a different kind of distraction. “I’d planned to grab something warm before we left, but...” She trails off. “I ran out of time.”
We leave our shoes at the bottom of the trail and exchange a few pleasantries about the stunning rock formations close to the shore and then about the backdrop of a golden horizon. And then it’s time for me to answer Sophie’s questions about my relationship with ASL and the deaf community.
“It’s not ASL I have an issue with,” I say, watching the moving shadow of the taffy bag in my right hand along the sand. “I think it’s an incredible resource with incredible benefits for those who need it—both inside and outside the hard-of-hearing world.”
“Okay,” she says patiently. “So what is it, then?”
I pause, as there are few times I’ve spoken this out loud, and even fewer people I’ve trusted enough to speak it to. I’m either shamed for my viewpoint or misunderstood. Both are equally unmotivating when it comes to opening a future dialogue.
“I don’t want Gabby to stop hoping for a cure.”
I’m not sure what Sophie was expecting me to say, but her sudden stillness catches me off guard. “A cure for her deafness? I didn’t think...” She hesitates for a moment. “I didn’t realize that was even a possibility.”
“Mo st medical professionals would say it’s not.” I think of the many doctors we’ve seen, of the scans, tests, reports, trials, ear molds, therapies, and medical opinions we’ve pursued. I think of the long days following the accident, of waiting for news on Gabby’s condition, realizing that nothing about our lives would ever be the same again. “But because the type of head trauma Gabby endured isn’t textbook, it makes her case unique. There aren’t many options left to pursue, but there’s one that has the potential to restore the limited hearing that remains in her left ear.”
“Really? That’s sounds ... incredible.” Sophie’s footsteps in the sand slow, and she twists her face to the amber horizon. The golden hue washes over her skin, glittering in her eyes, and rendering me momentarily speechless. “What does your sister think about all that?”
I hesitate. “She doesn’t know. Not yet, anyway. I don’t want to get her hopes up until I can secure the appointment with the surgeon. She’s had too many ups and downs and false hopes to contend with. I won’t do that to her again, not until everything has been cleared.”
Her brows pull together. “What’s involved in setting the appointment?”
I must hesitate for longer than Sophie finds comfortable. “I’m sorry if that was too presumptuous. You don’t have to answer that.”
Only, I want to answer it. Outside of Aunt Judy, the only other person I’ve spoken to regarding my sister’s medical needs is Chip, and even with him, I’ve been guarded and reluctant to share the intimate details of our situation. But with Sophie, guarded is the last thing I want to be.
“Money.” The simple admission humbles me to my core. My parents entrusted me to take care of Gabby. They entrusted me to provide for her when and if they no longer could. I won’t fail at that—not the way I failed them while they were still alive.
“What about medical insurance—isn’t she covered?”
“Not for this.”
Sophie’s appalled gasp is more endearing than she could possibly know. “Why not?”
“It ’s too new,” I say simply. “Insurance approval takes time. I was told it could be years, and by then her degenerative condition will likely be too advanced for this operation.”
We’re silent for several minutes as we walk the length of the beach. Our footsteps leave behind a trail of unspoken thoughts as the waves grow testier. The dimming skyline reflects the tension out at sea, leaving behind a smear of crimson.
“Can I ask you something that could be borderline offensive?”
I nod.
“Was there any...” She hesitates, as if struggling to come up with the remainder of that sentence. “Did you parents leave you and your sister any kind of inheritance?”
“The house,” I say plainly. “Which is still a few years from being paid off, but it’s an asset nonetheless. My folks were wise with the money they made. They lived frugally and saved where they could, but they weren’t wealthy by any stretch. My father had a small life insurance policy due to his career in construction. It paid out just enough to cover their funeral costs and roughly half of Gabby’s initial surgery and hospital bills until we could get on a payment plan and apply for her social security. The rest, well...” I hesitate at the vulnerability of my next confession. “My career in LA was lucrative enough to be a supplemental source of income for the first year or so while I worked to grow my business here. But it’s been slow, even with the studio musicians I produce for each month.”
Sophie stops, disregarding the creeping tide that nips at our toes in the chilly surf. “Your entire world changed in a blink.”
I say nothing to this, but she isn’t wrong.
“And you came back here, even though you had an entire life in LA, a successful career you loved, industry connections.” I can see her mind puzzling it out. “Did you ever consider moving Gabby to you?”
“No.” I shove my hands into my pockets and remember one of the final arguments I had with Vanessa about this very subject after Gabby was finally stable enough for me to make the phone call I’d been dreading. “But why would you need to move back home, August? Why can’t she just move here with us?” Vanessa whined when I told her Gabby’s prognosis. “My house is plenty big for the short term, and once she heals, we can put her in private school—maybe one of those boarding schools for people with disabilities.” I’d stared at my phone then, hearing my father’s predictions about a woman I never should have dated to begin with. It’s what finally gave me the courage to end it.
I chose my wants and desires over my family once; I would never make that mistake again.
“This is Gabby’s home,” I continue, blinking away the image of my ex-girlfriend and the baggage she represents. “The last thing she needed was another huge change after so much had been taken from her. She has friends here, a school, a church, a home she’s spent the formative years of her life in, and an aunt who plans weekend stays with her whenever possible. I couldn’t ask her to leave all that.”
“She’s lucky to have you as her big brother, August.”
Her statement is an emotion-packed punch to my gut. How badly I want that to be true, how badly I want to believe Gabby won’t grow up to resent me, the way I fear she might. Especially considering I turned Aunt Judy down when she offered to take my place and shoulder the responsibility of guardianship shortly after the accident.
“I hope she’ll feel that way one day.”
“I have no doubt she feels it even now.” The conviction in her voice tugs at my curiosity. “She might do her teenage angst stuff from time to time, but it’s obvious how much she respects you.”
I thank her and then silently study her profile as we begin to walk along the surf again. “What’s your relationship with your brother like?”
She makes a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Nonexistent.”
Given the tense dynamics she’s described in conversations about her childhood and recent interactions with her family, that isn’t hard to imagine.
“He’s five years older than me, but our age gap is the least of our differences.” She shrugs and kicks at the water. “Where my dad is hardheaded and chauvinistic, Jasper is something altogether different.”
The odd note in her tone spikes my concern. “How so?”
“He’s hard to explain.” She sighs. “The majority of people who know him see Jasper as this celebrated business tycoon—all winsome smiles and networking events and pats on the back. He has friends who own private yachts and collect fine art, and he sends my parents on extravagant trips to extravagant destinations in his place. But it’s like I get this completely different version of him that nobody else seems to see. It used to make me feel crazy sometimes.” She shakes her head dismissively.
“What version is he with you?”
“Detached, yet somehow always in control.”
I know the personality type she’s describing well. I lived in a Hollywood mansion with it for nearly eighteen months before my eyes were finally opened in the wake of tragedy. I touch her arm, and she pauses in the surf. “And he lives at the winery with you?”
“Technically, I live in his pool house—the one he built to go with his new pool and spa area currently under construction. Thankfully, he put Natalie over my work schedule so our interactions at the winery are limited. But without his signature at the end of my six-month commitment in December, I’ll be forced to leave the winery with nothing more than the debt I came with.”
Sophie fills me in on the details of her Gigi’s trust, about the conditions surrounding the biannual payout, and how she’s eager to have enough funds to be fully independent and out from under her brother’s thumb.
I’m about to ask her more of what she envisions for her future, but Sophie seems to have other plans. She makes a move for the bag of saltwater taffy and steals it from my grasp.
“Bet I can guess your favorite taffy flavor,” she teases as she takes a step backward in the wet sand.
“Doubt it.” I try to swipe the bag back, but soon she’s splashing away in the surf as if we’re engaged in a child’s game of tag.
At first, I keep my steps light, seeing as I have exactly one change of pants, but then Sophie picks up speed and I have no choice but to do the same. Every few strides I hear the faint echo of her laugh, and it propels me forward. All too soon my pants are soggy.
She ’s fast, much faster than I would have suspected given her attire, but still, the advantage is mine. I know this beach like I know my childhood home. She’s about to run into the rocks that lead to the tide pools—it’s impassable with bare feet.
“Give them up! You’re out of beach,” I holler into the wind.
“Never,” she calls back with slightly less enthusiasm as she faces down the path of agony.
I cringe as she starts across the sharp, coral-like rock formations jutting up from the sand. I stop where I am because I don’t want to push her any further. I don’t want her to get hurt. And she will. I’ve had my fair share of scrapes and cuts on these rocks as a boy. Just the thought of her in pain makes my abdomen burn something fierce.
“Sophie,” I warn again as she takes another hesitant step. “Fine, you win.” I relent and hold up my hands. “I’m implementing the buddy system.”
She stops, turns. “What did you say?”
“I’m implementing the buddy system. You said it works in every circumstance, so let’s put it to the test. Right here, right now.”
“Okay.” Even in shadow, I can see the illumination of her smile. “And how do you propose we go about it when I’m here and you’re there?”
I glance around the beach for some inspiration, only to give up and follow the prompt of my instinct—which in all likelihood will be as ridiculous in practice as it is in my head considering my buddy is a professional actress. I squat low and attempt a pantomime in my half-soaked pants. I pretend to grip a rope from the sand and tie one end around my waist while I lasso the other end for a good five seconds in the air as if I’m an experienced cattle farmer from the Midwest. Once I’ve finally built enough imaginary momentum, I toss it out to Sophie.
And when I do, she’s ready.
She’s fully in character when she secures the taffy bag between her teeth so she can catch the lasso with her hands and shimmy it up her legs, over her hips, and around the small of her waist.
Whe n her eyes meet mine, she gives me a thumbs-up, a response I interpret to mean she’s ready to be reeled in.
The whole thing is completely ludicrous, and yet, it’s everything I didn’t know I needed. She’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
Inch by inch, I tug the invisible rope toward me, careful not to rush her over the rough terrain. Every successful step decreases the tension trapped in my lungs.
And then, finally, she’s standing in front of me, wearing my old sweatshirt with a bag of taffy dangling at her side. The wind at her back tugs at her braids and creates a wispy halo effect around her face. Her eyes gleam with a look that signals an emotion I wish I knew how to hold on to for the rest of my life.
“You’re a pretty good actor, August Tate.”
I don’t want to act with you is what I’m desperate to admit as my gaze lingers with hers and the air between us thins.
So much of my current reality has been built on the pretense that I know what I’m doing—how to raise a teenager, how to run a household, how to start a business, how to reconcile my anger, how to grieve the parents I wounded.
How to not kiss my coworker and risk the last functioning piece of my heart.
But as I stare at the inviting lips on a face I’ve memorized through the safety of a glass wall over the last two months, I want to risk it. For her. For me.
For the possibility of something I didn’t even know I could hope for, much less find.
I touch her waist, pull her close, and watch her eyelids shutter closed in anticipation, and then I—
Her palm flattens on the center of my chest and instead of feeling the warm brush of her lips, I feel the space her gentle push creates between us. Confusion knits my brow until I see a flash of panic tinge her expression. And then it’s gone in a blink.
“You never let me guess your favorite taffy flavor,” she says a bit unsteadily as she reaches into her bag and pulls out an orange-and-white piece of taffy. “Is it creamsicle?” It’s as if she’s suddenly bec ome a character in a play and not the woman I’ve been pining after since we met.
“Sophie.” I want to rein her back in, ask her to explain what’s going on inside her head, but she’s already slipped out of my reach. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Or maybe,” she continues on without acknowledgment, “you don’t much like the combo flavors. Give me a hint?” She speaks as if we’ve been transported back to ten minutes ago when we were still playing cat-and-mouse on the beach. And maybe that’s where she wants to be, but I’m still here. Still hoping she’ll let me in. Still hoping she won’t push me away.
“Please don’t say its root beer. That’s the worst flavor. Well, maybe not as bad as lime. That one smells like bathroom cleaner.”
“It’s blue,” I say with some reluctance.
“ Blue is technically not a flavor, but I’ll allow it. Its given name is actually blue raspberry.” She sifts through her taffy bag while I search for clues as to what changed. To how I read her so wrong.
“Here it is,” she says, plucking it out. “One blue raspberry with your name on it.” She sets it into my open palm, her act dropping away long enough for me to hear the answer to my unasked question. “I’m grateful for your friendship, August. I hope you know how much it means to me.”
As I watch her retreating down the beach under a September moon, I close my fingers around the taffy, knowing that one piece of Sophie will never be enough to satisfy.