Chapter 14
Barrett started the engine but didn't pull away from the curb. He sent a text to Mark Sullivan: Meeting with Holloway is done. She's sending her report. Recommend we proceed to investigate suspicious circumstances.
Cadie was quiet beside him, looking through the windshield at the street. He could sense the weight of the morning pressing on her.
His phone buzzed with Sullivan's reply: I'll set that up.
Barrett slid the phone into his jacket pocket. Sullivan was reliable and would handle his end. There was nothing more that Barrett could do right then.
"Sullivan is going to take it from here for now," he said. "Once he has Holloway's report he'll proceed, but there's nothing else for us to do today."
Barrett sat with his hands on the steering wheel and thought about what else he wanted to say.
He had spent most of his adult life making decisions under pressure, in combat zones and dangerous situations where hesitation could cost lives.
He had trained himself to act without overthinking, to trust his instincts and move forward.
But when it came to Cadie, it wasn't so easy.
He'd left Charleston after high school set on joining the Navy.
He'd been convinced that leaving was the right thing, that he was destined for a higher purpose than living in a small Southern city and the girl he hadn't been able to put out of his mind—and maybe that had been true at eighteen.
But it didn't have to remain true at forty.
He'd lost Cadie once because he had walked away without telling her what she meant to him. He was not going to make that mistake again.
Barrett pulled away from the curb.
"Where are we going?" Cadie said.
"You'll see," he said.
He drove through the historic district. The October afternoon was clear and mild, and the sunlight came through the windshield at a low angle that warmed the car.
Barrett parked near Waterfront Park and came around to open Cadie's door. She looked up at him as she stepped out, and he saw the curiosity in her expression. She glanced toward the park entrance, then back at him.
"A walk?" she said.
"A walk," Barrett said.
He took her hand and they entered the park together.
The paths were lined with palmettos and live oaks.
The harbor stretched out beyond the seawall in a wide expanse of blue.
A breeze came off the water carrying the smell of salt air.
Boats moved in the distance, their white sails catching the light.
Along the main path, the Pineapple Fountain came into view with water cascading over the bronze sculpture and catching the sun.
A few people sat on the surrounding benches, and children chased each other near the edge of the splash pool.
The sound of the fountain and the distant call of gulls overhead were calming.
Barrett felt the tension in Cadie's hand ease as they walked.
Her grip relaxed, and her stride slowed.
He matched her pace, not in a hurry. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn't under a deadline.
He was simply walking beside a woman he cared about, and the joy of it surprised him.
Past the fountain, Barrett guided her along the waterfront.
The harbor was beautiful. The water shifted between shades of gray and blue, and the distant buildings of Mount Pleasant were visible across the expanse.
Cadie leaned into him slightly as they walked, and Barrett put his arm around her shoulders.
When she turned to look out at the water, he noticed the lovely green of her eyes, and the way her dark hair moved in the breeze.
At a lookout point that overlooked the harbor, Barrett stopped near the wooden railing. Then he turned to face Cadie and took both of her hands in his.
She looked at him, waiting.
Barrett was not a man who talked about his feelings.
He'd been trained to compartmentalize, to set aside emotion and focus on the task.
He had carried that discipline into civilian life and used it as a shield against anything that threatened to get too close.
But standing in front of Cadie with the harbor behind her was different.
"I need to tell you something," he said.
Cadie squeezed his hands gently. "I'm listening."
"I've always regretted losing you." The words came out steadier than he expected.
"When I left for the Navy, I told myself it was the right decision.
And I don't regret my service. But it didn't have to mean giving you up.
" He paused, holding her gaze. "If I had told you how I felt back then, maybe I could have made it work.
Instead, I just left without looking back. That was a mistake."
Cadie didn't look away from him. "We were eighteen," she said. "We didn't know how to say the things that mattered."
"I should have tried," he said. "I should have told you that you were the one person I didn't want to leave behind."
Cadie pressed her lips together, as if holding back emotion.
Barrett lifted one of her hands and kissed her fingers. "I didn't even take you on a proper date," he said. "And I intend to make up for that."
With her free hand, Cadie touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw. She seemed unable to find the right words.
Barrett understood. Some emotions couldn't be voiced properly, and the look on her face said more than words could have. "We're doing this together," he said. "We have a second chance."
He smiled at her in an unguarded manner. "What would we have done on a romantic date as high school seniors?"
Cadie's expression changed, and a slow smile lit her eyes. She seemed to understand what he had in mind.
"Well, this park is a good start," she said. "Because neither of us had any money back then."
Barrett laughed and pulled her into his arms. He held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his. She rested her head against his chest, and he pressed his cheek to her hair. He didn't want to let go. Holding her was a feeling he intended to remember.
"Then let's do this right," he said, taking Cadie's hand.
While walking around, Barrett showed her the pier where fishermen gathered in the mornings.
Then he stood at the railing with her, watching a sailboat tack across the harbor.
Cadie pointed out the way the sun turned the water golden near the shoreline.
Barrett discovered the pleasure of seeing the city through her eyes, as though the place where he'd grown up had been waiting for her to reveal its beauty.
Barrett sat beside her on a bench near a grove of palmettos and talked about random things. He described a disastrous camping trip he'd taken as a teenager, where he had managed to lose the tent poles and spent the night sleeping under a tarp held up by sticks. Cadie laughed, which pleased him.
Then, as they started to walk again, Cadie looked out at the water with a wistful expression. "If it were warmer, we could go to the beach," she said. Then she turned to him with a sparkle in her eyes. "But I'd love a rowboat ride at Cypress Gardens. Just like they do in a romantic movie."
Barrett linked his arm with hers. "Then that's what we'll do."
*****
Cypress Gardens was a thirty-minute drive north of the city.
The road took them through stretches of landscape where the trees grew thick.
Sunlight filtered through the Spanish moss in long golden threads.
Barrett drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Cadie's knee.
She rolled down her window partway, and the wind stirred her hair.
The gardens were quieter than Barrett expected. The parking area held only a handful of cars, and the entrance was shaded by a canopy of ancient cypress trees whose trunks rose from the dark water like columns in a cathedral. The air was cooler and carried the rich, earthy scent of the swamp.
They rented a rowboat at the small dock near the boathouse. The attendant, a young man with an easy smile, handed Barrett the oars and pointed them toward the main waterway that wound through the heart of the gardens.
Barrett helped Cadie into the boat and steadied it as she settled onto the wooden bench seat. Then he climbed in across from her and fitted the oars into the locks. The boat rocked gently as he pushed away from the dock, and the dark water spread out before them like glass.
The cypress trees rose on either side, their trunks massive and gnarled, their branches draped with moss that hung in long curtains and swayed in the slight breeze.
The water reflected the trees and the sky so perfectly that the world appeared to double, one version above and one below, and the boat moved between them.
Barrett rowed with long, easy strokes. The rhythm felt natural, and the quiet of the gardens surrounded the boat. The only sounds were the dip and pull of the oars, the soft ripple of water against the hull, and the occasional call of a bird hidden in the canopy.
Cadie trailed her fingers in the water and watched the ripples spread outward toward the trees. She looked peaceful. "This is beautiful."
"You're beautiful," Barrett said, looking at her when he said it.
Cadie's eyes met his, then she looked away, watching a heron lift from the shallows and glide low across the water before disappearing behind a stand of cypress.
Barrett guided the boat deeper into the gardens, following the waterway as it curved through groves of tupelo and bald cypress. The light diffused as the canopy thickened overhead. Shadows played across the water, and the moss swayed gently as the boat passed beneath it.
He watched Cadie take it all in. He had spent years convincing himself that keeping people at a distance was the price of survival. But rowing through a swamp with Cadie as the water turned bronze in the afternoon light, he had no intention of keeping her at a distance.