We ended up staying out late. After we left the house, I took Savannah back to the beach, and we walked the long stretch of sand until she began to yawn. I walked her to the door, and we kissed again as moths darted in the porch light.
Although it seemed I’d been thinking about Savannah a lot the day before, it didn’t compare with how obsessed I was the following day, though the feeling was different. I found myself smiling for no good reason, something even my father noticed when he got home from work. He didn’t comment on it—I hadn’t expected him to, of course—but he didn’t seem surprised when I patted his back upon learning that he planned on making lasagna. I talked endlessly about Savannah, and after a couple of hours, he wandered back to his den. Even though he’d said little, I think he was happy for me and even more pleased that I’d been willing to share. I was sure of it when I got home later that night and found a platter of fresh-baked peanut-butter cookies on the counter, along with a note that informed me that plenty of milk could be found in the refrigerator.
I took Savannah out for ice cream, then drove her to the touristy part of downtown Wilmington. We strolled through the shops, where I discovered she had an interest in antiques. Later I took her to see the battleship, but we didn’t stay long. She’d been right; it was boring. Afterward, I took her home, where we sat around the bonfire with her housemates.
The next two nights, Savannah came over to my house. My dad cooked both evenings. On the first evening, Savannah asked my dad nothing about coins, and conversation was a struggle. My dad mainly listened, and though Savannah kept up a pleasant front and tried to include him, force of habit led the two of us to talk to each other while my dad focused on his plate. When she left, Savannah’s brow was creased, and though I didn’t want to believe that her initial impression of him had changed, I knew that it had.
Surprisingly, she asked to return the following evening, where once again she and my father found themselves in the den, discussing coins. As I watched them, I wondered what Savannah was making of a situation that I’d long since grown used to. At the same time, I prayed that she would be more understanding than I had once been. By the time we left, I realized that I’d had nothing to worry about. Instead, as we drove back to the beach, she spoke about my dad in glowing terms, particularly praising the job he’d done raising me. While I wasn’t sure what to make of it, I breathed a sigh of relief that she seemed to have accepted my dad for who he was.
By the weekend, my appearance at the beach house was becoming a regular occurrence. Most of the people in the house had learned my name, though they still showed little interest in me, exhausted as they were by the day’s hard work. Most of them were clustered around the television by seven or eight, instead of drinking and flirting on the beach. Everyone looked sunburned, and all wore Band-Aids on their fingers to cover their blisters.
On Saturday night, people in the house had found additional reservoirs of energy, and I showed up just as a group of guys were unloading case after case of beer from the back of a van. I helped carry them up and realized that since the first night I’d seen Savannah, I hadn’t had so much as a sip of alcohol. Like the weekend before, the grill was going and we ate near the bonfire; afterward we went for a walk on the beach. I’d brought a blanket and a picnic basket filled with late night snacks, and while lying on our backs, we watched a show of falling stars, staring in amazement as the flashes of white raced across the sky. It was one of those perfect evenings with just enough breeze to keep us from being either hot or cold, and we talked and kissed for hours before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
When the sun began its rise from the sea on Sunday morning, I sat up beside Savannah. Her face was lit with the glow of dawn, and her hair fanned out over the blanket. She had one arm across her chest and another above her head, and all I could think was that I would like to spend every morning for the rest of my life waking up beside her.
We went to church again, and Tim was his regular chipper self, despite the fact that we’d barely spoken a word to him all week. He asked me again whether I’d like to help on the house. I told him that I’d be leaving the following Friday, and therefore I didn’t know how much help I could be.
“I think you’re wearing him down,” Savannah said, smiling at Tim.
He raised his hands. “At least you can’t say I didn’t try.”
It was perhaps the most idyllic week I’d ever spent. My feelings for Savannah had only grown stronger, but as the days wore on, I began to feel a gnawing anxiety at how soon all of this would be ending. Whenever those feelings arose, I tried to force them away, but by Sunday night, I could barely sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned, and thought of Savannah, and tried to imagine how I could be happy knowing she was across the ocean and surrounded by men, one of whom might come to feel exactly the way I did about her.
When I arrived at the house on Monday evening, I couldn’t find Savannah. I had someone check her room, and I poked my head into every bathroom. She wasn’t on the deck out back or on the beach with the others.
I went down to the beach and asked around, receiving mainly shrugs of indifference. A couple of people hadn’t even realized she was gone, but finally one of the girls—Sandy or Cindy, I wasn’t sure—pointed down the beach and said they’d seen her head that way about an hour earlier.
It took a long time to find her. I walked the beach in both directions, finally focusing on the pier near the house. On a hunch, I climbed the stairs, hearing the waves crashing below me. When I caught sight of Savannah, I thought she’d come out to the pier to look for porpoises or watch the surfers. She was sitting with her knees pulled up, leaning against a post, and it was only when I got close that I realized she was crying.
I’d never known quite what to do when I saw a girl cry. In all honesty, I never knew what to do when anyone cried. My father never cried, or if he did, it was never in my presence. And the last time I’d cried had been in the third grade, when I’d fallen from the tree house and sprained my wrist. In my unit, I’d seen a couple of the guys cry, and I’d usually pat them on the back and then wander away, leaving the whys and what can I dos to someone with more experience.
Before I could decide what to do, Savannah saw me. She hurriedly swiped at her red and swollen eyes, and I heard her draw a couple of steadying breaths. Her bag, the one I’d rescued from the ocean, was sandwiched between her legs.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No,” she answered, and my heart clenched.
“Do you want to be alone?”
She considered it. “I don’t know,” she said at last.
Not knowing what else to do, I stood where I was.
Savannah sighed. “I’ll be okay.”
I slipped my hands in my pockets as I nodded. “Would you rather be alone?” I asked again.
“Do I really have to tell you?”
I hesitated. “Yeah.”
She gave a melancholy laugh. “You can stay,” she said. “In fact, it might be nice if you came and sat by me.”
I took a seat and then, after a brief period of indecision, slipped my arm around her. For a while, we sat together without saying anything. Savannah inhaled slowly, and her breathing became steadier. She wiped at the tears that continued to slide down her cheeks.
“I bought you something,” she said after a while. “I hope you’re okay with it.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I mumbled.
She sniffled. “Do you know what I was thinking about when I came out here?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I was thinking about us,” she said. “The way we met and how we talked that first night, how you flashed your tattoos and gave Randy the evil eye. And your goofy expression when we went surfing the first time, after I rode the wave to shore….”
When she trailed off, I squeezed her waist. “I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”