"Now that," said Jessie, "is ridiculous. She's the same age I was when I fell for you."
"And," Tristan blustered on, not hearing her, "he's sure as hell too old for her!" He paced a few steps one way, then the other. Rubbed his forehead, ran into a blackberry scratch and winced. "Should be ashamed of himself," he muttered. "Damn well ought to know better."
"It's not Cory's fault." She was trying to keep her voice down so as not to be overheard, but even so he could tell it was shaking again. "And by the way, he's the same age you were when I met you."
"Yeah," he growled heedlessly, "and we both know how that ended up, don't we?"
She was silent for a moment, just looking at him. Her eyes, in the deepening dusk, nevertheless seemed to shimmer. Then, very quietly, she said, "Yes. And if I remember correctly, that was my doing, not yours. You were all set to walk away."
He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he realized the shimmer in her eyes was tears. He looked back at her, and felt an ache in his heart that was part regret for her tears, part longing for that time of sunshine and happiness that was forever lost to him. "Why'd you do that?" he asked in a voice that felt as if it had rusted. "Call me back?"
"I knew what I wanted," she said softly. A tear spilled over and she brushed it away with a quick, angry motion. "And so does she."
His heart wasn't made of steel, and he'd never liked fighting with her. He would have gone to her then; he wanted to. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close to the aching places inside him and forget everything about the past except the fact that he loved her. But when he made a jerky move toward her, she held up a hand to stop him, like a traffic cop, and turned away, shoulders hunched and back stiffened against him. Pain stabbed through him, pain as bad as anything he'd endured at the hands of his Iraqi jailers. He'd learned ways to endure that kind of pain, but this was something beyond his experience. She'd never done such a thing to him before.
He turned blindly and went into the house. Farther down the hall, in the alcove behind the stairs where the telephone was, he could hear Sammi June and Cory talking, evidently checking on movie schedules. He tightened his jaw and went up the stairs, wondering why his knee was bothering him again all of a sudden, when it hadn't for days. The motorcycle accident, he wondered, or self-pity?
In the bathroom he washed his face, then stood for a few minutes studying his reflection in the mirror. He'd avoided looking too long and hard at himself since he'd been back. He didn't like to think he'd ever been a vain man, but it had still been a shock, seeing himself for the first time after so many years. He'd barely recognized himself. He'd grown old. His hair had gray in it now, and his face had lines and hollows-not to mention scars-that hadn't been there before. He could hardly blame Jess for looking at him as if he was a stranger, when he was a stranger to himself.
It hit him then, like a cold blast of wind. Fear. Fear that the dream he'd carried in his heart for so long, the dream that had kept him alive, kept him sane, might never come to be. All he'd thought about, all those years, was getting back home, home to his wife, his daughter, his family. And now-well, he was back, but he sure as hell wasn't home, and his wife and daughter didn't seem to have places for him in their lives anymore.
He'd known there was a possibility Jessie might have married somebody else, of course, but he hadn't believed it, not really. And when he'd found out she hadn't and in fact was still his wife, well…he'd taken it for granted things would eventually take up pretty much where they'd left off, after a reasonable adjustment period. It hadn't ever occurred to him he and Jess might not be able to make it work again…ever.
Look to the future, Cory had told him. But he had to face up to the fact that he and Jessie might not have a future-not together. Face it. Staring into his own bleak and shadowed eyes, Tristan felt cold to the very depths of his soul.
* * *
So far, the weekend was turning out better than Jessie had expected. Tristan's friend Tom Satterfield's lake house wasn't on one of the big Savannah River Corps of Engineers' lakes, but on a small tributary lake on the South Carolina side. The house, set on a wooded knoll, was small but comfortable, a mobile home that had been improved and added onto and now had a huge covered and partly enclosed deck that overlooked the water and zig-zagging wooden stairs running down to the boat dock.
A set of house keys had been left with the Satterfields' next-door neighbor, who had been instructed to turn them over to Tristan along with the keys to the ski boat parked in the carport. The neighbor even helped Tris and Cory launch the boat, explaining as he did so that the tank had been filled up with gas not long before Tom-the lieutenant commander-had shipped out. The neighbor knew all about Tris and shook his hand warmly and wished him welcome home with a catch in his voice.
As Tris had promised, the house was clean and equipped with everything they needed, but Jessie had made up the beds with the sheets she'd brought with her, anyway, to save having to launder the Satterfields' linens before they left. The house was only a little stuffy and muggy from being closed up for several months, but the air conditioner soon took care of that, and by the time Jessie had made the beds and stashed away the groceries, the men and Sammi June had the boat launched and were tooting and waving at her from the dock.
There'd been thunderstorms in the night. Now it was midafternoon of a clear, hot and hazy day. Sunlight sparkled on brownish-blue water, and the air was busy with the sounds of boat engines of every description. Pontoons churned sedately up and down, passengers waving at one another or at friends on the docks they passed; bass fishermen patiently rode the wake-choppy waters in coves and inlets; water-skiers swooped and soared, sending up joyful roostertails of spray. And darting in and out amongst them all, the inevitable wave-runners and jet skis sounded-and annoyed-like angry hornets.
Jessie, slathered with sunscreen and wearing shorts, her bathing suit top, a hot pink sun visor and dark glasses, was occupying one of the ski boat's rear-facing seats. Sammi June and Cory were in the water-she was teaching him to water-ski-and it was Jessie's job as observer to tell the driver, Tristan, when he no longer had a skier attached to the other end of the nylon rope. Understandably, this had happened with great frequency at first, although Cory remained game and was staying up for longer and longer periods while Sammi June rode shotgun on a knee board, like a proud parent running alongside her child's first two-wheeler.
The latest run, in fact, was going amazingly well. Cory looked relaxed; he even seemed to be smiling as, following Sammi June's lead, he successfully navigated the wake. With the skiers riding on smooth water outside the wake, Jessie took her eyes away from them for a moment to glance back at Tris. Her heart seemed to swell and tremble inside her chest as she watched him guide the boat with effortless, well-remembered skill…big, raw-boned hands steady on the wheel, the wind riffling through his hair.
How incredible this must be for him, she thought. And how hard. Incredible because it had been so long since he'd known such freedom…such joy. Hard because she knew he'd have much preferred to be out there in the water himself; on a single ski, Tris had been poetry in motion. But, while he'd come a long way in the past weeks and in spite of his determination to build back his strength to what it had been before his capture, he was still a long way from being ready for the rigors of the sport of waterskiing. And thank God, Jessie thought, he was smart enough to know that. Still…it must be hard for him, and she wondered if that was why he'd chosen to wear knee-length shorts, sandals and a print shirt borrowed from C.J. instead of bathing trunks.
Or maybe, she thought as she turned back to the skiers, it was that he felt uncomfortable about showing his scars…
A moment later the run was brought to a halt when a jet ski, manned by two young teenagers, cut too close to the skiers. Jessie sent up a yelp as first Cory, then Sammi June hit the water, but Tris had seen trouble coming and already had the boat throttled down. He was swearing under his breath as he brou
ght the boat around in a wide circle, trailing the tow grips.
"Those kids don't have good sense," Jessie said.
"They're gonna kill somebody," Tris growled, skillfully maneuvering the towlines so the skiers could grab them easily.
"That was a great run," Jessie called, as Cory, grinning and exuberant, paddled his ski toward the tow rope. "Hey-you guys 'bout ready to take a break yet?"
Cory's mouth opened, and so did Sammi June's. But instead of words Jessie heard a shout and, a split second later, a terrible, grinding crunch. For a moment she stared at the skiers, unable to process what could have happened to her hearing. Then behind her she heard Tris swearing loudly, angrily, as he put the boat in gear and headed it out across the water.
"Take the wheel," he shouted at her, already half out of his seat. And she saw what he had seen.
At the mouth of a small cove inlet maybe fifty yards away, the jet ski that had brushed past them minutes before lay in the water at a crazy angle. Next to it, a bass boat was slowly sinking. One of the teenagers, a girl with long blond hair, was clinging to the jet ski, dazed and disoriented. Her friend, buoyed by his life vest, was floating nearby, facedown in the water. Of the occupants of the bass boat there was no sign.
All this Jessie absorbed in the space of a few seconds-or split seconds-how could she know, when time moved in stops and jerks? And even as she was moving to take over the boat's controls, knowing she had no choice but to do so, she was screaming, "Tris-no! Don't you dare-Tris!"
But he was taking off his sandals…and his shirt, and then he was perched on the side of the boat, like a runner in starting blocks. He wasn't wearing a life vest, and neither was Jessie. As she brought the boat as close to the wreck as she dared, he straightened up, measured the distance, then cut the water in a clean, shallow dive, leaving her anguished shout shivering in the air like the aftermath of a cymbal's crash.
"Tristan!" Frozen in terror and making furious, whimpering sounds, she railed at him. "Tristan, what are you doing? Damn you…oh, damn you-" Then, turning frantically, she began to scream for help, and she could see Cory churning toward them, swimming as if a whole school of sharks was in pursuit. Right behind him was Sammi June on the knee board, dipping both arms into the water in powerful strokes.
Still struggling to control her own panic, with help on the way Jessie turned back to the disaster in front of her. Relief burst from her in a gasp when she saw Tristan's head break the water, but that relief was short-lived. After looking around wildly for an instant, he gave a leap and back down he went.
Meanwhile, the teenage girl had recovered her wits enough to realize where she was and what had happened to her. Seeing her friend lying facedown in the water, she began screaming her head off. Jessie put the boat's engine in neutral, then gathered up the life preservers and threw them, one by one, toward the hysterical girl, at the same time yelling at her to grab hold of one and for God's sake, turn the boy over!
It was horrible-one of the worst things she'd ever experienced-watching that boy floating with his face in the water, and not being able to do anything about it. Every instinct she had told her to jump in the water and go to him. But she couldn't leave the boat-she couldn't. If she left the boat unattended and it drifted away, they could all drown.
Then, miracle of miracles, just when Jessie thought she wouldn't be able to stand by and do nothing one more second, the girl in the water stopped screaming. Face set in a mask of determined terror, she lunged for a floating life preserver…caught it and hung on. Paddling clumsily, sobbing, she made her way to her friend-brother?-and somehow, somehow, managed to get him turned over.
"Good girl! Now, hold on to him!" Jessie yelled, and slowly began to tow the life preserver back to the boat.
And all the while she was screaming inside her head, Oh God, Tristan-where are you?
Chapter 16
He'd been down a long time-too long! Or did it only seem so? Her heart was tearing in two. Tristan, if you die I will never forgive you! How could you do this to us? How could you?
Then…she saw him. His head had erupted from the murky water, his mouth open…gasping. His eyes found hers, wild and dark in his pale, gaunt face. She saw that he was struggling with a large object-the bass fisherman! Tristan had a grip on his collar and was trying to bring him to the surface, at the same time straining toward a life preserver that was just out of his reach. He reached again, struggling to keep the fisherman's head above the water. And then…he went down again. Not purposefully, this time, not diving, but sinking slowly, clinging to Jessie's eyes with that fierce black gaze, full of apology and regret.
Jessie sank to her knees, sobbing. The life preserver, with two teenagers in tow, one barely alive, had reached the boat. Leaning over as far as she could, she managed to get her arms under the unconscious boy's and, with a heave that left her gasping, hauled his limp weight over the side. At the same time, she heard a shout and glancing up, saw Cory with his arms around Tris. He was holding him above the water!
But before she even had time to register relief and joy because of that, horrifyingly, all three men disappeared beneath the roiling surface. And Jessie's mind filled with thoughts of terrible domino drownings, of tragedies beyond comprehension…
Then Sammi June was there with her knee board, and she was snagging life preservers right and left and yelling and pulling and pushing and dragging people toward the boat. By that time Jessie was on her knees on the floor of the boat, giving CPR to the teenage boy while tears streamed unheeded down her face.
* * *
It was evening of that beautiful, terrible day. The sheriff's deputies and fire trucks, the ambulances and paramedics with their lifesaving ventilators and defibrillators had long since gone back to their bases. The fisherman and the teenager had been air-lifted to the nearest hospital; according to the most recent phone call, it appeared both were going to make it.
Tristan had refused to go to the hospital in spite of Jessie's urgings. Instead he'd taken a hot shower and put on clean clothes, eaten a bacon and tomato sandwich and fallen asleep on the couch. Sammi June and Cory, after showering and changing, and tomato sandwiches, had taken the boat out to watch the sunset on the lake. It had been a beautiful, radiant sunset.
Jessie, after feeding everyone and cleaning up the mess and phoning the hospital one more time, was the last one into the shower. When she emerged, she put on sweet-smelling lotion and a flowered sundress with a softly flared skirt and went to see if Tristan was awake.
He wasn't on the couch. She went out to the deck, and then she could see him, standing on the dock in the sunset's afterglow, looking out across the lake. She ran down the stairs, barefoot, and her heart was already racing faster than her footsteps.
"Hi," she said as she approached him, breathless as a girl. "What are you doing down here all by yourself?"
He turned slowly toward her but didn't answer the question. She wondered if he'd heard it. He seemed so distant. "Kids take the boat out?" he asked, and even his voice sounded faraway.
"Yeah." She tilted her head, smiling just a little, hoping he'd smile with her. "Have you forgiven him yet?"
"Forgiven?" He looked bewildered for a moment. Then suddenly the lost look on his face vanished, and he gave a rueful snort and rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess I'm gonna have to, aren't I? He saved my life. More than once."
"He's a good person," Jessie said, moving closer.
Tristan watched her warily, like a nervous animal eyeing an extended hand. "Yeah, he is. Sammi June could do a whole lot worse." His laugh was another soft snort. "Took me by surprise, is all."
"Me, too," said Jessie.
He inhaled cautiously, as if testing his ability to breathe. "I'm gonna have to figure out a new way to be with her. I know that…With you, too," he added after a moment, and looked away. When his eyes came back to her, they had that lost look again, but not the distance. This time the loneliness was right there, so close to her she felt the ache of
it in her own heart. "I guess I always thought of you as somebody I needed to take care of, you know? Lead…teach…protect. I never knew how strong you are." He drew a quick, hurting breath and looked away once more. "The truth is, Jess, you don't really need me at all."
She wanted to cry out a denial. Instead she reached a hand toward him and said in a voice soft with anguish, "Oh, Tris. I don't need you to take care of me…I just need you to be." His eyes jerked back to her, dark shadows in the dusk, and she cried out in a shaking voice, "Is that too much to ask?"
"Sometimes…lately…yeah." He looked at her, and the fear in her heart was like a vise, squeezing…squeezing. Then, so quietly she barely heard it, he said, "I almost died today, Jess."
"I know." The pain, the tension in her chest had become unbearable. She tried to lighten it. "And I'm not sure if I've forgiven you for that yet. If you'd died, I swear, I would've killed you."
Tristan's lips twitched, but the smile died before it reached his eyes. "I've been thinking…about what you said to me way back, before I left for the Gulf." Jessie caught her breath in a guilty little gulp. She'd been thinking about that, too. "You told me I was selfish," he went on, "to go off and leave you and Sammi June like that. At the time I didn't…but now I think you were right."
Jessie was shaking her head. "Uh-uh…no, I wasn't. Not unless being true to who you are is selfish." He gave his head a shake, not understanding. She reached out to him once more, touching his arm this time, and the tension in him made it feel more like steel than human flesh. The tension reached into her, and her voice quavered with it. "You told me then, it was something you had to do. I don't think I understood that then, but I do now. It was what you had to do, because that's just who you are. Like today. You had to jump into the water to try and rescue those people. I wanted to kill you for doin' it, but you couldn't not do it."
The Top Gun's Return Page 22