Locked Hearts

by D. Brown

  “I will pay for this in the morning for sure,” he said and handed Maggie her shirt; it was soaked and caked with sand and ocean debris.

  So was his.

  Thankfully they were still in once piece.

  They made their way back up the beach to separate homes, where they reluctantly parted without a word, just a lingering touch of their fingers not wanting to let go.

  Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow, they said in a wordless good-bye, as tonight my heart belongs to you.

  26

  When she climbed into bed after showering and toweling off, Maggie saw the time: 1:19.

  The kids were all fast asleep.

  Good, they’ll never know I’d been gone.

  Maggie fell asleep rubbing the tender whisker burn on her cheek and the tingling deep inside from the lingering magic of Sam’s touch.

  Had she ever felt like this with Robert?

  If she had, it had been so long ago she’d forgotten what “This” ever felt like.

  Sex on the beach, Maggie Scott when have you ever had sex on the beach?

  Never.

  Sleep was a stranger to Sam.

  He lay on his back arms folded behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. Her scent lingered with him, and her taste while still on his lips, sadly began to ebb.

  Sam smiled at the ceiling and sighed.

  Hell no, I can sleep tomorrow.

  I want to savor this.

  I don’t want to forget what you feel like.

  Maggie’s first thought upon waking was of Sam.

  She opened her eyes to the thin sabers of early morning sunlight slicing through the breaks in the drawn curtains, forced out of this latest catnap by the incessant metallic caw of seagulls scrounging for stray scraps of food.

  She slept little throughout what was left of the night, waking after every dream, and every dream, she remembered, included Sam.

  She smiled at the memory of how he kissed her. Everything that happened last night was a step taken together, bringing them here to their ultimate destination. To have missed or avoided one small thing last night, no matter how insignificant or small, meant denying the existence of the other.

  Simply put, it was wonderful.

  Maggie rolled out of bed and padded to the bedroom window. She parted the curtains and watched the darting seagulls in the early light.

  It was early still, barely after six.

  The sun crested the thin blue line of the horizon to the east out to sea and a robin’s egg blue sky welcomed the new day.

  She sighed, a wistful and longing sigh.

  Happy Fourth of July, Maggie.

  She smiled – talk about your fireworks.

  Still, the first prodding of guilt pangs stabbed at her thoughts.

  Would she chance throwing everything away she had built and worked for over the past twenty years for a man she’d known barely more than a day?

  This was so unlike her, but last night’s memory made her smile.

  You married Robert and you didn’t sleep with him until you’d dated nearly six months. Yet you had sex with Sam after knowing him just one day; and on the beach no less.

  You cheated on your husband.

  She tried to force these thoughts from her mind, not wanting them to ruin her moment, but the voice in her head was persistent and guilt’s lashings would not be denied.

  You betrayed your husband and your children, your family.

  You violated your wedding vows.

  You destroyed your family.

  You lied.

  You slut.

  You whore.

  Maggie pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to grind away the incessant voices heckling her from behind them.

  Reason took over as a slow, cold fog of gloom and guilt settled about her shoulders.

  My God, what have I done?

  What do I do now?

  Sam never went to sleep.

  Too excited.

  Last night changed everything; nothing will ever be the same around here again.

  He was outside well before sunrise.

  His gaze kept straying to that place where they parted, where fingers lingered in touch, reluctant to let go.

  He lit the bonfire at four thirty, and had the grills and smokers stoked shortly thereafter.

  This was the Fourth of July.

  What better reason is there to fire up the grill, and barbecue something?

  The coffee pot brewed, one of those old tin kettles he picked up at a flea market a few years back.

  None of this automatic drip crap, this coffee pot put out one strong cup of coffee, the way Mother Nature intended coffee to be enjoyed.

  Sam wiped down the Adirondack chairs and poured the morning’s first good strong cup of coffee. Then he settled back in his chair to watch the sunrise.

  And to think about the night he spent with Maggie.

  They made love, as the night’s storm raged around them – on the beach no less.

  My God, I didn’t even do that when I was seventeen.

  Their lovemaking was as fierce and as intense as the raging storm. They held each other close; whispered I love you over and over again.

  Beyond this, words were inadequate.

  Sam smiled at the memory.

  It had been so long since Diane he’d forgotten what a woman felt like.

  It wasn’t just the rediscovering of good sex.

  No, this was different.

  This went so far beyond just making love.

  He savored the memory of Maggie’s touch.

  Skin as smooth as silk, her dark mane as soft as fine down, her curves that while unfamiliar at first, soon offered Sam an intimacy telling him this was where he always belonged.

  A feeling tugged at his chest, this easiness about Maggie he found refreshing.

  They fit.

  The bonfire spit a shower of swirling orange sparks wafting skyward in lazy, intertwining spirals. Sam lost himself in the dancing firelight, content for the moment, knowing while he might never get to share a moment like this with her ever again he did get to share it with her once.

  This was the most amazing night of my life.

  Sam saw Finch angle up the beach, rod and tackle box in one hand his bait bucket in the other. Sam nodded a wave hello.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Finch said.

  Sam just smiled.

  “Haven’t seen you smile like that in some time.”

  “It’s been a unique couple of days.”

  “Well, I hope you got all that Superman foolishness out of your system. You leave the cape and big red ‘S’ thing up to the professionals, okay? Next time you might not be so lucky.”

  “I figure everything turned out okay. No harm, no foul. Don’t worry. I don’t think I’m going to make a habit out of this. It feels like someone took a baseball bat to my ribs.”

  “Good,” Finch said, “Because I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

  Finch pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and mopped the sweat off his forehead, tipping the ball cap back off his forehead.

  “Another hot one already,” he said, “So, what’s on the menu today anyway?”

  “Biscuits and gravy, a ham, grits, I’ll scramble up some eggs later maybe. You want some coffee?”

  “Sure,” Finch said. “Something’s going to kill me it might as well be coffee.”

  “So, how are you feeling, anyway?” Finch asked.

  “Yesterday was too much of a fuss made over nothing. I swallowed a couple buckets of salt water, that’s all.”

  “Say what you like,” Finch said. “But they pulled a dead man out of the soup yesterday. I heard what they all said. You were gone.”

  “I was fine. I got foolish that’s all; thought I was twenty again.”

  “No Sam, you went into that water yesterday as much for that boy’s mama, as you did for that little boy. I saw you yesterday. I saw that look in your eyes. I know that look. You can’t conv
ince me otherwise so save your breath and don’t bother.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair, raking a contemplative hand over his face.

  “I couldn’t let that happen to her.”

  Finch leaned forward, hands on his knees, drawing close. He spoke in a hushed tone as if negotiating a plea bargain, “Are you sure you want to do this? Nothing good will come out of it except two decent people getting really hurt – you being one of them – not to mention her kids. They’re good people, Sam.”

  Sam smiled and looked out at the sliver of morning sun peeking above the horizon.

  “I hope you know just what the hell you’re getting yourself into.”

  I haven’t a damn clue, Sam thought to say but didn’t.

  He had no idea.

  He just knew he loved her and can’t imagine another of day of his life passing without Maggie in it.

  “No good will ever come of it,” Finch said, but Sam didn’t hear him.

  27

  Maggie decided a day away from the beach was the best thing for everybody right now, plus it would give her a chance to clear her head.

  They spent the day sightseeing in Savannah and she turned the kids loose on the souvenir and gift shops on River Street.

  Maggie found River Street and Factor’s Walk fascinating. The restored fish warehouses, cotton exchange and old slaughterhouses lined a quarter mile stretch of ballastone paved street. The ballastones were rocks salvaged from the old merchant ships and were used on voyages across the Atlantic to provide the ships oddly enough, with ballast.

  These uneven stones were used to pave the original streets of old Savannah.

  The Savannah River ambled by, a wide and brown ribbon, winding through the lowlands on its final fourteen-mile jog to the sea.

  The riverfront area was packed with tourists and when Maggie commented about the crowd to a lemonade vendor in one of the pastry shops and he replied with a weary look, that if she wanted to see total madness, to come back for St. Patrick’s Day when they dyed the Savannah River green.

  Street performers from jazz saxophonists, to mimes to folk guitarists, were scattered about the plaza in front of the two moored riverboats. White plumes of steam belched from the tall stacks as they waited their turns for river tours that ran throughout the day. An art gallery had been set up farther down the plaza, near the statue of The Waving Girl, the various colored canopies and booths sprouting along the historical River Walk area like wild dandelions.

  Historic Savannah and all the sights of the riverfront area mattered little to her.

  Maggie just wanted to see Sam.

  And she saw him.

  Finally.

  Of course, she did.

  He was the first thing she looked for as soon as she stepped outside.

  “David James, you do not go anywhere near that water, understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” David said and quickly scampered back to porch to grab the beach bucket holding his 'swimmies,' then darted off after his brother and sister.

  She heard Robbie mutter under his breath, “What a doofus. They should have let you sink to the bottom.”

  Maggie saw Robbie give David a playful punch on the shoulder, and looked back at her with a wink and a smile.

  Robbie, so strong and confident, he looked just like her father and David so small, but was the splitting image of her husband.

  Her happiness be damned, this was her family nest, the safe haven for her children, and she had destroyed it.

  Still, Maggie stood there, lost in her thoughts, watching Sam.

  He stood at a table with an old washtub arranged on top, hose running water over the table, cleaning fish. He held the fish in one hand, a large knife in the other, and worked on the fish filet as deftly as her local butcher cut at a slab of prime beef.

  Anna Beth lingered behind, her beach towel and folding chair tucked under one arm, headphones clipped around her neck, and the wire dangling into the beach bag and CD player she’d slung over her other shoulder. She stopped and watched her mother linger by the porch, as she collected her chair and beach umbrella.

  “Coming mother?”

  Maggie saw the look on her daughter’s face. The look said many things, one of them being ‘hurry up.’

  “I’m coming!”

  But Maggie’s irritation had nothing to do with Anna Beth’s impatience, and they both knew it.

  Sam heard “I’m coming!” and looked up to see Maggie watching him.

  He smiled and started to wave, until he saw Anna Beth standing at the foot of the walk bridge, beach gear in tow, and not looking very happy.

  Keenly watching him now, and her look made him feel dirty.

  Sam returned his attention to cleaning fish.

  Be smart old man. Don’t give it away on the second damned day.

  Maggie said Anna Beth watched her like a hawk, and she wasn’t kidding. She doesn’t miss a trick.

  They’d caught more than a dozen fish today. That, along with the ribs and whole sirloin roast should cover dinner tonight.

  Fried fish, barbecued ribs, and shaved whole sirloin, with Jeanne Tinken’s potato salad, Wendy Finch’s macaroni salad and baked beans, and Laura McGee’s coleslaw. Add to that, a keg of beer, plenty of wine, couple jugs of sweet tea, and plenty of chairs to sit back and watch the fireworks show later on.

  He realized why he did this, all this cooking.

  “I’m lonely,” he said to Maggie’s back as she followed her daughter across the walk bridge, “Please don’t make me go back to that. I can’t do lonely again.”

  Funny thing, Sam never realized just how lonely he was until he met Maggie.

  Then, there was yesterday.

  Yesterday turned his whole world upside down.

  Maggie stopped and looked back at Sam cleaning fish. He watched her, still. Instead of waving, Sam touched an index finger to his eye, then slowly lowered it to his heart, then pointed at her.

  I love you.

  Cheesy.

  So high school.

  But it pulled a smile from the heaviness entrenched around her heart and spread across her face. Maggie then held up her right hand, index and pinky fingers plus the thumb extended – sign language for I love you.

  She held it there for a long moment.

  Sam repeated the gesture with his right hand, but then held up two fingers with his left.

  I love you too.

  28

  All things considered, Sam felt pretty good.

  He hadn’t seen Maggie at all this afternoon, except for the brief exchange on the beach earlier.

  He’d been busy cooking and mingling with guests arriving for their Fourth of July cookout, which was a good thing and didn’t notice when or if she came back.

  His mind remained otherwise occupied, which was a good thing.

  Around six he sent Finch over to invite Maggie and the kids for dinner and to watch the fireworks at dusk. The four extra chairs he arranged around the fire ring were for them. Sam would have gone himself, but he remembered what Maggie said about her daughter’s suspicions.

  He considered himself marginal at best in the art of keeping secrets.

  Now, wine glass in hand, Sam sat in his chair and watched the colors of sunset seep across the ceiling of the sky.

  He felt good, almost giddy, his emotions hidden, but lurking just beneath the surface, his own Titanic’s iceberg.

  It’s night time.

  Their time.

  Sam was both happy and miserable. He could puddle up and cry just as easily as he could burst into uproarious laughter, and there were times tonight when Sam was afraid he’d do both.

  They didn’t call it Love’s Sweet Agony for nothing.

  You’re drunk.

  Nope.

  Then you’re drunk in love.

  Head over heels, Sam thought with a touch of smile.

  They congregated around the fire ring with much of the dinner crowd having left for the evening for their own Fourth
of July plans. Despite the heat, the bonfire kept the bugs at bay. The gentle ocean breeze did as well, playing with the lapping fingers of the fire that waved good-bye to the shower of sparks it spit skyward.

  Finch, McGee, Tin Can, and their wives, and Jerry Lee, along with his current flavor of the month, joined Sam in a half-circle around the fire, facing the southeast, and the pier.

  The fire department closed the pier off at four this afternoon to begin set-up work for the fireworks show, and now in the waning daylight, Sam saw their dark silhouettes with flashlights bobbing, moving back and forth along the length of the pier.

  The beach, from the northern most point at Tybee Lighthouse to the southern tip at the cleave of Tybee Creek, was packed with lawn chairs, coolers, and the occasional pop and poof of the amateur fireworks smuggled across the state line from South Carolina.

  A long and endless procession of pleasure craft, large, small and in-between spilled out of the Savannah River’s mouth to gather and drop anchor out in deeper water beyond the pier.

  Sam paid half an ear’s attention to the conversation around the fire ring. His eyes kept straying to the deepening shadows of Maggie’s porch, and the lighted windows saying they were home and inside.

  Come on. There’s not much time. You’ll miss the fireworks.

  Actually, they had another fifteen minutes or so before dusk gave way completely to the advancing night, but Sam was still first-date anxious, and worried she might not show.

  “Watched pot never boils, Sam,” Finch said with a wink.

  “Really? That’s all you got?”

  Finch laughed.

  “A couple more drinks and you’ll think I’m goddamned hilarious,” to which Finch’s wife smacked him on the arm.

  “Watch your language. We’re not fishing and we’re not at a bar.”

  Sam laughed. He knew not to cross Wendy Finch. Besides, she had her hands full keeping her husband in line.

  But then he saw her.

  Just as he’d given up hope of her showing up tonight, she appeared on the porch step, her kids gathered around her, and heading his way.

  She looked radiant.