“Oh, Devlin . . .” Dora’s eyes filled. He was hitting her in all her most vulnerable places.
“Hell, woman, I love you. You won’t marry me. Won’t even get engaged. Seems to me the least you can do is rent my cottage with no strings attached. To do less is just not kind.”
Dora laughed then, a soft, trilling laugh that sounded to her ears like happiness. She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes, all right.” She rolled her eyes in mock resignation. “I’ll rent your cottage.”
“That’s good. Real good.”
Chapter Ten
Nooooo! I won’t go!”
Harper and Taylor halted their discussion about where to place the light fixture, looking at each other in alarm.
It was mid-August in the lowcountry, which meant the children who lived here throughout the year—from frightened first-graders to seasoned high schoolers—were dressed in clean clothes, armed with new books, backpacks, supplies, and a haircut, and marching into schools at the sound of the bell.
Except Nate.
“I won’t go! You can’t make me!” Nate screamed again.
From down the hall they heard Dora’s voice, cajoling and high-pitched, clash with Nate’s insistent, angry refusals.
Harper set down her coffee cup and, leaning against the counter, crossed her arms to listen. She glanced at Taylor. He stood motionless, head cocked. “It’s the first day of school for Nate,” she explained. “He’s been homeschooled all his life. So this is all new for him. With Asperger’s, he doesn’t take to change very well.”
“Sounds like he’s freaking out,” Taylor said, concerned.
As if to confirm Taylor’s statement, Nate began screaming again, shouting “No” over and over, each time sounding more hysterical.
“This could go on for a while,” murmured Harper.
Taylor stood silently but his gaze was blank, as if his mind were somewhere else.
After several more minutes of screaming, Dora came into the kitchen looking disheveled, frustrated, and exhausted. She sighed and placed her hands on the counter, leaning against it with her head bowed. “God help me.”
Harper came to her side and delicately placed her hand on Dora’s shoulder.
“He’s going into a total meltdown. I knew this morning would be tough for him, but I did everything I could to defuse the tension. We talked about the new school all last week, visited it several times. He even met his teachers. Last night we went over his new routine. We prepared. We really did!”
Harper saw the tears in Dora’s eyes. “I know. We all know you did.”
“He wouldn’t get out of bed! He woke up and flatly said that he wasn’t going to go to school. The more I tried to be encouraging, the more he freaked out.”
“He bottled it all up. And this morning when the top popped off, he exploded.”
Dora nodded. “I used to be able to hold him during one of his tantrums, but he’s too big. I’m not strong enough anymore. Not when he gets this riled. I tried to soothe him but I’m at my wit’s end.” She put her hand to her face and said in a choked voice, “I don’t know what to do.”
In the background Nate was still screaming out of control. Harper didn’t know what she could do to help.
“Do you mind if I go see him?” asked Taylor.
Harper swung her head around, surprised by the offer. Taylor stepped closer, and his usually taciturn face was soft with concern.
Dora sniffed, wiped her eyes, and looked at Taylor with confusion. “Why?”
“I know something about meltdowns. I might be able to help.”
Dora shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ll try anything.”
Taylor nodded. “Okay then.” He turned and went to the porch door. Opening it, he whistled, sharp and short. In an instant, Thor was at the door. “He’s a therapy dog. He knows how to behave in these situations.” When Dora nodded, Taylor gave a discreet hand signal. Thor trotted to his side. “Come on, boy.” Then Taylor said to Harper, “Which room is he in?”
“It’s right down the hall.”
“I’ll show you.” Dora led Harper and Taylor to the library room, where Nate slept. Though the door was closed, the boy’s screams could be heard loud and clear. Taylor paused at the door, then turned to the two women.
“I should go in alone. With Thor. I’ll leave the door open so he isn’t scared. Is that okay with you?”
Dora looked at Harper questioningly. When Harper nodded in the affirmative, Dora said, “Yes.”
Thor sniffed at the door and whined softly. Clearly he wanted in. Taylor patted the dog’s huge head, then opened the door. Moving slowly, Taylor entered the room. Thor followed, his nose to the ground sniffing. Harper and Dora stayed at the door, watching.
The curtains were open and sunshine poured in. Papers, books, toys, and clothes littered the floor, obviously tossed by an angry Nate, who was lying on the carpet, flapping his hands hysterically in the air and stomping his feet in a fury, shouting barely coherently through the screams, “No. You can’t make me.”
Taylor stood in the middle of the room a moment, hands on his hips, assessing. He walked to the television and browsed the video games. He selected one and started the game up. Then he attached two remotes and sat on the floor in front of the screen. He set one remote by his side and began playing the game with the other. To Harper’s eyes it appeared as though he were totally ignoring the boy, but she knew better. When the game started, she recognized it as the one she’d purchased for Nate, a cooperative game that was meant for two players.
Meanwhile Thor circled the room, nose to the ground, eyes on Nate. As she watched, she noticed the big dog’s circles getting tighter and smaller till he was circling the screaming boy, who was ignoring the dog. Thor finally stopped in front of Nate, whining with sympathy. He stepped closer and nudged Nate with his nose.
Nate sucked in his breath, startled, and momentarily snapped out of his hysteria. He stared at the dog, then waved his hand. “Go away!”
Thor immediately lowered his head and began licking Nate’s hand, which Nate allowed. Though he was still sobbing, great heaving sobs, the shouting stopped. Harper could see Nate was being soothed by the licking. Taylor glanced over his shoulder at the action but didn’t move from his seat. He kept his focus on the video game, his back to Nate.
Nate made the first move. Still lying on the floor, he turned to his side and reached over with his free hand to begin petting Thor’s chest. Thor responded by stepping closer and licking Nate’s face.
Harper shared a look with Dora, who had tears in her eyes, watching the young boy being tenderly soothed by the big dog. Thor seemed to read Nate’s emotions. No words were necessary. Nate, feeling the connection, kept inching closer, reaching higher up the dog’s neck. Gradually the sobs subsided to a few ragged sighs. Thor lay down beside the boy with a grunt of comfort and let Nate continue to pet him, nuzzling his face against Thor’s fur.
Harper lost track of time as she and Dora watched Thor soothe Nate. In time, after he’d settled, Nate realized that Taylor was in the room. Immediately he scowled. Nate didn’t expect to see the man there and didn’t like surprises. But as time passed and Taylor continued ignoring Nate, the boy sat up and with increasing curiosity watched Taylor play the game. Eventually, Nate rose and went to stand beside him. Taylor kept playing the game, eyes on the screen. Nate stood a few feet from Taylor for a few minutes, watching the game. Then, without speaking, he sat down beside Taylor and picked up the remote.
Taylor glanced at him, nodded noncommittally, and returned to his game.
Suddenly Nate was playing the game, too. All hysteria was gone. The silence in the room was broken now only by the beeps and noises from the game. Thor rose and padded over on thick paws to Nate’s side, where, once again, he settled beside him, resting one of his huge paws on Nate’s skinny thigh.
Dora nudged Harper and signaled that they should leave. Her final look in the room revealed the big man and t
he small boy playing the video game together. The boy had been calmed without a single word being spoken.
East Bay Street in Charleston is a historic road that travels beside the Cooper River along Charleston Harbor. From Market Street to Broad, some of the city’s finest restaurants are clustered. From Broad Street south to the tip of the fabled Charleston Peninsula is a treasure trove of some of the finest colonial architecture in America.
Harper and Taylor walked down the crooked sidewalks, his hand closed over hers. The sun was setting and the streetlights were beginning to glow in the balmy night. Harper wore tight navy cotton pants and an icy-blue silk top that shimmered like water. Her coppery hair fell in a sleek sheath to her shoulders, where a chunky lapis and topaz necklace ringed her neck. She’d spent a long time dressing for tonight and wanted to look sexy. Special for her first date with Taylor. And it was the first time she’d worn spiky heels in months. She grimaced as she made her way along the pitfalls of the old, crooked sidewalks. Taylor’s expression when she’d opened the front door that evening was worth the effort.
Taylor had made an effort, too. He wore a crisply ironed, gray, open-necked shirt that hung loose over dark jeans. The sleeves were rolled up his tanned forearms. On his feet he wore leather sandals, a switch from his usual work boots. He looked as fresh as if he’d just stepped out of the shower, and stepping closer, she caught the faint scent of aftershave.
They were one of scores of couples strolling along the popular street, peeking in the windows of art galleries, hurrying to dinner reservations, pausing to read menus posted. As she walked beside Taylor, Harper realized, pleased, that his mama had taught him to walk on the street side with a lady. He towered over her even in her highest heels. As she regarded his handsome profile, her heel twisted in a rut of a cracked sidewalk. With a yelp, she stumbled into Taylor’s side. His reflexes were lightning fast. His arm shot out and he caught her, holding her steady.
Harper’s cheeks flamed. This was the second time she’d stumbled. He probably thought she was a klutz. “Thank you,” she gasped, regaining her footing.
“That’s what happens when you walk in stilts.” He grinned wryly. “Maybe you’d better keep a hold on me. It’s just ahead.”
She gratefully held on to his arm with two hands and took careful steps as they walked the half block to where a black sign over a door read EAST BAY MEETING HOUSE. The street-side folding doors were wide-open, and small bistro tables overflowed onto the sidewalk. Inside, it was very French. Bistro chairs and tables clustered between tall, drape-lined windows on the left and a classic wooden bar on the right. It was almost eight o’clock and the tables were nearly filled. Taylor grabbed the last table. Within minutes, it was standing room only.
Taylor raised his hand. A young, pretty waitress hurried over and took their order for drinks.
Harper looked around the cozy restaurant, let her hand run along the crisp cotton tablecloth, and thought, I’ve missed this. Going out, mingling with crowds, the excitement of a performance, sitting across the table from a handsome man. He turned his head and caught her looking at him. She blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Popular place,” she said over the buzz of the crowded room.
“Lots of poets in Charleston.” Taylor leaned closer to be heard. “But tonight’s special. Marjory Wentworth, the South Carolina poet laureate, is reading from her new book of poems.”
“Are you reading?”
“Sure am. We each get six minutes.”
“Aren’t you nervous?”
“Of course. But I don’t scare easy.” He shrugged. “Once I get up there, I lose the fear and get into the words.”
Harper gazed at him, wondering what that kind of courage felt like. Her toes curled in her shoes at just the thought of someone reading her writing, much less standing up in front of strangers and reading it aloud to strangers.
The waitress delivered her white wine and his beer. Harper took a sip, tasted its sweetness, and almost purred. “This is the first glass of wine I’ve had since June.”
Taylor swallowed his beer and looked at her with wonder. “You don’t drink?”
“My sisters and I made a pact not to drink for a week, just to see if we could. At first it was torture, I confess. I like my glass of wine at night. Then we just kept it up. After a while I stopped missing it.” She sipped again, then smiled devilishly. “Until now.”
“How’s it taste?”
“Delicious.” She set her glass on the table and her fingers idly stroked the chilled glass as she let her gaze wander out to the street. The night was deepening and the candles glowed on the tables. People walked past, chatting, laughing. “Charleston is so alive in the evening. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve come to the city since I’ve been here. I wonder if that was wise. It’s lovely.”
“Don’t you like cities?”
Harper let out a chuckle. “I love cities. I live in New York, remember? It’s more that when I came to Sea Breeze early in the summer, I was in a quandary. Searching for something that required peace and introspection. I had to shut out the noise and distractions.”
“Some people need that to write.”
“Apparently I do. I’ve never written so much or so steadily.”
He picked at the label on his bottle of beer. “Maybe you should stay here.”
“You think?”
He looked directly at her and held her gaze. “I do.”
The idea of not going back to New York had not seriously occurred to her.
“I’m an editor. I’ll most likely find a job in New York.”
He took another pull of his beer. “What about your writing?”
“I plan to finish the book before I leave. That’s as far as I’ve gotten in my plans.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the first poet approached the podium. The crowd hushed. Taylor gave Harper an encouraging smile. She returned the smile and, unwrapping her arms, leaned forward on the table to listen.
As one poet after another read a few poems, Harper felt surrounded by the music of words—the tempo, the cadence, the high-pitched tones and the low. Music that penetrated barriers, brought forth memories in bursts of color, images so real she saw them come alive right in front of her. She’d been to many prose readings before for her job in the publishing house, but never a poetry reading. It truly was performance art. Harper was mesmerized. It helped her understand the meaning and heightened the emotions kindled by each spare, carefully chosen phrase.
So lost was she in the readings that she almost forgot that Taylor was going to read. Then she heard his name called and he stood up. Her breath quickened as he walked to the podium, a slim volume in his hand. She felt anxious for him. She wanted him to be good. Her stomach tightened when he faced the crowd. The overhead light cast shadows on his face, highlighting his cheekbones, his straight nose that flared slightly with nervousness.
He stood for a moment at the podium, his gaze sweeping the room. “I’m reading a poem I wrote when I returned from Afghanistan. It’s called ‘Wake Up. Keep Moving.’ That’s what they tell a guy with PTSD when he’s having a nightmare.”
Harper froze and her breath stilled in her throat. PTSD? She didn’t know that he’d had post-traumatic stress disorder. Her mind raced. She knew he was a Marine. That he’d seen action. She recollected a photograph that Carson had shown her of Taylor and Thor at the Dolphin Research Center. Harper had been charmed seeing him—his beautiful body—directing two dolphins to leap in the air. Thor was on the dock. The dog had been wearing a black service-dog emblem.
I’m an idiot, she told herself. For all that she prided herself on being observant, she didn’t put these obvious signs together. Suddenly all the small details of his behavior made sense. Taylor was more than reserved. He was alert. Hypervigilant. When he walked into a room, his gaze always scoped it out. He’d just checked for exits at the podium. Harper had done research on PTSD for Nate after the dolphin inc
ident. She’d seen the symptoms. And been blind to them. Deliberately? she wondered.
Harper put her trembling hands in her lap and stared at the man she was falling in love with. Did this make a difference?
Taylor cleared his throat and raised his slim volume. She took a deep breath.
When he began to read, she didn’t hear a hint of nervousness in his voice, and she remembered how he’d told her that once he started to read, his fear fled as he got into the words.
Don’t thank me for the things I’ve done
Don’t curse me for them either.
I’ve written suicide notes with blood
that say Wake up. Keep moving.
You don’t know how you’ll act under fire
Be the hero or frozen in fear?
Some say you fight for your comrade, your brother.
Others say Wake up. Keep moving.
Will I let you love me before it’s too late?
Save me from a dishonorable fate?
Is there one more chance to be a hero?
You tell me Wake up! Keep moving.
I’ve killed more men than I can count
In the name of country and duty.
How does God take a man’s measure?
The ghosts tell me Wake up. Keep moving.
His voice was strong and steady as he read his words in a marching cadence, bringing to life a hidden place of suffering. Harper’s heart kept beat with the tempo while he read, completely immersed in his words. She leaned forward to catch every syllable, each nuance. Her heart went out to the pain he must’ve endured.
Since the first moment she’d seen Taylor, she’d been attracted to him. As the days passed, she came to admire his tenaciousness, his capacity for long hours of labor without a break, his neatness and unerring politeness. He was a Marine, after all. With animals he was gentle and firm. With Nate she’d seen his compassion and capacity for caring. She also grew aware of a restless energy simmering beneath his calm facade.
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