The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1)

by Jamie Beck

  What had made her think they could fall into old patterns? They were different people. Strangers in some ways. They’d need to tear down to the studs to rebuild whatever they might become to each other from here. “Do you want to go hang with Benny and Mel and meet some new people?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t have time to invest in new people right now.”

  “I bet a lot of women here would like to change your mind.” As soon as she said that, she regretted it. Either he’d think she had no interest in him whatsoever, which wasn’t true, or he’d think she was testing his interest in her, which also wasn’t true. She’d filled the empty space with thoughtless conversation because she still had no idea how to talk to him.

  “Not interested.” He tilted his head, staring at her. “I’ve got to make sure my daughter is okay before I think about dating.”

  Fair warning.

  She leaned forward, wishing she could squeeze his hands or give him a hug. She’d never shared the warm and easy bond with her own dad that she’d witnessed between Ryan and Emmy. “You’re a good dad. Even better than I imagined you would be.”

  “I hope Emmy thinks so.” His doubtful smile surprised her. The old Ryan Quinn hadn’t been insecure about anything. Nor should he have been.

  “She does.”

  Ryan scratched his neck. “She misses her mom.”

  “Of course. But when she’s older, she’ll realize how lucky she is to have you.”

  “I’m not so sure. She’s off with Val and John at a beach house with a private beach, where she’ll be showered with gifts and babied by her mom. Emmy likes pretty things, just like Val, and she likes to be the center of attention.” He slowly tore the cocktail napkin into small pieces. “From now on, Val will be the fun parent who gives her cool stuff, while I’ll be the disciplinarian with expectations and ‘boring’ values. Maybe my daughter will grow to resent me, just like Val—and you—did.”

  He immediately dropped his gaze and stared into his cup, his neck flushing. His statement didn’t require a response, because she knew there was no way he wanted to have that discussion here, let alone have it with her.

  She pushed her empty cup away. “Let’s take a walk or something. I can’t hear myself think in here.”

  Ryan gulped his beer and stood. “Fine by me.”

  Ryan followed Steffi out to the sidewalk. By this hour, the sleepy town had mostly rolled up for the night. Dim lighting from the few streetlights turned the plate glass windows of closed-up storefronts into mirrors. The empty streets transformed the public green into an intimate space, with leaves overhead whistling in the breeze.

  His arm tingled with the memory of being slung over her shoulder hundreds of times while walking these streets. She strolled beside him, hands clasped behind her back, long legs keeping pace with his. Familiar, yet different. Those differences weren’t the only reason why they couldn’t pick up where they’d left off, but they also meant he shouldn’t assume a reunion would be doomed to failure again.

  “Want to grab a quick bite?” he finally asked.

  “Actually, do you think we could sneak around the outside of the Weber home without waking Mrs. Weber?” She kept her eyes on the sidewalk ahead. “I’d love to take a closer look.”

  His foolish heart sank a little. Here he’d been thinking about them—a bad habit that had started up again the second he saw her on the porch. Meanwhile, she’d been fixated on her work.

  “In the dark?” He stopped walking.

  “Our eyes will adjust.” She grabbed his forearm but then immediately let go. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t check it out.”

  He pointed toward his car. “I guess we’ll go, then.”

  They drove the two miles to Echo Hill Lane in silence. Like every other interaction with her, being locked in the car was both familiar yet uncharted. Learning the whole truth about the past had unlocked a part of his heart, releasing his resentment and making him slightly dizzy. It had also led to sharing his fears about Val and John, although he regretted spouting that revelation. Now he had so many thoughts swirling through his mind he didn’t know what to say.

  He pulled into his parents’ driveway and killed the engine. Mrs. Weber lived across the street and six houses down at the end of the cul-de-sac. The narrow lane would be littered with acorns and other small hazards that could turn Steffi’s ankle in those shoes. “Should I get a flashlight?”

  “No. I don’t want to scare her. If she sees a big flashlight, she might think a burglar is looking for a way in.”

  “She probably sleeps like the dead. Isn’t she close to ninety and near deaf?”

  “The flashlight on my phone should be enough.” Steffi climbed out of his car and trotted ahead, peering back at him over her shoulder with a wide, childish grin. “I’m so excited.”

  When Ryan’s mom had shared Gretta’s news over breakfast, his mood had dimmed as if a cloud had passed over the sun. He couldn’t comprehend the sharp sense of grief, too caught up in remembering the way they used to dream—picking wedding songs, choosing baby names, and all the other stuff that flows along the raging river of young love.

  They’d imagined Saturdays on the boat followed by romantic evenings on that porch. Kids in the little yard with its tire swing nestled deep in the backyard by the path to the beach. Never did they stop and think about work or money or health issues, much less about the possibility that they’d break up. Those innocent dreams were the best kind, and maybe the death of them, no matter how silly, had needed to be mourned.

  “Oh, look!” She brought her hands to her chest before whispering, “Just like I remember.”

  He raised a skeptical brow. It looked much worse than he remembered. The full moon shone enough light to reveal that a new paint job wouldn’t be enough to update the exterior. Patches of wood rot scarred the clapboard siding. The wood-shingle roof curled in all the wrong places. The roofline itself sagged around the dormer like wet cardboard. And his mother would be appalled at the tragic state of the flower beds and the boxwood and mountain laurel hedges.

  He trailed behind Steffi while she poked at some fungi, spot-checked some of the windowsills, and crept onto the porch to peer through the French doors. She looked confident and engrossed, which made him smile. She loved what she did, as did he. They’d both been lucky in that way.

  “It’s too dark to see much, but look at that massive river rock fireplace.” She sighed like a woman in love. “I have to get this house.”

  Even teardowns in this neighborhood cost a few hundred grand. “Maybe you shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

  She snapped her head around and frowned at him. “Same advice twice in one night. When did you become a pessimist?”

  He shrugged without answering.

  Steffi crossed her arms. “Better question: Why did you become one?”

  “Life.” He chuckled, although it wasn’t funny.

  “That’s a cop-out. From where I stand, your life is mostly good. A great career, a great kid, a great family, and great health.” She slapped his arm. “Stop the glass-half-empty attitude, or I’ll call you Eeyore.”

  He grimaced. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t make me,” she teased. When she leaned against one of the columns, her expression turned more sympathetic. “It must be really difficult to be in limbo, especially with Emmy.”

  “Don’t pity me now.”

  “I don’t. I only meant that you have to get her through big changes pretty much on your own.”

  “My mom’s been great, although I’m dreading Monday. Emmy was thrilled to go to Block Island. She’ll have a tough time leaving Val. It’ll be like starting the separation all over again.” Ryan let loose a sigh as if it would blow away his concern.

  “Maybe Val will realize how much she misses Emmy and ask to share custody. That would make Emmy happier.”

  “It would, although I don’t know that I want that now. We live in different states, and I started a new j
ob. Shared custody would be tough.” He grimaced. “More importantly, I don’t trust Val not to flake out again. And I don’t want John having much influence on my daughter.”

  This time when Steffi clasped his arm, she didn’t release him so fast. He liked her touching him way more than he should. “For what it’s worth, Ryan, I think you did the right thing for Emmy by coming home. Your mom is amazing and supportive, and this town is idyllic.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.” He remained still, mostly because, if he moved, she’d let go of his arm. “It’s amazing how much has stayed the same.”

  “In all the important ways. Of course, some things have changed, like this house and us.” And then, as if she’d said too much, she let go of him and wandered around the side of the house, so he followed.

  His thoughts slid into dangerous territory as curiosity about how sex with Steffi would differ now that they both had more experience. He’d been her first, she his second. His first had hardly been worth remembering, though. In all the ways that mattered, Steffi had been his true first because, with her, it had been lovemaking, not just sex.

  He could still remember their first time clearly. They’d sailed Knot So Fast out for the day and anchored off the shores of the Thimble Islands. They’d done that before, but on that day, the water was particularly calm, and they’d planned to “do it.” One of the most erotic memories of his life was watching her strip out of her swimsuit and sprawl across the little bed under the bow. The anticipation had made him hot and hard and barely able to stand up. Even now, the memory made his lower half stir.

  Just ahead, Steffi stopped and rested her hands on her hips. “Jeez, is this the path to the beach?” She used her arms to bushwhack the overgrown flora, unconcerned with mud on her shoes or messing her hair. “Come on. I want to see the condition of the seawall.”

  She disappeared into the bushes, so he followed until they both popped out onto the seawall. Several feet below lay a narrow strip of rocky sand.

  They stood beside each other, gazing at the gentle waves lapping against the shore beneath a cloudless, starless sky—a stark backdrop for a moon as white as snow. The slightly eerie scene befitted winter better than early autumn.

  “I loved summers here,” Steffi said, breaking their private musings. “Claire, Peyton, and I made so many plans staring at that moon.”

  Ryan turned to her, shamed that he’d forgotten to ask for an update on Peyton because he’d been too consumed with his own troubles. “How is Peyton?”

  “Brave as ever.” Steffi’s brow furrowed, and she removed her shoes. She then lowered herself to sit on the wall, letting her legs dangle over the edge, with her bare feet suspended above the rocks. “I wish she was undergoing treatment at Yale New Haven so I could help her, but she prefers Sloan. They’ve got amazing doctors, but she needs more emotional support than Logan can give. I could kick myself for letting our friendship fade these past couple of years.”

  The temperature continued dropping, or maybe the turn in conversation only made it feel colder.

  Ryan sat beside her, close but not touching. “It faded because of Claire?”

  “Partly. But even before that, we’d started to lose touch. She traveled so much, and our lives went in different directions.” Steffi glanced over at him, her eyes sparkling with tears.

  Regrets could suffocate a person. He knew. He had his own. “You can’t change the past, but you can be there for her now.”

  “I want to, but she doesn’t want visitors now that she’s starting treatment. She’s blaming the exhausting regime of meds, but I don’t think she wants to be seen so weak and . . . altered.”

  “So think of something else you can do to support her.” He stared to the horizon, as if the answers to their problems were hidden somewhere in the vast expanse, waiting to be revealed. “What does she want or need that you can give her?”

  “She wants to mend fences with Claire, but Claire won’t even ask about Peyton. I can’t believe she’d let her die without making peace.”

  Ryan drew in a deep breath of the brackish air. “You can’t make Claire forgive Peyton. That’s up to Peyton to earn.”

  “Kind of like how I’m forcing you to forgive me.” She offered a sheepish smile and kicked her foot against his.

  “Kind of like that.” Time slowed while they held each other’s gaze, shoulder to shoulder, flashbacks floating around them like dandelion fluff. He suppressed the sudden urge to kiss her there in the moonlight.

  As if spooked, Steffi jumped off the seawall, leaned over to pick up some small rocks, and tossed one into the sea. “I had no idea coming home would put us back in each other’s orbit, but I’m glad it did.”

  He frowned to himself because she’d had to put distance between them to say those words. That much about her hadn’t changed.

  “Hmph.” He scratched his head while watching her throw each rock, one by one. “Why did you come back?”

  “To start my own business.” She bent down and found a few more rocks. Her careful attention remained on the task—a tactic to prolong avoiding his gaze.

  “You didn’t like working for a big construction company?”

  “It was fine.” She pitched another one, this time with more force than before. “I wanted out of the city.”

  “Because of the mugging?”

  She stared across the moonlit path on the sea, toward the spot where the iron-gray water met the slate-gray sky. “I’d been thinking about it before then.”

  His brief investigation hadn’t turned up any open legal case, so he’d let it drop. He had enough on his plate. But after tonight, he wanted more details about that assault, even though he knew they might be hard to hear. “What exactly happened?”

  Steffi cleared her throat and pitched another rock. This one went farther than the others. “I’d gone with some coworkers to a neighborhood bar. We played pool all night, and I’d won a bunch of money. By one o’clock, I was tired, but the guys I’d gone with weren’t ready to go, so I decided to walk home. I only lived six or so blocks away, and I’d done it before without trouble.” She rubbed her collarbone. “My guess is that the guys who robbed me must’ve been in the bar and overheard us talking. When they saw me settling my tab, they must’ve slipped outside ahead of me. There was a narrow alley one storefront down from the bar. That’s where they got me. After that, I don’t really remember much. I fought, but they were bigger and stronger . . . and they had a gun . . .”

  Gun? Jesus. “You didn’t get a good look at them?”

  She didn’t answer. She was rubbing her arms, her body appearing to cave in on itself while shivering.

  “Steffi?” He waited, but she remained locked in silence, unaware of anything going on around her.

  This behavior must be what had Claire concerned. Was it some kind of seizure? Had these episodes begun before the attack? That would explain how she—a typically aware and strong woman—fell victim to attackers.

  Ryan jumped down from the seawall and approached her from behind. “Steffi.”

  As soon as he touched her shoulder, she whirled on him, screaming, “Stop!”

  Her elbow connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling backward against the seawall. He rubbed his cheek, stunned.

  “Oh my God, Ryan. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” She rushed forward, then stopped. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I—you startled me—I thought . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought.”

  He recalled the milder daze he’d witnessed in his mom’s yard the day she’d first learned about Peyton. Were they connected? “Where do you go during these episodes?”

  “What?” She was staring at his jaw, her eyes filled with shame.

  “I called your name twice. Were you remembering something about the attack?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know, but it’s better to forget about it.”

  “How can you say that?” He held his arms wide. “Don’t you want justice?”

  “In theo
ry, sure. But there were no witnesses, and I didn’t get a look at them, so I don’t waste time thinking about justice. Besides, I don’t want to be defined by that event. It’s over. I’ve moved on.” With a perturbed tone, she muttered, “Why? Are you itching to defend them?”

  “Don’t deflect. This is serious. Maybe your brain is trying to tell you something.”

  “It’s telling me I’m tired. Overworked. Stressed. Concussed. Whatever. It’s not a big deal. People space out now and then, especially people who’ve had lots of concussions.” Her face was tight, her movements jerky and quick. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  He frowned. Something about the edge in her voice tickled his intuition. There was more to it. Either she knew it and didn’t want to share it with him, or she didn’t really remember where she went during these lapses. “The best way to get people to stop asking about it is to follow up with your doctor.”

  She’d always had a tendency to procrastinate doing unpleasant things, so it didn’t surprise him when she said, “I’m busy.”

  “Bullshit.” Even in the darkness, he could see her clearly. Powerful and confident as ever—rejecting any whiff of weakness. “Are you scared they might find something wrong?” Maybe epilepsy, or something worse.

  “No. Between the concussions, all the work stress, and now Peyton’s condition, it’s no wonder I’m having trouble. Maybe it will get better, or worse, but no medicine or surgery can fix those things. Once life settles, I bet it gets better. Why bother with doctors?”

  “Because you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He ran his hand through his hair to keep from shaking some sense into her. “Maybe you’re right, or maybe it’s something else. Something that can be fixed.”

  She shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I guess.”

  “Steffi.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Find out.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes shining like the surface of the water beside them, and her annoyed expression transformed to a smile. “Thanks.”