For You I Will

by Donna Hill

  “I think you should stay for the summer,” Desiree was saying while she held the cell phone between her jaw and shoulder and adjusted a painting on the wall.

  “Girl, the whole summer! You have got to be kidding. I have...stuff up here to take care of.”

  “Yeah, right. What stuff—a hostess job?”

  “I have clients. They’ll miss me,” Layla said, trying to sound convincing.

  “I have a beach full of clients for you and you know Melanie will hook you up. Besides, when was the last time that the three of us had a chance to spend some real time together?”

  Layla thought about the tempting offer. But the truth was, both of her girls were married—Desiree to Lincoln and Melanie to Claude. She would be the proverbial fifth wheel. Her chest tightened as images of what could have been flashed for an instant in front of her.

  “I don’t know, Desi,” she said slowly, teetering on the brink of relenting.

  Desiree blew out a puff of frustration. “Well, whatever you decide to do is fine. I think you’re blowing a perfectly good vacation.”

  “Where would I stay for the entire summer?”

  “Right here at The Port.”

  “Desi, come on. What about your guests? The summer is the busiest season. You need all of your guesthouses.”

  “True, but you wouldn’t be a guest.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You would be a summer employee.”

  “I thought you said this was my vacation.” Layla chuckled.

  “Look, what if you stayed in one of the cottages and paid your way by offering massages to my guests? I’ve had a spa set up for months with no one to really run it. It would be a major perk. And you get to keep the tips!”

  Layla burst out laughing. Desiree always had some kind of plan. “Let me think about it.”

  “Okay, but don’t think too long. I know someone will want to hop on this great opportunity.”

  “Someone like whom?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Someone will.”

  “Girl, you are too crazy.”

  “Crazy as a fox,” Desiree said with a snicker.

  “Yeah, okay. Anyhow, I’ll see you next weekend. But I’ll let you know before then what I’m going to do.”

  “See you next week. And think about the offer. It’s perfect.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll think about it. I’ll see you Friday.”

  “Smooches.”

  Layla disconnected the call. An entire summer on the Harbor? Hmm. She got up from the side of the bed and walked toward the window. She pushed the off-white curtain aside. Traffic, gray concrete and throngs of rushing people filled her line of sight.

  She let the curtain drop back in place. A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Nothing was keeping her in the city beyond her decision to just say yes.

  Chapter 2

  Maurice Lawson winced when he attempted to push up from the couch and stand. The pain in his leg vibrated through his entire body. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Slowly, the searing fire ebbed to a dull throb. He inhaled deeply and sat back down.

  That night, flying over the Afghanistan mountains, flashed in his head. The skies were clear with just enough cloud cover to camouflage their mission. He and his navy SEAL crew were on a stealth mission. Everything was going according to plan. The target was illuminated on the control panel of the Black Hawk helicopter. And then, without warning, the world seemed to explode. He’d lost two men on that mission and he’d barely survived himself. He’d spent three months in the hospital and the next three months in rehab, learning how to walk again.

  The doctors said he’d always have pain...and nightmares. But over time both would diminish. They hadn’t.

  That was more than a year ago. He still battled the pain and the nightmares...and the guilt. Some days, the guilt was more painful than his injury.

  “Maurice...”

  He opened his eyes and his gaze settled on Dr. Morrison.

  “Are you all right?” She put down her pad.

  He nodded. “Yeah.” He forced a laugh. “I should be used to it by now.”

  “How are you sleeping?”

  He shrugged. “Some nights are better than others I suppose.”

  Maurice Lawson had been referred to her through the Veterans Administration. After recovering from his wounds, it was clear that his injuries were more than physical. She’d been working with him for about six months and the psychotherapy was slow, but there were days when she felt they were making progress. Then there were days like this one when that haunted look would come into his eyes.

  Dr. Morrison leaned forward. “Maurice, your physical therapy is over, but I can’t get you beyond that night if you won’t let me help you to help yourself. You’re holding on to more than physical pain and that’s what’s really debilitating.”

  The corners of his eyes pinched. His full mouth drew into a tight line. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to accept that what happened that night was not your fault.”

  “But it was!” he bellowed. “Why can’t you understand that? I was in charge. Those men relied on me to get them in and out of there safely. And I didn’t.”

  “What could you have done differently?” she softly asked.

  He turned away from her penetrating stare. He’d asked himself that very question a million times. He’d gone over every minute of that flight. Nothing stuck out. It was textbook. But he had to have missed something. And that’s what haunted him.

  “What?” she asked again.

  “I don’t know,” he finally answered, his voice filled with defeat. “I don’t know.”

  “How about your friends, family—have you been in touch with them?”

  “We don’t have anything in common. They all want to act as if nothing is wrong or that everything is.” His laugh was ragged.

  “You can’t continue to live in your head, Maurice, disconnected from everything. It’s well past the time that you rejoined the world. Begin new relationships.”

  “Is that right, Doc,” he said derisively. “You mean if I join the world, as you put it, I’ll be all better.” This time he fought against the pain and stood.

  “I’m saying that you can’t continue to punish yourself by shutting everything and everyone out.”

  “It’s not that easy,” he said, gritting his teeth against the pain.

  “I know it’s not. It never is. But if you are ever going to regain some semblance of life, of an existence, you’re going to have to try. You’re going to have to work at it, just as hard and with just as much passion as you’ve put into being a decorated fighter pilot.”

  He stole a look at her. “I don’t know how,” he admitted.

  Dr. Morrison stood up and came to him. “I have a friend who owns a fabulous bed-and-breakfast in Sag Harbor. I think a change of scenery and the relaxation of being by the water would be therapeutic.”

  “I don’t think so, Doc.”

  “At least think about it, Maurice. And I’ll only be a phone call away...when you want to talk.”

  He pushed out a breath. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” She returned to her desk and wrote the information down on a prescription pad, tore off the paper and handed it to him.

  He looked at the neat handwriting. “The Port.”

  “Go, Maurice. A few days, a few weeks.” She studied his face. “Give yourself a chance. And think about getting back in touch with Ross.”

  His gaze jumped to hers.

  “You’d mentioned in earlier sessions that the two of you were close, that you even played in a band together. I’m sure he would be glad to hear from you. Have you spoken to him since you’ve been home?”

  He l
owered his head. “No.” Then he folded the paper and shoved it in his pants pocket. “Time up?”

  She moistened her lips. “Yes.”

  He bobbed his head and clenched his jaw as he turned toward the door. “See you next week, Doc.”

  * * *

  Maurice opened the door to his one-bedroom condo apartment. He’d lucked out and was able to purchase the condo from his veterans benefits in one of the most sought-after communities in the quickly gentrifying neighborhood of Fort Greene. One of the perks of fighting for your country, he thought derisively.

  He’d been in the space for nearly a year after leaving rehab and it was still sparsely furnished, only the basic necessities. It didn’t matter much to him. It was only him. He didn’t have company, there was no woman in his life, and all he needed was a place to sleep, eat and bathe.

  He tossed his keys into a plastic bowl on the kitchen counter and limped over to the window. He drew in a long, slow breath. Never in a million years would he have imagined his life coming to this point. His breathing echoed in the cavernous space. Alone. Broken.

  Dr. Morrison’s words bounced around in his head.

  If you are ever going to regain some semblance of life, of an existence, you’re going to have to try. You’re going to have to work at it, just as hard and with just as much passion as you’ve put into being a decorated fighter pilot.... And think about getting back in touch with Ross.

  Ross. He almost smiled. Ross McDaniels was his best buddy all through high school and into college. They discovered their love of music together and that it was a surefire way to charm the ladies. Ross was the sax man, he the piano. The two of them together were a lethal combination. Ross had been in his corner when he lost his father and never once came down on him for cutting himself off from his family, even if he didn’t agree. They’d stayed in touch throughout his years in the service and it was not until the accident that Maurice cut off all contact. He didn’t think he could stand to see the look of sympathy in Ross’s eyes. That, he knew, he could not take.

  He slung his hands into his pockets. Ross didn’t deserve that. His stomach muscles tensed. Was his number still the same? He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contact list.

  Ross McDaniels. What could he possibly say to him after all this time?

  Maurice swallowed over the tight knot in his throat. Ross had a birthday coming up. His was a month earlier to the day and Ross used to always tease him about being “the oldest.”

  He stared at the number, debated a million reasons why and why not, and finally pressed Call before he could change his mind.

  The line rang three times before it was picked up. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ross, it’s me...Maurice.”

  For a moment the line went completely silent. “Mo...” he finally said. “Don’t B.S. me, man, is this really you?”

  The tight knot in his gut burst loose and a tentative smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, man, it’s me. You usually have impersonators calling you?”

  Ross laughed from deep down in his belly, a sound so welcome and familiar. Maurice’s eyes stung.

  “Not usually. I... Where the hell are you?”

  “In Brooklyn.”

  “Brooklyn? You’re back? Why haven’t you called? I tried to find you for months. The navy wouldn’t tell me shit. What happened? How long have you been home, man?”

  Maurice waited a beat. “I’ve been home a little over a year,” he said quietly.

  He could almost see the waves of confusion pass over Ross’s face as he tried to process what he’d just been told.

  “Say what?”

  “It’s a long story. I...would have... I should have called...”

  “I’m gonna forget that I should be pissed as hell right now. Brother, I thought... We all thought you were dead, man.”

  Maurice heard Ross’s voice crack and that nearly broke him. “Look, I had my reasons.”

  “I’m listening. No, as a matter of fact, this is not for a phone conversation. I want to put my eyes on you. Where are you in Brooklyn?”

  “Fort Greene. Why?”

  “You driving?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Janet is throwing me a little birthday party tonight. I want you here.”

  “Ross...man...”

  “I’ll text you the address. Eight o’clock. Not taking no for an answer. Besides, I spent enough birthdays without my man at my side.”

  He thought about it. “Things are different. I’m different.”

  “We all are,” Ross said softly. “Eight o’clock.”

  “All right. Eight.”

  Chapter 3

  Layla was never one for sitting in traffic and knew that city dwellers would be packing up to head to the shores come Friday afternoon. The idea of bumper-to-bumper cars, noise and horn blowing put her spine in a vice grip. She decided to hit the road on Thursday at midday. Getting around the winding streets of lower Manhattan was half the battle. Once she hit the William Floyd Parkway toward Shirley, Long Island, it got easier. She put her foot down on the gas and didn’t let up.

  The two-and-a-half-hour drive took just about two hours, and before she had a chance to get tired, she saw the signs for the Sag Harbor turnoff up ahead.

  She pressed the button on the armrest to lower the windows and took a deep inhale of the ocean-tinged air. The scents of salt, sand and sea were carried along by the balmy breeze. Layla inhaled deeply. Her grip loosened on the steering wheel and her shoulders slowly lowered from their sentinel position near her neck. She had no idea how tightly wound her body was until she felt the embrace of the leather cushion of the seat.

  Her clients had been lukewarm about her departure and one woman had even begun to whine about how Layla’s leaving was interfering with her calendar. Mona told her that her job at Jack and Jill’s would be waiting for her when she got back and not to worry about a thing. Mona had lent a strong shoulder after the utter devastation of her engagement to Brent, spending many an hour with her drinking countless mimosas and listening to Layla pour out her heartache and fury, and assuring her that it was Brent who was the asshole, that it was his loss not hers and that a real man was out there waiting for her—when she was ready. She was certain she would never be ready. She couldn’t survive another hurt like that and the only way to get hurt like that was to love someone. That was something she had no intention of ever doing again. She was going to build her business, travel, enjoy her friends and maybe even write a book one day about the art of healing through touch. But love...she was done.

  She’d paid up her rent for three months, had her utilities and cable temporarily suspended, packed her bags and hit the road. Taking in the magnificent view and allowing the tranquility of the shore to seep into her limbs, she knew she’d made the right decision.

  Her foot eased off the accelerator as she entered the town proper. The cobblestone streets were lined with bright-colored canopies and shiny glass windows advertising the array of shops, restaurants, bakeries, specialty stores and art galleries. The waters along the pier were home to everything from basic fishing boats to outboards to large yachts and party boats that lolled atop the soft waves.

  The Port was beyond the center of town, across a wide swath of beach and soft rolling hills. Lincoln had built the place up from two small cabins to a dozen, complete with the kind of amenities expected at high-price hotels—a bar, sit-down restaurant, exercise room, a lounge and room service. And now The Port had its own masseuse.

  Layla followed the winding streets out of the main part of town until the shops began to recede in her rearview mirror. The summer homes and, for some, yearlong homes began to dot the landscape with pops of color against the sandy shores and green slopes.

  Twenty minutes later she was driving onto The Port
property. She pulled into an available parking space and got out. She arched her back and stretched her arms high over her head, then took a look around.

  Not much had changed that she could determine since the last time she’d visited. But knowing Desiree and Lincoln, Mr. and Mrs. DIY, she was sure that there were many new changes yet to be discovered.

  Layla grabbed her oversize purse from the passenger seat, shut the car door and walked into the reception area.

  A gorgeous young woman who looked as if she’d been carved out of polished ebony wood greeted her. “Welcome to The Port. My name is Gina. Do you have a reservation or would you like a tour?”

  “Hello, Gina. Umm, I’m actually a friend of Desi and Lincoln. I’m going to be doing massage therapy for the summer.”

  Gina’s brows lifted and her lush mouth widened into a brilliant smile, displaying two rows of even white teeth. “Of course. Mrs. Davenport told me to expect you. Let me tell her you’re here.” She picked up a phone on the desk, spoke briefly, then glanced up at Layla. “Follow me, Ms. Brooks.”

  Much of what Layla remembered since her last visit was the same. The Port was still a classy place, from the high-end furnishings to the sense of elegance, style and professionalism that seemed to ooze from the staff. She did notice some new artwork, and a humongous flat-screen television that both served as an entertainment medium and provided updates about The Port and the town of Sag Harbor.

  Layla followed Gina down the short hallway to where she remembered Desiree’s office to be. Gina tapped lightly on the partially opened door.

  “Come in,” rang out the cheery voice.

  “Your friend Ms. Brooks is here.” Gina headed back to the front.

  Before Layla could put one foot in front of the other, the door swung fully open and Desiree burst out like sunshine after a storm.

  “Layla!” Desiree swept her friend up in a tight hug, then stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “How was the drive?”

  “A breeze. You look fabulous. And happy.” Desiree had opted for a short, natural spiral hairstyle and her complexion fairly glowed from the inside out.