Those Cassabaw Days

by Cindy Miles

  Nathan let a long, deep sigh release, and he clapped Matt on the shoulder and rose. “There is. You’re just so filled with that goddamned pride you can’t see it.” He shook his head, gave a short, sarcastic laugh and looked at him. “Well, little brother,” he said, “you are one selfish bastard.”

  He turned and headed up to the house, then stopped and strode back to him. Nathan glared. “You don’t think we’ve all noticed how you haven’t even unpacked your belongings? Hell, you keep that military-issued duffel packed and by your door, like you’re ready to haul ass at any second. Yet you carry on with Emily like you’re promising her the future!”

  He shook his head, turned and started walking, but called over his shoulder, “If you’re leaving, then set her free, Matt. Don’t lead her on. Jesus Christ, man.” He turned his back and continued walking. “It’s not fair to her. After all she’s been through, losing her parents, leaving Cassabaw? She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves to be happy. To have someone who deserves her to share a life with. Not to be alone, pining after you.”

  Matt stared at his brother’s retreating back until he disappeared. Then he continued to sit by the marsh, listening to Emily’s record player and thinking on Nathan’s words. He was right. Dammit, he was. About everything.

  He always was, it seemed. It’s why he’d confided in Nathan, with so many things. Then, he’d stopped, and like Nathan had said, he’d kept it all bottled up. He didn’t want to burden anyone with his problems; he was a problem solver. He was who the men in his company had come to for answers. Where to go. What the next step would be if the mission failed.

  Who to target.

  Matt had made those decisions without any doubt. He’d made them soundly. Swiftly. Yet he wrestled with two of the most basic of decisions—one most men wouldn’t give two shakes about. What to do with his life. And where to go to find it.

  Jesus Christ. What sort of man was he? Not the kind Emily deserved. That much he knew. Now he could see it. He was a selfish bastard. And no matter how much he didn’t want to hurt Emily, she would be. It was unavoidable. Without opening the envelope, he knew it. And he hated the hell out of it.

  * * *

  WHEN MATT WALKED into the Windchimer, everyone was there. Jep and his dad; Mr. Wimpy and his gang, as well as their wives. Eric and Nathan were there, too, and they all had a place at the counter, each with a pile of pennies, setting them in place.

  Matt stood, admiring what Emily had turned the little beachside café into. Every whimsical Gatsby touch was distinctly Emily’s, including the penny counter. Once they finished up tonight they’d apply the first of three coats of polyurethane.

  “Whoa! There’s the jarhead!” Ted hollered, and patted the stool beside him. “Get your ass over here, boy, and get busy.”

  Emily found him as he crossed the dining floor, and smiled. Never had he seen a happier person in his life. It literally poured out of her face, streamed right out of those beautiful eyes, like someone had corralled moonlight and stored it inside of her. She was a magnet.

  Matt claimed the seat next to Ted and started setting. The walls of the café seemed smaller somehow. As if he was stuffed in a bunker with barely any shoulder room. He breathed, slowly and inconspicuously. In. Out.

  Get a grip, Malone.

  “Hey, sourpuss,” Ted said beside him. “What’s with the long face?”

  When he glanced up, he found Nathan watching him closely.

  Matt cleared his throat. “You know,” he said and continued setting the pennies he’d piled up beside him. “Just one of them days, sir.”

  Ted slapped him on the back. “Yep, yep,” he said. “Soldier to soldier, I know what you mean, boy.” He sighed. “Rough times.”

  “Yes, sir,” Matt agreed.

  Soon, they were pennies away from finishing.

  “Emily, get down here,” Jep called out. She climbed from her stool and moved to stand between him and Mr. Wimpy. “Here you go.” He handed her five pennies. “One for each year those grandsons of mine were born, plus one for you and your sister.”

  “Aw, Jep,” Eric said, kissing his grandfather on the cheek. “You’re so sweet!”

  “Get off me, boy!” Jep hollered.

  Everyone laughed.

  Emily accepted the pennies in her cupped hand, glanced once at Matt and wiggled her brows and began setting them in. After the last one, she looked up and everyone cheered.

  “Woo-hoo!” Eric hollered, then let out a shrill whistle.

  One by one, everyone left until only Matt and Emily remained.

  She came to stand next to him, slipped her long, slender fingers through his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Supergreat, huh?”

  “It is amazing, Em,” Matt said, and turned to her. “So are you.”

  “Shucks, boy,” she teased, and play-slapped his chest. “You’re such a sap.”

  He was a sap. He was many other things, too. Only she didn’t realize it quite yet.

  He inclined his head. “Race ya home?”

  She grinned. “You’re on.” She took one last look around the café and gave a nod. “It’s perfect, Matt. It’s exactly how I pictured it to be.” She turned her face up to him then, and the beauty of it knocked the wind from his lungs. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you.”

  Like the selfish bastard he was, he kissed her then. He let his lips linger over hers, settle as though they’d found their place, found a home, the most perfect of spots.

  He only wished it were true about himself.

  He followed her to the river house. Never had a feeling of dread taken more complete control over Matt. Never in his life.

  Winding down Emily’s drive, he stopped by the porch and they both got out. She walked up to him, threw her hands around his neck and hugged him tightly. “I’ll see you in the morning?” she asked, kissing his neck.

  Matt squeezed his eyes tight; her soft lips against his skin were more torturous than the wounds he’d received on his back. “Of course,” he assured her. He pulled back, brushed his lips over hers, then unable to help himself, kissed her long, deep, banking the feel of them to memory. “Night, Em.”

  “Night, Matt,” she whispered shakily.

  As he drove home he couldn’t help wonder what she might be thinking.

  He’d probably never know.

  * * *

  EMILY SENSED SOMETHING was wrong. She could feel it in Matt’s reserved behavior. She’d gone inside, heated up a mug of milk and sat on the porch swing as she sipped it.

  Worry niggled at her insides, and she did her best to push it aside.

  Draining the rest of the warm milk, Emily went inside, rinsed the mug, set it in the sink,and flipped off the kitchen light. Through the darkened house she walked, but at the office, she paused. She wasn’t sleepy. It was only midnight-thirty. Matt’s retreat was causing her restlessness, and she needed something to occupy her mind.

  She switched on the light and the overhead ceiling fan came on. It washed the office, her and Reagan’s once-upon-a-time bedroom, in a peachy kind of illumination. It was barely bright enough to sort through a few things and maybe she’d grow sleepy.

  After a while, Emily moved to the closet. In the corner, a small plastic tub sat, with Quinn written on the lid in black permanent marker. Pulling the chain overhead, she flipped on the closet light and removed the lid. Inside lay four photo albums, stacked one atop the other.

  Pulling the tub out into the room, Emily sat on the floor cross-legged and lifted the first album onto her lap. Pictures upon pictures of a young couple in love—Kate and Alex Quinn. Emily’s heart seized as she brushed the photo of first her mom, then her dad, with her fingertip.

  Silly pictures of her dad making faces at the camera. One of her mom sitting on the big branch of the old oak out back by the river’s edge, the moss hanging as long as Kate’s flowing hair. Beautiful.

  Then, in the second album, she stumbled on the first photo of a very, very young Em
ily, maybe five years old, all skinny legs and knobby knees. She stood beside an equally skinny, tanned little boy with brown hair. They had their arms draped casually over the other’s shoulder, and each wore a wide, silly, care-free smile.

  Picture after picture, they were together.

  Her very best friend. Forever, they’d sworn to each other.

  What in the world was she going to do?

  Flipping back to the one picture of her and Matt, standing together with arms draped over each other’s shoulders, she slipped it out of the clear plastic sleeve.

  She had an idea. Whatever was bothering him, this might would help.

  It was a start, anyway.

  And hopefully, the right one.

  The only one.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WHEN THE ALARM chirped at 7:00 a.m., Emily slapped at the snooze button. More than once.

  She’d finally drifted off to sleep sometime after three thirty in the morning.

  Rising, she ran through her morning yoga stretches, then headed to the kitchen to start the coffeepot. No sooner did she hit the start button than a knock sounded at her front door. Still dressed in her shorts and Encino Man T-shirt, with her hair piled high on her head, she opened the front screen.

  Matt stood there, and his eyes were already on hers.

  “Hey,” he said in his quiet, raspy voice.

  Emily threw him a surprised smile. “Hey back. You’re up and about early.” She motioned for him to enter. “Wanna come in for some coffee? I just put the pot on.”

  “Nah, thanks,” he said. “I’ve been up a while.” In the emerald flare of his eyes she saw caution. Wariness. “I’ve already met my quota.” He continued to silently watch her. Not so much as if searching to find words, but simply...studying her.

  “Quota?” Emily teased. “I had no idea such a thing existed.” She folded her arms over her chest, hiding the fact that she wore no bra. “I was a lazybones this morning.” She kept her gaze on his. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.”

  Eyes still locked, Matt’s eyes grew even more cautious than before. Darker, they seemed, as if eyes could intuitively turn stormy from a single thought or feeling. Like a mood ring. “Me, neither.” He inclined his head to the marsh. “I’m heading out to work on the dock awhile.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I guess you’re on your way to the café? After—” his gaze dropped to where her arms still sat, hiding her braless chest “—you get dressed.”

  “I was, yes,” she said, her lips quirking. “No way would I ever do dirty work in my beloved Encino Man T-shirt.” Cocking her head, she watched him. Watched his eyes, to see if the green orbs would give anything else away. Other than caution. “Why?”

  At first, he looked away. Stared off and said absolutely nothing. Then he sighed, put his hands on his hips, rubbed his buzzed head, dropped his gaze between his feet. Struggling. Conflict. It wafted off him like a cloud.

  And it immediately made Emily feel...cold. Alone. Disappointed. A little frightened. “Matt,” she said quietly. “Just say it. I’m not going to break, you know.” She swallowed. “I know something’s bothering you. I could tell last night.”

  He looked at her. Almost as if she’d given him permission. And this time, she saw it. Whatever he was at war with, it showed. Blazed, full-force.

  He cleared his throat, and at the same time, his eyes cleared, too. No longer stormy. “Em,” he began. He looked at her directly now. “Whatever we have? It...can’t go any further.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “What I mean is, we’ve been friends a long time.” His gaze set dead on her now, and held her still. “I don’t mean any disrespect. I damn sure don’t want to hurt you. I just want it to stay that way. Between us.” He was silent, then cleared his throat again. “Friends.”

  Emily felt a wash of pain that she tried her best to hide. “I...don’t understand.” She looked at him. “I thought we connected. More than friends.” She fought back the bitter taste in her mouth. “You asked me to be your girl.”

  Matt grasped her shoulders. “I can’t lose you, Em. I’ve thought long and hard about this.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Haven’t been able to think of much else lately.” He pleaded with his eyes. “You’re my best friend. Best I’ve ever had. And I want it to stay that way.”

  He’d told her that he didn’t know where he was headed. Warned her. She supposed that, with all the passionate kisses that reached way further into her soul than she even thought possible, they would continue down that path. Together.

  A myriad of feelings flowed through her, all clashing and hooking horns at once. Disappointment. Relief. Anger. Hurt.

  She hid them all. Unlike her, but she did it.

  She had a feeling Matt didn’t know what he wanted. And if there was ever a chance he’d realize it, well, she didn’t want to screw things up by throwing off her hurt and anger.

  So she lifted her chin and offered Matt the brightest smile she had in her artillery of smiles. “I wholeheartedly agree. I mean it.” She reached out, grasped his big, calloused hand between hers and squeezed affectionately.

  “We’ve kissed—” she squeezed his hand again, almost shaking it “—and I think we were good together. But honestly—we’re both young, hot-blooded adults.” She shrugged, gave him his hand back while making as light of the situation as possible. “It’s a normal reaction, I’m sure of it. Just imagine had we still been hanging around each other every day when puberty hit us, and then we would’ve tried it?” She rolled her eyes. “Disaster! So, it’s actually a relief we’ve faced this now as adults and, you know, put it out there before us. While we’re old and mature enough to handle it.” She grinned. “And while I think we would have been amazing together—mostly because, well, you’re you and I’m me—there’s absolutely zero way I’m willing to lose you again, Matt Malone.”

  She held his gaze, which was once more stormy and conflicted. “Not to awkward, friends-kissing-on-a-whim weirdness. Don’t you agree? I mean, we’re close. I know I don’t want to risk that just for some sort of...I don’t know, crazy sexual summertime fling. Do you?”

  Matt blinked, and stared. He didn’t say anything for several seconds. He swallowed—hard enough that his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I—you’re right.”

  Emily shrugged. She threw her arms around his neck and despite the pain in her heart, hugged him tightly, and then let him go. “When it comes to my best friend? Honesty is the only solid approach. No secrets. No hidden agendas. And definitely no awkwardness.” She studied him. “I applaud you, Matt Malone, for not being a chicken and coming clean with your feelings for me. I don’t ever want to lose you.” She gave an affirmative—if completely fake—nod. “Friendship it is.”

  As Matt kept his gaze trained on her, Emily saw something flare in his eyes, and she could only assume what it could be. One was still, of course, caution. Another, strangely enough, disappointment. And the third shocked her.

  A hint of sadness.

  “Well,” he said, and cleared his throat again. “Yeah. What you said.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Glad we see things eye to eye. I’m gonna wrap this dock up by tonight.” He began walking, then turned back. “And you’re okay?” He shrugged. “With all this? No...weirdness?”

  “There is always weirdness, Matt Malone,” she said, curling her lips. “Because, well, you’re so weird.”

  He smiled then, and it was a winsome sort of pull to his mouth that made a piece of Emily’s heart sink, because she could see sadness and disappointment in his eyes. “You’re so weird, Emily Shay.” He turned and kept walking toward the dock, then threw a hand up. “See ya later.”

  “Not if I see you first,” Emily called out.

  Then she simply stood there and watched him start up the dock, his easy, lumbering stride taking him farther and farther out toward the river until the marsh swallowed him up. Only then did the smile fade from her mouth.

  The burn started in her throat, and t
he disappointment pinged her insides. The butterflies all died down at once, defeated, as if the magic flying powder on their wings had all been blown off. “It would’ve been an astounding, extraordinarily magnificent love affair, Matt Malone,” she said quietly, a little dreamily. She felt more disheartened than she’d ever felt in her life. Then, she sighed. “The kind that lasts for infinity. It really, really would have.”

  * * *

  “YOU DID WHAT?”

  Matt didn’t look up. Gripping the screws between his lips, he pulled another out, set the dock board, then the deck screw. The drill motor drowned out anything else Nathan had to say.

  He could almost imagine his expression: blondish brows risen high above eyes so wide the white showed around the whole entire green. But, he knew if he didn’t respond, his older brother would just sit there and nag. And nag. Until Matt had no choice but to shove him into the water.

  “I thought about it. Long and hard,” Matt said, squinting against the sun as he looked at him sternly. “I felt the best thing to do was not risk it. To do what you said. Let her go.”

  Nathan blinked, and did that half laugh, half snort thing he did when he discovered something stupid or unimaginable. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Best not to risk having the easy sort of relationship with a beautiful woman clearly destined for you since birth. Best not to just go on the mission and come home to a loving woman who is also your best friend.” He nodded. “Totally got your back on that one, bro.”

  Matt shrugged and continued with his work. “You suggested it.”

  “I thought you’d come to your senses. Not actually let her go.”

  Matt didn’t spare him a look. He didn’t bother telling him that it was a mission Matt might not make it out of. “You thought wrong.”