One Summer

by Nora Roberts

  He remembered the little motel room they’d taken that rainy night just outside of Louisville. He remembered the way he’d felt then—involved, a little reckless. That night had been preying on his mind, more and more often, as he and Bryan seemed to put up fences again. There’d been no boundaries between them that night.

  Finding the print he was looking for, he brought the magnifier closer. She was sitting on the bed, her dress falling off her shoulders, raindrops clinging to her hair. Soft, passionate, hesitant. All those things were there in the way she held herself, in the way she looked at the camera. But her eyes …

  Frustrated, he narrowed his own. What was in her eyes? He wanted to enlarge the proof now, to blow it up so that he could see and study and understand.

  She was holding back now. Every day he could feel it, sense it. Just a little bit more distance every day. But what had been in her eyes on that rainy night? He had to know. Until he did, he couldn’t take a step, either toward her or away.

  When the knock came on the door, he cursed it. He wanted another hour. With another hour, he could have the print, and perhaps his answer. He found it a simple matter to ignore the knock.

  “Shade, come on. Time for the next shift.”

  “Come back in an hour.”

  “An hour!” On the other side of the door, Bryan pounded again. “Look, I’m melting out there. Besides, I’ve already given you twenty minutes more than your share.”

  The moment he yanked open the door, Bryan felt the waves of impatience. Because she wasn’t in the mood to wrestle with it, she merely lifted a brow and skirted around him. If he wanted to be in a foul mood, fine. As long as he took it outside with him. Casually she set down her camera and a paper cup filled with soft drink and ice.

  “So how’d it go?”

  “I’m not finished.”

  With a shrug, she began to set out the capsules of undeveloped film she’d stored in her bag. “You’ve tomorrow for that.”

  He didn’t want to wait until tomorrow, not, he discovered, for another minute. “If you’d give me the rest of the time I want, I wouldn’t need tomorrow.”

  Bryan began to run water in a shallow plastic tub. “Sorry, Shade. I’ve run out of steam outside. If I don’t get started in here, the best I’ll do is go back to the hotel and sleep the rest of the afternoon. Then I’ll be behind. What’s so important?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Nothing. I just want to finish.”

  “And I’ve got to start,” she murmured absently as she checked the temperature of the water.

  He watched her a moment, the competent way she set up, arranging bottles of chemicals to her preference. Little tendrils of her hair curled damply around her face from the humidity. Even as she set up to work, she slipped out of her shoes. He felt a wave of love, of need, of confusion, and reached out to touch her shoulder. “Bryan—”

  “Hmm?”

  He started to move closer, then stopped himself. “What time will you be finished?”

  There were touches of amusement and annoyance in her voice. “Shade, will you stop trying to push me out?”

  “I want to come back for you.”

  She stopped long enough to look over her shoulder. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want you walking around outside after it’s dark.”

  “For heaven’s sake.” Exasperated, she turned completely around. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been to New York alone? Do I look stupid?”

  “No.”

  Something in the way he said it had her narrowing her eyes. “Look—”

  “I want to come back for you,” he repeated, and this time touched her cheek. “Humor me.”

  She let out a long breath, tried to be annoyed and ended by lifting her hand to his. “Eight, eight-thirty.”

  “Okay. We can grab something to eat on the way back.”

  “There’s something we can agree on.” She smiled and lowered her hand before she could give in to the urge to move closer. “Now go take some pictures, will you? I’ve got to get to work.”

  He lifted his camera bag and started out. “Any longer than eight-thirty and you buy dinner.”

  Bryan locked the door behind him with a decisive click.

  She didn’t lose track of time while she worked. Time was too essential. In the dark she worked briskly. In the amber light, her movements flowed with the same rhythm. As one set of negatives was developed and hung to dry, she went on to the next, then the next. When at length she could switch on the overhead light, Bryan arched her back, stretched her shoulders and relaxed.

  An idle glance around showed her that she’d forgotten the carryout drink she’d picked up on the way. Unconcerned, she took a long gulp of lukewarm, watered-down soda.

  The work satisfied her—the precision it required. Now her thoughts were skipping ahead to the prints. Only then would the creativity be fully satisfied. She had time, she noticed as she took a quick glance at her watch, to fuss with the negatives a bit before he came back. But then she’d end up putting herself in the same position she’d put him in—leaving something half done. Instead, mildly curious, she walked over to study his proofs.

  Impressive, she decided, but then she’d expected no less. She might just be inclined to beg for a blowup of the old man in the baseball cap. Not Shade’s usual style, she mused as she bent over the strip. It was so rare that he focused in on one person and let the emotions flow. The man who’d taken it had once told her he had no compassion. Bryan shook her head as she skimmed over other proofs. Did Shade believe that, or did he simply want the rest of the world to?

  Then she saw herself and stopped with a kind of dazed wonder. Of course she remembered Shade setting up that picture, amusing, then arousing her while he changed angles and f-stops. The way he’d touched her … It wasn’t something she’d forget, so it shouldn’t surprise her to see the proof. Yet it did more than surprise her.

  Not quite steady, Bryan picked up a magnifying glass and held it over one tiny square. She looked … pliant. She heard her own nervous swallow as she looked deeper. She looked … soft. It could be her imagination or, more likely, the skill of the photographer. She looked … in love.

  Slowly, Bryan set down the glass and straightened. The skill of the photographer, she repeated, fighting to believe it. A trick of the angle, of the light and shadows. What a photographer captured on film wasn’t always the truth. It was often illusion, often that vague blur between truth and illusion.

  A woman knew when she loved. That’s what Bryan told herself. A woman knew when she’d given her heart. It wasn’t something that could happen and not be felt.

  She closed her eyes a moment and listened to the quiet. Was there anything she hadn’t felt when it came to Shade? How much longer was she going to pretend that passion, needs, longings, stood on their own? Love had bound them together. Love had cemented them into something solid and strong and undeniable.

  She turned to where her negatives hung. There was one she’d managed to ignore. There was one tiny slice of film she’d taken on impulse and then buried because she’d come to be afraid of the answer she’d find. Now, when she had the answer already, Bryan stared at it.

  It was reversed, so that his hair was light, his face dark. The little sliver of river in the corner was white, like the oars in his hands. But she saw him clearly.

  His eyes were too intense, though his body seemed relaxed. Would he ever allow his mind true rest? His face was hard, lean, with the only tangible sensitivity around his mouth. He was a man, Bryan knew, who’d have little patience with mistakes—his own or others’. He was a man with a rigid sense of what was important. And he was a man who was capable of harnessing his own emotions and denying them to another. What he gave, when he gave, would be on his terms.

  She knew, and understood, and loved regardless.

  She’d loved before, and love had made more sense then. At least it had seemed to. Still, in the end, love hadn’t been enough
. What did she know about making love work? Could she possibly believe that when she’d failed once, she could succeed with a man like Shade?

  She loved now, and told herself she was wise enough, strong enough, to let him go.

  Rule number one, Bryan reminded herself as she put the darkroom in order. No complications. It was a litany she had running through her head until Shade knocked on the door. When she opened it for him, she nearly believed it.

  * * *

  They’d reached the last stop, the last day. Summer was not, as some would wish it, endless. Perhaps the weather would stay balmy for weeks longer. Flowers might still bloom defiantly, but just as Bryan had considered the last day of school summer’s conception, so did she consider the Labor Day weekend its demise.

  Clambakes, beach parties, bonfires. Hot beaches and cool water. That was Cape Cod. There were volleyball games in the sand and blasting portable radios. Teenagers perfected the tans they’d show off during those first few weeks of school. Families took to the water in a last, frantic rush before autumn signaled the end. Backyard barbecues smoked. Baseball hung on gamely before football could push its way through. As if it knew its time was limited, summer poured on the heat.

  Bryan didn’t mind. She wanted this last weekend to be everything summer could be—hot, hazy, torrid. She wanted her last weekend with Shade to reflect it. Love could be disguised with passion. She could let herself flow with it. Long, steamy days led to long, steamy nights, and Bryan held on to them.

  If her lovemaking was a little frantic, if her desires were a little desperate, she could blame it on the heat. While Bryan became more aggressive, Shade became more gentle.

  He’d noticed the change. Though he’d said nothing, Shade had noticed it the night he’d come back to meet her at the darkroom. Perhaps because she rarely had nerves, Bryan thought she hid them well. Shade could almost see them jump every time he looked at her.

  Bryan had made a decision in the darkroom—a decision she felt would be best for both herself and for Shade. Shade had made a decision in the darkroom as well, the day after, when he’d watched the print of Bryan slowly come to life.

  On the ride east, they’d become lovers. Now he had to find a way on the ride west to court her, as a man does the woman he wants to spend his life with.

  Gentleness came first, though he wasn’t an expert at it. Pressure, if it came to that, could be applied later. He was more experienced there.

  “What a day.” After long hours walking, watching and shooting, Bryan dropped down on the back of the van where the doors were open wide to let in the breeze. “I can’t believe how many half-naked people I’ve seen.” Grinning at Shade, she arched her back. She wore nothing but her sleek red bathing suit and a loose white cover-up that drooped over one shoulder.

  “You seem to fit right in.”

  Lazily, she lifted one leg and examined it. “Well, it’s nice to know that this assignment hasn’t ruined my tan.” Yawning, she stretched. “We’ve got a couple more hours of sun. Why don’t you put on something indecent and walk down to the beach with me?” She rose, lifting her arms so they could wind easily around his neck. “We could cool off in the water.” She touched her lips to his, teasing, taunting. “Then we could come back and heat up again.”

  “I like the second part.” He turned the kiss into something staggering with an increase of pressure and change of angle. Beneath his hands, he felt her sigh. “Why don’t you go ahead down, do the cooling-off? I’ve got some things to do.”

  With her head resting against his shoulder, Bryan struggled not to ask again. She wanted him to go with her, be with her every second they had left. Tomorrow she’d have to tell him that she’d made arrangements to fly back to the Coast. This was their last night, but only she knew it.

  “All right.” She managed to smile as she drew away. “I can’t resist the beach when we’re camped so close. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  “Have fun.” He gave her a quick, absent kiss and didn’t watch as she walked away. If he had, he might’ve seen her hesitate and start back once, only to turn around again and walk on.

  * * *

  The air had cooled by the time Bryan started back to the van. It chilled her skin, a sure sign that summer was on its last legs. Bonfires were set and ready to light down on the beach. In the distance, Bryan heard a few hesitant, amateur guitar chords. It wouldn’t be a quiet night, she decided as she passed two other campsites on the way to the van.

  She paused a moment to look toward the water, tossing her hair back. It was loose from its braid and slightly damp from her dip in the Atlantic. Idly she considered grabbing her shampoo out of the van and taking a quick trip to the showers. She could do that before she threw together a cold sandwich. In an hour or two, when the bonfires were going steadily, and the music was at its peak, she and Shade would go back down and work.

  For the last time, she thought as she reached for the door of the van.

  At first, she stood blinking, confused by the low, flickering light. Candles, she saw, baffled. Candles and white linen. There on the little collapsible table they sometimes set between the bunks were a fresh, snowy cloth and two red tapers in glass holders. There were red linen napkins folded at angles. A rosebud stood in a narrow, clear glass vase. On the little radio in the back was low, soft music.

  At the narrow makeshift counter was Shade, legs spread as he added a sprinkling of alfalfa to a salad.

  “Have a nice swim?” he said casually, as if she’d climbed into the van every evening to just such a scene.

  “Yeah, I … Shade, where did you get all this?”

  “Took a quick trip into town. Hope you like your shrimp spicy. I made it to my taste.”

  She could smell it. Over the scent of candle wax, under the fragrance of the single rose, was the rich, ripe aroma of spiced shrimp. With a laugh, Bryan moved to the table and ran a finger down one of the tapers. “How did you manage all this?”

  “I’ve been called adept occasionally.” She looked up from the candle to him. Her face was lovely, clean-lined. In the soft light, her eyes were dark, mysterious. But above all he saw her lips curve hesitantly as she reached out for him.

  “You did this for me.”

  He touched her, lightly, just a hand to her hair. Both of them felt something shimmer. “I intend to eat, too.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” She felt her eyes fill and didn’t bother to blink the tears back. “I really don’t.”

  He lifted her hand and, with a simplicity he’d never shown, kissed her fingers, one by one. “Try thanks.”

  She swallowed and whispered. “Thanks.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Always. But…” In a gesture that always moved him, she lifted her hands to his face. “Some things are more important.”

  Bryan brought her lips to his. It was a taste he could drown in—a taste he could now admit he wanted to drown in. Moving slowly, gently, he brought her into his arms.

  Their bodies fit. Bryan knew it was so, and ached from the knowledge. Even their breathing seemed to merge until she was certain their hearts beat at precisely the same rhythm. He ran his hands under her shirt, along her back, where the skin was still damp from the sea.

  Touch me. She drew him closer, as if her body could shout the words to him.

  Savor me. Her mouth was suddenly avid, hot and open, as if with lips alone she could draw what she needed from him.

  Love me. Her hands moved over him as if she could touch the emotion she wanted. Touch it, hold it, keep it—if only for one night.

  He could smell the sea on her, and the summer and the evening. He could feel the passion as her body pressed against his. Needs, demands, desires—they could be tasted as his mouth drew from hers. But tonight he found he needed to hear the words. Too soon, his mind warned as he began to lose himself. It was too soon to ask, too soon to tell. She’d need time, he thought, time and more finesse than he was accustomed to employing.

&nbs
p; But even when he drew her away, he wasn’t able to let go. Looking down at her, he saw his own beginning. Whatever he’d seen and done in the past, whatever memories he had, were unimportant. There was only one vital thing in his life, and he held it in his arms.

  “I want to make love with you.”

  Her breath was already unsteady, her body trembling. “Yes.”

  His hands tightened on her as he tried to be logical. “Room’s at a premium.”

  This time she smiled and drew him closer. “We have the floor.” She pulled him down with her.

  Later, when her mind was clearer and her blood cooler, Bryan would remember only the tumult of feeling, only the flood of sensation. She wouldn’t be able to separate the dizzying feel of his mouth on her skin from the heady taste of his under hers.

  She’d know that his passion had never been more intense, more relentless, but she wouldn’t be able to say how she’d known. Had it been the frantic way he’d said her name? Had it been the desperate way he’d pulled the snug suit down her body, exploiting, ravishing, as he went?

  She understood that her own feelings had reached an apex she could never express with words. Words were inadequate. She could only show him. Love, regrets, desires, wishes, had all culminated to whirl inside her until she’d clung to him. And when they’d given each other all they could, she clung still, holding the moment to her as she might a photograph faded after years of looking.

  As she lay against him, her head on his chest, she smiled. They had given each other all they could. What more could anyone ask? With her eyes still closed, she pressed her lips against his chest. Nothing would spoil the night. Tonight they’d have candlelight and laughter. She’d never forget it.

  “I hope you bought plenty of shrimp,” she murmured. “I’m starving.”

  “I bought enough to feed an average person and a greedy one.”