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Authors: Nicholas Sparks
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“All right. Now it’s my turn to change. Savannah will be out in a minute.”
He left the kitchen. Alone, I looked around. The house was decorated in that traditional beachy way: lots of bright-colored wicker furniture, lamps made with seashells, small statues of lighthouses above the mantel, pastel paintings of the coast.
Lucy’s parents had owned a place like this. Not here, but on Bald Head Island. They never rented it out, preferring to spend their summers there. Of course, the old man still had to work in Winston-Salem, and he and the wife would head back for a couple of days a week, leaving poor Lucy all alone. Except for me, of course. Had they known what was happening on those days, they probably wouldn’t have left us alone.
“Hey there,” Savannah said. She’d donned her bikini again, though she was wearing shorts over the bottoms. “I see you’re back to normal.”
“How can you tell?”
“Your eyes aren’t bulging because your collar’s too tight.”
I smiled. “Tim made some sandwiches.”
“Great. I’m starved,” she said, moving around the kitchen. “Did you grab one?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“Well, dig in. I hate to eat alone.”
We stood in the kitchen as we ate. The girls lying on the deck hadn’t realized we were there, and I could hear one of them talking about what she did with one of the guys last night, and none of it sounded as though she were in town on a goodwill mission for the poor. Savannah wrinkled her nose as if to say,
Way too much information,
then turned to the fridge. “I need a drink. Do you want something?”
“Water’s fine.”
She bent over to grab a couple of bottles. I tried not to stare but did so anyway and, frankly, enjoyed it. I wondered whether she knew I was staring and assumed she did, for when she stood up and turned around, she had that amused look again. She set the bottles on the counter. “After this, you want to go surfing again?”
How could I resist?
We spent the afternoon in the water. As much as I enjoyed the up-close-Savannah-lying-on-the-board view I was treated to, I enjoyed the sight of her surfing even more. To make things even better, she asked to watch me while she warmed up on the beach, and I was treated to my own private viewing while enjoying the waves.
By midafternoon we were lying on towels near, but not too near, the rest of the group behind the house. A few curious glances drifted in our direction, but for the most part, no one seemed to care that I was there, except for Randy and Susan. Susan frowned pointedly at Savannah; Randy, meanwhile, was content to hang out with Brad and Susan as the third wheel, licking his wounds. Tim was nowhere to be seen.
Savannah was lying on her stomach, a tempting sight. I was on my back beside her, trying to doze in the lazy heat but too distracted by her presence to fully relax.
“Hey,” she murmured. “Tell me about your tattoos.”
I rolled my head in the sand. “What about them?”
“I don’t know. Why you got them, what they mean.”
I propped myself on one elbow. I pointed to my left arm, which had an eagle and banner. “Okay, this is the infantry insignia, and this”—I pointed to the words and letters—“is how we’re identified: company, battalion, regiment. Everyone in my squad has one. We got it just after basic training at Fort Benning in Georgia when we were celebrating.”
“Why does it say ‘Jump-start’ underneath it?”
“That’s my nickname. I got it during basic training, courtesy of our beloved drill sergeant. I wasn’t putting my gun together fast enough, and he basically said that he was going to jump-start a certain body part if I didn’t get my act in gear. The nickname stuck.”
“He sounds pleasant,” she joked.
“Oh yeah. We called him Lucifer behind his back.”
She smiled. “What’s the barbed wire above it for?”
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “I had that one done before I joined.”
“And the other
He left the kitchen. Alone, I looked around. The house was decorated in that traditional beachy way: lots of bright-colored wicker furniture, lamps made with seashells, small statues of lighthouses above the mantel, pastel paintings of the coast.
Lucy’s parents had owned a place like this. Not here, but on Bald Head Island. They never rented it out, preferring to spend their summers there. Of course, the old man still had to work in Winston-Salem, and he and the wife would head back for a couple of days a week, leaving poor Lucy all alone. Except for me, of course. Had they known what was happening on those days, they probably wouldn’t have left us alone.
“Hey there,” Savannah said. She’d donned her bikini again, though she was wearing shorts over the bottoms. “I see you’re back to normal.”
“How can you tell?”
“Your eyes aren’t bulging because your collar’s too tight.”
I smiled. “Tim made some sandwiches.”
“Great. I’m starved,” she said, moving around the kitchen. “Did you grab one?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“Well, dig in. I hate to eat alone.”
We stood in the kitchen as we ate. The girls lying on the deck hadn’t realized we were there, and I could hear one of them talking about what she did with one of the guys last night, and none of it sounded as though she were in town on a goodwill mission for the poor. Savannah wrinkled her nose as if to say,
Way too much information,
then turned to the fridge. “I need a drink. Do you want something?”
“Water’s fine.”
She bent over to grab a couple of bottles. I tried not to stare but did so anyway and, frankly, enjoyed it. I wondered whether she knew I was staring and assumed she did, for when she stood up and turned around, she had that amused look again. She set the bottles on the counter. “After this, you want to go surfing again?”
How could I resist?
We spent the afternoon in the water. As much as I enjoyed the up-close-Savannah-lying-on-the-board view I was treated to, I enjoyed the sight of her surfing even more. To make things even better, she asked to watch me while she warmed up on the beach, and I was treated to my own private viewing while enjoying the waves.
By midafternoon we were lying on towels near, but not too near, the rest of the group behind the house. A few curious glances drifted in our direction, but for the most part, no one seemed to care that I was there, except for Randy and Susan. Susan frowned pointedly at Savannah; Randy, meanwhile, was content to hang out with Brad and Susan as the third wheel, licking his wounds. Tim was nowhere to be seen.
Savannah was lying on her stomach, a tempting sight. I was on my back beside her, trying to doze in the lazy heat but too distracted by her presence to fully relax.
“Hey,” she murmured. “Tell me about your tattoos.”
I rolled my head in the sand. “What about them?”
“I don’t know. Why you got them, what they mean.”
I propped myself on one elbow. I pointed to my left arm, which had an eagle and banner. “Okay, this is the infantry insignia, and this”—I pointed to the words and letters—“is how we’re identified: company, battalion, regiment. Everyone in my squad has one. We got it just after basic training at Fort Benning in Georgia when we were celebrating.”
“Why does it say ‘Jump-start’ underneath it?”
“That’s my nickname. I got it during basic training, courtesy of our beloved drill sergeant. I wasn’t putting my gun together fast enough, and he basically said that he was going to jump-start a certain body part if I didn’t get my act in gear. The nickname stuck.”
“He sounds pleasant,” she joked.
“Oh yeah. We called him Lucifer behind his back.”
She smiled. “What’s the barbed wire above it for?”
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “I had that one done before I joined.”
“And the other
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