
Home Again

_A Novella_

_Also available in the anthology, BLISS. Home is where the heart is... On the Albemarle Sound._

Kathleen Shoop

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013, Kathleen Shoop

Cover Design 2013 Natasha Brown

Home Again Copyright © 2013, Kathleen Shoop

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

ISBN-13:978-1491087794

ISBN-10:149108779X

Home Again is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Table of Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

Acknowledgements

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY KATHLEEN SHOOP
**_Dedication_**

_To Bill—_

_You make life blissful._
**_  
_**

# ONE

Autumn, 1969

APRIL HARRINGTON FINALLY arrived. Nine hours, straight through. After everything that had happened, she was simply drawn there. She swallowed hard—her raw throat ached as she stared in the direction of her brother Andrew's memorial site. She missed him so much that she hadn't been able to return since the service. Nothing had been the same since he died in Vietnam.

She stood where the cypress trees bowed to one another, forming a lace canopy of foliage that led the way to the dock. Her mind worked like a camera, snapping shots into neat frames that she filed away in mental drawers. Without trying, she compared all that she saw in present time with all that she recalled about Albemarle Sound. The call of the osprey that nested above the water drew April's attention upward. What had she done to her life?

She looked down at her French silk wedding dress. She whisked her hands over the fabric, not believing she'd driven straight from New York in full bridal attire. She pulled her veil from her hair, peering at the fine creation that an elderly woman, with her bent, bulbous fingers, had lovingly fashioned for April's special day.

The great blue herons screeched, their throaty voices as familiar as her breath. The toads, woodpeckers, hawks, and wolves—they set the rhythms of Bliss—the home where her family had spent every summer of her life before she left for college. She was sure she'd made the right decision to abandon Mason at the altar, but sharp guilt that she'd also left her parents at the wedding stabbed at her. She knew her parents would understand her not marrying Mason in the end, but they would not approve of her fleeing the scene.

She had worked so hard at Columbia University. A journalism graduate, she'd found her camera was her favorite way to observe the world, to tell a story. All that work—the elation she'd experienced when she crafted the perfect photo essay or framed the perfect shot, revealing someone's soul in a single image—had been so fulfilling.

Yet she'd driven away from all of that and more. And standing there, April knew the deep regret of failure was dwarfed by what she'd seen in the photos from Woodstock, what she'd learned about life since Andrew died.

The hollow tone of wood thudding against wood made April head down the dock. The rowboat that had been carved 60 years before, shaped from one of the biggest cypress trees on the property, bobbed at the end of the dock. What would it be doing out of storage this late in the year?

She looked around as though there'd be someone there to answer her thoughts. A stiff wind dropped in and forced the waves to stand in sharp rows like soldiers marching toward the dock, bullying the boat. The gusts pressed April's dress to her thighs, making it hard to walk. She raised her hand, the veil flapping in the wind. She opened her hand and the veil swirled around her fingertips, and then soared away.

At the end of the dock, she tried to squat, but the dress was too tight. _Dammit_. The dock creaked beneath her. She reached behind her and worked the buttons. It had been the one concession she'd made to her future mother-in-law; she'd had exquisite antique buttons sewn onto her otherwise decoration-free dress. She'd never imagined she'd be trying to wiggle out of the sheath on her own.

The woodpeckers and crickets performed as April reached up, then down her back to get at the last of the buttons. A wave tossed the rowboat upward, smacking it against the dock again. She took a deep breath and pulled at the dress, scattering buttons around her feet. A fresh wind broke over the mooring and blew the buttons in every direction, dropping them into the water below.

Another crash of the rowboat, and April refocused. She shimmied out of the dress then bent over and yanked the rope that tethered the boat.

The wind dropped away, bringing an eerie stillness that draped the water like a blanket. The boards creaked again. She froze. Her right foot pushed through the wharf. The dock _couldn't_ be breaking. Her father would never let that happen.

She pulled her foot out of the cavity and resumed pulling the rope. The creaking wood escalated into a whine, then a groan, and before she could react, the end of the dock collapsed, dropping April into the water.

It stung her skin. Its coldness made her feel as though her lungs were solid, unable to allow air in or out. She kicked hard; pulling toward the top, telling herself to be calm, a little chilly water wouldn't hurt.

As her head broke the surface, the stiff waves pushed her up, throwing her nearly out of the water. She could see the boat was still roped to the piling—it was safer than she.

The sprays fell away as fast as they rose, and she plunged under water, brushing by a submerged tree stump. The punch of the severed cypress on her ribs almost forced her to inhale under water. She willed herself to ignore the pain and swim for the top again. She broke the surface and gasped as she stroked, head out of the water, toward the remaining part of the dock. A figure on the dock startled her. For a second she thought she was hallucinating—a man was there, kicking off his shoes and pulling his shirt over his head.

She waved and yelled before going under again. She struggled to stay above the rough water and fell back under as she felt hands around her. The man grabbed her waist and set her on his hip while he used his free arm to sidestroke toward the narrow beach.

He kicked hard, bumping her body up and down. Eyes squeezed shut, she panted and coughed up water. Once on shore, he threw her over his shoulder and headed to the veranda of the great summer home, where he settled her on the wooden floor. Lying there, her breath began to calm and the dizziness released her. She squinted at the man who was now lifting one of her arms, then the other, then one leg at a time, asking if this hurt or that.

It was him. She couldn't believe it.

"Hale," she said. Hale Abercrombie.

He raised his gaze from her leg.

They locked eyes. Those indigo eyes.

"Hi there."

How long had it been since she'd seen those eyes looking back at her?

He flinched and rubbed his shoulder.

Her teeth chattered. "I'm sorry."

"It's nothing," he said.

April slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. The movements made her inhale sharp and loud. She felt awful to have put him through such trouble. He had scrapes across his broad chest where she must have scratched him. She touched one of his wounds.

He pulled back. "Just a branch. Got a little too close to the tree cemetery." Hale took her hand and turned it back and forth. His muscular arms tensed and relaxed as he moved. "Does this hurt?"

She drew her hand back and rubbed her arms to stave off the chills. "No, I'm fine."

"You sure?" he said.

She nodded and pulled her knees up to her chest. This move caused her to groan. She covered the spot where it hurt with her hands.

He put his hand over hers. "Lie back," he said.

She hesitated as she considered the fact she was dressed in only wet underpants and bra. Then flashes of their childhood came to mind—they'd spent countless summers running the grounds in nothing but bathing suits. He was Hale, her brother's best friend, not some stranger.

He shifted his six feet two inches to get a closer look. His wavy, golden hair was cut close to his scalp, as any officer's hair would be. He pressed her ribcage where the red skin was already blackening. She winced.

"Just a bruise," she said.

"That's not."

She lifted her head to see what he was pointing at now. "Appendectomy."

His eyes widened.

"A few months old."

He ran his finger down the center of the crosshatched stitching. She pushed it away.

His gaze slid up to meet hers. His expression bore concern. He'd always been serious, but this concern was a darker, more troubled kind of somber. That made sense when she considered what he'd been through with her brother.

"I..." he said.

April felt connected to Hale—she always had. But this was an entirely new sensation—so strong and confusing to her that she had to order herself to stop feeling it. "It's fine, Hale. Just a bruise."

She struggled to sit up again. He took her hands and pulled.

"I didn't mean to touch you. Your scar." He ran his hand through his hair but wouldn't look at her.

"You've touched me a million times, right?"

He nodded. "A long time ago."

Indeed, today's touches had evoked far different feelings than the ones that had marked their childhood.

"You're okay? Really?" he said.

"Fine. Fuddy-Duddy," they both said at the same time.

He met her smile with his, making her stomach quiver.

"If you're okay, I'll get your suitcase," he said. "I'm on leave for a month, and I came to fix the kitchen sink. I figured since I was here, I should...well, I ought to check over the place. I took the rowboat out earlier. When the winds kicked up I came back to bring in the boat." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Your parents—they didn't say you were coming."

She looked away. She couldn't start explaining all that had happened.

"Well, your suitcase." He started down the steps toward her car.

She scrambled to her feet, grimacing, following him.

She looked down at her barely clad body and stopped. "No luggage." Heat rose in her cheeks. "Just the dress, my purse, my camera."

"That white thing on the dock is your dress?"

April nodded. She should at least try to recover some of the precious buttons, if possible. He took her hand. His fingers squeezed hers, sending a chill up her spine. She looked away from him, embarrassed at the excitement that swept through her.

"It's gone," he said.

April raised her eyebrows. She felt dizzy.

"The wind took it. Right over the sound." He whistled and pushed his hand through the air. "Took flight like, well, remember that big old heron we used to call Matilda?"

April smiled. Their familiarity, the tales, the troubles—all of it made her feel as though they'd crossed paths just the day before.

A fresh wind whipped the trees. April and Hale looked to the sky.

Hale's face grew troubled. "Storm's coming," He squeezed her hand once more, then dropped it. She clutched her hand to her body, feeling the spot where the engagement ring no longer encircled her finger.

"I'll grab my stuff and get the rowboat." Hale pushed his thumb in the direction of the water.

She looked at his wet jeans, the way they molded to his thick legs. Him saving her was really no big deal. Hale had lived his entire life saving others quietly, so circumspect and aware of what people needed. So old-fashioned, she'd always thought when she was younger. Not much fun, she'd always teased him. Now she just felt grateful—fortunate that Hale had been there to comfort Andrew as he had died, and glad he happened along for her sake a few minutes before.

She couldn't help comparing Hale to Mason. Mason and his family were philanthropists, but when they sprung into life-saving action, it was with a checkbook, not their bare hands. Who would have jumped in after her if Mason or his parents saw her struggling in the water? They wouldn't let her drown. They'd send the butler, Henri, but of course. Hale's family, year-rounders at the sound, had nothing in the way of money, but they were strong, steady, and loyal.

"Go in. Get warm," Hale said.

She nodded. No clothes, no family, no husband, no job. She needed more than to simply get warm.

"I'll come back tomorrow to fix the dock and the tile in the blue bathroom," Hale said.

"Thank you," she said. "For Andrew. For everything." She'd thanked him before for having tried so hard to save Andrew, but for some reason, she felt the need to say it again.

He nodded, and then headed toward the sound, humble as ever. April made it as far as the front door and stopped. She couldn't believe what she saw. Like an old man's mouth, the pointing between the bricks that faced the grand mansion was gapped and jagged, leaving the house vulnerable to wind and water. She slid her finger into a hole between the red brick and released a shard of aged plaster. She turned it back and forth as though it could explain how or why her father would have neglected to maintain the house.

The wood trim around the door was pitted, the paint lifting off, curling in sections. She examined the sturdy oak door. It seemed to be the only part of the house that wasn't falling in or marred with age. She swept her finger along the carvings that depicted the nine rivers that fed the Albemarle, still amazed at the gorgeous work a family ancestor had done.

April sighed. She had to be honest about what she was seeing—utter neglect. Regret coursed through her. In living the silver-spoon life in New York, she'd ignored her parents, their pain, what that meant for this house. She hadn't meant to be blind to what her family needed from her. She should have made sure the house was being kept up—it had been in their family for two centuries, after all.

She shook her head. She knew the cost of the wedding had been high, that her father had had some rough times with some real estate deals over the years, but she never imagined those things meant her parents might let the house suffer. Perhaps they'd just been focused on the inside of the home and had let the outside go until...until _what_? She didn't know. The guilt she felt right then twisted at her soul. What had she done?

She turned the knob, but it wouldn't budge. She checked behind the planter for the spare key. Nothing. She swallowed a sob, and then turned her back on the door. Hale must have the key.

She turned and saw him coming with the boat over his head.

She ran toward him as quickly as she could with the sore ribs. Thunder cracked, making her move faster.

He stopped and nearly buckled under the weight of his haul.

"I can get the bow," she said.

"I have it," he said through clenched teeth.

She reached to lift one end, but all she could manage was to blanch at the pain that emanated from her ribs and follow behind like a little kid.

When they reached the veranda, Hale stopped. "We'll stow it in the crawl space for the night. I have to get going."

He appeared irritated. He flipped the boat and set it gently down on its bottom. Together, they gripped it, shoulder to shoulder, pushed it under the veranda and reset the lattice that served as a door for the space.

"Oh. The key," April said.

Hale appeared confused. She ignored his unasked question. She wasn't ready to explain her flight from the altar to anyone, least of all old-fashioned, always-do-the-right-thing Hale.

He reached into his pocket, and then pressed the key into April's palm.

The thunder rumbled. She hoped she wouldn't lose electricity.

Hale looked to the sky again, then began to move quickly, fussing with the lattice again. "Shouldn't be too stuffy inside the house. I had the windows open earlier."

She started toward the front steps.

"I'll let your dad know he doesn't need me here anymore."

"No!" April turned back to make sure he got the message.

He snapped his attention to her, eyes wide, before his expression turned to relief.

"Don't do that." She straightened and crossed her arms over her chest.

She needed time to sit with her decision, to be strong and decisive when she spoke to her parents next. She needed to reassure them she could handle her life alone.

Hale raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, sure." He cleared his throat. "Careful there. The fourth stair is disintegrating. I'll fix that, too." He started up the stairs to show her the rotting board.

Thunder rumbled and he looked into the sky again so April couldn't hear everything he said until, "Don't suppose an accomplished Ivy League lady like you has much time for carpentry."

April forced a laugh. Hale drew away. Her hands shook. Ivy League lady. Images of Woodstock, of the wedding, of the blurred faces she saw as she ran down the aisle and out the door snapped through her mind as though she were photographing the scene.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Hale reached out but didn't touch her.

April shook her head.

"You're crying."

She touched her cheek and studied the tiny puddle of tears that she collected on her fingertips.

She felt Hale's gaze slip down her body, reminding her she was nearly nude.

April covered her chest with one arm. She needed to get into the house so she could fall apart in private. The thunder interrupted their silence, and he abruptly started down the steps.

When he reached the bottom stair, he turned back and poked at something. April moved closer to see what he was doing. Inside a tiny circle of pebbles was a furry, black caterpillar. Hale plucked some grass and sprinkled it into the miniature fortress.

April squinted at him.

He shrugged. "Little guy just needs some shelter. 'Til the storm passes."

She looked into the mottled sky. "I guess so," she said, not wanting to embarrass him.

He shrugged. "I'm really glad to see you."

April nodded. She was comforted, relieved that someone on that day would be happy to see her. The air sizzled with the coming storm. "Come in, stay for tea." But as she spoke those words, a clap of thunder broke, and he didn't hear.

He hopped into his Chevy and drove away, his truck winding around the house and disappearing. April pushed the key into the lock and turned it. She opened the door and faced the great marble staircase that rose up from the worn, but still stunning, cypress floors. _You'll be fine alone_ , she repeated to herself.

The echo of silence between the thunderclaps embraced her. She wondered if it was going to be too quiet at Bliss, if she should have just slipped into a women's hotel in Manhattan and gotten lost in the crowd. No. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She would go on with her life, and she would do so in memory of Andrew and how right he'd been about everything.

She started toward the kitchen and passed the mirror in the hall, glancing at herself. Some of her golden hair was matted against her face and the rest was plopped on top of her head like a loaf of bread, still held in place with pins and elastics. Strands sprung out all around her scalp from where she'd pulled the veil off. Mascara ringed her eyes like the great owls that serenaded her summer sleeps.

No wonder Hale had run away as soon as he knew April was fine. She considered his Ivy League crack. She knew she'd hear that, coming back to Harrington. But she hadn't expected it from Hale. She hadn't expected him to be on leave at all.

April took her attention from her reflection to the empty space beside the mirror. She pinched one of the naked picture hooks between her fingers, twisted, then pulled it out. She turned slowly, surveying the fifteen-foot tall walls.

Her mouth fell open. Every single one of them was gone. Each of her mother's treasured Albemarle Sound paintings had been removed. Only the silver picture hooks remained, scattered, winking at her in the soft foyer light. Where were they? Maybe Hale knew. She touched her belly where his fingers had traced her scar.

She gasped at the thought of his hands on her, the way he cared for her. She realized the sensation sparked by his touch—this quiet luring—was not new, but now, as a woman, she recognized the sentience for what it was.

There was and had always been a special bond between them even if she'd forgotten it was there for years. She wrapped her arms around her middle. Of course they were connected. They'd shared summers, her brother's life and, most importantly, his death.
**  
**

# TWO

HALE DROVE THE Chevy back toward the road but had to stop. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, then strangled the steering wheel to make his hands stop shaking. His heart pounded so hard, he was sure he could track the rushing blood through his body from start to finish. He pushed his head back against the seat and clenched his jaw until the panic stopped.

The thunder. He hadn't expected it to still bother him so much, not after two years. It had been a while since it had had this affect on him. He willed the terror to subside. It must have been finding April in the water, needing help. Yes, she was fine, but it had scared him. All it took was an unexpected hand on the shoulder, a door slamming, a clap of thunder... Any small, startling thing could trigger fright so vivid that sometimes, he threw up.

_Dear God, please make it stop, make it stop_. He pressed his feet into the floor of the truck, told himself he was grounded, he was safe. He re-gripped the wheel and said aloud, "You're in the truck. You're home."

Gradually, his heart decelerated, his breath calmed, and the heat that scorched him from the inside out retreated. He could do this. He was okay.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he opened his eyes. He looked at the back of April's house. There were lights on upstairs. Had April seen him sitting there? He imagined her calling her dad to tell him she had arrived. He gripped his knee. The lie had been out of his mouth before he'd even consciously formed the thought. He had not been invited to take care of April's family home.

No. He was on a month's leave. A chance to get his head straight, his commander had ordered. So he'd come to the only place he might be able to do that...Bliss. The place he'd always found peace and plenty. Hale's father had died when he was a baby, leaving his mother to cobble a living by watching over all the homes on the sound when the summer season was over. April's family had become his in too many ways for him to parse. But he never thought he'd have to face April before he was ready to tell her the whole story.

It hadn't mattered that he was awarded a Silver Star and a Purple Heart. He'd buried the medals inside the sweeping skirt of the giant cypress tree outside Bliss, near Andrew's memorial. The idea that someone would award him for valor when his bravery hadn't resulted in saving Andrew, well, Hale knew an empty gesture when he saw it, and he would never forgive himself for being the one who was alive.

He couldn't sleep at night. Nearly every hour, he shot awake. The sharp screech of the missile hitting the plane rang through his head as though he was still in the rear of the F-4. He would wake standing in the middle of the room, or on the bed, feeling as though he'd just punched out of the plane. There amidst perfect safety he experienced the sensation of the entire seat rocketing out of the plane, his body shuddering as it had the very day it had happened. And as he came back to consciousness, he heard Andrew's easy tone calmly narrating how he'd maneuvered them away from the missiles. That was what had happened every time, but once. Just once.

The part that affected him most was what happened after punching out. The ground fire. He couldn't bear to envision it, but couldn't shake it from his very being. The divot in his leg was nothing compared to the grooves that had been forever worked into his brain, his skin, his soul. Those memories—the missile, the odor of the fire—were creased into his core, which held onto that day, grasped onto the experience, making Hale sure that if he managed to pass a day without Andrew entering into his mind, every cell in his body would still recall his loss.

In fact, the events of that day had left him with the only thing that let them know he was still alive—pain. A fly buzzed near Hale's ear. He swiped his hand through the air, capturing the insect. He opened his fingers and the fly flipped over on his palm and staggered back into the air, escaping to the back of the truck.

Hale put his hand over his chest. His pulse was even. He drew a deep breath. He would put his mind straight as he'd been ordered to do. He would. He put the truck in gear and started home. Glancing in his rearview mirror, a lightning strike made him jump as it lit the air and revealed the form of April at Andrew's bedroom window.

His nerves leapt as he considered the attraction toward her sweeping through his body. He pushed away his misplaced feelings. No, April was just his best friend's sister, and there was never any good to come from something like that. Not when she'd probably been left at the altar, and not when Hale was the reason her brother was dead.

In the kitchen, April threaded her fingers through the metal cabinet handle. She tugged and the hinges pulled right over the screws as though they were made of gelatin instead of metal. Her sadness deepened. What had been going on in this house? Had she spent too many spring breaks and summer vacations in Cayman Island resorts with the Franklins? Had Bliss always been run-down and she just never noticed?

She set the door aside and chugged down several glasses of water. She rubbed her chilled arms and went to find clothes. In her bedroom, she wiggled her toes on the worn Oriental rug. She jiggled the top dresser drawer then tilted it at just the right angle that would allow it to slide out. She dug between half-a-decade old undergarments. Girdles, for goodness sake. She'd sworn those off within the first five minutes of being in New York City.

She tried the next drawer. She held up some plain t-shirts. She was tall and angular and for the first time, seeing the small t-shirts as her only clothing option, she was grateful for her lean lines. Her closet was empty, and she needed pants.

She went to Andrew's room. The light bulb was burned out, so she used the hall light to illuminate her quest. She excavated his drawers and found jeans she could cut into shorts. She went to the closet. Thunder continued to crash and rumble, bringing bright flashes of lightning with it. She fished through the closet and found an old tie of Andrew's to use for a belt. She pulled a shirt from the shelf.

She held it to her nose. The aftershave smell she associated with her brother should have been long gone, but in the folds of the fabric, she swore there was a hint of him.

She buried her face in the shirt and sobbed. Her Andrew, her wise, fun-loving brother, had taught her so much about life. But it was his death that had educated her the most, that had helped make it so clear that choosing to marry Mason would mean a lifetime of awful.

She told herself not to cry that leaving him had been right, even if in the short run, it had felt so terrifically wrong. She gathered her new apparel, plucking Andrew's old Converse sneakers off the closet floor. They would work until she figured out how she was going to reassemble her wardrobe, rework her entire life.

She sat on the edge of the tub while the water ran. She reached for the glass vial with the cut-glass stopper and opened it, inhaling her mother's homemade orange oil. She turned it into the faucet letting the water carry the emollient into the bath.

Tucked into the water, she poked at the shiny islands of oil that floated on the surface. She patted at the bruise that formed where she'd hit the stump, then traced the appendectomy scar, thinking of Hale's caring expression as he had stared at it.

This reminded her of the way Mason had gaped at the incision, turning grey, retching and nearly passing out, declining to assist her ever again.

It was true—the stitches had been relatively new. But with years of snapshots flipping through April's mind, she realized how often he chose to turn away from her needs rather than step toward them.

She reclined further into the tub, her long hair floating like spider legs around her. The warm water cushioned her sore body. She would not let the loss of her almost-marriage feel like a death. Andrew's absence and the experiences of soldiers who came home injured or simply forgotten were tragic. But April's life, her loss? She shrugged at the thought. That was nothing.

She hadn't felt so free in ages. Probably since the summer she'd left for college, when all was hopeful and everything she could imagine was possible. It had been at least that long.

April dressed in a t-shirt and the jeans she'd cut into shorts. She wandered the house, calling up good memories like her annual summer birthday party. She pressed back other recollections, like teenage arguments with her parents who saw her tomboy ways as an obstacle to life as a lady.

Despite being irritated that his sister tagged along, Andrew often convinced them to let her go out with him and Hale, that she was safe with them. Very true, as Hale was always quick to stomp out any mischief she was considering if he deemed it dangerous or, in her opinion, simply too much fun.

She remembered the day her brother went off to Duke with Hale. She spent that day dreaming about where she would go to college, and then she spent the next three years of high school trying to get the marks to make it happen. She had shared their optimism about what college might bring and had wanted that experience, too. She knew she would not be satisfied waiting for a man to marry her after high school.

April had done all she'd set out to do. And more.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten in well over twenty-four hours.

She rifled through the kitchen drawers, cupboards, and pantry—not one box of crackers or can of beans. It was in the pantry that she saw it. The plaster ceiling near the corner by the door bubbled out like gum ballooning off a child's lips. She pulled over the stepladder and stretched to reach the distended sack. She nudged it with her fingernail once, then again, bringing a half a gallon of water onto the floor.

What was going on? She held out her hand. Water splashed onto her palm, a perfect rhythm of a rush then a plop then a rush.

"No," she said. How could this be happening?

She held her side and moved as quickly as she could, pulling stained rags and a bucket from under the sink. She dried the floor and slid the bucket under the drip that had no intention of stopping. The thick, insistent stream into the metal container made it clear she would have a long night of emptying buckets. One summer, they'd had a similar leak at the opposite end of the house. She bit her lip. It was the roof, no doubt in her mind. It was ancient. Strong slate, yes, but over the years, she and her father had spent many a summer's day ripping out an old shingle here and pushing newer ones in there to ensure its integrity.

Exhausted as she was, she didn't think she could sleep. She pulled a rain slicker over her head and ran to the shed at the back of the garden. The musty smell rolled out when she wrenched the door open. She flicked on the light and saw it was nearly empty. She rifled through the neat boxes that lined the shelves and found the hooks that were needed to install new shingles. She found the ripper, but there wasn't a shingle to be seen.

April sighed. She tapped her foot, thinking about how she would fix this roof. She was embarrassed at what she'd done, leaving her parents alone with Mason at the church, but now that she was in the quiet of her family's summer home, in the lap of their family's history, she thought perhaps she had been meant to see those photos when she had, to run to Bliss, to be the one to rescue the house.

Back in the kitchen, she wiped her feet and set the shingle hooks on the countertop. The rain lessened, and the quiet grew. It was then she heard it. She froze. A shredding noise made her snap her head to the left. Ripping, peeling like an envelope made when being opened, came again. She couldn't see anything unusual. She turned to better hear the noise. There it was again.

She shuffled through the kitchen, searching for the source of the tearing. There it was. A stream of water was picking its way under the seam where the wall met the windows over the sink. The flowered wallpaper was separating from the wall at the seams. April felt her eyes widen as a hidden river forged a trail under the paper, as though it had the human will to decide to do so.

She remembered the summer her parents wallpapered the kitchen—forcing the kids to do their share. Oh, April knew they had complained, but now all she pictured was the four of them, laughing and singing along to the record player as they worked, some days making more mess than not. In her mind, Andrew's face was lit up with a mischievous grin—there was nothing like his smile.

She plucked at a damaged piece of wallpaper. Her father never went a summer without having every inch of the house scoured for cracks in its structure as though he were searching for an invisible illness in a perfectly healthy child. It was true, they rarely did cosmetic updates to the home, but structural, foundational updates were paramount. Her father preached that same idea as being of bedrock importance in every area of life. How was all this damage possible?

April ran to the pantry and grabbed a shallow pan to place under the drip that ran onto the countertop after plunging off a windowsill. She rubbed her forehead, realizing this was probably not the last of the leaks. She moved into the hallway and inspected the area along the same back wall the kitchen shared. More water.

She moved from room to room on the first floor. Her mother's delicate lace curtains were browning where the dirty water had worked its way into them, discoloring the woodland scenes depicted there.

She thought of her parents again. Seeing the house falling apart, their desperation at losing Andrew became tangible to April. They were different the minute he trudged off to war, but when it became real he was never ever coming back, well, that must have paralyzed them. How could April not have paid more attention?

She would fix this. There was one man in town who'd have slate shingles for her to buy. Mack. He would have shingles and, just as importantly, he would have food.

On the veranda, the view of the sound made her stop. She'd forgotten its magnificence. She jiggled the car keys and stared at the sunset, the way the orange and purple hues pushed through the grey clouds, hitting the water and creating the look of a queen's jewelry box yawning open, waiting for someone to pluck diamonds and rubies from its surface. The wind came tinged with the announcement of autumn. She pushed her hands into the slicker pockets. She could do this. The least she could do was keep her parents' house from falling down around her.

She got into the convertible BMW Mason's father had given her for their wedding and drove out of the dirt driveway. She wound past the old Smithton Plantation, then past a relatively new section of homes built on land that had once been the Carr plantation, before reaching Main Street in Harrington. She parked near the Aubrene and Krandall homes, slipping the convertible between a beat-up Ford and a brand new Dodge.

April pulled the slicker around her and hunched against a gust of wind as she approached Mack's Grill. Set on the edge of the water, its red siding appeared freshly painted. The shutters were crooked, as they always were.

The jukebox pushed the sounds of Credence Clearwater Revival's _Down on the Corner_ through the open windows and propped-open front door. Even with the summer crowd gone, the place was jammed. She poked her head in the door. Besides Mack, she didn't recognize a soul. This was good. Perhaps in the years she'd been gone, Harrington's population had completely turned over. She hoped no one would press her to be anything more than she was capable of being at that moment. Certainly not the person she used to be.
**  
**

# THREE

HALE SAT IN the booth at Mack's. The ever-present, yeasty odor of the pub filled his nose as he read the newspaper. He drank down half his sweet tea, hoping it would tamp his desire for beer. He set the paper aside and bit into his fish sandwich. It was then he saw April Harrington waltz across the floor toward the bar, shaking off a yellow rain slicker, revealing cut-offs and a tight t-shirt. She hadn't been joking when she said she had no luggage.

He was not in the mood for small talk with April. He guzzled the rest of his tea and pushed further into the booth, into the shadows.

He knew someday he would tell her what had really happened that day, but he couldn't do it yet. April leaned onto the bar and, with one foot on the rail, pushed upward, kissing Mack on the cheek. This movement revealed a bit of her butt under the haphazardly cut shorts. Hale shifted in the booth and smiled.

Mack and April leaned into each other, talking. Mack appeared concerned as he nodded along. April's hands shot around. Her slim fingers reached upward as though she were cupping something. Then she used them to block out an invisible rectangle before she wiggled her fingers and lowered them like people did when miming "Itsy Bitsy Spider."

Something Mack said made her toss back her head and laugh. Hale could not look away. Mack talked more, then April threw her arms around his neck, making the old fella blush before he walked into the back room. April turned away from the bar, flinching at what Hale imagined was the bruise she'd gotten in the water earlier that day. She surveyed the room, not noticing him. Her lips moved as she sang along with the Beatles' "Let it Be." Sadness swept over her face as she did, and that made him want to ask her if she needed a hug.

She'd appeared back in Harrington in her wedding dress with no husband. That would make anyone dejected. He wondered what had happened but couldn't imagine asking her to explain.

Two men on either side of April eased toward her, offering her shots of dark whiskey. She hesitated then threw back two shots. Gradually her posture relaxed and the whiskey produced the precise look of happiness a bride should wear on her wedding day.

Hale felt his pants begin to bind at his crotch. He adjusted the jeans and forced his gaze back on the newspaper. Her laughter and the hoots of men drew his attention back. She leaned back against the bar, resting her forearms on it, which forced her chest outward, as though she were posing for a photo shoot. She sang along to the Rolling Stones' "Paint it Black," luring the men in closer to her. As patrons took to the dance floor, Hale was forced out of the shadows to keep from losing sight of April in the crowd.

She accepted a cigarette from one of the men then headed to the dance floor. She moved her hips and pushed one hand through the hair that had been piled on top of her head when he'd dragged her from the sound. Her long, slim lines excited him. One man slid behind April. His arms latched around her as he moved with her rhythm.

Hale was aroused by the sight of April's comfort with the easy way her hips swayed, head thrown back against her dance partner. A drunken smile lifted her lips. Suddenly, anger flared inside him. He did not want anyone touching her.

He began to move out of the booth when April jammed her elbow into the man's ribs.

"I will not, you son of a bitch!" She pushed the man away and stalked toward the door.

Hale threw money on his table and pushed past one of the men trying to follow her.

"April!"

She stood in the street, hands on her knees.

Hale caught up to her and patted her back.

"Don't manhandle me." She spun around, cigarette dangling out of her mouth as she slurred.

Hale drew back, amused. "It's just me."

April threw her arms in the air. "What's so funny?"

Hale bit back his grin.

Smoke swirled around her face, making her squint. He put his hands in his pockets, charmed. "Let's get you home."

"I can take care of myself. Seven words. Simple." She pressed a finger on his chest to emphasize her words.

"That's six words." Hale stepped closer to her. He wanted to pull her into his arms.

"Seven _syllables_ , then."

"Well la-di-da, ma'am."

"This is just like you, swooping in to make me go home and ruin my fun. I _can_ take care of myself."

"Sure, like you did in there, with Jimmy rubbing all over you."

"It's called _good times_." She wobbled and stepped back to catch herself. Hale took her by the elbow. She shook off his hand. "You haven't changed a bit. Even as a kid. Serious Hale Abercrombie... I mean, you build forts for caterpillars." The cigarette shot out of her mouth. Hale laughed.

April lifted her chin. "You were jealous."

He shook his head. "Jealous? Of what? No."

April looked down and ran her hand over her shirt. "Oh. I'm not sexy enough for you to care to be jealous, huh?"

"No, you're still a girl."

April's mouth fell open. "A _girl_? Do you know what I've been through in the last twenty-four..." She looked at her wrist as though there were a watch on it. "No, forty-eight hours! Did you not notice the wedding dress I arrived in? Why do you think I'd have a dress and no husband?" She paced the street. "Do you know what I've been through the last six years?"

He shrugged—drunken conversations were never really worth having, and this one was careening in all directions.

"You have no idea." She put her hands on her hips. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in a way that made her look as though she was a mother scolding a child. This made him laugh again. He rubbed his chin.

" _He_ didn't leave me. I left him. Just so you know." She crossed arms over her chest. She raised her eyebrows at Hale.

"Okay," he said.

She tapped her foot, and then threw her hands in the air, starting back toward Mack's. "I need my shingles. So goodnight, serious Hale." She headed down the alley that ran beside Mack's.

"What? Your what?" He jogged to catch up to her.

"The roof's leaking." She dismissed him with a toss of her hand.

"You can't...wait, what?" Hale said.

"Mack's lending me some shingles. He's got them in the shed. I've shingled a roof before, you know."

Hale grasped April's arm. "I'll get them."

She pushed away. "No way, buster. I've had enough of your babysitting. I don't need a husband, and I don't need you."

"Suit yourself, big shot."

She started to turn and tripped over her feet. Hale caught her. Their eyes met and Hale felt as though he might collapse under the sudden grip of attraction he felt push through him.

She was quiet in his arms, letting him cradle her. The fresh smell of citrus, her body against his made him excited again. He brushed her hair back from her forehead. She closed her eyes as though welcoming his touch. He felt his breath disappear. She latched her arms around his neck and got her feet under her, brushing his cheek with hers as she stood and backed away.

He wanted to kiss her. He moved toward her.

She put her hand to his chest. "I don't need your help." Her words were tighter, cold. Clearly, her wedding day gone wrong, combined with too many shots, was getting the best of her. He felt stupid for having felt such desire for her. He didn't want to babysit any more than she wanted him to. She was a big girl.

"Fine." Hale lifted his hands to the sky and dropped them. He went to his truck and got inside. Shingles? That was a slate roof. How in hell was she going to carry slate shingles? This was exactly what he didn't need to clear his mind. No, if she wanted to be stubborn, he would let her.

He started the truck and checked for oncoming traffic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw April emerge into the streetlight. She wobbled, her arms stacked with slate. One shingle fell to the ground and shattered, then another.

Damn it. Just drive away, he told himself. He took a deep breath and shook his head. She was going to hurt herself as drunk as she was. "Damn." Hale groaned and turned off the truck. He jumped out of the truck and jogged to her, shoving his arms under the heavy pile. "That's good slate you're dropping all over the road! You're bullheaded, April Harrington. This is just like you."

She slid her arms out from under the shingles and backed off. He shook his head and walked toward his truck. He felt as though they were kids again—him watching out for her while she did her best to make that job as hard as possible.

She yelled from behind him, "Just get this straight, buster boy! I'll let you carry my shingles, but I will NOT let you shingle my roof!"

He stopped, his arms searing with the weight of the stone. April must have been fueled by some serious drunken adrenaline to carry this pile, he thought. He turned slowly—he just had to look. She stood in the road, hands on hips, her long hair lifting in the wind. Her slender though curvy shape, chin in the air, her forced strength so clearly a veneer over her fragile heart and injured soul, made him shiver. An angel. A smile rose up from his toes. The first real smile he'd felt in, well, since that day.

Hale drove slowly through the falling rain, his truck crawling around to the sound-side of Bliss. April snored softly beside him, her head cocked against the passenger window. Hale pushed her hair back from her face, marveling at the impossible softness of her skin. When he looked back out the windshield, the brown blur of a deer made him slam on the brakes. He threw his hand over April's chest, and the jolt brought her back to consciousness. She gasped, eyes wide, her fingers digging into the dashboard.

Hale breathed heavily, feeling panic well inside him. April took Hale's hand, still across her chest, and pushed it away. He was dazed from the cocktail of surprise and deep-seeded fear roiling in his gut. His head filled with the groans of soldiers dying; their cries of pain blocked out the words April was speaking beside him.

He squinted at her, trying to force himself to sort through her slurred, drunken words. Her complexion grew green, then paled. She opened the door, bent over. Her shoulders heaved as the grumbling of her empty stomach turning itself inside out played through the noises in his head. He reached toward April to rub her back, to tell her she'd be alright, but before he could get the words together and push them out through the chaos in his mind, she was completely out of the truck and running toward the cypress trees, toward Andrew's memorial.

He felt nauseous himself, but something forced him to follow her; a voice in his head shouted over all the other noise, telling him to go after her. He pushed out of the truck and ran. She was moving fast even as she bobbed and slogged through the muddy grass.

Over the rolling thunder he could hear her crying, wailing, like an animal. Her hollow, wild sorrow tunneled into his body as though it were injected with a needle, making him want to stop the pain for both of them.

She reached Andrew's stone marker, her head bowed as she stood atop the empty ground of a soldier who never came home. She collapsed to her knees, her arms extended above her head as she grasped the stone. Her body shuddered, though this time it was with the release of what he imagined was deeply embedded loss, not booze. Her cries were deep, as though she'd kept her pain buried for the entire two years Andrew had been dead and was finally letting it out.

He stepped toward her, touching her shoulder, trying to coax her into the house, wishing he could absorb her pain and remove it from her forever. She shrugged off his hand.

"Leave me alone!" She gripped the stone so hard that Hale thought her fingers might start to bleed. He attempted to calm her, shush her, tell her she needed to return to the house.

"I don't want to be safe in that house. I don't want to be here! It's too late! I said those disgusting things. That awful, horrific, letter..." Her words disappeared behind her sobs and a thunderclap.

Watching her in pain, the tangible way it gripped her body was so familiar to him. He understood the jarring of a body when the stores of grief and loss that had accumulated deep inside a person's soul were suddenly uncapped. He shared the sensation that the grief would strangle the life right out of him, the not caring if it did. Watching her, he felt another wave of nausea. He swallowed it. April needed him. He ran his fingers through his wet hair. The mix of sweat and rain drenched every inch of him.

"April, please." He pried one of her hands from the stone, but she slapped it back into place once he went to work on the other.

A bolt of lightning seared the tree that sheltered Andrew's memorial. It ran so close to them that Hale's hair stood up, and he could see the blue inside the white light, could feel its heat pass over him.

He grasped April around the waist and tore her away from the memorial. He carried her like a child who'd fallen asleep, and though she still sobbed, she curled into his body as though finally accepting comfort.

Inside, he settled her onto the couch and in seconds, her eyes were shut. She mumbled again about a letter and the things she'd said to Andrew in it. She pushed Hale away, intermittently raising her voice to declare that she wanted to be alone, that she never wanted to see anyone ever again. Finally she passed out and began to shiver.

Hale ran to the closet to get a blanket. He tried to remember Andrew receiving a nasty letter from his sister. He'd always shared April's news with Hale. He would have known if Andrew had read a letter that was dire in the way April was saying. He reached up to the top shelf where only one blanket remained—an old quilt that had been stitched by a long-gone relative. When he made it back to the parlor, he found April snoring, an arm and leg hanging off the couch.

He decided against taking off her wet clothes because he wasn't sure what to put her in. So he tucked the quilt around every inch of her body, cocooning her as best he could. He lit the fireplace that stood across from where she lay.

Exhausted from what the day's events had brought, Hale watched as the flames from the fire danced, creating shadows and light on April's face, making her appear celestial. Her body, finished with its heaves, drew even breaths. He was satisfied she wouldn't choke on vomit or wake up frightened, so he decided he better go back to his place to get some food for when she woke. As he started into the hall, he turned back. She didn't look warm enough, not right enough. He re-tucked the quilt and then, before he formed the thought to do so, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, silently promising to keep her safe. From what exactly, he did not know. All he knew was that as sure as his commander handed out precise missions, he'd been handed a new one, and this one was all about April.

April jolted upright, disoriented. She exhaled and collapsed back, feeling as though she'd been in a street fight. Fragments of a dream stayed with her. In it, she stood at the giant cypress where they'd held the memorial for Andrew. She could feel Hale's arms around her as he comforted her and kissed the top of her head, telling her all would be well, that Hale would keep her safe. It was at the part of her dream where she turned to see Mason watching them, stalking toward them, his face etched with anger that her eyes shot open. She was fully awake, knowing her life was far from any sort of comforting dream.

She rubbed her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was in Harrington, at Bliss. A section of the lumpy couch in the front parlor pressed into her side, while the spot under her butt was hollowed out. Heat pushed through her body and she kicked off the ancient quilt they'd used to make forts when she was small—its simple rings still elegant and finely crafted.

She stretched her legs and thoughts of Hale returned—his arms around her, the warmth. When? Her brain convulsed against her skull. She gripped the back of the couch and pulled herself up. She groaned and fell back. Every inch of her body hurt all the way down to her fingertips.

"Here you go." Hale's voice came from the doorway.

April startled. He sat on the coffee table and held a glass of water toward her. She was relieved at the sight of him. It _had_ happened. Hale's hands on her, his kind touch.

She reached for the water. "What time is it?"

"Three o'clock. In the morning." Her fingers slipped around his. He didn't release the glass. April felt a rush of excitement, making her dizzy. She looked away.

"You got it?"

She nodded. He let go, and she sipped. He watched her, making April feel both babyish and thrilled. "Here." He shook a couple of aspirin into her hand.

She swallowed the pills. She could not drink enough water, even as her stomach turned with every bit of the liquid that hit it. She tried to push her mind past the dream she'd had to the recollections of what she'd done after leaving the house for Mack's.

He leaned to the side and pulled a grocery bag toward her. "You need to eat."

She fought back the urge to vomit right there. The booze. What had she drunk?

"Whiskey." He pulled Ritz crackers and peanut butter from the bag.

She shuddered and swallowed the rising bile. She downed the rest of the water and reached for the cracker he'd prepared.

"I ran back to my place for those. It's all I had."

She tilted her head, touched that he'd gone to get her food.

A chill made her teeth chatter. She looked down at the t-shirt and shorts she was wearing. They were damp; mud was crusted over her knees. He picked up the quilt from the floor and tucked it around her as she ate.

"I know it was raining hard, but not while I was at Mack's...and didn't you drive me home? With the shingles? Oh, my goodness, the shingles!" She squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered staggering around and Hale taking the stack from her. She'd been such a fool.

"Yes."

She raised her eyebrows at him as his gaze lifted from the next cracker to meet hers.

"When we got here, you jumped from the truck and tore down toward the water, toward..."

He nodded as though she ought to fully remember.

She shook her head.

"To the memorial. Andrew's, well, to visit."

She felt a sob rise up at the memory of Hale's sadness at the service two years before, at losing Andrew like he had. Her memory of the events after the bar worked only in flashes of movement, her mental snapshots out of order and unfamiliar as though she hadn't been there to experience the events. Hale probably just wanted to forget what he'd been through. April found it difficult to go the memorial site, too, but drunk, that's where she'd headed. She recalled kneeling down at the stone, crying, but the rest was blacked out of her mind.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for you to have to—"

He held out another cracker. She took it. He leaned toward her and smoothed the blanket over her lap and re-tucked it around her legs. And before he sat back again, he ran his hand over her hair, his fingers over the back of her neck, brushing her ear, making her stomach tighten with desire, a yearning to be held. If he would just stop and hold her for a minute, she might be all right. But he was already moving across the room.

"Hale?" she said.

"The leaks." He disappeared into the hall.

April chugged more water and stood. It wasn't Hale's job to take care of her house. He would think she couldn't handle her own life.

She headed down the hallway, hand on the wall to steady herself. He came out of the kitchen with buckets in hand.

"I can do it," she said.

The thought that he might listen to her and leave struck April. She didn't want him to do her work, but she wanted him to stay. She couldn't bear the thought of being with other people, but him, being with him seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Their history swelled between them. She hugged herself. She was convinced he felt it, too. "I didn't expect you to be here, _anyone_ to be here, but—"

"You want to be alone. After what happened with you this weekend... I know you don't need help. But I checked the roof. It's not just one leak."

April looked away. She felt another crush of dismay with the confirmation that her parents had not continued to care for the house in the way she'd always remembered them doing so.

"Again, I know you don't need my help."

April felt tears fill her eyes. She didn't want to need his help or anyone's, but all she could think was, _please stay._

"Just this once," Hale said. "Let me help. Cypress is impervious, but we can't let the water take over. You're exhausted." Hale looked around the foyer.

She was grateful he recognized she was capable, but so very comforted that he wanted to stay.

"This would break my father's heart." April said.

Hale nodded. "The least I can do is fix this. After everything, well, all of it." His jaw clenched.

April reached for the buckets, brushing his fingers as he released them in to her hands.

He looked everywhere but at her. "You did everything you could. I know that." There was much she wanted to ask, but she wouldn't push him. He would talk when he was ready.

"I'll start with the east rooms," April said. "You get the leaks on the west."

At the top of the staircase, each went in a different direction. April entered what they called the sapphire room first. She gasped at the sight of brown water shushing down the wall and across the window frames, staining the fleur-de-lis wallpaper and narrowly missing a framed photograph of her brother leaving for flight school. She dropped the buckets and rushed for the photo, plucking it from the wall and holding it to her body.

A surge of emotion pushed up from her feet to her head. Head bowed, she began to sob. How could she have been so entrenched in her own petty problems and interests? Like a pill-popper, she'd used the silliness of her life to numb her pain and ignore her parents. She wiped the glass with her shirt.

Now, it seemed impossible that she had managed to ignore it all. Standing inside the imposing walls, she noticed the weight of what the house had meant to the family for centuries, as though the house knew what she'd done, and it was ashamed. For four years, practically as though her upbringing had never existed, she'd put all that aside for something she thought of as better, more exciting and lavish, but lacking history—lacking her story.

Hale's hands were suddenly around her from behind. He pointed to the far left side of the photo. "I was standing right there. I never left his side. I mean..."

April turned into Hale's body, and his arms tightened around her and she slid the frame out from between them. He kissed the top of her head and shushed her as she sobbed. "I just want five minutes back with him. Just five," she said.

She could feel him nod, though he was silent. Hale squeezed her tight, every bit of one against the other, his body fitting hers, warming her from the inside out.

Rain pelted the house. Thunder crashed over it. Lightning flashed, making the house shudder before snapping off the electricity, leaving April and Hale at the mercy of Mother Nature's intermittent illumination.

"Let's move away from the window," Hale said. April thought she felt Hale quiver before he pulled away and led her to the bed where they sat on the edge. April traced her brother's shape in the photo.

She leaned into Hale's body, grateful to have a friend like him. The darkness, the quiet punctuated by the storm sounds and light was sweet. She suddenly wanted him to understand that she wasn't the type to run away from commitment, that she wasn't just some spoiled brat.

"I didn't leave Mason for no reason."

"He was an asshole." Hale's voice was harsh.

"Why do you say that?"

"At Andrew's ceremony. He was bored, arrogant. He didn't understand what Andrew was doing for the country, didn't care." Hale paused and turned his body toward April. "I know how you felt about Andrew choosing to serve. I thought I knew." April searched his face, trying to discern whether he was angry.

"I understand his sacrifice," April said. "That understanding, that pride in him, never wavered in my heart or mind. No matter what Mason may have thought."

Hale shrugged. "What did you see in that guy?"

April closed her eyes and felt humiliation creep through her body. Maybe she could trust Hale to forgive her idiocy, to see beyond it? She met his gaze again. "Mason was philanthropic. It impressed me that he gave so much money away. So much money, and he didn't even think more than a second before scratching off one check, then another. Old money."

"Your people had money. That's the story, right? Your parents have money." Hale said.

April looked around the room. They had the house and the name, but clearly the once-enormous treasure of ancestral fortune was mostly spent before it reached her parents. "Whatever money's left, it's Southern money. His is Mayflower money."

Hale let out a whistle.

"Mason's money came with senators and such. The governor of New York was at my wedding." She slapped her hand over her mouth.

Hale drew back in an exaggerated manner. "At this wedding? The one you just ran out on?" He grinned.

The image of such an important man left at the church with the other guests hit her hard. She hadn't thought of those guests until that moment.

"Well, holy shit. The Gov—I'm impressed, April." Hale's shoulders started bouncing, but he looked away from her, hiding his laughter. She took his chin in her hand and turned his face back to her. "Don't laugh. This is serious."

But she couldn't help laughing herself. They fell against each other.

"Who's too serious, now?" Hale said.

The lights flashed back on in the room. April was nearly on Hale's lap. In an instant, the laughter stopped, as though the lights revealed so much of what she didn't want Hale to know—that she just might need someone after all.

She leapt away. "I'll get this bucket. You get the next room." She didn't wait for Hale's reply before she started hauling the bucket into the hall toward the bathroom, embarrassed that she'd been so forthcoming, so intimate.

She didn't want him to think she would have been a bad wife, that she deserved to be alone. He probably already thought she was a terrible sister. The letter. She was sure Hale knew about it. She shuddered.

She remembered the angry way she wrote it, her hand ripping across the paper, telling Andrew off for being so rude to Mason about not serving his country in any way. Good old-fashioned philanthropy wasn't the type of serving that required risk or commitment, he'd argued. "Draft-dodger," he'd called Mason.

That was harsh, she'd decided, and that settled it for her. He was treating her like a child, not trusting her to choose a boyfriend without his interference. She had been so angry. Now, she was just ashamed. She'd barely had a cross word with Andrew until he sent his letter to her and she returned the volley.

She cringed. She couldn't take her rancid words back. And to think they were the last words her brother would ever have read from her, those were the words that would have defined her in his mind. She wanted those words back so badly, she couldn't breathe as she let it sit with her—the thought of Andrew reading her letter, imagining his face falling as what she'd written settled into his heart. She knew better than to trust he would live through that war. She had been careless, and she'd never forgive herself for that.

She imagined Andrew telling Hale all about the letter. She'd been so absorbed in her New York life and her future with Mason that she'd ignored her family, hadn't even noticed her parents were clearly in dire financial and emotional straits. Bliss was now a painfully clear representation of that. For someone like Hale, all of this together added up to an unworthy woman, she was sure of it.
**  
**

# FOUR

HALE SAT IN the empty room, his hand resting on the spot that was still warm from April sitting there, so close, he thought their souls had touched. A final crack of thunder snapped over the house shutting the lights right back off. He felt the shakes, the fear, the panic setting in.

In addition to the involuntary, visceral reliving of the terror of that day with Andrew, a new fear was settling in. He was realizing he was getting close to April. The idea he would fail her like he did Andrew, petrified him. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure she wasn't watching him. He didn't want her to see his weakness, to wonder if he was as crazy as he felt.

He'd seen it in many of his friends, known the insanity of it, the ridiculousness of being thrown into internal chaos even when perfectly safe, oceans away from danger of any sort. He knew how ugly it looked to people who'd never felt it. He didn't want to frighten her; he was sure he could conquer it if he just tried hard enough.

He pushed his thoughts to April. She was so confused, swinging between all manner of emotion in regard to her family, her ex, her brother. This kind of woman—the confused, needy type who didn't know she needed someone—was typically the type he ran a six-minute mile away from. But April, she was different. She had become a woman, someone he didn't know very well on one hand, but on another, he knew her as if she'd been with him every minute since he'd left Harrington years before.

Andrew had always updated him on what April was up to. Once they were in Vietnam, Andrew had friends back in New York who kept tabs on her, send articles about her and her work, including the feature in _Life_ , which named her one of the women making a difference in the world. She did this by writing about and photographing women who were struggling to feed their families once they were widowed by the war.

He'd forced himself to set the last of the buckets under the leaks and headed downstairs. He stopped before he reached the steps and saw April, now in the yellow guest room. She stood, hands on hips, buckets in her grip, concentrating on tracing the water trail, talking to herself as though plotting an attack.

Hale thought he could smell the mold forming as the humid air combined with the moist wallpaper. He didn't know why April's parents had ignored the house. Perhaps they simply couldn't handle visiting the place that held so much happiness between its walls. That was partly his fault, so he would do his best to help maintain the home they all loved so much, whether April wanted the help or not.

He watched her place the bucket under a new stream of water. In the spots where the drips were fast and straight, it was easy to catch the water and monitor when they needed to be emptied. Where the water started in one spot and then hit an obstacle and dripped in several spots, it was harder to capture.

She climbed the stepladder and reached for the window trim. Hale felt his stomach flip as she balanced on the top, up on her toe, reaching upward. He resisted the urge to tell her to get down, that he'd handle it. April gently patted the woodwork with a towel, working across it as though she were mopping the brow of a sick child. And it was then he thought _he_ might fall.

He gripped the doorjamb. He steadied himself against the emotion: the sensation of being on the verge of intense love for a woman he would never be able to have. Standing there, he felt sure he'd been struck with these feelings for April before, but forgotten them. He was as conflicted as he accused her of being. He couldn't even broach the topic of being with April until he was honest with her about Andrew. That much, he knew was true, and that wasn't happening any time soon.

April emptied the buckets, cut off another pair of jeans, and located another old t-shirt. Hunger cramped her stomach again. She dug a spoon into the peanut butter jar and ate right from it. Jar and spoon in hand, she started back through the house to search each corner for more leaks and to find Hale. She yelled, and he didn't respond. She opened the closet door in the back hallway and recalled the way it felt to sit so close to him, to lean on him. She yelled again. He was gone. That was probably better. He'd been so kind to listen and comfort her, but why would he bother much with her other than out of loyalty?

There was a small drip in the back corner of the closet. She pulled board games, cards, old newspapers, her record player and a box of albums and 45s from the shelves. She dragged them into the front parlor and turned the record player on. The spinning plate, the scratching that rose from the rotating platter filled the room.

She closed her eyes and plucked a record from the box. It was "Sh-boom" by The Chords. She positioned the needle onto the vinyl. She'd been five years old the first time she'd heard it. She'd danced with her father at their annual summer bash. April would stand on his feet as he soft-shoed around the room and onto the veranda, the thick humid breeze brushing over her face. Her reserved father was much more playful at Bliss.

The song ended, and April shuffled through the records with her eyes shut. She pulled one out and opened her eyes. Joan Baez's _Lonesome Road_. This selection caused those mental snapshots April stored in her mind to start flipping. Woodstock. It had seemed like the perfect way to enjoy her favorite bands with Mason.

They'd loaded up his Cadillac and piled in with another couple. They'd laughed the whole way there, dreaming of what their lives would be like as they moved forward into marriage and life, caught up in the easy, affluent, rushing waters of youth infused with education and old money.

It was what happened after they arrived that April was beginning to see as a gift, a new perspective through which she would reorient her future. She recalled the piercing pain that had stabbed her belly shortly after parking their car and wandering the grounds. She vaguely remembered the stranger who helped her to a hospital in town.

Mason was not to be found. Emergency surgery followed. She'd demanded to be released early so she could get back and reassure what she imagined would be her frantic fiancé, in search of his lovely bride-to-be. Instead, she found him contented, strumming a guitar in between acts, smoking pot, relaxing. If only that had been all there was to it. Soon, she would find out much more.

" _Wipeout_." She pulled the record from the box. She couldn't help but smile at the memory. Andrew would pretend he was surfing and playing a guitar at the same time. Soon after, his friends would arrive and they'd disappear until the next morning, swamping in the Great Dismal or hunting at the lodge. Hale was always there. He was the one who noticed April's teenage loneliness. He never _didn't_ notice her. It wasn't until April left for college and the boys left for Vietnam that she began to forget the small wonders that marked her childhood.

Andrew had been wise in addition to brave. He had never been impressed with money, even the wondrous piles of it that wealthy men like Mason and his father funneled into charities. Andrew knew they felt better about their society page profiles than the actual causes they championed. She had been so angry with Andrew for seeing that nuanced selfishness.

She'd thought dancing down Park Avenue, tossing bills to anyone who appeared to need it, had been a noble thing, not realizing the thrill associated with giving to others when it required nothing wasn't such a big deal. A cry rose up in her throat. She put her hand over her mouth. She shuddered as the realization hit her. There it was, right there, choking her.

It wasn't that she had been so angry about what Andrew had said about Mason. Right then she got it—Andrew had been talking about _her_ —she had grown shallow like the Little River when brutal winds emptied it of its water. She'd been emptied of her senses, her perception no longer hers but reflecting jewels and furs and nine-course dinners served by gloved help. How could she have been so stupid? She rolled into a ball beside the record player and let the tears come, inviting the sadness to overwhelm her, to swell like her ego had, finally shrinking it with the humility she'd been lacking for so long.

The phone rang over the noise of the music and her sobs. Hale. The thought of him calling thrilled her. She leapt up and lifted the record player's arm, scratching the record, and ran for the phone. She trapped the receiver between her ear and shoulder.

"Hello?"

"You're crying. Good." Mason said. His voice startled her. She didn't know what she'd expected—for him to never contact her?

She sniffled, wanting to tell him she was crying at her own idiocy, not out of guilt for leaving him, but she couldn't get the words out.

"Well," he said. His voice cracked, sharp as a knife coming through the line, stabbing at her. "After your Olympic-paced exit from the church, my parents announced that you were resting at Parkview, that you had to tend to your nerves—a breakdown."

April winced. "Nervous breakdown? Jesus. I guess the truth would have made _you_ look like the asshole."

"I'm calling to make sure you understand that everything you think is important is gone. I want the car back."

April loosened the knot that held the belt she'd made from a tie and retied it. Mason's words stung and sparked worry in her.

"Sure, the car. But, you're wrong." She rubbed her temples.

"Really? You have nothing. No interviews, you're a year from being old...even someone so beautiful..."

His words faded from her ears, but his tone rattled her. She braced herself on the table that held the phone and looked around the room to see the leaks, the damage. She felt responsible for all of the home's decay, not noticing how her parents had collapsed inside themselves, unable to keep up with things like the summer home. She had turned her head from the rot that began to eat her very family from their core out. He was right; she had no plan in place.

April forced strength into her voice. "You cheated. You."

"Christ. Everyone was screwing. It was Woodstock."

"Bullshit."

"You didn't even take clothes. You left everything here."

April pulled the chair out from the table. She sat, her head on her hand. Andrew's prescient words regarding Mason's character rang in her mind.

"When we started dating, Andrew asked if I wanted _that_ life—the wondering, you wandering. I thought he was such a jerk," she said.

"Andrew's gone. I'm here."

"I realize that."

"I could take care of you and your parents. I have everything you need. They could repair both houses, they'd be comfortable. You'd—"

"I have two degrees from Columbia. We'll be fine."

"You think you can waltz into any newspaper or magazine and land a primo photography job any old time you please? Women haven't come _that_ far, baby." April thought of Jenny Taylor. She had sashayed right into a job at _Life_ Magazine. Jenny wasn't a smidge of the photographer that April was.

"I have plans." She cleared her scratchy throat.

She could hear him sob suddenly on the other end. "I'm so sorry." She covered her face with her hand and listened to Mason equivocate between yelling and weeping.

His words washed past her like the waves rushed over the cypress stumps at the end of the dock, jarring, but not damaging. She steeled herself with the thought of the photos—not the ones in her head. The real ones. That single moment—a single cheating act shone a blazing light on what had been wrong with their pairing all along.

"When Andrew died," she said.

"It's been two years! It doesn't make any sense for his death to change us," Mason said.

She shook her head. "It changed everything!" A chill whipped through her.

"I hate you, April. I hate you for making me love you, for you not understanding how commitment works. You deserve all the misery coming your way." He slammed down the phone. She let the silence ring in her ears before she fitted the receiver back in its cradle, making the hollow clamor of the bell ring out. Her legs were wobbly, her hands shaky. She pulled her purse from under the table. _Had_ she seen it right?

She paged through the photos, the chronicle of Woodstock that she'd missed when the appendicitis struck. Their friends, drunk and high, had decided to photograph the entire weekend.

She lifted another photo and there it was. Mason nude, facing the camera with a woman kneeling in front of him, her face buried in his pelvis, his face lit up with _that_ expression, his release. Her stomach churned. Was her running out on Mason a sign she couldn't commit? Had it really been just this once, this meaningless drug-infused opportunity? Had she been unreasonable?

She took deep breaths and dropped the photos onto the table. No. She was done with Mason.

April dug the phone number from the Ritz out of her wallet. The receptionist said April's parents had left for home, had headed back to Charlotte. She dialed the number for the Charlotte house. No answer. She felt utter dismay. She just needed to hear their voices, to make sure they were okay, to tell them she was sorry to have embarrassed them, that she was sorry to have not seen how they were struggling under Andrew's death, to have averted her gaze from their grief.

She paced. Her mind pulsed with anger and sadness and regret at what she'd done to her parents. She picked up the pile of photos again and paged through them before tossing them onto the table. She covered her face. She needed to rejigger her mind. She needed the water.

April jogged to the crawlspace where she and Hale had stored the boat. She slid her finger through the crosshatched wood and was about to pull when she noticed it. There, to the side, was another tiny circle of pebbles and inside it was a caterpillar, curled in a ball. She gently pressed the furry creature and it unfurled and flipped over as if to tell April to leave it alone.

She looked around. What was Hale doing with all these rescue missions for caterpillars, of all things?

She smiled down at the creature. "Okay, fella. I'll leave you to your little home." Hale's housing project for insects was sweet, but strange. She pulled on the lattice that hid her boat. Two sections of the wood broke clean off. She tossed it over her shoulder and pulled the rowboat over the grass to the river rock and then over the narrow, scalloped beach to the cool black water.

She hopped inside the boat, ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs. She pulled the paddle from underneath the seat and dug it into the water, pulling the black water. The sweet mix of salt and fresh water was one of a kind. Without actually forming the intent, she knew where she was headed—to the spot they called the baby pool.

The waves of the Albemarle Sound weren't created by the lure of the moon but by the force of wind, often creating harsh conditions. Except in the tiny, always placid bay that formed where the Harrington plantation became the Quinn's. It had been the perfect place for avoiding chores on searing hot summer days.

The plunk of each paddle stroke followed by the slosh of water against the boat began to calm April and transport her to a time when bad things were remedied by merely showing up at this tiny pool.

She searched her mind for the reason she'd ignored her bother's wisdom. She groped for the point at which she decided his insight was not the sort that would be helpful to her, why she would need photographic evidence to understand what Andrew had seen clearly from thousands of miles away.

She lifted the oar from the water and put it over her lap, letting the boat slow to a near stop. She should have shaped her life in a way that left her independent, so her ability to get her next meal would not have been intertwined with marrying Mason. Still, she was grateful that she'd picked up the photos before the wedding and looked through them. She felt Andrew's spirit had been involved, that his will had pressed her to stop at the darkroom even though she was running late for her own rehearsal dinner.

Like a mother who believes she's watching her child just because they're in the same room, April had neglected the very center of her being, not paying attention to its needs. How little mind she'd paid the person she truly was, instead entertaining the outward trappings of a society life rather than a career choice that would have offered her a way to support herself, her parents.

April straightened and breathed heavily. What had she done? She thought of Jenny Taylor again, her neat, tailored suits and her fabulous job at _Life_ Magazine. April tightened her grasp around the oar in her lap, feeling regret form in her belly. Jenny's photographs lacked the heart, the insight, the "trapping of the truth" that April's did, but Jenny made up for it in focus and drive. She had crafted a liberated life. Jenny had been as smart as their Columbia degrees would suggest. How could April have been so stupid?

April couldn't keep the anger at herself inside anymore. A scream rose in her throat. She tried to keep it there, stowed away like the career she should have pursued. But the emotion took over. She tossed her head back, opened her mouth, and screamed as though someone were peeling her skin back.

Once the scream had lifted past her ears, the exhaustion she'd ignored since waking from her boozy evening at Mack's grew heavy in her bones. She shifted her weight and slid down into the bottom of the boat, between the two seats. She dangled her feet over one of them and laid back, head on the other, arms spread, her fingers tapping over the water's surface. The sun was buried behind layers of white and grey clouds, making it appear silver.

Her own words came back to her: "I have two degrees from Columbia. I can find a way." A smile came to her lips and she felt free, released.

She heard the strum of an oar and the slosh of water against another boat. She knew it was Hale without even looking. Her stomach shuddered, his presence making her excited, making her feel lighter.

"This feels like a Beatles song." She lifted her head to make eye contact with him.

"A Beatles song?"

"The happy Beatles. The 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand' Beatles."

"Not the dark, quirky Beatles," he said.

His boat slipped up to hers, bumping it. She grasped the edge of his to stop it from slipping past.

"Hey," he said, "I was unloading more shingles at the house and I came in to get some water. You were on the phone."

She sat up.

He shrugged.

"You heard."

He busied himself with the rope at the bottom of his boat. "I didn't mean to."

April lay back down. She wasn't sure what she thought of him listening. She quietly found she didn't care at all.

Neither spoke; the stillness felt comfortable. Every few seconds, the boats would rise with a small wave and they would each reach for the other boat to keep them together.

She splashed water at him. "You must think I'm an idiot to leave Mason without any sort of back-up plan."

Hale wiped the droplets from his arm.

"Idiot? Only if you stayed with him. I read every article Andrew had about you—profiles in major magazines, winning student awards, all of it."

She felt a surge of regret at the thought of Andrew bragging about her after the letter she'd sent to him, after their fight. She held her breath, trying to keep the lightness she'd been feeling inside, to keep the happy Beatles state of mind. She couldn't stand the rising guilt, the regret at her life choices. She stood. Hale reached toward her as though he knew what she was going to do. She turned her back to him and dove right into the water.
**  
**

# FIVE

HALE STOOD AND reached for April, nearly tipping his boat. He gripped the side, watching, waiting for April to emerge from below. He listened for her, but all he heard was the call of the herons, the poking of a woodpecker finding its lunch. He felt that familiar, unreasonable fear rising up.

She broke the surface behind him and let out a whoop, as though releasing an unseen force. He spun around and exhaled. She splashed him. He drew back, irritated at his own insanity, wondering if she could see it.

"It's nice!" She spiraled around, legs treading, hands knifing through the air, doing some of her water ballet moves from years of training as a teenager. She laughed at herself so hard that she choked on water.

"I look before I leap," Hale said.

"I'm starting to think that's smart." Her teeth chattered as she held his gaze. Her beauty mesmerized him, salved his dread. His stomach rippled at the sight of her expressive blue eyes, effortless beauty. He fussed again with the rope, putting his attention where it belonged—on something other than April.

She lifted her hands toward him. "A little help?"

He hesitated knowing full well she could get into the boat on her own. She shook her hands at him and he finally pulled her out of the water.

She sat across from him, her wet t-shirt molded over her breasts and stomach. Their knees touched. He wanted to hold her. He told himself not to, but he took her hand anyway. Her fingers were icy. She leaned toward him as if to accept his silent invitation. He settled down into the bottom of the boat, her back against his chest. "Just to warm you up," he said.

He squeezed her and rubbed her arms, noticing the goose bumps on her skin recede as he did.

She curled into him, pulling her legs up, and turned her cheek into his chest.

Her body pressed between his legs, made desire rise in him. They sat silent for some time while he argued with himself about how to handle this angel in his midst. He lifted her chin, recalling how pained but strong she had seemed when he overheard her talking to Mason.

"You left your photos on the table... You must be devastated."

She pushed to a sitting position. Her back still to him, she gripped both sides of the boat. "I'm _not_ devastated. I'm pissed off."

He couldn't fathom why she was angry with him. He was trying to understand, to be nice. She tensed, and he felt the pull of attraction grip harder. Her long neck, the long hair glistening down her shapely back—he'd never seen such beauty so close. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to believe her, but he needed to know that _she_ believed her protests. He separated her hair into sections and began to braid it. She wrapped her arms around herself.

"Forty-eight hours ago," Hale said, "you were walking down the aisle to marry that guy, and you're saying you're not upset?"

She reached back and swatted his hand from her hair, then spun around and sat in the seat. She lifted her hands as though about to conduct what she was to say next. He smiled at this, the way she commanded a space, but appeared offended by his attempt to be sweet.

"Listen, Hale. I may have spent three years and ten months out of the four years I've known Mason in some sort of emotional stupor or a period of personal atrociousness in which I thought I was better than everyone else because I was being showered—no, _hurricaned_ —with money and prestige and privilege. But, I've come to my senses. I do not love him." She pressed her lips together. "I never really did."

He brushed her hair behind her shoulder.

She closed her eyes and turned her cheek into his hand. She exhaled and straightened. "Not one bit." She raised her hand and spoke faster, the words tumbling out, her breath coming fast.

"I should have listened to Andrew. I'm ashamed that I sent that letter—two years, it took me to realize what Andrew was saying. I don't love Mason believe me. But the house. I don't know what I'll do—it's falling apart... "

"It's okay," Hale's heart sped up. The tension she was feeling seemed to seep into him, causing his heart to beat hard. Flashes of Andrew came to him, their plane going down, what he hadn't managed to do. He squeezed his eyes shut. He forced his eyes open to see April moving toward him. She knelt between his legs. She looked confused. Now he felt like diving in the water. But he couldn't move.

"Are you all right?" She touched his forehead and cheeks as though checking for fever. "What is it?"

He blew out his air, trying to stave off embarrassment. There was no way to explain what he experienced. "It's Andrew. I need to talk to you..."

April cocked her head and shushed him. "Please, let's just... Let's not talk for a minute. Just a minute."

She turned her body into his, settled back into the bottom of the boat, and he wrapped his arms around her. Suddenly, all he wanted was to protect her, to hold her against him forever, but he was starting to wonder if he could even take care of himself. He should push her away, run away, move as far as possible in the opposite direction as neither seemed prepared for love, for each other, for anything other than drawing breath on a regular basis.

He kissed the top of her head. "I need you."

"What?" April turned her face up to him, her bow-lips parted.

"Nothing." He hadn't meant to say the words aloud. He hadn't realized he felt them at all. The words may have lifted on the wind and disappeared, but like the rowboat that had been tethered to the dock the day before, Hale's words were roped to the truth, whether he wanted them to be or not.

April closed her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. Hale tried not to do it. He knew it would just be trouble. But he did it. He brushed her lips with his finger then lightly dotted them with kisses before they grew harder, into almost desperate kisses that Hale couldn't stop.

They lay in the boat, bodies pressed together, staring at each other, losing time. But this loss of time and place wasn't related to his fear and nightmares. For this, these moments of tranquility and thrill, he didn't pull away from her. They clutched at one another. As he traced the slope and rise of her hip, the inside of her thighs, every inch of her fair, perfect skin that he could reach, he became sure the affection was genuine, sown and rooted a decade before in that very bay.

She caressed him, studying his face, his hands, pushing into every kiss he offered. Their bodies moved together, breath quickening then slowing and speeding up as her fingers touched him over his jeans. He wanted to make love to her, but was relieved by the thought that she would not be ready for such a thing. That gave him the distance he needed to ensure he didn't go too far.

But then she surprised him. After letting him orchestrate their foreplay for close to an hour, she took control, straddled him and pushed into his hips, kissing his neck, clearly not afraid to take things further. He put his hands up the back of her shirt, rubbing her skin.

His breath quickened as her desire matched his. Hale felt as though this event was simply a continuation of something they started years before, as though the universe had waited for just this moment, when he needed to provide comfort and she needed someone to provide it.

Right there, where their relationship shouldn't have grown, where, if not for all that had gone wrong with Andrew, neither of them would have been. She fumbled with his shirt, trying to push it up over his head.

The thought of Andrew stopped his desire for April with the same force that punching out of the fighter jet had jarred his body.

"No..." he pushed the shirt down. This couldn't happen.

She pushed it up again, burrowing further into his neck.

"Not here." He gripped her shoulders and gently moved her to where she was sitting, but still straddling him. "Not now."

April opened her eyes and locked her gaze onto his, her breath continued heavy and deep. He waited for her to appear hurt, to display a sense of embarrassment that occurred when one person stopped the other from moving forward in this way. He didn't want to hurt her, but the truth about what he had done would be worse than a sexual rebuff.

"It's the roof," he said. "We have to patch it before the rain comes again."

She squinted at him, then pushed fully off, settling back on the seat. She nodded and ran her hand through her hair. "The roof. Yeah. We should patch it. Yeah."

And so Hale rowed them back as April held the rope that joined both boats, staring out into where the water met the sky, leaving Hale to only guess at the thoughts that tumbled through her head. The peace, the sheer beauty of seeing her against the waters of the Albemarle was more than Hale could have ever imagined possible.

He stopped rowing and shut his eyes. He folded the image of April like paper and tucked it into his mind where he knew he would find it, where he would revisit it when the ugliness of war was too close, when it blacked out his thoughts in that way that nearly smothered him. This would be what saved him.

Hale worked on one side of the roof while April perched at the other, both working toward the center. Hale told himself to stay focused on fixing the house and get back to duty without having layered sex overtop the news he had to tell her before he left. It was time. He pried shards of broken shale from under the undamaged ones but kept an eye on her. He told himself he needed to watch so she didn't slip off the roof even as she worked considerably faster than he, the mark of someone who'd done it many times before. He marveled that she hadn't been offended when he pushed her away in the boat, but he couldn't let things get that far again.

"I'm starving! Dinner's on me tonight. What will we have? Pot roast? Crab?"

His stomach growled, and he would catch himself staring at her, his soul stirring at the thought of her preparing a meal as though it meant something more than eating. He listened to her nonstop narration as she worked, and he found his own groove in working the flat tool underneath the broken shingles, pulling out the nails and worn slate, then securing the new shingles with their hooks.

When she finally stopped talking, the silence made him pause to watch her. Her brow furrowed as she reached for a tool with one hand and the hook with the other. He shook his head. As they finished one area, working toward each other, he grew excited to be closer to her.

"Tell me something." She squatted down beside him, comfortable as a cat.

"The sky is blue." He said around a hook he was holding in his mouth.

"A secret."

He stared at her. Did she know? No, this was one of those little early-in-a relationship games people played. It unnerved him. "Don't have any."

She threw her head back and stole a glance at him as he fussed with the shingle he'd already replaced.

"Come on. One secret. For old times."

He shrugged. She sighed and began to work beside him, removing a fragment and hammering a fresh shingle into its new home. She hit her thumb with the hammer and held her hand against her belly.

"Shit, shit, shit, that hurt. Oh, my God, that's the worst pain ever!"

Hale took her slim hand and kissed it. What was he doing?

She opened her eyes.

She took her hand from him, appearing embarrassed.

"I suppose I sound...well, after what you and Andrew experienced. I'm sorry." She held her hand against her belly and shook her head. "Every time I complain or feel sorry for myself, I think of Andrew—all of you, how some people treat soldiers when they return."

He took her hand back and peered at the thumb again. He kissed it, then pushed her hand back, hoping that would reduce his desire.

"Wanna know a secret?" she said.

He chuckled. "I think I know enough of your secrets, don't you?"

She shrugged. "Leaving Mason's not a secret."

He shook his head, wanting so much to do this, to bridge the gap that separated their past to the present, but he couldn't. He moved down the roof a bit to work on a lower patch of damaged slate.

She didn't seem thwarted by his attempt to disengage. "My photography. I love that, whether I'm taking pictures of people or places, teeny cracks in the sidewalk on Park Avenue or demonstrations. But more and more, I kept getting commercial jobs, snapping photos for charitable events or of wealthy families who wanted a shot of their children perched on horses. I lost what I loved about photography. Being back here, I'm feeling inspired again. Everything I see here appears important to me. Even the stuff that's falling apart. Especially that, I guess."

"Well, that sounds good. You've thought this through, it seems like." He knew his dismissive tone wasn't what she was after.

"My secret is I'm glad I've lost everything. That and I spent last night drinking myself sick, waiting for you to notice me at Mack's."

Hale shook his head as though he could physically rearrange his misfiring thoughts. "Wait, what? You could get a job anywhere. Those articles said as much...wait, you saw me? In the booth?"

The wind blew her hair like she was a fashion model. Everything about her seemed so open, so honest, so true. He'd never seen someone who lost everything look so self-assured.

"Well, the big-time jobs—the ones that articles implied I could easily get aren't really open to women. Not all of them, not to hire scores of women... and yes, I saw you at Mack's."

His stomach felt like he was riding a roller coaster. He couldn't stop staring at her, trying to find the right thing to say.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I can get the job of my dreams in New York." She pushed her chin in the air.

"Or, a job here." He covered his mouth and looked away. Why had he said that?

April sat on the roof and pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "Here." Her voice quaked.

"That's stupid. I don't know why I said that."

Finally, April was as silent as he.

He pointed to the tree that housed an osprey nest.

"Aren't they amazing? They come back to the same spot, protect their families, fight for their mates, watch over their babies. They just do it." He wished his life was simple, that he could just choose April and she would choose him, that it was that simple.

She nodded. "Tell me a secret," April said.

He cleared his throat. "I don't want to go back."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He pulled it away.

"Thank you, Hale. What you did for Andrew, every day you're there is so brave. You could teach when you go back. You don't have to fly."

"Brave? I think I might just be stupid. I should run away like half the country does. Before it's too late."

She drew back, narrowing her eyes at him. He should tell her. Right there. If he told her the truth, it would stop her from trusting him, from treating him as though he were noble. Then he could just carry on with his life, not be conflicted with unexpected emotions and worries about what his future held.

She took his hand again and pushed it open with her fingers, palm against palm, his hand dwarfing hers. Every thing she did, every touch, purposeful or incidental, seemed to overwhelm him, as though the rising up of attraction or sentiment or whatever the hell it was made him feel as though he might implode.

"I hope I didn't permanently injure myself with that hammer. Can't make you dinner if my thumb doesn't work."

She scooted closer and put her head on his shoulder.

"I should go. After we're done with the roof," he said.

She patted his leg. "You are nothing but good, and that is what you were to my brother. Brave, good, loyal. And for that, I will make you dinner. And you have to stay because that's who you are whether you like it or not."
**  
**

# SIX

THE RAINS CAME again, forcing April and Hale from the roof. She had convinced him to join her for dinner. She couldn't stand the thought of him not being near. She thought he'd felt the same, clearly he had on the boat, at least for a while. She couldn't fathom what had upset him so, what had made him push her away.

He said it was the roof, and she went along with that partly because it was true. It could have been what he said about not wanting to go back to Vietnam. Maybe he worried about losing touch with her when he did go back. She knew that would never happen—they would stay in contact. If someone placed her under oath, she couldn't have explained what had grown between them since she arrived at Bliss, since Hale rescued her from the sound, but she knew she wanted him close one way or another.

They brought the record player into the kitchen while they prepared dinner. She lured him back into the ease they'd shared earlier by dancing with him, pulling him into her body, moving to the beat before having to tend the roast or chop the vegetables.

They shared wine and old times through this prism of adulthood. April felt so at home at Bliss. It embraced her with the history of her family, with her shared stories with Hale. As the wine took effect, she felt sadness mix with her rediscovered contentment, like the flavors of cheddar cheese and Mrs. Worth's homemade crackers as they combined with the wine.

April didn't know if she felt so content simply because of the way her current station stood against the fast-paced New York lifestyle she'd been living, or if it was that in combination with what she felt for Hale... this unexpected thing, this sudden condition of feeling love like she was. Was it that?

"I have another secret." April stopped chopping. She did not want to forge this new, well whatever it was with Hale, without him knowing her failings. "I'm the reason this house is falling in, why my parents can't bear to come here."

Hale kept chopping his carrot.

"Hale? Did you hear me? My tuition, the wedding. I abandoned this family as though they never existed. Andrew, even. It wasn't until he died that I really let myself miss him. I was so mad at him. When he said all those awful things about Mason, I... that letter I sent him. I said such awful things, just to hurt him. And then—"

Hale slammed down the knife. April flinched.

His jaw clenched. "We can't do this."

April put her hand to Hale's cheek. He jerked away and wiped the sweat that poured down his face.

"All the missiles coming in. I caught each of them until, until I didn't, and that was all it took was one. One."

She knew he was remembering the day with Andrew.

Hale gasped for air and leaned over the sink. April shoved a glass under the faucet to fill it. He pushed her hand away and drank from the faucet before retching into the sink.

She rubbed his back. "You did everything you could. Your commander said... Your medals."

Hale wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened. He locked eyes with April, and his face was transformed, as though it wasn't really him, as though just revealing the events that led to Andrew's death had changed everything about him.

"It wasn't your fault," she said. The words were true, but they hit the air hollow and trite even to her. With each one she spoke, Hale stepped back, stepped away from her.

She reached for him. "Please don't shut me out."

"I need some air," he said.

And before the roast had warmed past bloody, he was gone.

April forced bites of the roast and vegetables down her throat, alone, pained at Hale's absence. As the snapshots of their time together ran through her mind, she laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of it, scolding herself about the cold, hard precision with which she left Mason at the altar. But having Hale run out of the kitchen left her with the sensation of someone reaching inside her chest and squeezing her heart until it burst. What was happening to her?

Missing Hale, but wanting to give him a few hours of space, she wandered the house, checking the leaks, changing the buckets that still captured water. Making her rounds, she came across her camera. Feeling its heaviness in her hand, she took it out of the case. Photos, she needed to capture actual evidence of what was happening, what she was feeling. She didn't want to rely only on the frames that resided in her mind.

She began photographing the withering, melting plaster that plagued Bliss. She'd group those and call the set _Neglect_.

In the areas below their patchwork, the leaks had slowed to thin melodic drips that rang out when each hit the bucket. She emptied three buckets from the sapphire room and was replacing them when she heard someone coming down the hall. She turned.

Hale. He smiled at her. "Sorry about running out."

She nodded. All was right again. She saw his apology on his entire being. And that was all she needed from him. She sat on the bed and lifted her camera as he scanned the room the way she had just done. She took his picture, as he looked up, concerned. _Caretaker_ , she'd call that one.

He sat beside her.

"Could we get a photo together? For when I leave."

She toyed with the button that set the timer. "We can do that." She crossed the room, pulled out a dresser drawer and steadied the camera there.

They sat beside each other and April smiled into the camera as it clicked. When she looked at Hale, she saw he was looking down at her thumb. _Loving_ was the caption that came to mind.

"You weren't looking." She went to the camera and reset it. "Smile this time."

She could feel him staring at her and she turned, absorbed in his gaze, the way his eyes kept her from turning back to smile, as though they were lost loves rejoined, as though no time had passed.

Snap! They laughed.

"Come on! One more." April bounded across the floor to the camera to set it again.

"I have something for you," Hale said.

April set the timer so that it would take pictures at several intervals.

He pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed envelope. She recognized the embossed purple lilac decoration instantly. The shame returned at what she knew it said. She covered her mouth, feeling the crush of remorse at the final thoughts she'd left her brother with. He turned it over so she could see. It was unopened. She gasped.

"Is that the letter you were talking about earlier?"

She nodded. Her eyes burned as she stared at it.

"Mail call came just before we flew that last time. I put it with my stuff and figured he'd read it after."

She swallowed hard. "So he never read it?" Her voice was thin as her mind wound around the realization.

He used his thumb to wipe a tear that had trailed down April's cheek. "Never even saw it."

She sighed. The relief rushed through her.

"That teardrop's shaped like the canal at Dismal Swamp."

She laughed as the camera snapped.

"How many fish do you think we caught up there?" He traced another trail of tears. They stared at one another, April feeling as though her breath had been sucked out of her.

She needed to feel warmth from Hale, to feel sheltered. She closed her eyes and inhaled, realizing it was love. She loved him, and she couldn't explain or deny its sudden onset. It was simply there. She took his hand from her face and put it over her heart, pulling him toward her. He looked away. Maybe he would never see her as more than a friend—his best friend's sister. That thought made her wince.

The sound of groaning seemed to emanate from the ceiling. They looked around the room, trying to locate the source.

"There it is again. She pointed upward. There."

Hale's attention followed her finger.

"Oh no." He stood to get a better look. "That's water."

"In the middle of the room?"

And before they could run for the buckets, the bubbling plaster opened up, dumping plaster shards. Hale tried to cover April with his body, water splashing over his back as he planked over her.

April spit out the tangy water and horsehair insulation that came with it. She coughed and sputtered. Water dripped off the ends of his hair onto her cheeks. She wiped her mouth then started to laugh.

Hale's body jerked, as he laughed still poised over her. April ran her hand over Hale's head and stopped at his neck.

"Hale," she said.

"We're soaked," he said.

"We are," she said.

April looped her arms around his neck. He resisted her pull then gave in, following her into the kiss, his mouth hot but gentle on hers. He kissed her closed eyes, her cheeks, her neck. Then, pushing her hair and more slivers of plaster from her face, he kissed her again, as though their entire lives had been meant to lead to just this moment.

April started to work his shirt upward then hesitated, remembering how he had stopped her in the boat. Hale stood and pulled his shirt over his head, never taking his eyes away from her. He lay with her, kissing her collarbone, breasts, stomach. They worked off the rest of his clothes and all of hers, his fingertips and lips whispering over her skin, making every inch of her burst to life.

"Wait." Hale stopped. He traced her body as though recording its feel and appearance in his mind. "You're so perfect," he said. His expression looked as though he were examining priceless artwork.

She needed him closer. She latched her arms around him. His muscular body felt light over hers and finally he pushed inside. Moving together April didn't think they could get close enough. And when they finished, she wrapped herself around every bit of him that she could, not wanting to ever let him go. _Please don't leave_ , she thought, and she was sure there was no moment in her life when she'd felt so secure with another human being.

They lay there afterward, hands joined, her hip curved into him. Hale fell asleep first. April watched the sun creep inside the window-frame then climb up and out of sight. He shifted in his sleep, pushing closer to April, pulling her body into his as though he'd understood at his very core her silent plea for shelter.

April woke up the next morning in the dry bed in the yellow room. Hale had moved her at some point without disturbing her sleep. She hadn't thought much of him leaving while she slept at the time. Blissful from their night together, she took her camera down to the water. She thought of the Audubon paintings she'd seen, the way they captured the subtle though infinite colors of the marshes. She thought there might be a market for similar photographs. Perhaps nature portraits could pay her bills while she worked on the house for her parents.

She shut her eyes and remembered the feel of Hale's hands over her skin. Suddenly no plan she made seemed complete without him in it. She could not stop thinking about him, what he'd come to mean to her. She forced her eyes back open and lifted her camera to the osprey nest. She waited for the female to return, surely for one of the last times this season.

But as she poised the camera and peered through the lens, she snapped the empty nest. _Waiting_. That's what she'd call that one.

With camera in hand and heart granite-heavy, April arrived at the Apple Festival. It had been two days since she'd seen Hale. She tried not to feel angry, to allow for what had to be his complex feelings toward her. She was so grateful Andrew had never read the letter. If he had to be dead, that was the best case for her to have to live with, that he hadn't experienced her mean immaturity. Now she was free. She'd never felt such gratitude or relief, had never felt so ready to move forward with her life.

She knew Hale would be at the Apple Festival. The park burst with year-rounders, fall explorers, and the summer crowd that had come just to see Hale. He, her brother, and two other deceased soldiers would be given the honor of having a street, the football field, and two parks renamed for them. April found herself snapping through canister after canister of film. She ignored the thought that she was jobless, that she wouldn't be able to pay for more film, that she probably wouldn't even be able to rent the darkroom space to develop it.

She didn't care. Everything she shot that day was mentally labeled. _Rebellion_ , she thought when she snapped a toddler worming his hand out of his mother's to run for the balloon man. _New Love_ , she imagined she'd call the photo of a couple she snapped holding hands, moving into a kiss.

She photographed every crevice of the festival, searching for Hale.

He finally arrived and took the stage as he was given the honor of a street named after him. The community was proud of them. Their bravery was now as much part of the their lore as the fire at Dismal Swamp. Where people in other parts of the country may have derided soldiers returning from Vietnam, Harrington had a different understanding of their service. To them, every one of their men was a hero.

April turned her lens on Hale as he stood at the microphone.

"This honor." He paused, and then cleared his throat. A child's screech rang out from the back of the crowd, giving the moment some levity. "I feel that way, too, sometimes," Hale said through the crowd's laughter. "This honor may carry my name, this street, but it belongs to Andrew and the others. The ones who don't come back. But thanks." He nodded and looked as though he had more to say, but couldn't. "Thanks."

April's view through the lens blurred as her eyes filled with tears. She snapped the photo. _Mine_ , was the caption that came to mind. She lowered the camera and felt as though a wind had blown past her, forcing her to pay attention to her surroundings, to acknowledge that her future was shaky, but that she wanted Hale to be a part of it.

She wound the film and listened to the MC's closing remarks. What had the man just said? She pulled the film out of the camera and thought perhaps she misheard. She shuffled over to the guy who stood beside her with his daughter on his shoulders.

"Excuse me, what did the MC just say?"

"Hale's going to fly again."

"Not teach?"

"Fly, of course. A hero like him?"

April nearly threw up. She forced a smile at the man. They hadn't really discussed it, but she'd always assumed Hale was going back to teach, not fly again. It was his choice at that point, after all that had happened. She had no say in his life. She knew that, yet, nauseated, she wanted to tell him no. She wanted him to care what she thought.

April waited for Hale to finish with the handshakes. He turned and started back across the park, away from her. She left the camera bag and jogged after him. He picked up his pace. She ran beside him. Once they were out of the park and on the road that would lead to the water, he finally stopped.

April gasped for air. "What the hell?"

"It's for your own good."

"Ignoring me for days?"

"I'm protecting you. I'm going back to fly, and it's better not to worry. Me or you."

"I don't need your protection. And you don't have to fly. You can teach. You can't just run around protecting people."

Hale's face whitened.

April looked away.

"I realize that, April. That's clear. I didn't protect Andrew and I'll never forget it. You don't have to—"

"Oh, God, Hale, I didn't mean Andrew. You did everything you could and—"

"I didn't, April. _That's_ what I tried to say in the kitchen, but I couldn't."

"You told me. One missile, you missed it."

"No. I ran. I abandoned him."

She shook her head. She pulled him into a hug.

He stiffened in her arms. "You don't want me to tell you what happened." His words were hot on her ear. "Because then I won't be the person you think you know."

"I don't want you to put yourself through—"

He pushed her hands away. "I left him, April. I missed the missile coming in. He could maneuver away from anything, _anything_ , if he knew it was there. I missed it."

She knew this was not Hale's fault any more than it was her fault that it had rained for five days. "But, Hale."

"Just listen, damn it," Hale said.

She stepped back, giving him the space he needed to talk.

"Yes, getting hit happens. Shit was coming from everywhere...but we pushed out and landed thirty yards apart. I saw him down the hill a ways. I _saw_. They swarmed, shooting. He drew his gun and shot back. He looked over his shoulder at me. I saw his eyes. I saw his face just before they..."

April covered her mouth as her throat closed.

"They tore him apart. I kept going toward him. I saw."

Hale trembled from head to toe. She could feel his fear as though it were a coat he'd removed and laid over her shoulders. She stepped toward him, trying to hug him.

He moved back, pushing her hands away. "I kept going toward him. I would have either died with him or brought him back."

April nodded.

"But they lit the grass." His jaw clenched as though he were holding back the next words. Tears flooded his eyes and spilled over his cheeks. Every time she moved toward him, he moved back.

"Those flames—" he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I never felt anything so hot. I couldn't even keep my eyes open, let alone get through the fire." He raised and dropped his shoulders. "So I ran. I couldn't stop. I didn't stop. The helicopter dropped the rope, and I grabbed it. They flew with me dangling from it. _That's_ when I got shot. I ran, April. Clear as day, I left him there."

He buckled forward and April gathered him into her arms. She tried to absorb the guilt he'd felt—the fear, the loss.

She couldn't find the words to comfort him. There was no way to alter his vision of what happened. His reality, the notion that he shouldn't have run from blazing flames heading toward him, was preposterous, but April knew _that_ reality—hers—wasn't going to help him. He let April hold him as he expunged the ugliness he'd held inside.

"I just want Andrew back," he said.

April nodded and smoothed his hair.

He pushed out of the embrace. "I should have died there, too." He wiped his eyes with his shirt. He wouldn't look her in the eye.

"Andrew wouldn't have wanted you to die. He knew you were loyal. We all know that about you."

He turned away from her and stalked toward the water. She could not move. She couldn't imagine how to make him understand he did nothing wrong.

"Hale," she called out when he was nearly out of sight. She could not relieve his pain. She had hoped that being there, just being there, could be enough—shouldn't that mean something?

He kept walking.

She started toward him. "Hale." Panic flew through her. If he disappeared into the trees, he'd never be hers; he'd never come back to her.

She forced her voice to be as demanding as she could make it. She balled her fists and raised her voice. "Stop!"

He turned. He shook his head as if to answer the question she hadn't even asked. He started walking again.

She couldn't let him go. She wouldn't. "Stop!" She was breathing heavy. "You stop right now."

He turned to face her again. She went toward him, resisting the urge to run to him, to push him further, faster away.

"You come back." She was now ten yards from him. She wouldn't say she understood how he felt or say anything to make him keep going the other direction.

"Please." She stopped. "Just come back." She lifted her hands and dropped them. "To _me_. _I'm_ still here."

He ran his hand through his hair. She could see his breath work down his throat.

"I can't." He barely got the words out.

April felt her insides twist. No. She couldn't just accept that. She had to keep trying. As sure as she'd been at leaving Mason, she was equally sure she could not let Hale go.

He stood still.

This was it. This was her chance. This man, Hale, was all she wanted. They needed each other, she was sure of that.

"Then I'll come to you." And she ran, his arms opening as she neared and she leapt into them, feeling them clasp around her, holding her, circling her, loving her back.
**  
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# SEVEN

THE WEDDING WAS short. The fiery hues of late October on the sound provided the perfect backdrop for the simple ceremony. Hale would be headed back to Vietnam in just four days, and April dreaded every thought associated with his departure.

She and Hale were dressed for a brief honeymoon—camping in the Great Dismal Swamp. The perfect spot for them.

They'd managed to plug every last hole in the roof. They'd even patched and repainted two of the cavernous rooms downstairs. While Hale was gone, April would continue the work on the house her parents had given them, keeping it safe from the elements that tore at it over time, keeping it warm for her husband's return.

Hale had blindfolded her for his surprise. He guided her up the attic stairs—he gently gripped her biceps, steadying her as they rose upward. They'd waited until this moment to exchange gifts. But she had no idea what that had to do with the attic of all things.

"Hale? How long are you going to keep me in the dark?"

"As long as it takes. This has to be just right." His voice was as warm as his hands as he turned her. "You ready?"

"To begin my life with you? I've been ready."

"Okay, then. Open your eyes."

April slipped off the blindfold and stared at an open door of a new little room—a room that hadn't been there just a week before. She turned to Hale, her husband. His eyes were shining. "Go on," he said. "Have a look."

She went to the door and flicked on the light. "Oh, my God!" A darkroom. A flawless, beautiful gift.

Her gift to him was the photo snapped before they'd made love that first time. In the picture they were looking at each other, his finger tracing her tears, their expressions full of every bit of love their hearts had held. _Found_ , was what she'd named it.

She'd produced several copies with different croppings, colorings, and sizings. He'd tucked one in his wallet and always kept one in his pocket. Another was framed and packed away in his kit to put by his bed once he returned to duty. The thought of him leaving was too much for April, and she knew Hale felt the same way.

They'd packed their tents and food in the back of Hale's truck. April sat close to him, their shoulders bumping, ready to face life as it came. There was nothing that would ever change what she felt. And as they pulled away, hands clasped, April knew their love, their home, would live in both their hearts.

She knew Hale found security in the thought of her staying at Bliss, that being there afforded some unseen protection for her. She would tend to her photography and keep watch over their home until he returned for good.

She often thought of the way he'd kept building little fortresses for caterpillars, the way he knew that even though those little creatures were where they belonged, they might need a little extra protection to keep them safe. Bliss would do that for April; their love would do that for both of them. And when Hale returned, she would have the life she'd always yearned for.
**  
**

# Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my father for his stories and insights related to Hale's experience as a Navy pilot. The information added depth and a dose of reality to a character that needed to be more than just April's love interest. Thanks also for taking the time to talk. It meant everything.

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kathleen Shoop is an author and educator who has worked with teachers for over twenty years. She writes historical and women's fiction. Her first novel, _The Last Letter_ , won a 2011 Gold Medal in the Independent Publishers Book Awards, her second novel, _After the Fog,_ won a Silver in 2012 and her third novel, _Love and Other Subjects_ won a Silver in 2013. Kathleen has also contributed stories to _Chicken Soup for the Soul: Runners, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Think Positive, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad,_ and _Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Cat's Life._ Kathleen lives with her husband and two children in Oakmont, Pennsylvania. You may contact Ms. Shoop at www.Kshoop.com

Facebook-- https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kathleen-Shoop/359762600734147?ref=ts&fref=ts

Twitter-- @kathieshoop

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# ALSO BY KATHLEEN SHOOP

Historical Fiction

THE LAST LETTER—Gold Independent Publisher Book Award—2011

AFTER THE FOG—Silver Independent Publisher Book Award—2012, Finalist—Eric Hoffer Book Award—2013, Winner—Indie Excellence Award, 2012

Women's Fiction

LOVE AND OTHER SUBJECTS—Silver—Independent Publisher Book Award—2013, San Francisco Book Festival—Honorable Mention, 2013

BLISS—An Anthology of Novellas. It contains the story here, Home Again, but also boasts four other stories by other authors: One Stately residence on North Carolina's Albemarle Sound. Five stories of heart-warming romance. Told against the backdrop of the Civil War, the loss of an unsinkable ship, the patriotic zeal of the second world war, the heart-rending conflict of Vietnam and the thrill of modern Nascar, Jamie Denton, SK McClafferty, Kathleen Shoop, Marcy Waldenville, and JD Wylde deliver a variety pack of poignant, sexy and sweet.

