Dear John(10)

It wasn’t any of my business, I knew. But all I could think as I leapt to my feet and rushed toward the edge of the pier was, Oh, what the hell. . . .





Two




I suppose I should explain why I jumped into the waves to retrieve her bag. It wasn’t that I thought she would view me as some sort of hero, or because I wanted to impress her, or even because I cared in the slightest how much money she’d lost. It had to do with the genuineness of her smile and the warmth of her laugh. Even as I was plunging into the water, I knew how ridiculous my reaction was, but by then it was too late. I hit the water, went under, and popped to the surface. Four faces stared down at me from the railing. Pink shirt was definitely annoyed.

“Where is it?” I shouted up at them.

“Right over there!” the brunette shouted. “I think I can still see it. It’s going down. . . .”

It took a minute to locate it in the deepening twilight, and the surge of the ocean was doing its best to drive me into the pier. I swam to the side, then held the bag above the water as best I could, despite the fact that it was already soaking. The waves made the swim back to shore less difficult than I’d feared, and every now and then I’d look up and see the four people following along with me.

I finally felt bottom and trudged out of the surf. I shook the water from my hair, started up the sand, and met them halfway up the beach. I held out the bag.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you,” the brunette said, and when her eyes met mine, I felt something click, like a key turning in a lock. Believe me, I’m no romantic, and while I’ve heard all about love at first sight, I’ve never believed in it, and I still don’t. But even so, there was something there, something recognizably real, and I couldn’t look away.

Up close, she was more beautiful than I’d first realized, but it had less to do with the way she looked than the way she was. It wasn’t just her slightly gap-toothed smile, it was the casual way she swiped at a loose strand of hair, the easy way she held herself.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said with something like wonder in her voice. “I would have gotten it.”

“I know.” I nodded. “I saw you getting ready to jump.”

She tilted her head to the side. “But you felt an uncontrollable need to help a lady in distress?”

“Something like that.”

She evaluated my answer for a moment, then turned her attention to the bag. She began removing items—her wallet, sunglasses, visor, a tube of sunscreen—and handed them all to the blonde before wringing out the bag.

“Your pictures got wet,” said the blonde, flicking through the wallet.

The brunette ignored her, continuing to wring one way and then the next. When she was finally satisfied, she took back the items and reloaded her bag.

“Thank you again,” she said. Her accent was different from that of eastern North Carolina, more of a twang, as if she’d grown up in the mountains near Boone or near the South Carolina border in the west.

“No big deal,” I mumbled, but I didn’t move.

“Hey, maybe he wants a reward,” pink shirt broke in, his voice loud.

She glanced at him, then back at me. “Do you want a reward?”

“No.” I waved a hand. “Just glad to help.”

“I always knew chivalry wasn’t dead,” she proclaimed. I tried to detect a note of teasing, but I heard nothing in her tone to indicate that she was poking fun at me.

Orange shirt gave me the once-over, noting my crew cut. “Are you in the marines?” he asked. He tightened his arms around the blonde again.

I shook my head. “I’m not one of the few or the proud. I wanted to be all that I could be, so I joined the army.”

The brunette laughed. Unlike my dad, she’d actually seen the commercials.

“I’m Savannah,” she said. “Savannah Lynn Curtis. And these are Brad, Randy, and Susan.” She held out her hand.

“I’m John Tyree,” I said, taking it. Her hand was warm, velvety soft in places but callused in others. I was suddenly conscious of how long it had been since I’d touched a woman.

“Well, I feel like I should do something for you.”

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“Have you eaten?” she asked, ignoring my comment. “We’re getting ready to have a cookout, and there’s plenty to go around. Would you like to join us?”

The guys traded glances. Pink-shirted Randy looked downright glum, and I’ll admit that made me feel better. Hey, maybe he wants a reward. What a putz.

“Yeah, come on,” Brad finally added, sounding less than thrilled. “It’ll be fun. We’re renting the place next to the pier.” He pointed to one of the houses on the beach, where half a dozen people lounged on the deck out back.