Running Barefoot
Page 77
“I kind of liked that song…” I mused, half kidding. “Sing something else but without the Irish.”
“Without the Irish? That’s the best part.” Samuel smiled crookedly. “I had a member of my platoon whose mom was born and raised in Ireland. This guy could do an authentic Irish accent, and man, could he sing. When he sang Danny Boy everybody cried. All these tough, lethal Marines, bawling like babies. He sang this one song called ‘An Irish Lament’ that I loved so much I memorized it. In fact, when I saw you in the rain a couple weeks ago, it was the first thing that came to my mind.” The smile had gone out of Samuel’s expression, and his eyes narrowed on my face. His moods were so mercurial, I found myself challenged to keep pace with him. There was now intensity in his gaze where moments before he’d been singing a bawdy tune in a borrowed brogue.
I stared back, trying to wait him out. After a few moments I caved.
“You aren’t going to sing me An Irish Lament, are you?”
“It depends,” he countered.
“On what?”
“On whether you will play for me when I take you home tonight.”
It was my turn to become moody. I was not blind to my feelings for Samuel. Where this would all lead, and whether either of us could or wanted to go there was what had me digging in my emotional heels. I knew the incredible power of music and the mood it could set. Exhibit A - the kisses we had shared the night before after Debussy wove his spell. I didn’t trust myself with a large helping of Samuel sprinkled with symphonies. I didn’t know if my heart could take another love lost.
“I think the Irish Lament might scare you away.” The sun had lowered itself discreetly behind the western hills. Samuel’s voice was as smooth and quiet as the deepening shadows around us.
“Maybe so…” I avoided his gaze and reached for Nettie’s basket, needing sustenance to keep my wits with Samuel.
Nettie had packed thick turkey sandwiches on homemade bread and chocolate chip cookies (thankfully no lemon squares). She’d included a few peaches from her big tree, and Samuel had added a couple Diet Cokes and a bottle of water. We dug in without further discussion, except for an occasional moan from me.
“Everything okay?” Samuel smiled after a particularly gusty sigh.
“Food just tastes so much better when I didn’t prepare it.”
“You’re a great cook.”
“Yes I am,” I agreed without artifice, “but there’s something about having someone make you a sandwich. It just tastes better; I can’t describe it.”
“Being a Marine has given me a new appreciation for making my own dinner - chow hall isn’t so bad when it’s available, but boxed lunches, no thank you. At boot camp we used to call them ‘boxed nasties.’ I prefer to know what’s in my food, and the only way that happens is if I make it myself.”
“Have you become a control freak, Samuel?” I teased, biting into my peach.
“Hmmm. Yeah, I guess I have.” Samuel looked off across the inky water. “When you realize there’s so much you can’t control, you get pretty stingy with what you can.”
We finished off our meal in silence as the shadows grew and grew and eventually touched, crowding out the light, until all traces of the sun were banished, and the stars began to glimmer overhead.
“I can’t believe I’m here.” Samuel sighed, his arms crossed beneath his head, his long frame stretched out on the scratchy army blanket.
“Why?”
“A month ago I was in Iraq. Suited up day in and day out, camo, boots, flak jacket, glasses, helmet. And I never, ever, went anywhere without my weapon and plenty of ammo strapped on me. This feels surreal.” He paused for a few seconds. “Let’s go swimming.”
“What?” I laughed, and then choked as my laughter caused me to inhale some of the juice from the peach I had been enjoying.
“I want to swim. Look how the stars reflect on the water. It almost looks like we’re looking down into space.”
“You should see it from up in the tree,” I said without thinking, and wished suddenly I hadn’t suggested it.
“Really?” Samuel eyed the big tree speculatively. Instantly, he started shucking off his boots and undoing his pants.
“Samuel!” I felt heat flood me, and I wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or a genuine curiosity about what I was about to see.
“I’m going to climb the tree and jump off into the water.”
I sighed. It must be a man thing. Why did every guy I knew feel compelled to climb that tree and jump?
“Come with me, Josie.” Samuel narrowed his eyes at me, holding his shirt in his hands. His chest was broad and well-defined, his shoulders and arms corded with muscle, his abs rippled down into his boxer shorts. I looked down at my hands as I spoke so I wouldn’t gawk.
“Uh-uh. The furthest I’ve ever gotten was a few branches up, just so I could see the effect of the stars reflecting on the water.”
“This morning you said you would follow me wherever I went.” His voice was cajoling and light. “Please?”
I was wearing a black tank, and I supposed my black panties combined with my tank top would be as modest as a swimsuit. I didn’t let myself think about it too long. I had always been too practical, too sensible, too boring for my own good. I was going swimming. I slid my skirt down my thighs, stepping out of it and my sandals. I reminded myself to breathe. I looked at Samuel and squared my shoulders as if I did this sort of thing every day.
“Without the Irish? That’s the best part.” Samuel smiled crookedly. “I had a member of my platoon whose mom was born and raised in Ireland. This guy could do an authentic Irish accent, and man, could he sing. When he sang Danny Boy everybody cried. All these tough, lethal Marines, bawling like babies. He sang this one song called ‘An Irish Lament’ that I loved so much I memorized it. In fact, when I saw you in the rain a couple weeks ago, it was the first thing that came to my mind.” The smile had gone out of Samuel’s expression, and his eyes narrowed on my face. His moods were so mercurial, I found myself challenged to keep pace with him. There was now intensity in his gaze where moments before he’d been singing a bawdy tune in a borrowed brogue.
I stared back, trying to wait him out. After a few moments I caved.
“You aren’t going to sing me An Irish Lament, are you?”
“It depends,” he countered.
“On what?”
“On whether you will play for me when I take you home tonight.”
It was my turn to become moody. I was not blind to my feelings for Samuel. Where this would all lead, and whether either of us could or wanted to go there was what had me digging in my emotional heels. I knew the incredible power of music and the mood it could set. Exhibit A - the kisses we had shared the night before after Debussy wove his spell. I didn’t trust myself with a large helping of Samuel sprinkled with symphonies. I didn’t know if my heart could take another love lost.
“I think the Irish Lament might scare you away.” The sun had lowered itself discreetly behind the western hills. Samuel’s voice was as smooth and quiet as the deepening shadows around us.
“Maybe so…” I avoided his gaze and reached for Nettie’s basket, needing sustenance to keep my wits with Samuel.
Nettie had packed thick turkey sandwiches on homemade bread and chocolate chip cookies (thankfully no lemon squares). She’d included a few peaches from her big tree, and Samuel had added a couple Diet Cokes and a bottle of water. We dug in without further discussion, except for an occasional moan from me.
“Everything okay?” Samuel smiled after a particularly gusty sigh.
“Food just tastes so much better when I didn’t prepare it.”
“You’re a great cook.”
“Yes I am,” I agreed without artifice, “but there’s something about having someone make you a sandwich. It just tastes better; I can’t describe it.”
“Being a Marine has given me a new appreciation for making my own dinner - chow hall isn’t so bad when it’s available, but boxed lunches, no thank you. At boot camp we used to call them ‘boxed nasties.’ I prefer to know what’s in my food, and the only way that happens is if I make it myself.”
“Have you become a control freak, Samuel?” I teased, biting into my peach.
“Hmmm. Yeah, I guess I have.” Samuel looked off across the inky water. “When you realize there’s so much you can’t control, you get pretty stingy with what you can.”
We finished off our meal in silence as the shadows grew and grew and eventually touched, crowding out the light, until all traces of the sun were banished, and the stars began to glimmer overhead.
“I can’t believe I’m here.” Samuel sighed, his arms crossed beneath his head, his long frame stretched out on the scratchy army blanket.
“Why?”
“A month ago I was in Iraq. Suited up day in and day out, camo, boots, flak jacket, glasses, helmet. And I never, ever, went anywhere without my weapon and plenty of ammo strapped on me. This feels surreal.” He paused for a few seconds. “Let’s go swimming.”
“What?” I laughed, and then choked as my laughter caused me to inhale some of the juice from the peach I had been enjoying.
“I want to swim. Look how the stars reflect on the water. It almost looks like we’re looking down into space.”
“You should see it from up in the tree,” I said without thinking, and wished suddenly I hadn’t suggested it.
“Really?” Samuel eyed the big tree speculatively. Instantly, he started shucking off his boots and undoing his pants.
“Samuel!” I felt heat flood me, and I wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or a genuine curiosity about what I was about to see.
“I’m going to climb the tree and jump off into the water.”
I sighed. It must be a man thing. Why did every guy I knew feel compelled to climb that tree and jump?
“Come with me, Josie.” Samuel narrowed his eyes at me, holding his shirt in his hands. His chest was broad and well-defined, his shoulders and arms corded with muscle, his abs rippled down into his boxer shorts. I looked down at my hands as I spoke so I wouldn’t gawk.
“Uh-uh. The furthest I’ve ever gotten was a few branches up, just so I could see the effect of the stars reflecting on the water.”
“This morning you said you would follow me wherever I went.” His voice was cajoling and light. “Please?”
I was wearing a black tank, and I supposed my black panties combined with my tank top would be as modest as a swimsuit. I didn’t let myself think about it too long. I had always been too practical, too sensible, too boring for my own good. I was going swimming. I slid my skirt down my thighs, stepping out of it and my sandals. I reminded myself to breathe. I looked at Samuel and squared my shoulders as if I did this sort of thing every day.
