Message in the Sand Read online

  Wordlessly, he went to the tack room and scooped some sweet grain into a bucket. In the doorway, he glanced back at Julia, who seemed poised to retreat to the house for a bubble bath. “What’re you waiting for? He’s your horse.”

  After a sharp look, she followed. It had taken half an hour between the two of them, but eventually, the little beast had been caught. Since then, Wendell seemed to have risen in Julia’s estimation as more than a curiosity who worked on her father’s property. And though Wendell preferred to be left alone, he was surprised to find he did not entirely mind her occasional presence.

  But there was no time for distraction today. The Lancasters were hosting the annual gala that evening, and there was much to be done. Alan’s Jeep rumbled toward him, and he rolled down the window as he pulled up alongside Wendell. “Good morning,” he said. “What a day, what a day.”

  Wendell was used to Alan’s vocal affection for his property. It extended beyond the ownership of the estate; Alan was in love with the land.

  “It is, Mr. Lancaster. What’s first on the schedule this morning?”

  Alan rested his elbow on the window. “Wendell, I admire your work ethic. But a morning like this is to be admired. Look at that sky! Not a cloud.”

  Wendell cleared his throat and glanced up obligingly. The truth was, he saw in this property exactly what Alan Lancaster did: the lush greenery, the watery shadows around the pond, the thrilling flash of white-tailed deer or wing of osprey. Having grown up in this town, Wendell didn’t just see all of what Alan saw, he felt it. And ever since his tour of duty, he needed it.

  The sky overhead was sharp and cloudless, and with some hesitation, Wendell allowed his eyes to wader across its expanse. It was a luxury he did not often allow himself. Wendell knew it was better to stay busy—to keep moving, his hands working, his brain planning. He did not allow himself to soak things in, as Alan suggested. Because then his mind wandered, and when that happened, the ability to control what filtered through it might slip. Wendell held his breath as his gaze traveled: There were the treetops, branches reaching like a woman’s slender arm. The light was gauzy and soft at this hour, and Wendell began to relax, to let his breath out. Suddenly, in the distance, an egret launched itself gracefully off a weeping willow, and Wendell followed its slow sweep across the lake. Alan was right: the morning was nothing short of spectacular.

  But as he watched the egret glide across the water, the sky began to blur at the edges. Wendell blinked. He tried to focus on the egret’s silhouette, but it, too, began to flicker. And before he could stop it, the scene before him flashed away, replaced suddenly by Wesley’s profile. There he was, against the sky. All twenty-five years of him, staring off in the distance as if he, too, were watching the egret’s descent. Wendell recognized the strong set of his jaw, the determined gaze. Exactly as he’d looked the last time Wendell saw him in Afghanistan. Wesley turned his way and, seeing his big brother, grinned like an eight-year-old. Then disappeared. Wendell braced himself, shook his head against the memory.

  Alan misunderstood his expression. “Stops you in your tracks, this view. Doesn’t it?”

  Wendell blinked, forced his tongue to work around the sandy confines of his mouth. “Yes, sir.” He met Alan’s gaze and prayed his own was steady, but inside, the wave of nausea crested violently in his gut.

  Alan looked at him curiously. “Feeling okay, Wendell?”

  Wendell ran a hand across his brow. “Yes, sir. Just a little warm.” He peeled off his sweatshirt, willing the nausea to subside, to climb down the burning walls of his insides once more. The first waves were always the worst. Thankfully, Alan did not press him.

  “I have to run in to town,” Alan said, passing him a piece of paper. “Here’s what Anne has set out for us today.” He looked apologetic. “The damn gala is upon us.”

  But even as he said it, Alan Lancaster’s eyes twinkled. Wendell knew how it went: Alan in his black tie. The man loved nothing more than hosting people he cared about or who also cared about the land, the town, his mission to preserve it. He did not shy away from crowds but entered them with a glass raised and a clever remark on the tip of his tongue. His laugh was rich and infectious, his intentions honorable enough, as Wendell saw it. Though his friends often gave him crap for thinking so, accusing him of going soft. Going to the other side. Wendell didn’t care.

  All Wendell cared about was doing his job. Doing it well enough to be left alone, to be welcomed back here where he could try to do something good, however small or simple, and contain the dark well within him.

  Two Julia

  Julia crouched on a mossy rock and dipped her bare foot into the stream while she waited for him. The water was ice-cold, a welcome respite from the muggy June day, and it was one of the many things she loved about this hidden spot among the wetlands behind her family’s field. In the distance a tree branch cracked, and she looked up sharply. Was it him? She waited, holding her breath, as she scanned the dense grove of trees for movement. Sam was late, and they didn’t have much time. The annual gala was starting in a few hours, and she was supposed to be home helping her mother arrange flowers.

  A moment later, there was another snap of branch underfoot, and Julia stood. When a lone doe emerged from the shadows, she let her breath out in a wave of disappointment. He’d said he would come.

  Sam Ryder lived a mile up the road, but their properties abutted in the rear, and just recently, they’d taken to meeting up in the woods. He was supposed to be here. Not because he’d said he would be or because she’d lain awake for many of the last summer evenings, thinking about him and wondering if the time was right. But because from the moment she’d woken up this morning, she’d known: today would be the day she kissed him.

  Between the dense greenery came a sudden shadow of movement, and Julia’s chest pitter-pattered as a small fawn trotted out of the thicket. The mother deer paused, gazing over her shoulder at it, then sharply about for predators. She stiffened when she locked eyes with Julia, not twenty feet away. Julia had grown up in these woods, and she knew better than to make a sound. She let the doe study her, slowly sinking back down onto the rock, where she remained while the animal sized her up. It’s all right, mama, she thought.

  The fawn, impulsive and unaware, bounded up beside its mother, all gangly legs and elbows. It had not noticed her, nor the warning flare of its mother’s nostrils, and in a fit of play, it began to buck about in an ever-widening circle until it had unwittingly closed the distance between itself and Julia and halted smack dab in front of her. Julia held her breath.

  For a frozen moment, the two stared at each other. The fawn’s eyes were bright pools of surprise, its inky nose so close that Julia could hear its intake of breath. The mother snorted a sharp warning, breaking the spell, and bounded off with a flick of her white tail. Startled, the fawn leaped after its mother. In that fleeting moment Julia closed her eyes and thrust out her hand, and just when she feared she’d missed it, the tips of her fingers brushed against the fawn’s sleek pelt. Julia’s eyes flew open. There was a swift crash of branches and shaking of undergrowth. And then the streambed went still, the only sound the gurgle of water swirling its distant way to some unseen estuary. Overcome, Julia tipped her head back and laughed out loud. Sam had not come after all, but it no longer mattered. Here, the magic was everywhere.

  The ding of her phone broke the silence. Julia reached into the back pocket of her cutoffs and retrieved it. Her mother wanted her home to get ready for the gala. She cursed and sprinted for the trail home.

  * * *

  Back at the house, Julia sneaked around to the rear of the house, slipped through the mudroom and into the grand farmhouse kitchen.

  “Better watch out. Mama’s gonna get you!”

  Her little sister, Pippa, was seated at the kitchen island, all gussied up in a pink tutu-skirted ensemble, swinging her legs back and forth off the barstool as she licked whipped cream from a large silver spoon. She smiled wickedly
through a white mustache.

  As if on cue, Eliza, their mother’s right hand stepped out of the pantry with a mixing bowl. Julia halted. “Miss Pippa, your mother’s going to get you if you spill one drop of that on your party dress,” Eliza warned. Pippa scowled.

  Eliza was their mother’s assistant in all things, from the administrative duties for Anne Lancaster’s charity work to assisting with the events themselves, as she was tonight. Now she regarded Julia’s mud-splattered knees and shook her head. “Lucky for you, your mother is dealing with the jazz band, who was also late. Better hustle.” She winked.

  “Sorry, I lost track of time.” Julia raced for the stairs. Up in her room, she kicked off what her mother still referred to as her “play clothes” and ran into her adjoining bathroom.

  In the mirror, a wild-haired woman-child stared back at her. Julia’s eyes were as dreamy blue as her mother’s but almond-shaped like her father’s: discerning, he liked to say. Her hair was another story. Blond and thick but prone to tangled rivulets, like the streambed she’d just abandoned. She swept it impatiently from her face with a brush, wondering if Sam was standing by the stream waiting for her right now. Or if he hadn’t come at all.

  It wasn’t like they were an official couple, she reminded herself. But what she and Sam shared was so much more than what the other girls at school, who had real boyfriends, talked about. Those couples went to movies and out for pizza. Sometimes they went to a party, which meant dealing with beer and maybe weed. Sometimes they hung out at each other’s houses to watch Netflix, which was also code for alone time. And then there was the question about whether there’d be pressure to fool around and, if you did, what that would mean.

  Julia and Sam did not do any of those things. And yet lately, it was starting to feel like they did so much more.

  * * *

  It had started only one month ago. Sam Ryder was like any other boy from school, unremarkable in the way boys you’d grown up with since kindergarten were. By the time you graduated, you’d seen just about every boy pick his nose, fall down in PE class, or lose his lunch during the spelling bee. Sam was smart enough to take honors classes, though probably not as smart as she was. He played baseball. He was quiet. To be honest, she’d never paid him any mind. There was no reason to. Until Miranda Bennet opened her big mouth.

  Julia had been sitting in the high school cafeteria with her best friend, Chloe, and some other girls. That week a new girl had arrived at Saybrook High, a lacrosse player, like Chloe, and Chloe had invited her to join their group lunch table. Miranda seemed nice enough, if a little loud and dramatic. Despite how much she followed Chloe around, Julia wasn’t worried. Theirs was an impenetrable friendship. It was well known that Chloe and Julia were like one. They didn’t do anything or go anywhere without each other. That day, when Miranda joined them at the table with her lunch tray, she let out a low long whistle. “Okay, so who is that?”

  Julia looked up. Sam Ryder was making his way through the maze of lunch tables, headed for the baseball team table. His floppy hair hung across his eyes, and as he went past, he looked up at the girls and flipped it out of his view. He was wearing one of his typical checkered flannel shirts. But the breadth of his shoulders beneath was wholly new to her. It was like seeing him for the first time.

  Chloe stirred her chocolate milk with her straw. “That’s Sam. He’s a sophomore, too.”

  Miranda grinned at them. “Someone needs to introduce me. He’s hot.”

  Julia was shocked to hear Chloe go along with her. “Pretty much.” Not that she disagreed with Chloe but because neither of them had ever discussed Sam before. How had she not noticed him?

  As the other girls considered the shade of Sam’s blue eyes, Julia remained silent, studying his retreating figure. When had his shoulders gotten so broad? Had he always walked with such confidence?

  Suddenly, Sam was everywhere. Julia passed him in the hall between algebra and bio. It turned out they shared a study hall, something she hadn’t paid any attention to before. He’d always ridden her bus, as they lived just a mile apart on Timber Lane, but usually, Sam stayed after school for sports. Now that the baseball season was over, he was back on bus two, and when he plopped down in the seat in front of her, she found she couldn’t take her eyes off his wheat-colored head of hair the whole way home. Worst of all, Sam, who had always smiled and said hello in the past, didn’t seem to notice her one bit anymore.

  By the last week of school, during study hall, Julia couldn’t take it anymore. Summer vacation started in a matter of days, and who knew when they’d cross paths next. Before she could second-guess herself, she rose from her desk and headed across the room. She’d pretend to get a piece of paper. Maybe a tissue. As she passed his desk, she glanced down. She didn’t need an excuse anymore. “Oh, wow.”

  Sam looked up. There were those eyes, under that straw-colored flop of hair. He squinted. “What?”

  “Your painting.” She indicated the small watercolor on his desk. “It’s… amazing.”

  “Oh.” Sam sat back and regarded his work. It was a landscape of a green field, with a large hillside rising on the horizon. Through the peach-colored sunset she could see the faint lines of his original pencil sketch. “Thank you.”

  Julia stood a moment longer, entranced by the watercolor. He was really good. “I didn’t know you were into art.”

  Sam shrugged. “It’s just something I like to do. This is for my open studio final. I’m kind of behind.”

  Julia stared at his lips as he spoke. Then caught herself. “When’s it due?”

  Sam smiled. “Yesterday.” He didn’t seem concerned.

  “Oh, well. Then I should let you get back to it.”

  Sam nodded as if that was probably a good idea. Feeling suddenly awkward, Julia turned on her heel and made a break back toward her desk. She realized too late, after sitting down, that she hadn’t gotten herself either a piece of paper or a tissue.

  On the bus ride home, she sat near the rear, knees tucked against her chest. When Sam boarded the bus and walked by, she hunkered down. He probably thought she was an idiot. Worse, maybe he’d forgotten about her comments altogether. To her chagrin, he sat in the seat right behind her, and he didn’t say a thing.

  They were almost home on what seemed like a painfully long hot ride when Sam leaned into the aisle and tapped the back of her seat. Julia almost jumped. “Did you recognize the view?” he asked.

  Julia blinked, confused. She looked out the bus window. “The view?”

  Sam shook his head and smiled. “No, dummy. My painting. Did you recognize it?”

  “Oh.” Julia was taken aback by his playfulness. Before she could say anything, Sam reached into the leather portfolio between his knees and pulled out a flat board canvas. He tilted it toward her.

  “Oh my gosh. Is that…?”

  Sam nodded. “Your place, White Pines. It’s the view from my house.”

  Julia felt something inside her chest swell. Of course it was. Sam’s property bordered her own in the back, and each house was set on a small rise. Between them was a lush green meadow surrounded by wetlands. It was one of her favorite views in the world, even though she saw the reverse from her house.

  “Weren’t you supposed to hand it in?”

  “I’m going to tomorrow. But she’ll probably fail me, it’s so overdue.”

  Julia shook her head. “She’s crazy if she doesn’t give you an A. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Then she winced. What was she doing?

  But Sam didn’t laugh. Instead he held her gaze, the corners of his mouth pulling back in that boyish way.

  Then the brakes hissed, and the bus lurched to a stop. He slipped the painting back into his portfolio and stood. “See ya.”

  Julia watched him walk down the bus aisle. He said goodbye to their driver, Kathy, whom everyone else forgot to say goodbye to. When he stepped down the bus stairs, Julia stole a peek through the window. Sam walked up the drivew
ay, his stride long and easy. He didn’t glance back.

  Julia didn’t see Sam the last couple days of school. He wasn’t in study hall and didn’t ride the bus for some reason. Then it was Friday, the last day of school before summer.

  Julia boarded the bus and sat near the back, in the same seat. Minutes later, to her immense relief, Sam climbed the bus stairs and headed down the aisle toward her. But he was staring at his phone and walked right past her. She couldn’t tell which seat he took, but she knew it wasn’t directly behind her like the last time. Clearly, he was not interested in talking to her. And she was too much of a wimp to turn around and say anything the whole way home.

  When the bus finally stopped at his driveway, she heard him stand and gather his things behind her. She was mad at herself for letting the opportunity go. But it was too late to say anything now, so she stared straight ahead as his footsteps grew closer.

  “Hey.”

  Julia’s head snapped as he stopped by her seat. He held something out to her. “You were right.”

  It wasn’t until she took it from his hand that she realized it was the painting. By then Sam was already halfway down the aisle. Julia flipped the painting over. It was graded A. And there was a note beside it in pencil: “You seemed to like this, so keep it. Maybe you can come see the real thing.”

  She jerked her head up just as the bus pulled away from Sam’s driveway. She pressed her hand to the glass window. Sam raised his in return.

  She pulled her phone out and looked him up on Snapchat. “How about tonight?”

  * * *

  After that, they began meeting up. Walking up to Sam in the middle of the field made Julia feel suddenly shy. It was one thing to bump into each other at school or on the bus. It was another to plan it. But seeing Sam sitting on the big boulder in the middle of all that greenery relaxed her. When she reached it, she clambered up and sat beside him, staring at the horizon. “It’s good, but your painting is better.”