Dear John Page 7

  We wove our way among the tables. Most of the customers looked as if they worked hard for a living: construction workers, landscapers, truckers, and the like. I hadn't seen so many NASCAR baseball hats since . . . well, I'd never seen that many. A few guys in my squad were fans, but I never got the appeal of watching a bunch of guys drive in circles all day or figured out why they didn't post the articles in the automotive section of the paper instead of the sports section. We sat across from each other, and I watched Savannah take in the room.

  "I like places like this," she said. "Was this your regular hangout when you lived here?"

  "No, this was more of a special-occasion place. Usually I hung out at a place called Leroy's. It's a bar near Wrightsville Beach."

  She reached for a laminated menu sandwiched between a metal napkin holder and bottles of ketchup and Texas Pete hot sauce.

  "This is way better," she said. She opened the menu. "Now, what's this place famous for?"

  "Shrimp," I said.

  "Gee, really?" she asked.

  "Seriously. Every kind of shrimp you can imagine. You know that scene in Forrest Gump when Bubba was telling Forrest all the ways to prepare shrimp? Grilled, sauteed, barbecued, Cajun shrimp, lemon shrimp, shrimp Creole, shrimp cocktail . . . That's this place."

  "What do you like?"

  "I like 'em chilled with cocktail sauce on the side. Or fried."

  She closed the menu. "You pick," she said, sliding her menu toward me. "I trust you."

  I slipped the menu back into its place against the napkin holder.

  "So?"

  "Chilled. In a bucket. It's the consummate experience."

  She leaned across the table. "So how many women have you brought here? For the consummate experience, I mean."

  "Including you? Let me think." I drummed my fingers on the table. "One."

  "I'm honored."

  "This was more of a place for me and my friends when we wanted to eat instead of drink. There was no better food after a day spent surfing."

  "As I'll soon find out."

  The waitress showed up and I ordered the shrimp. When she asked what we wanted to drink, I lifted my hands.

  "Sweet tea, please," Savannah said.

  "Make it two," I added.

  After the waitress left, we settled into easy conversation, uninterrupted even when our drinks arrived. We talked about life in the army again; for whatever reason, Savannah seemed fascinated by it. She also asked about growing up here. I told her more than I thought I would about my high school years and probably too much about the three years before enlistment.

  She listened intently, asking questions now and then, and I realized it had been a long time since I'd been on a date like this; a few years, maybe more. Not since Lucy, anyway. I hadn't seen any reason for it, but as I sat across from Savannah, I had to rethink my decision. I liked being alone with her, and I wanted to see more of her. Not just tonight, but tomorrow and the next day. Everything--from the easy way she laughed to her wit to her obvious concern for others--struck me as fresh and desirable. Then again, spending time with her also made me realize how lonely I'd been. I hadn't admitted that to myself, but after just two days with Savannah, I knew it was true.

  "Let's get some more music going," she said, interrupting my thoughts.

  I rose from my seat, rummaged through my pockets for a couple of quarters, and dropped them in. Savannah put both hands on the glass and leaned forward as she read the titles, then picked a few songs. By the time we got back to the table, the first was already going.

  "You know, I just realized that I've done all the talking tonight," I said.

  "You are a chatty thing," she observed.

  I freed my utensils from the rolled-up paper napkin. "How about you? You know all about me, but I don't know anything about you."

  "Sure you do," she said. "You know how old I am, where I go to school, my major, and the fact that I don't drink. You know I'm from Lenoir, live on a ranch, love horses, and spend my summers building homes for Habitat for Humanity. You know a lot."

  Yeah, I suddenly realized, I did. Including things she hadn't mentioned. "It's not enough," I said. "Your turn."

  She leaned forward. "Ask what you will."

  "Tell me about your parents," I said.

  "All right," she said, reaching for a napkin. She wiped the condensation from her glass. "My mom and dad have been married for twenty-five years, and they're still happy as clams and madly in love. They met in college at Appalachian State, and Mom worked at a bank for a couple of years until she had me. Since then, she's been a stay-at-home mom, and she was the kind of mom who was there for everyone else, too. Classroom helper, volunteer driver, coach of our soccer team, head of the PTA, all that kind of stuff. Now that I'm gone, she spends every day volunteering for other things--the library, schools, the church, whatever. Dad is a history teacher at the school, and he's coached the girls volleyball team since I was little. Last year they made it to the state finals, but they lost. He's also a deacon in our church, and he runs the youth group and the choir. Do you want to see a picture?"

  "Sure," I said.

  She opened her purse and removed her wallet. She flipped it open and pushed it across the table, our fingers brushing.

  "They're a little ragged at the edges from being in the ocean," she said, "but you get the idea."

  I turned the photo around. Savannah took more after her father than her mother, or had at least inherited the darker features from him.

  "Nice-looking couple."

  "I love 'em," she said, taking the wallet back. "They're the best."

  "Why do you live on a ranch if your dad is a teacher?"

  "Oh, it's not a working ranch. It used to be when my grandfather owned it, but he had to sell bits and pieces to pay the taxes on it. By the time my dad inherited it, it was down to ten acres with a house, stables, and a corral. It's more like a great big yard than a ranch. It's the way we always refer to it, but I guess that conjures up the wrong image, huh?"

  "I know you said you did gymnastics, but did you play volleyball for your dad?"

  "No," she said. "I mean, he's a great coach, but he always encouraged me to do what was right for me. And volleyball wasn't it. I tried and I was okay, but it wasn't what I loved."

  "You loved horses."

  "Since I was a little girl. My mom gave me this statue of a horse when I was really little, and that's what started the whole thing. I got my first horse for Christmas when I was eight, and it's still the best Christmas gift I've ever received. Slocum. She was this really gentle old mare, and she was perfect for me. The deal was that I had to take care of her--feed her and brush her and keep her stall clean. Between her, school, gymnastics, and taking care of the rest of the animals, that was pretty much all I had time for."

  "The rest of the animals?"

  "When I was growing up, our house was kind of like a farm. Dogs, cats, even a llama for a while. I was a sucker when it came to strays. My parents got to the point where they wouldn't even argue with me about it. There were usually four or five at any one time. Sometimes an owner would come, hoping to find a lost pet, and he'd leave with one of our recent additions if he couldn't find it. We were like the pound."

  "Your parents were patient."

  "Yes," she said, "they were. But they were suckers for strays, too. Even though she'd deny it, my mom was worse than me."

  I studied her. "I'll bet you were a good student."

  "Straight A's. I was valedictorian of my class."

  "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

  "I don't know," she said. "Why?"

  I didn't answer. "Did you ever have a serious boyfriend?"

  "Oh, now we're getting down to the nitty-gritty, huh?"

  "I was just asking."

  "What do you think?"

  "I think," I said, dragging out the words, "I have no idea."

  She laughed. "Then . . . let's let that question go for now. A little mystery is good for the so
ul. Besides, I'd be willing to bet you can figure it out on your own."

  The waitress arrived with the bucket of shrimp and a couple of plastic containers of cocktail sauce, set them on the table, and refilled our tea with the efficiency of someone who'd been doing it for way too long. She turned on her heels without asking whether we needed anything else.

  "This place is legendary for its hospitality."

  "She's just busy," Savannah said, reaching for a shrimp. "And besides, I think she knows you're grilling me and wanted to leave me to my inquisitor."

  She cracked the shrimp and peeled it, then dipped it in the sauce before taking a bite. I reached in the pail and set a couple on my plate.

  "What else do you want to know?"

  "I don't know. Anything. What's the best thing about being in college?"

  She thought about it as she filled her plate. "Good teachers," she finally said. "In college, you can sometimes pick your professors, as long as you're flexible with your schedule. That's what I like. Before I started, that was the advice my dad gave me. He said to pick classes based on the teacher whenever you can, not the subject. I mean, he knew that you had to take certain subjects to get a degree, but his point was that good teachers are priceless. They inspire you, they entertain you, and you end up learning a ton even when you don't know it."

  "Because they're passionate about their subjects," I said.

  She winked. "Exactly. And he was right. I've taken classes in subjects I never thought I'd be interested in and as far away from my major as you can imagine. But you know what? I still remember those classes as if I were still taking them."

  "I'm impressed. I thought you'd say something like going to the basketball games was the best part about being in college. It's like a religion at Chapel Hill."

  "I enjoy those, too. Just like I enjoy the friends I'm making and living away from Mom and Dad and all that. I've learned a lot since I left Lenoir. I mean, I had a wonderful life there, and my parents are great, but I was . . . sheltered. I've had a few eye-opening experiences."

  "Like what?"

  "Lots of things. Like feeling the pressure to drink or hook up with a guy every time I went out. My first year, I hated UNC. I didn't feel like I fit in, and I didn't. I begged my parents to let me come home or transfer, but they wouldn't agree. I think they knew that in the long run I'd regret it, and they were probably right. It wasn't until some time during my sophomore year that I met some girls who felt the same way I did about those types of things, and it's been a lot better ever since. I joined a couple of Christian student groups, I spend Saturday mornings at a shelter in Raleigh serving the poor, and I feel no pressure at all to go to this or that party or date this or that guy. And if I do go to a party, the pressure doesn't get to me. I just accept the fact that I don't have to do what everyone else does. I can do what's right for me."

  Which explained why she was with me last night, I thought. And right now, for that matter.

  She brightened. "It's kind of like you, I guess. In the past couple of years, I've grown up. So in addition to both of us being expert surfers, we have that in common, too."

  I laughed. "Yeah. Except that I struggled a lot more than you did."

  She leaned forward again. "My dad always said that when you're struggling with something, look at all the people around you and realize that every single person you see is struggling with something, and to them, it's just as hard as what you're going through."

  "Your dad sounds like a smart man."

  "Mom and Dad both. I think they both graduated in the top five in college. That's how they met. Studying in the library. Education was really important to both of them, and they sort of made me their project. I mean, I was reading before I got to kindergarten, but they never made it seem like a chore. And they've talked to me like I was an adult for as long as I can remember."

  For a moment, I wondered how different my life would have been had they been my parents, but I shook the thought away. I knew my father had done the best he could, and I had no regrets about the way I'd turned out. Regrets about the journey, maybe, but not the destination. Because however it had happened, I'd somehow ended up eating shrimp in a dingy downtown shack with a girl that I already knew I'd never forget.

  After dinner, we headed back to the house, which was surprisingly quiet. The music was still playing, but most people were relaxing around the fire, as if anticipating an early morning. Tim sat among them, engrossed in earnest conversation. Surprising me, Savannah reached for my hand, halting me in my tracks before we reached the group.

  "Let's go for a walk," she said. "I want to let dinner settle just a little before I sit down."

  Above us, a few wispy clouds were spread among the stars, and the moon, still full, hovered just over the horizon. A light breeze fanned my cheek, and I could hear the ceaseless motion of the waves as they rolled up the shore. The tide had gone out, and we moved to the harder, more compact sand near the water's edge. Savannah put a hand on my shoulder for balance as she removed one sandal, then another. When she finished, I did the same, and we walked in silence for a few steps.

  "It's so beautiful out here. I mean, I love the mountains, but this is wonderful in its own way. It's . . . peaceful."

  I felt the same words could be used to describe her, and I wasn't sure what to say.

  "I can't believe that I only met you yesterday," she added. "It seems like I've known you much longer."

  Her hand felt warm and comfortable in mine. "I was thinking the same thing."

  She gave a dreamy smile, studying the stars. "I wonder what Tim thinks about this," she murmured. She glanced at me. "He thinks I'm a little naive."

  "Are you?"

  "Sometimes," she admitted, and I laughed.

  She went on. "I mean, when I see two people heading off on a walk like this, I'm thinking, Oh, that's sweet. I'm not thinking they're going to hook up behind the dunes. But the fact is, sometimes they do. I just never realize it beforehand, and I'm always surprised when I hear about it later. I can't help it. Like last night, after you left. I heard about two people here who did just that, and I couldn't believe it."

  "I would have been more surprised if it hadn't happened."

  "That's what I don't like about college, by the way. It's like a lot of people don't believe these years really count, so you're allowed to experiment with . . . whatever. There's such a casual view about things like sex and drinking and even drugs. I know that sounds really old-fashioned, but I just don't get it. Maybe that's why I didn't want to go sit by the fire like everyone else. To be honest, I'm kind of disappointed in those two people I heard about, and I don't want to sit there trying to pretend that I'm not. I know I shouldn't judge, and I'm sure they're good people since they're here to help, but still, what was the point? Shouldn't you save things like that for someone you love? So that it really means something?"

  I knew she didn't want answers, nor did I offer any.

  "Who told you about that couple?" I asked instead.

  "Tim. I think he was disappointed, too, but what's he going to do? Kick them out?"

  We had gone a good way down the beach, and we turned around. In the distance, I could see the circle of figures silhouetted by the fire. The mist smelled of salt, and ghost crabs scattered to their holes as we approached.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I was out of line there."

  "About what?"

  "For being so . . . upset about it. I shouldn't pass judgment. It's not my place."

  "Everyone judges," I said. "It's human nature."

  "I know. But . . . I'm not perfect, either. In the end, it's only God's judgment that matters, and I've learned enough to know that no one can presume to know the will of God."

  I smiled.

  "What?" she asked.

  "The way you talk reminds me of our chaplain. He says the same thing."

  We strolled down the beach, and as we neared the house, we moved away from the water's edge, into the softer sand. Our feet sl
ipped with every step, and I could feel Savannah tighten her grip on my hand. I wondered whether she would let go when we got close to the fire, and I was disappointed when she did.

  "Hey," Tim called out, his voice friendly. "You're back."

  Randy was there, too, and he wore his usual sulky expression. Frankly, I was getting a bit tired of his resentment. Brad stood behind Susan, who was leaning into his chest. Susan seemed undecided about whether to pretend to be happy, so she could learn the details from Savannah, or to be upset for Randy's benefit. The others, obviously indifferent, went back to their conversations. Tim stood and made his way toward us.

  "How was dinner?"

  "It was great," Savannah said. "I got a taste of local culture. We went to the Shrimp Shack."

  "Sounds like fun," he commented.

  I strained to detect any undercurrent of jealousy but found none. Tim motioned over his shoulder and went on. "Do you two want to join us? We're just winding down, getting ready for tomorrow."

  "Actually, I'm a bit sleepy. I was just going to walk John to his car, and after that I'll turn in. What time do we need to be up?"

  "Six. We'll have breakfast and be at the site tomorrow by seven-thirty. Don't forget your sunscreen. We'll be out in the sun all day."

  "I'll remember. You should remind everyone else."

  "I have," he said. "And I'll do it again tomorrow. But you just wait--some folks won't listen and they'll get fried."

  "I'll see you in the morning," she said.

  "All right." He turned his attention to me. "I'm glad you came by today."

  "Me too," I said.

  "And listen, if you find yourself bored in the next couple of weeks, we could always use an extra hand."

  I laughed. "I knew it was coming."

  "I am who I am," he said, holding out his hand. "But either way, I hope to see you again."