Where Your Heart Is (Lilac Bay Book 1) (16 page)

The first few times we had done this, I’d clung to the ladder of the boat as I made my way down into the water, making what should have been a ten-second descent last more like ten minutes. I’d gotten better on the ladder over the last few weeks and now, apparently, David thought it was time for me to abandon it all together.

“What if my head goes under?” I asked, feeling a little panic.

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“It won’t.”

“But—”

“Iris. I’m standing right here. You’re going to jump, your feet are going to hit the bottom—which is sandy and soft, remember—and your head isn’t going to get anywhere near the water. Okay?”

“But you’ll pull me up if I do?” I asked, hearing how high pitched my voice had gotten.

David smiled up at me. “Why do you think I got in first?”

I took a deep breath, trying to be comforted by the fact that he was waiting there in the water for me.
You can do this. You can jump
.

“Iris,” he said, his voice taking on that calm, compelling tone that always brought my gaze right to his face. His eyes were focused on me. Reassuring. “It’s going to be fine. I’m right here.”

That was pretty much all I needed to hear. I closed my eyes, took a huge breath, and jumped. Just as David said, my feet hit the sandy bottom, and I was able to stand immediately, the water reaching no farther than my shoulders. My hair, gathered up in a bun at the back of my neck, didn’t even get wet.

“You got this,” he said, the approval in his voice making me feel inordinately proud of myself. “Let’s walk a little.”

This is how David liked to start every lesson. We would walk through the water, our heads bobbing above the surface, and talk about everything we saw. He would point out the various birds in the trees surrounding the cove; I would exclaim over the different fish flitting around our legs. Once he could tell I was comfortable—in other words, once I stopped hyperventilating—he would begin the lesson.

“I think we should get your face in the water today,” he said.

“No.” The word was out of my mouth before he even finished his sentence.

“Iris—”

“I’m not doing that, David. Not yet.”

He grinned, water lapping up onto his neck. “It was worth a try. Okay, you want to watch me first?”

“Sure.” I tried to keep my voice casual so he wouldn’t guess just how much I liked watching him swim. Or do anything, really. But swimming was a particular delight. David Jenkins was an excellent swimmer. His long legs propelled him through the water while his powerful arms worked to pull him along, his entire body fluid and sleek. He’d told me that when it got a little warmer, we’d be able to tackle Lake Michigan without the wet suits, and the thought of watching him swim like that, without the cover of yards of neoprene, made me feel lightheaded.

David swam across the little cove, over to the far side where he used the rock to push off and come back in my direction. When he got close, he dove under, and a few seconds later, his feet came up out of the water. A handstand.
He’s showing off
, a little voice in my head whispered.
For you
.

When he surfaced, he was only a foot away, close enough for me to see the individual water droplets clinging to his face. He was grinning, his face boyish, and at that moment, he looked a lot like that sixteen-year-old guy I’d loved all those years ago.

Suddenly, I wanted to kiss him.

“You ready to try?”

“Sure,” I squeaked.
Okay, get your head in the game, Iris. Stop thinking about kissing. And about the droplets of water glistening on his perfect, tanned face with the little bit of stubble and—no! Stop!

Why did he have to be so damn good looking? It was getting harder and harder to ignore these feelings. When David had first suggested he’d teach me how to swim as a means of tackling my phobia, I thought he was insane. Me, get in the water? I couldn’t even stand to get
near
the water. But he had been persistent, promising me we would build up to the swimming part. And he’d been true to his word. David’s method of getting me acclimated to the water involved taking walks by the shoreline, barefoot, letting the freezing cold waves lap up over my toes. He had talked to me constantly, asking me to describe how the rocks felt beneath my feet, reminding me of the solidity of the ground holding me up, despite the water. We’d spent more time on the boat, as well, traveling around the island. Slowly, I acquiesced to leaving the shoreline of the island farther and farther behind. He’d even taught me how to drive the boat—an activity that remained firmly in the terrifying column. And eventually, he’d gotten me into the water, after much pleading, coddling, bribing, and convincing.

Through it all, he’d been perfect. Patient, funny, kind, distracting. Only getting frustrated with me on very rare occasions. (To his credit, I had cut off all the circulation in his hand clinging to it that day. I would have been frustrated myself.)

So if I thought spending more time with him was going to ease the growing feelings in my chest, I was mistaken. Our lessons had the opposite effect, in fact. Rather than getting used to being around David, my heart had decided he was actually just as perfect as he had been all those years ago, if a little more grumpy these days.

“That’s excellent, Iris!” he called, pulling me back from my thoughts. I looked up from my awkward little doggy paddle and turned back to see that I had swum a good twenty feet ahead of him, much farther away than I had ever ventured before. I usually insisted on staying right next to him, close enough to grab and cut off his circulation all over again if an emergency struck.

But now David was standing far behind me, not right next to me. I waited for the panic to flare, shocked when it remained dormant.
I can touch
, I reminded myself. And David could get to me if he needed to.

A rush of something like excitement ran through me. I was swimming! And I was swimming on my own, without a hand to hold. I was doing it! Instead of turning back to David, I turned around and swam a little farther away, relishing in the sound of David’s excited whoop behind me.

It was our best lesson yet. We swam for a good twenty minutes, sometimes together, sometimes separately, me feeling braver and braver on my own. When David called me back to the boat for lunch, the pride in his eyes set my entire chest aflame with joy. I was doing it! And he was proud of me!

We sat on the platform in our wetsuits and attacked the picnic lunch David had packed from the café, our legs dangling in the water.

“You’re going to be swimming freestyle in no time,” he told me, a trifle smugly.

“You think so, huh?”

He smirked at me. “I’m obviously an excellent teacher.”

I laughed, the sound cutting off abruptly when he jokingly bumped my shoulder with his. God, he was so solid next to me. Phillip hadn’t been solid like that. Had any of the boys on my skimpy list of exes? Most of them had been the slick, overly styled type so prevalent in the real estate circuit. I couldn’t imagine a single one of them doing something like this—devoting countless hours to teach me how to swim. Which didn’t even include all of the work he was doing for my grandparents.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, voice soft near my ear. “You were laughing, and then you went a little still.”

I felt my cheeks redden. I couldn’t exactly tell him that I’d been thinking about how he still, twelve years after we’d broken up, out-measured every other guy I’d ever dated.

I was saved from coming up with an answer by the sounds of a Van Halen ringtone coming from David’s cargo shorts, currently slung over the back of his seat. “Better grab that,” he said, standing. It was funny, the way I could immediately feel the absence of his presence. It must just be his body heat, I told myself, trying to keep it together.

“Dad,” David said into the phone, his voice cheery. “How’s it going?”

Whatever his dad said made David laugh. “That good, huh?”

They talked for a few minutes while I tried, and failed, not to listen in. It sounded like his dad needed help with some repairs at the house, which David, of course, agreed to assist him with. I wondered where in the world he found the time to keep up with all he was doing. His shifts at the café, Cora’s pub, The Elks. Helping out at Rose’s. These lessons. Did he ever say no to anyone?

Was that all this was? Yet another example of the way David Jenkins was a stand-up guy, helping everyone out, no matter their problem.

“Sorry,” he said joining me again. “Dad needs the gutters cleaned out.”

“How’s he doing?” I asked. I had liked David’s dad when we were teenagers. In fact, we spent quite a lot of time at the Jenkins’ house back then. I was so angry with my mother, getting away from Lilac Ridge was a necessity. I remembered Mr. Jenkins as an older version of David—tall, broad, and kind.

“He’s okay,” David said, but there was an edge to his voice that told me I wasn’t getting the whole story.

“Still working at the lumberyard?”

David didn’t answer for a moment, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “Nah. He’s on disability now.”

“Was he injured?” I asked, thinking of power saws and whatever other dangerous implements they used at lumberyards.

“He messed up his back a few years ago.” Again the sense that he was leaving something out. But then he sighed. “Honestly, things have been rough for him for a while. The back injury was just…well, more of an excuse, I guess.”

“An excuse?”

“To give up.” There was so much bitterness in his voice, it made me feel chilled. Suddenly, he looked an awful lot like the David Jenkins who had saved me from falling into the bay all those weeks ago.

“David—”

“My mom left him,” he said, the bitterness even stronger. “Just ran off. Said she didn’t want to be married anymore. After twenty-five years.”

“Shit,” I said, reaching for his hand without thinking. To my surprise, he let me take it, though he held my fingers limply in his own.

“It really broke him up. I’ve never seen him… Anyhow, he was different after that. Sad. Drinking all the time. When he hurt his back…” David shrugged. “He pretty much just hangs out at the Elks now. Or Cora’s.”

Cora’s and the Elks. Both places where David worked. Was that a coincidence? Or had he taken those low-paying, part-time jobs that in no way matched up with his talents to keep an eye on his dad? A sudden thought struck me, making my throat go dry.

“When did this happen?”

“Five years ago.”

Five years. In other words, when David left Chicago. So his mom had left, he’d had some seemingly traumatic breakup with his college girlfriend, and then his dad had gotten hurt. I remembered Posey’s words from all those weeks ago.
He’s been through a lot.

“That’s why you came home.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t deny it.

“You gave up being a chef to come back here and look after your dad?”

His head snapped over in my direction. “Of course I did. That’s what you do, Iris. For family.”

I swallowed, feeling chastised even though his voice hadn’t been judgmental.

“Hey.” He squeezed my hand, his voice a lot more light now. “It’s not so bad. Don’t you go feeling sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” I said quickly. Too quickly. Of course I did. What a sad story. His mom leaving; his dad reacting so badly. And David giving up a promising career to come back here to this island.

“Iris.” There was laughter in his voice now, such a change from the bitterness of a few moments ago. “I’m happy here, you know.”

“You are?” I blurted out the words without thinking, my disbelief evident in my voice, but David only laughed.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked. I
am
. I like it here. I like my friends. I like being close to my dad. I like the work I do. Being a part of the community here. It means a lot to me.”

That old frustration rose sharply in my chest. David must have read something of it on my face. “What?”

“Do you know that I’ve been hearing that since I was a toddler?” I asked, my voice tight. I had to look away from him, certain he would see the anger coloring my cheeks. “All my family talks about is
home
. What it means to them. How important it is. My grandparents feel that way. Posey feels that way—she could have done anything after college, you know? She’s so smart and has so much energy and drive. But she came home. Just like you did.” I swallowed, feeling like I was saying too much but unable to stop myself. “I’m the only one I know who doesn’t feel that. Who doesn’t have that sense of place. Not anywhere.” I turned back to him, my frustration too strong to try to hide it. “What’s wrong with me that I’ve never had that, David?”

I thought he might look at me in that disdainful way he had that first week. That look that told me exactly what he thought of my relationship to the island, to my family. But instead, he smiled. And reached for my hands. “Iris, you do have that.”

I snorted. “Give me a break. You know how I feel about the island. And Chicago never felt like home, not after my mom—” I broke off, not wanting to finish that sentence, and something softened in his eyes.

“Iris, home doesn’t have to be a place. Your family doesn’t love it here just because of the island. Sure, they love the town and the land and the water and everything we have here. But it’s about so much more than that.” He squeezed my hands. “It’s about the people. Their friends. And their family. That most of all. Their kids and their grandkids and each other. I’m sure it’s the same way for your Aunt Deen and Uncle Frank and all your cousins. It’s the people that draw them back here. Their family.” He ducked his head so he was on my level, looking right into my eyes. “I’m sure it was the same for your mother.”

There was a lump in my throat, and my eyes burned. “I’ve never been a part of it, David. You said it yourself—I was never here.”

“That doesn’t mean you weren’t a part of it. They were always waiting for you, Iris. Ready to welcome you back. And when things got shitty in your life, you came here. For the exact same reasons that they stayed here. For the same reasons I came back here. Because it’s where your family is.”