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Franny drove up and down the coast. She stopped in the town square and checked the memorial. She even ventured inside the two open bars on the other side of town. Not a sign of Heath anywhere. Finally she returned to the Hideaway and crept into bed fully clothed with her phone clutched in her hand.
She woke every hour, listening for sounds in the driveway or footsteps out back. Twice she got up to peek out the window. No lights on in Heath’s place. No sign of life at all. Finally, around dawn, she got up and walked into the kitchen. Something terrible happened to him. Maybe he’d slipped, fallen, and broken a leg. Or knocked his head against a rock. Or gotten hit by a car. Or taken a wrong turn, tripped into the bay, and drowned. Or maybe, the more rational side of her reasoned, he’d simply decided he wasn’t interested in spending time here, or with her, and he’d skipped town. Except his truck remained parked in the driveway, so if he’d left, it wasn’t that way.
She started a pot of coffee and pulled out the ingredients for breakfast. Weekenders got a full hot meal, and today that included omelets, cinnamon buns, and fruit salad. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and changed her silver sparkle t-shirt for a button-down shirt and practical shorts. As much as it consumed her thoughts, there was nothing she could do about Heath now. If he didn’t show up by noon, she’d call the police. Or Finn. Or someone.
A movement outside distracted her. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but the sky was beginning to lighten. A figure appeared in her driveway. Two figures, actually. Franny stared for another second and then ran outside in bare feet.
“You’re here! You’re okay!” She launched herself into Heath’s arms.
He caught her and stumbled backwards. “Whoa.”
She buried her face in his shoulder, so relieved she could barely stand. She didn’t want to let go, even though he had grass stuck to his sleeve and smelled like – well, like dog. Finally she looked up. “What happened to you?”
“I’m sorry.” He stepped back and released her. “It was a long – I had a rough night.” He looked at the ground. “I shouldn’t have just taken off. I should’ve called you and let you know where I was. I’m sorry.”
“Are you alright?” For the first time, she looked at the dog that had followed Heath up the driveway, that pathetic three-legged stray. It stunk of garbage, and its tail looked mangy and scabbed. It studied her, its tongue lolling from one side of its mouth. She looked back at Heath. “What’s happening? Why is he here?”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a sad, tired smile. “This guy kept me company.” He waved a hand at the sky. “I slept under the stars. Nice night, actually.”
“You –” Her mouth opened and closed again. Inside, she could hear the sound of doors opening and toilets flushing. “Do you want some breakfast? Or coffee?” She didn’t want to expose Heath to the gawking stares of her guests.
He looked down at himself. In the growing light, she could make out scrapes on his arms and cheeks, some of them deep and red. “Think I’ll grab a shower first.” He reached out and squeezed her arm. “Then, yes, I would very much like a cup of coffee.”
An hour later, Franny took the last tray of cinnamon buns from the oven as Heath slipped inside the back door and joined her in the kitchen.
“Those smell great.”
He looked great, freshly showered and wearing a green t-shirt and faded khaki shorts.
“Thanks.” She poured two large cups of coffee and handed him one. “Hungry?”
He nodded. “Can I help?”
She shook her head and whipped up two omelets, one large and one small. She added cheese and mushrooms and tossed them in the sauté pan. She toasted some bread and placed it on the plates beside the eggs. “Here you go.”
“Wow. You’re fast.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs above them. “I have to be, in this place.” She began arranging breakfast on serving trays for her guests. “Be right back.” It took her three trips to lay out everything family style in the dining room. When she returned for the last time, Heath had cleaned his plate, washed it, and set it in the drying rack along with two pans and three bowls she hadn’t yet gotten to.
“You didn’t have to wash the dishes.”
“Least I could do.” He refilled his mug and leaned against the counter. “You didn’t eat,” he said with a look at her plate.
“Sometimes I forget.” She took the now-cold eggs and toast and sat at the small table. After a moment, he joined her.
“I didn’t mean to leave,” he began. Those intense, dark blue eyes bored into hers, and she put down her fork. “Last night. I was coming back to find you, and then...” He cleared his throat. “The fireworks.”
Understanding dawned on her. “They –” She almost said scared you, but the pain in his eyes, the awful self-disappointment, stopped her. “Caught you off guard?”
“Something like that. I guess. It never happened before. I just freaked out. Took off running, and by the time I stopped I was on the beach somewhere south of town.” Pain crossed his face, and he squeezed the mug so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry. I should have let you know.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” She ran her fingers over the scratches on his knuckles. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when it happened. Maybe I could’ve, I don’t know, reassured you.” She tried to imagine how firework explosions could sound like war, could spin a veteran’s mind into thinking he was somewhere else. “Have you talked to anyone about it? The anxiety, I mean, or the fireworks, or...”
“Besides you?”
She nodded. The memory of her mother’s mental illness and resulting suicide reared up in her mind. He needs a professional. Someone who can do and say the right things. She knew PTSD wasn’t the same as bipolar disorder, not by a long shot, but still. The mind, in all its beautiful complexity, could tear itself apart. She’d seen it happen before.
He shrugged. “I had to see a therapist a couple times. Didn’t do much for me.” He drew his hand away. “I’m not much for talking about stuff like that.”
Franny finished her breakfast. Heath’s gaze moved to the window and the sun climbing steadily in the sky. “I like talking to you,” he said after a long silence.
“I like that you can talk to me.” She traced the pattern of wood grain on the table. “But I don’t know if I’m enough. There’s so much I don’t know about... I don’t know, about everything.” She felt helpless, clueless, unable to do much except reassure him. She hadn’t been able to help her own mother, and they’d spent a lifetime living under the same roof.
His gaze returned to her, and he smiled for the first time all morning. “You’re enough, Franny.” He winked, and her thoughts spiraled. “You’re more than enough.” He leaned over and ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “How about I make it up to you with dinner tomorrow night?”
She caught his calloused hand in hers. “I’d love that.”