The first thing I ever noticed about him was his shoes.
The first thing I saw when he climbed from the truck was a pair of work boots. They weren’t sneakers like the shoes years before, or the same boots he’d worn while working on the plantation, but they were well used and obviously well taken care of.
On my feet were a pair of braided sandals that matched a simple knee-length sundress, and they were glued to the pavement, as if they were afraid to move.
A shadow fell over me, his shadow, but I didn’t look past his feet.
“Hawthorne,” he said, his voice causing goose bumps.
My eyes traveled up his frame, over work-stained jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a pair of dog tags around his neck, tucked into the shirt. Tattoos peeked out at me from beneath the sleeves of his tee, the scar Rebecca had noticed long and ugly down his forearm. When I finally made it to his face, I had to fight to keep my eyes even. He didn’t look different, he just looked older, his face filled out to match his broad chest and thicker neck, his hair short but a little long in the front, his jaw shadowed with the need to shave. It was his eyes that surprised me. They were darker somehow, filled with mystery.
“Heathcliff,” I replied, wincing when I realized my mistake.
“Heathcliff?” a female voice asked. A laugh followed, and my gaze slid to a blonde-haired woman, her legs long, a pant suit hugging her frame. She wore sunglasses over her eyes, and they threw my reflection back at me as she stepped next to Heathcliff.
“It’s an old mistake,” I replied.
Rebecca joined me, her brows raised, her height accentuated by her heels. She pulled herself up to full length, using every bit of her mother’s pageant instructions in her favor. It put her eye-to-eye with the blonde.
“It’s good to see you again,” Rebecca said, offering her hand. “Can you remind me who you are?”
The woman’s lips twitched. “I’m Max’s girlfriend.”
“Ex,” Heathcliff suddenly corrected. “Ex-girlfriend.”
“A minute detail,” the woman added. “I’m Ginger.” She offered me her hand, ignoring Rebecca’s. “We haven’t met. An old high school friend, maybe.”
My hand met her palm, the shake brusque and short. “Something like that,” I answered.
Rebecca smiled, although there was no friendliness in the gesture. “How did you two meet, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m sort of a nosy rosy. Besides, I love a good love story. I’ve got two marriages behind me to prove it.”
Ginger pulled her sunglasses down to the end of her nose, peering over the rim, before replacing them. “My brother was in Max’s unit.”
“Was?” I asked, my gaze on Heathcliff’s.
His eyes searched mine. “We both got out a year ago when our active term was up.”
I started to ask another question, but the words wouldn’t come, my gaze falling once more to our feet. They’d moved closer while we talked, and I backed away, putting distance between his boots and my sandals.
“We’ve got to get this stuff unloaded,” Rebecca said.
Her words spurred me into action, my feet taking me away from Heathcliff and Ginger.
“Can I help?” Heathcliff asked as we opened the back of the van.
“No,” Rebecca answered. “We’ve got it.”
They left us then, their shadows and shoes carrying them into the house, and I slumped against the van, taking a deep breath before leaning in to grab two of the food trays.
“This is going to be fun,” Rebecca mumbled.
“Like a trip to the dentist,” I responded.
She chuckled, her arms full. Together, we headed for the door. It was ajar, Heathcliff’s mom standing just inside, her gaze settling on my face as we entered. There was something interesting about Lynn’s eyes, as if she were trying to speak to me without uttering a word.
“We’ve pushed tables up against the dining room walls,” she said. “We thought it might get too hot outside for Mams.”
Smiling, I nodded and brushed past groups of chatting Vincents, most of them calling out to me as we pushed through. Only two strangers mingled among the crowd, a young, blond headed man as tall and as broad as Heathcliff, and Ginger. They mostly kept to themselves, lounging near the walls, Heathcliff among them. It was strange seeing so much distance between Heathcliff and his family, as if his time away had created a barrier between them.
Mams, the guest of honor, sat in a wheelchair, her skin yellowed, but her eyes bright and sharp. It was a good day for her. I could tell by the way her gaze assessed me from across the room, following me as I worked.