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He knew the fields she named and turned left. The sun had dipped almost completely behind the horizon, the sky darkening into navy, when he parked the car again. A few birds flew overhead, calling out to one another, and cars passed on the road behind them, but they were alone. Samantha grabbed the bag of food and wine and started out to the slight hill off to the side.
He followed and sat next to her. They were on sloped ground, with nothing but a few empty nets off on the field in front of them and the glow of the half-moon above them. The grass was soft beneath the spread Samantha put out. She opened the bags of grapes and chocolates before unscrewing the cap of the wine. She poured some into two cups and handed one to him. “Cheers.”
He tapped his cup against hers and drank the red wine, holding back a wince at the taste.
“Do you like it?” she asked, licking a drop of the dark-colored liquid off the corner of her mouth.
He sucked down another terrible gulp, and she smiled, popping a few of the tiny chocolates into her mouth.
“How’d you find this spot?”
“A couple years ago, I was driving around and decided to randomly park here,” she said after a sip of wine. “I like to come here to think. It’s quiet at night.”
He reached in front of him to catch one of the last fireflies flitting about. He held his fist out to Samantha before turning it up, opening his fingers to show her the glowing bug. It flew up and landed on her shoulder.
“I used to catch fireflies,” she said, staring at the insect, its neon glow disappearing for a moment before returning. “Kept them in jars with some grass like a little aquarium or something.”
“I know. I remember,” Mike said, thinking about a young Sam playing in the yard next door while he threw a football through an old tire.
She brushed the firefly away, the loose fit of her sleeve swaying with the movement.
“I like that shirt on you,” he said, and she tugged on the bottom of it, stretching the thin, gauzy material over her breasts.
“Thanks. I made it.”
He wasn’t surprised since she’d tailored his suit so well. “Lady of many talents.” He plucked a handful of grapes from the vine and offered her one. “Where did you learn how to sew?”
She nibbled on a grape, and it was a long time before she answered. “In high school, I went away to a camp. Sewing was one of the things I learned there.”
“I don’t remember you going away,” he said, thinking back to that time.
“It was after you enlisted.”
When she didn’t say anything else, he leaned back on his elbow, admiring her body in the moonlight. Her skin seemed to shine, wisps of hair that had fallen from her bun waving in the slight breeze. “Was it a summer camp?”
She shook her head and downed the rest of her wine before refilling it. Mike wanted to say something about how fast she drank that last cup, but her nervous demeanor held him back.
“It was a residential facility for treatment of eating disorders,” she said quietly.
He sat up immediately. “I didn’t know. Are you okay?”
Her focus stayed on the night sky. “I’m fine now, completely healthy.”
He wrapped his hand around her upper arm, double-checking—just to be sure—before stroking up and down her spine. It took him a few seconds until he found the courage to push her on the subject. “What happened?”
She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eyes for a moment then returned her gaze out in front of her. “The usual teenage girl stuff, plus divorced parents.”
He shook his head in confusion. Even though her parents had divorced before he’d left for basic, he didn’t know what that was like, nor what it meant to be a teenage girl.
“You know my parents argued all the time, right?”
He nodded, inching even closer to her until his shoulder brushed hers.
“My dad was never home, and my mom wasn’t happy. I suspect they thought having my brother would somehow make everything better. I think my mom assumed my dad would start coming home in time for dinner if there were two kids, like he would start pulling his weight or something.” She lifted one resigned shoulder, offering him a small, sad smile. “Lina was always over. My mom said they were best friends, and I think, at first, they were, but it was easy to see it was more than that, even for a fourteen-year-old. And I think my dad suspected something was going on as well, because they started arguing over her too. The divorce wasn’t messy. They didn’t fight over the house or money or me and Gav… In that regard, it was easy, but…”
She tilted her head back to the sky, and Mike barely held himself back from kissing her pulse point in her throat. He settled for placing his hand over hers. He needed to provide a sense of acknowledgment that he was listening, that he recognized her hurt.
“They didn’t speak for about a year after they divorced. They spoke through me, like it was fifth grade, and it was so immature of them. I resented them, hated the whole situation, and I felt a little out of control. Add in the social pressures of high school, and I was ripe for all kinds of mental health issues.”
