August, 1932
Morocco
"I don't want to leave," Rose said, letting herself fall against Jack.
He enveloped her in a tight embrace. "Me, either," he said. He took a deep breath, loving the way the hot, dry air felt in his lungs.
"Do you feel all right?" she asked, turning to look at him over her shoulder.
He kissed her forehead. "I'm fine. Don't worry." He took another deep breath. "See? Lungs are all clear."
"I'm worrying too much, aren't I?"
"No. I'd be even worse if it was you."
Jack touched her face. She smiled and leaned into his hand. For a moment, he was sure she could see him. Her eyes, still so bright, seemed to be fixed on his, but the moment passed and once again they were unfocused and sightless. After seven years, he should have been used to her blindness, but he wasn't. A part of him never would be. There was no reason for it. One day she had been fine, and the next—he pushed the memory away. There was no sense in dwelling on it.
"You are worried about me," she said, laying her hand on his. "I can feel it in your eyes. Tell me what's wrong, Jack."
"Nothing." He made his tone as light as possible. "I'm just sorry to be leaving so soon."
"So soon? We've been here almost two years."
"Longest we've ever been anywhere."
"What about Santa Monica? We were there for a few years. And we're going back there," she added. "So doesn't that count?"
"Yeah, I guess it does." He sighed. "I'm just gonna miss being here."
She squeezed his fingers. "So am I."
Wellesley, Massachusetts
Dylan slid into his usual chair in the corner. The café was nearly empty, just the way he liked it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook. Humming, he flipped it open and grabbed the pencil he kept tucked behind his ear. He glanced around, his sharp green eyes taking in everything, before setting in to draw the couple near the window. Their body language screamed for him to capture it. He had just finished a small sketch when someone sat down in the chair opposite him. He looked up, still humming.
"Well, hello," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Eva rolled her eyes. "You see me here every day," she said, lighting a cigarette. "What are you working on today?" He held up his sketch. She nodded her approval. "Very nice. As usual."
"Don't hurt yourself with the praise," he said.
"Oh, you know how talented you are," she said, blowing a smoke ring. "You don't need me to tell you. I—" Her face drained of its color.
"What's wrong?" he asked. She stared at the window, wearing the expression of someone who'd been slapped. "Eva?" He touched her hand. "Are you—"
She jerked away. "Don't touch me," she whispered.
"Why—"
"Don't move. Don't speak." Slowly she stood up. "Just act as though nothing is happening," she said. He turned to watch her go. "Don't look at me," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Please," she added, softening her tone slightly.
He waited until he heard the door close behind her to turn around. She hurried across the street, her slick black hair shining in the afternoon sun. Her meticulously arranged finger waves just barely moved in the breeze. Dylan's curiosity intensified when she stopped next to a tall, black-haired man. Who is that? he wondered. What are they saying? He waited until they had walked away, he staring straight ahead, his jaw set, she with her head bowed slightly and her shoulders drooping, before he left.
He could hear the phone ringing even before he made it up the stairs to his apartment. He crashed through the door just in time to answer it.
"Hello?" he said breathlessly, hoping it was Eva. "Oh. Hi, Mom…next week? Do you know when? Okay. So, I'll see you next Thursday, then. Uh-huh. Yes. Of course I'm drawing."
Morocco
"He sounded disappointed," Rose said as she hung up the phone.
"Why would he be disappointed?" Jack asked.
"I think he was expecting someone else," she said, a mischievous note creeping into her voice.
"You don't think…he doesn't have a girl, does he?"
Rose shrugged. "He hasn't told me if he does, but it sure sounded like it."
"How do you know what that would sound like?"
"Well, I remember what you sounded like when we first met."
"I sound different now?"
She laughed softly. "No." He wrapped his arms around her waist. "You sound exactly the same." She sighed happily as he pressed his lips to her neck. "Jack…"
His hands slid up her stomach until he was cupping her breasts. She shivered, despite the heat. He smiled into her neck. "Are you cold? I thought it was a bit warm in here, actually."
She turned to face him. "As if you don't know what you're doing." Her voice was thick with desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands rested on her waist. She pulled him into a deep kiss.
Now it was his turn to sigh. Her body was pressing against him; she stroked the back of his neck with one hand and twisted his hair through the fingers of the other. Giggling, she pulled away from the kiss. "You don't want me, do you?"
"Me? Want you?" He moved to reclaim her lips. "What could possibly give you that idea?" She slipped a hand between them. He sucked in his breath as her fingertips grazed him through his pants. "Rose." It was more of a groan than a word.
"I don't know where I could have gotten that idea," she teased, moving her hand away.
He pulled her closer. "I always want you," he said softly, brushing his lips across her throat.
"Even after twenty years?" she asked. "You don't find me boring yet?"
He pressed himself into her hand. "What do you think?"
"I think it's a disgrace how overdressed you are."
He swung her up into his arms. She unbuttoned his shirt as he carried her into the bedroom. She ran her hands across his chest; over the years his muscles had grown more and more well-defined. She grabbed the top of his pants as he laid her down.
"What happened to your doubts about my wants?" he teased.
He slipped the top of her dress off her shoulders. She pulled the rest of it off and tossed it aside. Her answer was lost in a kiss. She closed her eyes and let her hands move across his body. She knew every inch of him by heart, but somehow it always felt like she was discovering him for the first time. It didn't matter that she couldn't see him, or at least it didn't matter anymore. It had taken some time for them to get over that particular hurdle. Jack had been afraid to touch her at all for the first few months after she lost her sight.
"It doesn't seem right," he'd said. "You can't see me. You—" He sighed. How could he explain it? He didn't even fully understand it himself. He kissed her hands. "I love you."
She laced her fingers through his. Stroking his knuckles with her thumbs she said, "Fine. Then let me touch you."
Rose wrapped her legs around Jack's hips. He slid his hands under her back. She hugged him to her as he leaned back, pulling her up and into his lap.
Wellesley, Massachusetts
One Week Later
"I still hate ships," Rose said. She tightened her grip on Jack's hand as they stepped onto the dock. She could hear the crowd moving around her; their voices blended in her ears and all the languages became one indecipherable noise.
"We're safe on dry land now," Jack said. "You don't have to worry." He scanned the crowd. He grinned as his eyes landed on a familiar blond head. "Dylan!" he called.
"Where?" Rose asked.
"He's coming."
"How does he look?"
"As much like you as ever."
"He looks like you. He has your hair."
"It's almost red in the sun. And he has your eyes."
"Are you two going on about who I look like again?" Dylan asked. They answered in unison, Jack with a "Yes" and Rose with a "No." Dylan shook his head. "And I'm guessing we'll have to hear this same argument when we see Lily?"
"What argument?" Jack asked. "Lily looks like your mother. That's the end of it."
"That—" Jack kissed Rose’s temple. She shot him a half-smile. "Was not fair," she finished. "That was not fair at all, Jack."
He feigned confusion. "A kiss? What's unfair about that?"
"All right. Let's go," Dylan said, "before you two really get into this. Lily's waiting."
He actually didn't mind listening to their bantering. They had been doing it for as long as he could remember, and it had always made him feel good to hear it. They didn't fight; not once had he or Lily ever heard them fight. When they were children he and Lily had believed they never disagreed. Raised voices didn't exist in their family, and the anger they had often seen the fathers of other children express most definitely didn't exist in their father. Of course, now that he was an adult, Dylan was sure there had been disagreements and perhaps even a few fights, but as he watched them together, it was impossible not to see the love they had for each other. Jack guided Rose through the streets, describing everything as they went. Rose held his hand in both of hers, more out of a desire to be close to him than a fear of getting separated from him.
I wonder, Dylan thought, if Eva and I can ever be like that.