“Ever since Lewis died, you're the closest friend I’ve got,” he added, his fingers fidgeting with the lures in his tackle box.
Overwhelmed by his confession, I grasped for words. “Jack… I?—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You ain’t got to say anything.”
But I couldn’t let his sentiment go unacknowledged. After all, I had been waiting a long time to hear him say something like that. “No, Jack, I want to. I know how much your brother meant to you. So to hear you say that I’m your closest friend, well...that means a lot. And just so you know, you’re my closest friend too, and...”
The moment was broken when a fish tugged at Jack’s line. He reached out and steadied the rod, his eyes once again filled with that familiar spark. I had seen that expression countless times over the summer, one that I was convinced I would never forget.
“Will you look at that? A nice red-eye,” he said, grinning with pride as he got the fish to the bank. He unhooked it carefully, holding it up against the midday sun. “This one will make a fine supper.”
I watched Jack working on another catch and found myself smiling. I was grateful for these moments by his side—the feel of the earth beneath us, the sound of the rushing water, and Jack's laughter filling up each gap in between.
When the sun began to set and we prepared to leave, I turned toward him. “Jack…”
“Hmm?”
My heart fluttered. I had been thinking about this moment for weeks, ever since Mama’s comments about Jack and I spending too much time together. I took a deep breath and said, “You know how Mother worries about us being together?”
Jack nodded slowly, looking serious. “Yeah, I know.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” I trailed off again before finally gathering the courage. “Do you ever think about…us?”
“Us? What do you mean?”
“You know, beyond fishing and working together?” My voice was barely above a whisper, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for his response.
Jack stopped packing up his gear and turned toward me. He broke into one of his warm smiles and simply said, “Every day, Sara Coffee. Every single day.”
That night, as I lay in bed staring out the window at the world bathed in silver, a new sense of hope and anticipation bloomed within me. Staring at the moon, I whispered to myself, “Every day,” and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
6
Present
Diane gaveme a look of gentle sadness, her brow slightly wrinkled with thoughtful consideration. “It sounds like you really loved him.”
“Yes, I did,” I said, recalling how deeply I had fallen for Jack that summer. “More than anything.” Remembering Jack—his laughter, the way his blue eyes shimmered in the sunlight— felt like poking at an old wound. It hurt, but there was a comforting familiarity in the pain.
“Speaking of Jack…wasn’t he the reason you landed in Kitty Hawk in the first place? In my research for this week, I came across a transcript of an interview you did years ago with the Charlotte observer, where you mentioned him as being the reason you left home.”
I nodded once, my thoughts drifting. “But it wasn’t just him. There were many factors that led to my leaving.”
Diane leaned back in her chair, inspecting my face as if searching for a hint of some hidden truth. “Like what?”
“For starters, there was the sheer monotony of life back home. Every day was the same people, the same conversations, the same landscapes. Not to mention I was struggling with my career choice. I enjoyed being a teacher, at first, but as time went on I found it wasn’t what I'd dreamed of. The kids were great, but the bureaucracy was suffocating, and there was no room for creativity, no space for spontaneity. It was disheartening to say the least.”
“I see.” Diane jotted down notes in her notepad, her brows drawn together for a second before she finally looked up at me again. “So, whatever happened between you and Jack? Did you ever work up the nerve to tell him how you felt or did the secret wither away with time?”
I shifted my gaze to an old black-and-white photo on the wall. The only tangible memory of me and Jack, arm in arm when we were teenagers. It had been taken a few days before I left for college. “Yes,” I admitted, a lump forming in my throat. “I told him. But it took a few words of encouragement and an unforgettable sunset to coax it out of me.”
Sims Chapel, TN
August 1949
“Sara, what brings you by?” George asked one evening as he was closing up shop.
“I was hoping to talk to you, if you have a minute.”