Feisty

by Julia Kent

  “That asshole,” Perky blurts out.

  “What did Parker do now?”

  “Hah. I meant the guy who attacked you.”

  It's only when other people say it like that–when they bluntly state the obvious–that it sinks in. Someone attacked me. Someone tried to hurt my kids.

  Someone almost succeeded.

  And it was me–and only me–who fought back. Who stopped him.

  Who won.

  “Perk,” I say in a low moan, free to emote here, allowed to acknowledge what I’ve held off with everyone else leading to this point. “He–he tried… oh, my God, Perky, what if I couldn't stop him?”

  “But you did.”

  “But what if I couldn't?”

  “But you did.”

  “What if I'd missed? What if he'd used that gun? What if–”

  “But. You. Did.”

  Just then, Mallory walks right in, dumps her purse on the floor by the door, and makes a beeline for me. Her arms are around me before I know it, her clutch so strong that it’s hard to breathe, wine almost sloshing over the rim of my glass.

  “Don't you ever scare me like that again!”

  I start laughing. It's hysterical.

  “You listen, Fi! I don't have time to get another bridesmaid. Do you know how hard it is to schedule seamstresses for fittings?” She hugs me harder. “You're a hero!”

  “I'm a wreck.”

  “You can be both.”

  Shaking, I bring the wine to my mouth and guzzle the rest down, carefully setting the glass on the counter by the stem, fingers pulling back as if I'll break it otherwise.

  “I am both.”

  “My mom asked if you need anything. She knows your parents aren't here.”

  Of all the times for my parents to be out of the country. Three years ago, they planned a massive, six-week world cruise, the culmination of years of saving. They left last Sunday.

  Rico's timing sucks.

  “My parents are on a cruise ship, and Mom refuses to pay the crazy prices for internet access. It'll be weeks before they find out.”

  “You're not going to contact them? Tell them?”

  “I will,” I say faintly, mind freezing at the thought of managing my mother's reaction. Like any loving parent, I know she's going to freak.

  I don't have the strength to manage someone else's freakout just yet.

  “You want us to do it?” Perky asks. “Because we can.”

  “If I don't, my brother will. I'm sure he's one of the people trying to call me. If he can't, he'll reach out to the cruise line to contact them.”

  “Honey,” Mal says with concern, “they're going to find out somehow, and – ”

  “I will. I will. Promise. But right now, I just want to be a wreck in the hot springs.” I don't know why I'm drawn to it, but I am.

  Perk grabs the open bottle of wine and marches to the door. “Let's go.”

  Mal holds my hand like I'm a child needing guidance, and we walk outside along a stone path bordered with ivy. The small Japanese maples add accents of burgundy, tidy and sedate, beautifully ornamental. Perky's parents won $177 million in the lottery about ten years ago, and the grounds reflect carefully cultivated luxury.

  A stone archway built into a hill has a huge, carved oak door with a rounded top. Mal opens it, revealing a stone staircase that drops down two levels.

  It smells like aged sediment, the prehistoric scent of an underground cavern with stalagmites. There aren’t natural mineral springs here, but Perk's mom, Sofia, hired a team of designers and architects, stone masons and landscape architects, to come in and create the ultimate replica of one.

  It's like the ancient baths in England. Like Mammoth Cave with a spa attached.

  I stand in the doorway, a deep hum moving through me, as if the stone itself were conducting a chant from the Earth's core.

  “What's wrong?” Mal whispers.

  “Shhhh,” Perky replies. “It's one of Fiona's moments.”

  She's right.

  I've learned to pause when I feel overwhelmed, to be a conduit for energy rather than trying to generate it myself, or ignore it. Years of seeking out a higher vibrational truth has pulled me away from my thinking mind and into my intuitive mind. Mallory's volition lives in her head. Perky's volition lives in her spine.

  Mine used to live in my core, but now it's in my aura.

  Savoring the silence, I let my breath guide me, my shaking inner being needing to release the fear that almost took over, the anger that made me fight back. Righteous instinct turned me to violence to protect children who couldn't defend themselves. The mixed morality of what I did today means that doing right–being right–isn't enough.

  I had to use violence against another soul.

  And that is making me shake.

  Then I realize – I used violence against Fletch when we were younger, to get him to take my no seriously.

  I shake even more.

  “Do you want to be alone?” Mallory asks softly, her hand on my shoulder, the grounding both appreciated and difficult. “We can let you soak in the hot springs by yourself.”

  Politeness dictates that I tell her no, I'm fine, it's okay, I want my friends here.

  Truth dictates something deeper: that I accept her loving offer to give what I actually need.

  “Yes,” I say, grateful she's put it into words so I don't have to. “Just for a little bit? Maybe twenty minutes?”

  “It's fine,” Perky soothes. “Just don't overcook.”

  “I know. Your mom thought of everything when she had this designed. Plenty of water to drink and places to climb out and cool off.” I swallow, hard. “You're sure this is okay?”

  “Totally. Gives us time to go out to the cabana and find my mom's Tim Tams stash.” She and Mallory share a glance I easily interpret: They're worried about me.

  “Your mom has a secret Tim Tams stash?” Mallory coos as they leave, the sound of their conversation like warm breath on ice as it fades to a whisper with their departure.

  I take a deep breath.

  I move forward.

  I'm pulled forward.

  Steam rises as I descend, recessed lighting muted and warm, giving the already cavernous space a womblike feel. My breath, every sound I make, echoes, and then I reach the water, where stone columns rise up around a huge, zero-entry pool that bubbles.

  I strip down, naked, immodest, unmoored.

  The water feels like a mother's womb, the slow lapping of waves caused by my entrance like love in liquid form.

  “Please heal me,” I whisper. “I invite you to bring me what I need.”

  Working with Jolene has taught me this simple grace: Ask the universe for help. Be specific.

  Be open.

  I'm in the water to the tips of my breasts, the hot springs sending off waves of steam, the heat caressing my chin, then the lower tips of my earlobes. I sink down, pinch my nose, and go under, holding my breath as my closed eyes shield me from the world.

  I could stay down here forever.

  Alas, I am mortal, and oxygen is a must.

  Breaking the surface, I inhale in a controlled manner, then exhale until every last molecule of air is gone, nearly choking as I splay my arms, palms flat, like starfish with their bellies to the ceiling. Holding my diaphragm in place, flat against my third chakra, I inhale slowly, feeling a controlled fire inside that has no name.

  Rebirth is hard. Renewal is harder.

  Regret is the worst.

  Did I do everything I could to save the kids? Were my actions more traumatic than they needed to be? If Mattie was in the ER with an asthma attack, was it anxiety induced? Were other children harmed today? The collective weight of their little psyches is like having the ceiling cave in on me, my lungs too small to breathe for all of them, my arms too short to wrap around them and protect them from a world where an angry dad with weapons shows up at their preschool and nearly shatters everything.

  “Did I do right?” I fi
nally gasp, the words wrong but the feeling too intense not to express. I close my eyes and float, needing the water to support me, my sense of responsibility so heavy that my bones cannot hold it up any longer.

  I have to be aided.

  I have to be upheld.

  I have to ask for mercy.

  As the hot water holds me dear, the minutes with Rico rush through my mind's eye. With intent, I freeze-frame each moment, thinking to myself: I am only here to love people.

  When I kick him, I freeze the picture and think: I am only here to love people.

  When I see the gun under the Peace Table, I freeze the picture and whisper aloud:

  “You fucker.”

  Sputtering, I stand suddenly, wondering where the hell that came from.

  So much for serenity. I'm not nearly as evolved as Jolene tells me I am.

  “What the hell?” I mutter.

  “Hey, sorry,” a deep voice says from behind me.

  Oh. Wow. I've entered a completely different realm. Jolene told me that over time, if I raise my vibration, I can access other planes of consciousness.

  Has it finally happened?

  “Who’s there?” I ask, dipping down so my shoulders are in the hot water, but my back still turned. The entity could be anyone–no one–a Master from the spirit world, or a long-dead relative coming forward to chide me or thank me for what I did today.

  It could be my soul, reaching from within me, taking on a different form.

  Or it could be–

  “Fletch,” he says. “Perky's mom said you and Mallory were down here, but I didn't realize you were, uh...”

  I'm really inventing voices, aren't I?

  I stand, brushing my hair off my face, the water up to mid-buttock, steam billowing off my skin as I laugh, a throaty, deep chuckle that feels good.

  “I must be losing my mind,” I say aloud, spinning around, “because I swear I just imagined Fletch–”

  Our eyes meet.

  We both freeze.

  Except for his eyes, which take me in, running down my body like the sure touch of a spirit who was once part of my soul.

  For a few extraordinary seconds, we stand like this, the steam forming a curtain that tries to be modest but fails. My will, his will, our collective sense of connection, all gathers in the steam as the shock of being seen–fully, nakedly, rawly seen–sinks in.

  And I drink in his gaze.

  Until I scream and drop down underwater, this time forgetting to pinch my nose, the shriek still half out of me as I go under.

  He's not really here, right? Why would Fletch be here?

  I come back up.

  Still there.

  “What are you doing here?” I gasp, keeping my body below the water, the surface at my neck.

  “You weren't answering your phone. Neither were Perky or Mallory. I guessed Perky might have brought you to her house, so I pulled up and knocked on the front door. Perky's mom said you guys were down here. She pointed to the big wooden door with the stone arch. Offered me a suit, even.”

  That's a lot of words in a row out of Fletch.

  Hungry eyes meet mine, then dip to the water. “I assumed you would be here with them. And that you'd, uh, have a suit on.”

  “Well, I don't!”

  “No kidding.”

  All I can hear is the sound of the water splashing against the rocks as I flail underwater, uncertain but needing to move. He doesn't speak, eyes on mine, so piercing.

  So earnest.

  So tempting.

  I clear my throat. “Would you mind turning away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, you'd mind, or yes, you'll turn away?”

  “Both.”

  “FLETCH!”

  A short sigh, then he turns away. “Perky's mom said to remind you to hydrate.”

  “What are you now? The hot springs police?”

  “I came to see how you're doing. And to tell you Mattie's fine. Had a nebulizer treatment and he's doing well.”

  My throat tightens, the beginning of tears creating a sour taste in the back of my mouth. “Thank goodness,” I whisper, the sound carrying through the cave.

  He walks over to a water dispenser. Sofia’s too environmentally aware to stock individual water bottles. Filling a plastic glass, he sets it down near me on the edge of the pool. “Drink.”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Fiona, let people help you. You don't have to be strong and bossy all the time.”

  “I'm not bossy!”

  He smirks. “Then drink.”

  “I'll drink when I want to.”

  “I'm turning my back. I won't look at you if that's why you don't want to get the drink.”

  But a part of me likes having him look at me.

  And that's why I don't want to be one inch closer to him right now.

  Slowly, I move closer, secretly grateful for the hydration as I grasp the glass and chug about half. Then I say, “This is awkward.”

  “Yes.”

  “You're not leaving.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don't know.” His wide back tapers slightly to a thick waist with zero fat on it. Fletch owns a boxing studio and is a trainer. The cut of his t-shirt, a simple white one with sleeves that curl around thick biceps, reinforces that he's in fine shape.

  How had I not noticed before?

  Scrambling to find something to say, I settle on “Thank you,” mind flashing back to the moments after the attack, when Fletch breathed with me. Breathed for me, it felt like.

  “For what? I didn't do anything.”

  “You grounded me. It takes someone with a connection to their higher self to do that. You gave me a piece of that self and I appreciate it.”

  He starts to turn around. Is his need to look into my eyes as great as mine right now?

  A commotion upstairs makes it clear Perk and Mal are on their way, likely with a package of Australian cookies and another bottle of wine.

  “Oh, my GOD!” Mallory gasps as she reaches a point in the steam where she has visibility. Eyes jumping from my obviously naked, wet form to Fletch's dressed self, turned away from me, she makes a speedy calculation before adding, “We're going to need more Tim Tams.”

  “I was just leaving,” Fletch says, giving them both a smile. “Stopped by to make sure she's okay and to tell her my nephew is fine. Take care of her.”

  “We already were,” Perky says, giving me a look that questions everything.

  And then he's gone, the steam swallowing him like a magician's trick.

  “What. Was. That?” Perky demands, stripping out of her clothes, the steam showing a leg, a breast, the ends of her hair, as it flutters around her like a burlesque dancer using large white feathers. She's in the water quickly. Only sound tells me that Mal does the same, the steam thicker than ever.

  “That was Fletch.”

  “Hah. No. I mean, what was that? The sexual tension between the two of you was so thick, you could scoop it out of the air and use it as lube.”

  “Ewww! Perky!” Mallory shouts, suddenly next to me. “That's gross.”

  “What? It was a compliment.”

  “Only you could turn a dirty lube joke into a compliment.”

  “It's a skill.”

  Mal drops underwater and comes up, wiping her face. “He came to check on you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He's a good guy, Fiona.” Years of hearing me complain about him are etched into her words. She's imploring me to go easy on him. To accept that he helped me in a crisis.

  To change my opinion of someone who represents a past identity he forged for me.

  “You know, my first instinct was to say, 'he's an asshole,’” I inform her. “But he has more good to him than I admit.”

  “Ooooo, Fiona likes Fletch! We've got ourselves a new couple here!” Perky jokes, poking my shoulder as she noshes on a Tim Tam.

  “I do not like him. But he did help me tod
ay. And Mattie adores him, so he has to have some redeeming qualities. You can't fool a four year old.”

  “The guy stumbled across you naked in a hot springs and didn't jump your bones. He's a gentleman, too. Turned away and everything before he saw you naked,” Perky pushes.

  My silence changes their energy, like deer in the woods during hunting season hearing a twig snap.

  “He... did see you naked?” Mallory asks.

  I sigh.

  “Oh my God! What did you do?”

  “I thought he wasn't real. Thought I was hearing voices from the spirit realm.”

  “You hear voices?” Mal's tone is one of deep concern.

  “No. That's the thing. I've tried, but never succeeded. I thought hearing his voice meant I'd crossed over! That my spirit guides were finally speaking to me and I could hear them! So I stood in the water and–”

  “And Fletch got the Full Fiona Monty.”

  I grab the entire package of Tim Tams from Perky and start shoveling them in my mouth.

  “Hey! Those are mine!”

  “No,” I mumble around the chocolate and caramel. “Not anymooo.”

  Mallory steps out of the pool and refills my water glass plus two more for her and Perky. We drink it down, sitting in peace, the two cookies I just ate sitting like a stone in my stomach.

  “Guys?” I sob, the emotion too hard to contain. “What am I supposed to do? I feel like I lived a lifetime in the last ten hours.”

  “Maybe that's how time works,” Mallory says, suddenly next to me. “Some minutes are longer than others. We think of time as an objective measure of space, but maybe it's not. Maybe it's more fluid. Maybe emotion turns it into taffy, something we can stretch and compress.”

  I'm struck dumb by the thought.

  “That's very metaphysical of you,” Perky marvels.

  “Thank you,” Mal says simply. “The Tim Tams make me smarter.”

  “Fi stole the rest of the box.”

  I eat another one to prove her point. A wave of dizziness hits me.

  “I have to get out,” I inform them, pointing to the towel rack. As I step out of the water's embrace, I expect a chill, the steam's slight temperature drop a pleasant transition. Shivering slightly, I dry off, remembering Fletch's eyes.