Night Tide

by Anna Burke

  “Like waterskiing?”

  “Yes,” said Morgan.

  “Horse people are insane.”

  Stormy made a noise of agreement, then blew out a breath. “Lil, I need to talk to you.”

  Morgan and Stevie blinked at Stormy’s tone.

  “Stormy—”

  “Please.”

  Lillian slid off her stool and stepped around the counter, cursing Stormy for her lack of subtlety under her breath. Stormy ordered Morgan to man the bar and tugged Lillian into the back. Shelves of coffee beans, cups, baked goods, and kegs of beer lined the walls, along with the fridges, stove, and dishwasher. Stormy leaned against a keg and hugged her arms around herself.

  “Lil, I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you?”

  “I am. I should have told you I invited her.”

  “You shouldn’t have invited her.”

  “Lil—”

  “You know how much I—” she broke off. She couldn’t bring herself to say, “hate her.” “You know what she is to me.”

  “Actually, I’m not sure I do.” Stormy’s apologetic tone took on a more assertive timbre. “You talk about her all the time, and she clearly gets under your skin.”

  “Because she likes to drive me crazy.”

  “Devil’s advocate, here, but it looked like you drove her crazy, too.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Look.” Stormy chewed on her lower lip. “She came in here the other day and she just seemed really sad. She asked about you. I’m a bartender. I see people like her all the time, and I know when someone feels shitty about something they’ve done, and I know when someone wants someone.”

  “What do you mean, she looked sad?”

  Her heart should not have twisted at the words.

  “She doesn’t know anybody here except the people at Seal Cove. All her people are summer people, and she’s about to spend a winter in Maine with no friends.”

  “How do you know she has no friends? She’s probably part of some country club somewhere.”

  “Maybe. But you know I can’t resist beautiful sad faces.”

  “You should try harder.”

  “You’re mad at me, and I respect that. I’m sorry for surprising you. But I’m not sorry about what happened after. That was all you, honey.”

  Lillian slid to the floor against the fridge. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I don’t want Morgan to know.”

  “Morgan’s your best friend.”

  “Just . . . keep it a secret?”

  “I have so far.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You still mad at me?”

  “Yes.”

  Stormy squatted down to Lillian’s level and held out her hands. Her dark red nail polish matched her lipstick. “I just want you to be happy. You’ve been so sad, and we just established how I feel about that.”

  “And you thought setting me up with my arch nemesis was the cure?”

  “Judging by the teeth marks on your neck, which were definitely not there yesterday, I’m gonna say yes.”

  “You do understand hooking up with my colleague is unprofessional?”

  “You’re two consenting adults. You’re not her supervisor, and you don’t write her checks. The worst that can happen is things are awkward and awful, which you’ve basically said is already the case.”

  “She’s a rich girl with no concept of privilege.”

  “So educate her.” Stormy made a lewd gesture before grabbing Lillian’s wrists and lifting her to her feet. “I really am sorry, Lillian.”

  “I will forgive you on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t do anything like this ever again.”

  “What if I know what’s good for you?”

  “Stormy.”

  “Okay. I promise not to meddle in your love life for a whole year.”

  “I said ‘ever.’”

  “A year and a day.”

  Lillian sighed. “A year and a day, then.”

  Stormy lifted herself on her toes, took Lillian’s face in her hands, and kissed her on each cheek. “Done. Now explain to me why you’re not wearing a bra.”

  • • •

  Ivy trotted Freddie around the indoor arena, missing the skylights in her Colorado facility as one of the overhead lights flickered. Freddie floated over the sand footing. She loved his trot; some horses had jarring trots which were impossible to sit to, but not Freddie. His gaits had always been smooth, and the further along he came in his training and the more she learned his rhythm, the more he felt like an extension of her body.

  Today she wove serpentines through the freshly dragged ring, her reins loose in her hands as she focused on her seat and legs. If she wanted to keep riding—and nothing was going to come between her and horses—she needed to prepare for the days when her body was less cooperative. Right now, for instance, she had hand warmers shoved in her riding gloves to combat the icy numbness that had been plaguing her all day at work, and her mind was foggy. She’d wanted nothing more than to go home and fall into bed, but that cycle was dangerous.

  Besides. Lying in bed would only result in thoughts of Lillian, and that ground was heavily mined. Several days had passed since they’d hooked up at the clinic. She’d been on ambulatory since then, but not seeing Lillian was just as torturous as being in her presence.

  Freddie flexed his neck as she turned the last serpentine into a circle, spiraling him tightly in, then out, keeping his full attention on her. The simultaneous complexity and simplicity of the task calmed her. Her body knew what was required of it. Despite its betrayals, it responded, and she managed to concentrate on the movement of her horse through the haze that wanted to envelope her completely. This haze was not the product of pleasant fantasy. It buzzed at the corners of her vision and made a wreckage of her thoughts. Wading through it took most of what she had. At least on horseback she didn’t have to formulate complete sentences to clients.

  She switched to a cooldown when sweat darkened Freddie’s shoulders and let him amble around the ring. Another rider had joined them, and Ivy smiled in greeting as the younger girl put her mare through her paces. The horse was a grade mare, her bones raw compared to Freddie, but she responded to her rider’s commands with enthusiasm. Ivy reminded herself this was not a show barn, but a small private stable in coastal Maine.

  Her body felt tired and rejuvenated by the time she dismounted and led Freddie back to his stall. He bumped her arm as they walked, lipping the sleeve of her coat. She gave him a gentle reprimand.

  “Nasty cut he’s got there.”

  Morgan emerged from a nearby stall with her eyes fixed on the partially healed gash on Freddie’s hindquarters.

  “He’s not fitting in with the herd here.” She tried not to dwell on the parallels between their situations and avoided Morgan’s gaze. Lillian wouldn’t have told her anything, would she? The way she’d rushed out of the exam room, horror on her face at the prospect of discovery, suggested otherwise. For her part, she didn’t know how she felt about what might happen if anyone found out about whatever was going on between them.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks.”

  She took a step toward Freddie’s stall, hoping to cut the conversation short. A muscle spasm rippled through her thigh. An electric jolt of pain followed and traveled into her foot, seizing the muscles all the way down. Her leg gave out beneath her in surprised agony. She managed to catch herself on Freddie’s saddle before her momentum carried her to the ground, but she heard the sound of Morgan rushing to assist her past the whimper she’d barely managed to contain.

  Deep breaths. Her forehead rested against Freddie’s saddle. Leather, soap, and horse filled her senses. The pain receded, leaving her foot numb, and she straightened.

  “Ivy?”

  “Charley horse,” she said, rubbing her leg. “I’m fine.”

  Morgan looked li
ke she didn’t quite buy the excuse. “If you need a second, I can throw Freddie in his stall for you.”

  “No, we’re good.” She tested her weight on her left leg. It held, though shakily. “Probably didn’t drink enough water today.”

  Morgan’s scrutiny made her skin prickle with terror. She would rather Morgan find out about Lillian a thousand times over before she found out about this. Not yet. There were years, potentially, before anyone had to know about the weakness eating at her nervous system. Years where she wouldn’t have to deal with pity.

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  “Sure.”

  Morgan backed up to let them pass. Ivy led Freddie forward with gritted teeth, trying not to grip his reins for support.

  The second spasm sent her sprawling.

  Morgan was at her side before she had fully registered what was happening. Freddie snorted but remained still, his training, as ever, impeccable, and the cold cement floor pressed through her breeches and penetrated her down vest to wrap around her torso. Meanwhile, the pain in her leg continued as the nerves seared and the muscles contracted. She clutched it with the arm not bent beneath her until it calmed, and the pain again resolved into something manageable. Manageable, she reflected bitterly as she let Morgan pull her into a sitting position, was an ever-expanding definition.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” She winced as she snapped at Morgan. “Sorry. No, I’m okay.”

  “Hang tight.” Morgan bustled Freddie into his stall and removed his bridle and saddle with brisk efficiency, then returned to her side. “How’s your leg?”

  The leg in question was begging for amputation, but she didn’t say that. At least it was her left, and not her right. That would have made driving difficult.

  Driving. She clenched down on that fear. So far, her condition had not caused severe vision problems, though that was always a risk in the future, nor had it limited her ability to move around. And it won’t.

  “Ivy?”

  She couldn’t muster a lie. “It—It’s felt better.” The admission spilled from her lips and she fought a nearly irresistible urge to weep. “I must have pulled something.”

  “I can get you some ice.”

  She didn’t need ice. She needed to be home with her gabapentin and a soft blanket and her dog.

  “I’ll be okay. Really.”

  Morgan squatted, hands on her knees and her gray-blue eyes searching Ivy’s face.

  She pushed herself to her feet and locked her knee to keep her leg from giving out a third time. Carefully, trying not to show just how unstable she felt, she made her way to Freddie’s stall, grabbed a brush, and slipped inside. She kept one hand on the bars of the door as she groomed the areas stiffened with sweat, then, once she was satisfied he was taken care of, limped down the interminably long aisle and out the door to her truck. Morgan walked beside her. Their silence was companionable, though Morgan’s steadying hand on her elbow grated. At least Morgan seemed to intuit Ivy didn’t want to talk.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Morgan backed away as Ivy shut the truck door.

  “Fuck,” she said to the empty cab. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The November night pressed around her and narrowed her vision to her headlights, which lit an uncertain path down the potholed road to her rented house. She couldn’t even call it home.

  • • •

  Lillian didn’t see much of Ivy that week, and the clinic felt strangely empty without her. Not a good sign. Missing Ivy couldn’t mean anything good. Instead, she listened to clients bitch about not having enough money and did her best not to take it personally when they accused her of being selfish for not treating their pets for free.

  “Nobody made him get a golden retriever,” she said to Georgia in the break room. “If you don’t want to deal with cancer, get a breed that doesn’t die from cancer ninety-nine percent of the time.”

  “You should show him your student loan bill,” said Georgia. “I keep saying you should post it in exams rooms, along with your salary. That would shut them up.”

  “But would it?” She munched on a carrot stick, snapping it in half with more violence than was necessary. “Some days, I regret my job.”

  “What would you do instead?”

  “Something that paid well, didn’t follow me home, and that people actually appreciated.”

  “Does that exist? Because sign me up, too.”

  “Touché. I just hate seeing cases like that. I can’t give his dog free chemo. We’d go bankrupt, and it’s not like I would ask him to do his job for free.”

  “If this is Jack Wilson, you don’t want him doing his job, period. He messed up our plumbing a few years back,” Georgia said with a scowl. “And his truck is slathered in NRA stickers.”

  “Lovely.”

  “I like Dr. Holden.”

  The non sequitur made Lillian instantly suspicious. “Great.”

  “She’s been good to Shawna. You can tell a lot about a doctor by how they treat their techs.” She gave Lillian a warm smile. “Like you.”

  “Ivy’s professional.”

  “Mhmm.” Georgia’s smile widened, and Lillian decided it was time to leave the break room for the comparative safety of her next appointment.

  Unfortunately, her next appointment was waiting in the very same room where she’d fucked Ivy, and the memories made concentrating on her job extremely difficult.

  She texted Emilia toward the end of the day, desperate to talk to someone.

  “Cold and dark,” Emilia said when Lillian got out of her car in Emilia’s driveway. “My favorite running weather.”

  Decked out in reflective gear and with spotlights around their foreheads, also known as the world’s least fashionable headbands, they set off down the backroads along the river. Lillian searched for a way to broach the subject of Ivy. After a quarter mile and zero inspiration, she settled for the blunt truth.

  “I want Ivy Holden.”

  “What?” Emilia skidded to a stop and turned to face her, temporarily blinding her with her flashing headlamp. “Want want?”

  She filled Emilia in on the details of recent events, including their encounter in the clinic. “I need you to tell me I’m being an idiot and that I should stop before this backfires.”

  “Hang on. I’m still processing. This makes so much sense, though. I knew there was some weird energy between you two when we ran into her on our run.”

  “It’s always been like that.”

  “How does she feel?”

  Hot. Wet. Perfect.

  “I have no idea. Everything she does is so calculated. This could just be a long con.”

  “That seems . . . unlikely.”

  “It would be right up her alley.” The shame of that long-ago party surfaced briefly, and she quelled it.

  “Even if she moved back here just to torment you, that says a lot about the level of her obsession.”

  A car zoomed past them, leaving behind the smell of exhaust. Lillian started walking but did not break back into a jog. “She’s not obsessed with me.”

  “Why not? You’re gorgeous, smart, and almost as fast as me,” Emilia said with a playful shove. “Have you tried talking to her?”

  “We don’t talk. We fight.”

  “What do you want out of this then?”

  What did she want? She shook her head in the darkness. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just rebounding.”

  “That’s possible.” Emilia didn’t sound convinced. “Actually, now that I think about it, your dynamic with her is a little bit like a relationship with an ex. You hate each other’s guts, but you keep sleeping together anyway.”

  “I’m not sleeping with her.”

  “But you want to?”

  Lillian didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

  “Before you do anything, you should try getting to know her better. Maybe she’s changed.”

  “What am I supposed to do, invite her over for dinner?”

>   “That’s not a bad idea. She’s part of the clinic now, and you could hang out in a group setting. That way you can’t kill each other, or . . . well, you know.”

  “Can you do me a favor, though? I haven’t told Morgan about this, yet, and I’m not ready to.”

  Emilia hesitated, then nodded. “I won’t mention it to her. Can I ask why you don’t want to tell her?”

  “Honestly? I’m not sure.” She listened to the sound of her sneakers on the freezing gravel. “Morgan dealt with me complaining about her all through school. It just feels strange. Angie and Stevie don’t know anything either.”

  “They won’t hear it from me. Ready to run again?”

  “Always.”

  They set off at a jog, their breath steaming in the cold night air, and Lillian felt lighter than she had since Ivy Holden had arrived.

  • • •

  “A potluck?” Ivy reeled from the invitation.

  “Yeah. Bring whatever. It’s a clinic Friendsgiving. Thanksgiving, only without the genocide and the smallpox blankets,” said Stevie.

  “But—”

  “Lil asked me to invite you.” Morgan eased the winch of the trailer down to unhitch it.

  “Oh.”

  She was so taken aback that she stood staring at Morgan until Morgan straightened, the trailer unhitched and the clinic truck free from its weight. Stevie undid the chains and hooked them around the hitch with deft fingers.

  “I’ll do a meat dish, but Lil’s a vegetarian, so there will be options,” Morgan continued.

  “Lil will probably put together some sort of sign-up sheet because she’s anal like that,” Stevie added.

  “If you don’t want to cook, you can always bring wine. Stormy—not sure if you know her, she owns Storm’s-a-Brewin’ and she’s a good friend—will hook us up with beer. She’s not part of the clinic, so she won’t be there, but we buy from her.” Morgan favored the trailer with a critical look as she checked the tires.

  “Do you do this every year?”

  “Usually.” Morgan patted the trailer and headed for the clinic’s barn, calling back over her shoulder, “and it’s very casual.”

  A potluck. Ivy looked around at the leafless trees and tried to take stock of her emotions. A potluck meant she’d get to spend time with Lillian outside of work, which was complicated in and of itself. Seeing Lillian had gotten harder, not easier. Her throat dried out every time she caught sight of Lillian’s hair, and her body, already unreliable, went weak with want. At least her leg hadn’t given out again like it had at the barn. Her fingers brushed her thigh, nervously testing to make sure the leg would hold her weight. She couldn’t afford to fall like that here. It was bad enough Morgan had witnessed her fall once.