Not Mine to Take

by C B Cox

  A cloudless azure sky clears my mind and makes me reflect. It’s been three days since the storm stole my confidence. I’m feeling much more optimistic. I’ve written over twenty-five thousand words in record time. If I continue at the same pace, I’ll finish the manuscript in three to four weeks and my editor in New York will be able to work her magic. I’m not so sure she’ll approve of the direction I’m taking with my heroine. Irrespective, my eleventh novel ought to be in bookshops by Thanksgiving.

  Bella is bored. There are no birds to chase, driftwood to drag from the ocean or rabbits to bark at. She scampers off toward Tern Lodge to claim her favorite spot on the porch. The weather is perfect for her. It’s not too hot, nor too cold. She’ll snooze to her heart’s content while I write.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ten minutes later, feeling content and relaxed, I arrive back at Tern Lodge. I’m just about to ascend the steps, when I notice the door is slightly ajar. I halt with my hand on the rail, gazing at the narrow gap between the door and frame. Wisps of blue smoke roll out through the gap. Panic rises inside me. I race over the porch and fling open the door.

  A fug of cigar smoke meets me. I waft it aside. The air directly in front of where I stand, clears. Bella lies with her jaw resting on Charles’s lap. He balances a crystal tumbler – half full with whisky – along the arm of the sofa with his right hand. A cigar belches smoke between the fingers of his left hand. A plume of smoke swirls and eddies towards the ceiling. He’s wearing tan leather boat shoes, navy-blue tailored shorts, and a polo shirt with an alligator logo. I admire his golden tan. Check myself. His grin is sickening.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Darling, you banished me.” He rolls his eyes and waves his cigar nonchalantly towards the photograph above the mantle. He’s flipped the frame over to face the room and the wedding portrait mocks me. I steer my glare at him.

  “Hope you don’t mind … only … I let myself in.”

  “How did you get in? Don’t answer that. Just get out,” I yell, holding the door open. “You’re not welcome here, anymore.”

  “Eh, that’s not nice, honey. This is my house, too.”

  There he sits, Charles son-of-a-bitch Madison, as bold as brass, stroking my dog, without a care in the world.

  “I said. Get out.”

  “Come on, honey, be reasonable. I just want to talk.” His silky tones hang in the space between us. I close my eyes. I can’t look at him. I exhale through my nose.

  “I’ve nothing more to say to you. Just leave. Now!”

  I settle my back against the wall, holding the door open. I’m trembling. I try to put the fear to the back of my mind.

  “Calm down, honey. Don’t have a goddamned coronary. You look great. All this fresh air is doing you good.”

  He’s turning on the charm. I won’t fall for it.

  “My well-being is none of your concern. Now go!”

  I roll my hand, point outdoors.

  “Honey, please, let me a stay a while. I’m worried about you. We all are,” he says, with a shrug and doe eyes, searching for a glimmer of understanding from me.

  “You’re not worried. You don’t care one iota about me. I can see right through you. You’re trying to manipulate me.” I look away. I won’t allow myself to get caught in his hypnotic, python gaze.

  “It’s not what you think. Just listen. Hear me out.” He’s actually pleading; begging almost.

  “I’ve heard it all before. Listened to your lies and excuses. You wouldn’t know the truth if it came up and bit you on the ass.” He’s not breaking through. I won’t let him. I’ve erected a border wall topped with barbed wire around me. Trump would be proud.

  “I’m not begging.” His expression hardens. His faux concern evaporates. “I’m a proud man.”

  “Are you completely stupid? I want you to go. Leave. Depart. Exit stage left. What part of leave don’t you freaking understand?” I glower at him.

  He looks to his lap and strokes the top of Bella’s head. She angles her head towards him. “Look, Bella wants me to stay, don’t you, girl.” He says. It’s not a question. It’s a statement. When I look closer, he’s holding Bella by the scruff, not stroking her.

  “Leave her alone. You’re hurting her. Come here, Bella.”

  I see his fingers tighten.

  “Look. You and I, we need to talk. Forget all this speak to me via my attorney crap. You won’t return my calls. I’m weary of leaving messages. How am I supposed to communicate with my wife?” He holds up his left hand. Five fingers spread out. Shows me his wedding ring. I consider it a symbol of ownership, not genuine love.

  “Listen, asshole, I’m not your wife, anymore. And this is my house and my island. Go. Never come back.” I press my back against the wall. Glower. I’m holding it together. Just.

  I’m furious that I forgot to lock the door. No way will I let him see I’m ruffled.

  He releases Bella and eases up out of the sofa. Steps over and halts in front of me. Leans forward. Places his face just inches from mine. I feel and smell his warm whisky breath. His eyes pop. His sneer is pure hate.

  “You do know this isn’t over? Huh … it’s only just beginning…” He falls silent. Draws breath. “I’ve been thinking I might keep this place. Contest your claim. There’s still time to change your mind … honey,” he says. “Things, us, can be better than ever.”

  I know he means it. He’s deluded.

  “My mind is made up. You’re an adulterous, conniving, bastard. Goodbye,” I say, no longer intimidated by him.

  His sneer morphs into a grin. “Oh, would you just listen to yourself? You won’t last a year on your own. You need me. Without me, you’ll shrivel up and die.”

  He reaches out and makes to stroke my hair. I push his hand aside. Take a step right. Press my back against the door. Look off into space.

  “Get out.”

  “No.”

  Before I know it, I’m racing at him, screaming, with my fists balled. I can’t take it any longer. He snags my raised fists just inches from his chest. He towers over me. He twists my wrists. My resolve breaks. I growl a hybrid growl – the child of a scream and a hiss.

  “Calm down. Look at you. What have you become?”

  “Let go of me.”

  “I’ll let go when you calm down.”

  “I won’t calm down until you’re out of this fucking house and off this goddamned island!”

  “You’re a crazy woman. What the hell’s gotten into you? I only came to talk. I didn’t expect a screaming banshee, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. For fuck’s sake, Hope, you need to get back to New York and see a psychiatrist. This place, it’s turned you feral.”

  He’s mocking me. Doing what he always does. Sowing seeds of doubt in my mind.

  “Let go of my wrists and I’ll talk to you.”

  “So long as you promise not to hurt me.”

  “It’s never stopped you from hurting people.” I want to spit in his face. I stop myself. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  “What can I say? Guilty as charged,” he says. It’s the closest he’s ever come to an apology. The word apology doesn’t feature prominently in his vocabulary.

  “Let go … then.” I extract the hate from my voice. It’s a tactic.

  He drops my wrists. Takes a step back and raises his hands in mock surrender.

  “Friends?” He says.

  “Not while ever I have a hole in my ass,” I hiss.

  Where did that come from? Right now I hate him with every fiber of my being.

  “I thought I was the one with the foul mouth. What would your readers think of your squeaky clean girl-next-door image now?”

  He’s goading me. I take the bait.

  “They’d tell me to get the sad excuse of a husband out of my life, out of my house, and off my island.”

  “Touché. But not until we’ve discussed the future.”

  “I’ve told you. We
have no future. There’s nothing to discuss. Speak to my attorney. You’re paying him enough money,” I say, nostrils flaring. I’m getting good at this. I tell myself I will win this argument. It will be a first.

  “The money isn’t important. The future is important – my future – our future.”

  “I note your future comes first. It’s all about you, isn’t it? It always was. It always will be.”

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s your future, too. You’re twisting my words.”

  “I’m doing no such thing. You need to accept we have no future together. Do whatever you want to do. Marry your slut of a mistress. I wouldn’t dream of holding you back. I’ll watch her bleed you dry from afar. I’ve no desire for a front row seat.”

  He shakes his head. I sense resignation. “You’ve turned into a real bitch. I’m very impressed.”

  “I’ve had a good teacher. Now, if you’ve seen enough, I want you to go.”

  He frowns.

  “I’ll go when I’m good and ready and not before.” He moves closer – too close. I slap his face. It stings my fingers. I stare him down. His hand shoots up to his cheek. His expression is horrified surprise.

  “You’ve changed.”

  “You had better believe it.”

  I’m as surprised as he is. He nods. Shrugs. Searches for the woman he once knew. The owned woman. She doesn’t exist anymore.

  A long moment passes between us. It’s a stand off. The chasm between us has never been wider. He picks up the crystal tumbler, sinks the remaining whisky, weighs the tumbler in his hand, turns and hurls it against the fireplace. It explodes into a million pieces. Bella scrabbles out through the door. I hear her whimpers. I stand my ground. Don’t even flinch. Defy him to speak.

  He cocks his chin. Looks down his nose at me.

  “You haven’t heard the last of me,” he says, stepping out through the door.

  I let him go. I have no wish to watch him leave. He left months ago. Years ago. I lean against the wall gathering myself, jaw set firm.

  I will not follow him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It takes several minutes to regain my composure. Except for the day I burned his clothes on the sidewalk in front of his office, today is the first time I’ve stood up to him. I breathe deep. I’m okay. Not scared in any way. He came close to intimidating me, but I held my own. I held my ground. It’s a good sign. I’m getting over him.

  The door is open. I made a conscious decision not to see which direction he took. I can only assume he’s sloped off to the cove and the Storm Petrel. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again soon. He’s had his tantrum. I’ve sent him packing with a flea in his ear. If I know Charles Madison, he’ll cut his losses and move on.

  That said, do you ever truly know someone?

  I go to close the door. The light dims. Curtis Jackson appears in the doorway. He’s peering around the jamb. Staring at me.

  Where did he come from? I never heard him approach.

  “Hi. Is everything okay? I heard raised voices.”

  “Yes.” I’m buzzing still with adrenaline. His appearance has startled me.

  “Who was that guy?” He rubs his hand over the stubble on his chin and cocks his head back. His is a frown of concern.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The guy who stomped off down your lawn. He looked mightily pissed off.”

  I shrug. “He’s just someone I used to know. Can I help you, Mr. Jackson?”

  “Gee. Sorry. I don’t want to pry, Mrs. Madison … Hope. Only … I heard raised voices. I was a little worried and all.” He appears concerned. I realize I’m letting my argument with Charles blur my judgment. Petulance stirs within me.

  “It’s okay. That was my soon to be ex-husband. We were ironing out the details of our divorce. We had a tête-à-tête. It’s a little stressful. Nothing I can’t handle, though. With a fair wind, he won’t come back.”

  Why do I have to explain myself all the time?

  “Would you like me to hang around? Check the vicinity?” He smiles with questioning eyes.

  “Good God, no. He won’t come back.” I select my words with care and say them with as much conviction as I can muster. “Thanks for the offer, though, it’s appreciated.”

  “Well, if you’re absolutely sure. I’ll leave you be. See you around, Hope.”

  “Yeah. Bye,” I say. He strolls off. Hands stuffed deep into pockets. At the gate, he turns and waves. I wave back from the lounge window. He doesn’t see me. The last I see of him, he’s turning right towards the causeway with Bella padding alongside his ankles.

  I step back inside. I need caffeine. By the time I arrive at the kitchen window, Curtis has disappeared from sight. I prepare the coffeepot.

  Holy Crap, I forgot to ask him about the Explorer. What a dumbass…

  Bella mooches in through the door. There are traces of seaweed between her toes, over the top of her paws.

  What is it with her and men?

  She must have followed him, and he sent her back when they reached the causeway. I wonder what time it is. The sun is high in the sky. It can’t be much past midday. The tide will be in. It’s a nice feeling, knowing I’m marooned on Tern Island.

  How will Curtis get back to the mainland?

  The coffee comes to the boil. I put it out of my mind. Perhaps, he’s got a boat? I wonder if the remaining slice of Mrs. Wiley’s lemon drizzle cake is still edible. It is. I take my coffee and cake and step outside, hunker down in my rocker. As I eat, I congratulate myself on my victory over Charles son-of-a-bitch Madison.

  My heroine would be proud.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Flipping the wedding portrait over to face the wall again, I try hard to stymy the anxiety gnawing at my gut.

  Why does his image still do this to me?

  I spend the rest of the day at my desk, staring at the same sentences. I’m wound up like a cornered rattlesnake. Concentration eludes me. My brain throbs. A white light moves in my peripheral vision. My earlier triumphant feelings have evaporated. By the time the sun disappears over the horizon, I feel sullen and full of self-doubt. A thousand questions bounce around my brain.

  What would bring Charles here? He must consider it important. I didn’t afford him an opportunity to explain. Red mist blinded me. I sent him away with his tail between his legs. There’s no denying he’s handsome and happy to see me. Was I somewhere deep down, happy to see him? Bella misses him. Do I? Am I nothing without him? He’s worried about me. Mentioned, ‘we all are.’ What did he mean by that? I wonder how long his affairs have been going on? How many more secrets he has? Eliah Wiley witnessed his infidelity before I did. Hinted, he’d brought other women to Tern Island.

  It’s funny what you learn about people once you take the blinkers off, like I did that day in February. Everything becomes clear. I hold that thought.

  I have no future with Charles Madison. He can threaten me all he likes. I won’t, can’t, let him win.

  Exhausted, I creep into bed. Lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the house settling. I drift in and out of consciousness to the rhythm of creaking floorboards, the rattle of window blinds and the distant rasp of the ocean caressing the beach.

  In my semi-conscious state, I hear Bella. She doesn’t jump onto the bed as usual. She halts in the doorway and expels a long nasally sigh. She turns. I hear her tail swishing and claws scrabbling on the landing floorboards. The treads creak as she pads downstairs. I close my eyes and pray for sleep to take me. I don’t call after her. I sense that she’s confused.

  Laying there, I realize I’ve never been alone here for any length of time. I realize too that the phantom of lost love will always stalk this place. Tern Lodge is a cage built to house a canary. And I’m the canary. I was a rich man’s trinket.

  Tern Lodge wraps its possessive arms around me, and I drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Thirty

  Day 26

  I wake at sunrise. It’s
a new day and a fresh start. I roll out of bed, slip into a swimsuit, pull on shorts, a T-shirt and drag a towel from the rail.

  A swim will do me good.

  “Come on, Bella, beach,” I say, standing at the door. Bella rises and stretches from her bed. She gazes at me with her head cranked on one side. She seems disinterested. “Come on, girl, let’s go. I’ll throw sticks. Promise.” I pat my thigh. Click my cheek. She refuses to follow. “Oh, please yourself. You’ll regret it,” I say as she slumps into her bed.

  I leave the door ajar. Bella can join me on the beach when, and if, she so desires. Sometimes, I forget she’s almost ten years old. It’s old for a big dog and she doesn’t get anywhere near this much exercise in Manhattan. I’m wearing her out with my constant need for exercise.

  At the cove, I settle my towel and clothes on a huge boulder projecting from the sand. The tide is out. I settle my gaze on the end of the jetty fifty yards distant. I make it my goal to swim there and back five times.

  It’s a good thirty feet before I reach the briny froth. I’ve brought swimming goggles. I mean business. I spit and smear saliva over the lenses, pull the elastic over my head and adjust them until they fit tightly. The clarity of the morning becomes a blur of blues, greens and wavy lines. With my hands out front – to help my balance – I paddle into the surf and tread tentatively towards deeper water at the shelf. The ice-cold ocean takes my breath away. I gasp as the ocean reaches my belly button. I draw long breaths. Once. Twice. Three times. Clench my teeth so hard, they hurt. I push up on my toes, then dive head first into the ocean. My head submerges for several seconds. I take my first tentative strokes, swim breaststroke with my head above the surface. There’s an uncomfortable tightness across my temples. The swim goggles are too tight, but they prevent the salt from stinging my eyes. I ignore the discomfort and continue to swim with long and easy strokes. I’m cutting through the water with aplomb. Every third stroke, I twist my face out of the water and suck a long breath. I paddle hard with my feet. I’m propelled forward. My speed and confidence builds.