Catch Me Twice

by Charmaine Pauls

  I drop my gaze to the screen where a recipe for Bolognaise sauce is displayed. “Um, sure.”

  What the hell just happened? Jake said no to sex? He prefers to cook? What am I supposed to make of this? I watch him quietly, confused, as he puts out ingredients on the counter. I could’ve offered to help, but I’m a captive, not a guest, and I’m curious about Jake’s cooking skills. I’m curious about everything concerning Jake, especially what has passed during the last four years, but I’m not ready to admit that to myself, let alone to him.

  It soon becomes clear he sucks at cooking. I bite my lip in order not to smile, and let him battle it out. He’s patient. I have to give him that, even when the pasta boils over and the tomato sauce burns. When he finally dishes up, the pasta is soggy and the sauce bitter, but I don’t comment.

  He takes a bite and makes a face. Waving his fork at my plate, he says, “You don’t have to eat that.”

  “I don’t like to waste.” I watch him through my lashes. “Never cooked much for yourself in Dubai, did you?”

  He twists the spaghetti around his fork. “I preferred restaurants.”

  “Why?”

  He keeps his eyes trained on his plate. “I didn’t like being alone with myself.”

  It’s as if a needle drives into my skin. “Is that why you slept with all those women?”

  He lifts his gaze slowly to mine. One, two heartbeats pass before he says flatly, “I treated myself like I deserved.” The expression in his eyes is naked, vulnerable. He doesn’t hide the flash of regret or the self-loathing that replaces it.

  My mouth goes a little dry at the revelation of how little he values himself. I want to ask what he’s done to harbor such a harsh opinion, but I don’t want to give him the impression that I care.

  Getting to his feet, he carries our plates to the sink and scrapes what’s left of our food into the trashcan. I can’t stay in the kitchen as he starts doing the dishes. His proximity is too unsettling, especially after my failed seduction attempt that ended up in oral sex.

  I let him clean the kitchen while I go to my room and lie down on the bed. Turning on my side, I fold my hands under the pillow and face the window. There’s nothing but those small, olive-green bushes and hard-baked sand outside. How far does this desolate landscape stretch? How can Jake find this place even remotely appealing?

  Somewhere between contemplating the answer and listening to the sounds of him rinsing the dishes, I fall asleep. When I wake up, the shadows are long, the sun beetles quiet, and a blanket is draped over my body. I snuggle deeper under the blanket, enjoying the coziness for another while longer before stretching and swinging my legs off the bed. I feel completely refreshed. The last time I had an afternoon nap was when Jake took care of Noah. Before then, it was when I was still in school.

  I take a moment to appreciate the freedom of not having any obligations. I don’t have to rush to prepare Noah’s bath or dinner. Yawning, I stretch and get up to rummage through the bag my mom has packed. After dressing in a T-shirt and denim shorts, I fold Jake’s T-shirt neatly and go next door to return it, but his room is empty. A smell of burned baking wafts from the kitchen. I go there. The backdoor stands open. A rhythmic thud-thud comes from the direction of the wind pump.

  Following the sound, I find a shirtless Jake chopping wood. He stills for a beat when he sees me, his gaze drifting over my body in a way that tells me he notices every dip and curve, but he doesn’t let it linger in an offensive way. He’s not perving. He’s noticing me, really noticing me, and something warm lights up in my chest.

  Perspiration glistens on his skin in the late afternoon sun. He places another piece of wood on the chopping block. The swing of his arms is strong and steady as he keeps an even pace. His biceps bunch and his abdomen ripples with every up and down movement of the axe.

  He finishes splitting the stump before wiping a hand over his forehead and giving me his full attention. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a baby.”

  “You needed it. Sleeping in a car isn’t quality rest.”

  “What about you?”

  He drops the axe onto the chopping block. “I’ll catch up tonight.”

  After stacking the wood on a small pile next to a circle of bricks, he saunters over to me. “Coffee?” He checks his watch. “It’s teatime.”

  Conditioning wants me to say I’ll make it, but I swallow the offer. I’m not here by invitation. “Sounds good.”

  He tips his head toward the house. “Give me a minute to wash up.”

  I drag my feet, not particularly wanting to be around him, but the house is small. If we’re staying here for three weeks, I can’t avoid running into him. By the time I enter the kitchen, he’s scooping ground coffee into a percolator. He’s pulled on a T-shirt and probably dunked his head under the tap because the spiky strands of his hair are wet. Not sure what to do with myself, I take a stool at the island counter and watch him work. He stacks a plate with cookies and pushes it my way. When he hands me a mug of coffee, the blisters on his hands pull my attention. I push down an untimely bout of sympathy.

  Wrinkling my nose, I sniff the air. “What’s that smell?”

  He throws a thumb in the direction of the counter and gives me a wry smile. “Dinner.”

  A loaf of bread with a charcoaled crust stands on a wooden board.

  I hardly suppress a giggle. “Why didn’t you just buy a loaf?”

  “Not the same.” He wipes a hand over his jaw. “I’m afraid that’s going to taste worse than the commercial kind.”

  I bite into a cookie to hide my smile. “Where did you get the recipe from?”

  He taps his front pocket where the shape of his phone is outlined. “Google.”

  “Mm.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Me?” I make big eyes. “Never. I’m just thinking you’re poorly skilled for a kidnapper. You should’ve planned better for feeding your captive.”

  His voice drops an octave. “Careful. Just because I’m a considerate kidnapper doesn’t mean I won’t pull you over my lap.”

  His words are playful, but they heat my stomach in a disturbing way. Looking away quickly, I finish my coffee and rinse the mug before escaping to the lounge where I pretend to read a book. The banging of cooking utensils and Jake whistling a song make it impossible to focus on what I’m reading. What is he doing in there? I refuse to give in to the silly urge to keep him company.

  When it gets dark, I switch on a lamp and settle back on the couch. Jake steps into the room, his presence overbearing and his cologne once more a too strong reminder of my naivety in the days before he left.

  “Why are you wearing that?”

  He glances down at his T-shirt. “What do you prefer I wear?”

  “Not the clothes. The aftershave.”

  He walks to the couch and stops in front of me. “Does it bother you?”

  “It’s what you wore in school. I thought you would’ve outgrown it.”

  “I guess old habits stick.”

  “Ah.”

  “Want me to get another kind? Tell me the brand and I’ll appease you.” He winks. “Can’t go around with you hating my smell.”

  “I don’t care what you smell like.”

  His lips tilt in one corner. “Of course not.”

  When he just stands there without moving, looming over me, I cross my arms over my breasts as if they could form a protective barrier around my heart. “Did you want something?”

  He checks his watch. “Gina and Noah should be home. Want to call them?”

  I sit up straighter. “Yes.”

  Flopping down next to me with his arm draped over the back of the couch, he swipes across the screen and dials Gina’s number on a video call.

  Her face comes onto the screen. “Hey, kids. How are things in the Karoo?”

  “How’s Noah?” I ask.

  “See for yourself.” She
turns the phone so we can see him. “Say hello to mommy and daddy, Noah.”

  There’s something about that phrase, about using mommy and daddy in the same sentence, that stirs deep-buried longings in my heart, but all thoughts disappear when Noah’s face fills the screen. My chest clenches. His smile is bright when he sees me, the purest gesture of genuine joy.

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Hey, baby. How are you?”

  Noah sticks a finger in his mouth. When I bite my lip not to cry, Jake gives my shoulder a squeeze.

  “They made water balloons at school,” my mom says.

  Jake chuckles. “I bet that was fun. You know what? I’m going to buy you a water gun. Best fun ever.”

  My mom turns her gaze on me. “How are things really?”

  I’m not going to answer.

  “Great,” Jake says when the silence stretches.

  “How are you getting around?” I’m worried about how my mom is managing to take Noah to the crèche. I doubt Luan will drive them after breaking up with me.

  “Jake rented me a car.”

  I glare at Jake, directing all my annoyance at him even if my mom was an accomplice.

  We talk for another few minutes about school and Noah before Jake hangs up. He still has his hand resting loosely on my shoulder. It’s a posture that hints at familiarity when we’re the furthest thing from it. He watches me quietly as I wiggle out from under his arm and get to my feet. The couch doesn’t make a sound as he rises, but the heat from his body brands my naked arms and legs as he comes to a stop behind me. I take a few steps away, pretending to look through the window at the moonlit yard.

  “Come outside with me,” he says softly. “It’s cooler this time of the evening.”

  Not waiting for my reply, he takes my hand and leads me out the door and around the back. He places two garden chairs next to the circle of bricks and makes sure I’m comfortable before building a fire. When the flames are leaping into the air, he goes back inside and exits with two beers.

  For a while, we sit in silence, sipping our beer and staring at the flames. There’s something soothing and relaxing about a fire, even more so in the quiet of this vast expanse.

  “Look,” he says, pointing up at the sky. “The Southern Cross.”

  I follow the line of his finger. Wow. I’ve never seen so many stars. The Milky Way is a burst of twinkling lights. In Rensburg, we have street and searchlights that illuminate the night sky, obscuring the stars. I never imagined it could look like this.

  “Impressive, huh?” he says, keeping his neck craned. “I used to sit here for hours, trying to spot satellites or shooting stars.”

  “Did you?”

  “Plenty.” He turns his head back to me. “I never made a wish though.” His gaze caresses my face. “My mistake.”

  I have to look away from the blatant meaning in his eyes. I’m relieved when he breaks the uncomfortable silence by asking, “Hungry?”

  Lunch was a long time ago. My stomach rumbles on cue.

  “It’s going to take a while for the wood to make coals, but I’m armed with snacks.”

  He disappears again to return with crisps and a sour cream dip. “Can’t let you starve now,” he says as he offers me a crisp with a dollop of dip.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, shoving it into my mouth.

  He continues to feed me crisps and dip until my beer is finished and I’m buzzing a little. The night is calm and the air fresh while the warmth of the fire makes me feel cozy. I sink deeper into the chair. The tenseness leaves my muscles, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I relax. The crackling of the fire and the chirp of crickets form soothing background music.

  Later, he grills beef sausages while I salvage the bread by cutting off the burned top and sides, and carry out the potato salad he prepared, which turned out more like mash. Our meal is simple, but I’m hungry, and it goes down well with a bottle of wine. By the time we stretch out on a blanket under the stars, my eyelids are already half-mast. We take a bet on who’ll see the most shooting stars, which I win. Or maybe he lets me win, because the loser has to clean the kitchen, and it’s clear I’m another half a glass of wine away from falling asleep.

  I wake up to the smell of bacon and coffee. Yawning, I sit up against the headboard and glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s after eight. A knock falls on the door before it opens.

  Jake pops his head around the frame. “You’re awake. Good. Breakfast is ready.” When I move to swing my legs off the bed, he holds up a finger. “Don’t move.”

  I lean back when he disappears, feeling lazy and set on enjoying the foreign sentiment for once. There’s nothing rushing me. I don’t have anywhere to be or anything to do.

  He returns a little while later with a loaded tray that he props on my lap.

  I stare at the bacon, fried egg, buttered toast, and coffee. There’s even a daisy in a vase. “Breakfast in bed? Do you treat all your captives like this?”

  “Only the beautiful ones.”

  I pick up a crunchy strip of bacon. “And it’s not even burned.”

  “You seemed to have forgotten what I said about pulling you over my lap.”

  Just before blurting out I hope it’s a promise, I bite my lip. I don’t want to play a teasing game with Jake. He made his intention clear yesterday. Whisking me away isn’t about sex. It’s a lot more serious than that, and serious isn’t where I want to go with him.

  “Eat up,” he says. “You have ten minutes to get ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  His smile is secretive. “You’ll see.”

  I don’t argue, because I have sleep-breath and bed-hair, and I’ll only feel comfortable facing him when I’m groomed. I eat like a starving woman, devouring everything on my plate. The clean, fresh air must be giving me an appetite. After a quick bath, I dress in a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops and find Jake in the kitchen where he’s loading our laundry into the washing machine. He takes the tray from me and makes quick work of cleaning everything before grabbing a cooler box that stands by the backdoor.

  “Let’s go.”

  He drives back to the highway and heads south. After an hour’s drive, the scenery changes drastically. We hit a huge mountain range that divides north and south.

  “The Outeniqua Mountains,” he says with enthusiasm.

  I stare up at the iron-gray cliffs. I’ve never seen anything higher than a mine dump. It’s both impressive and scary, but not as scary as when the road starts to climb. In no time, we’re halfway up the mountain with lush, green slopes that drop to an abyss at my side. Instinctively, I shift closer to the console. When Jake’s hand folds around mine, I don’t resist. I grip his fingers hard.

  “Relax,” he says, glancing my way. “I won’t drive us off the cliff.”

  The sound of that alone makes me tense up more. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

  “We’re heading down after the next bend.”

  My ears pop, and then we’re on the top of the world. My breath catches. In stark contrast to the dry, brittle world we left behind, everything in front of us stretches out green, and in the far distance glitters the blue water of the ocean.

  “Oh, my God,” I whisper, excitement and wonder mixing together. I’ve always wanted to visit the sea. It’s like the pictures I’ve seen, only better. The pretty view suddenly blurs as a multitude of sensations overwhelm me.

  “Hey.” He nudges me gently. “I thought you’d like it.”

  I swipe at my eyes with my free hand. “I do. It’s just so…” I don’t have words. “Beautiful,” I declare inadequately. “I wish Noah and my mom could’ve seen this.”

  “We’ll bring them.” When I look at him quickly, he adds, “Whatever happens, Kristi, whatever you decide about us, I want to be in my son’s future. I want to bring him here and to all the places that are special to me. Gina too. I like her. She’s a cool woman.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips over my knuckl
es. “She raised a damn cool daughter.”

  Awkwardly, I pull my hand away. He doesn’t stop me, but his smile fades a little. I know what he’s hoping for, but I can’t give him that.

  Hopelessness makes me ask, “Why now? What changed? Is it because you finished your contract in Dubai?”

  The relaxed set of his shoulders turns rigid. A moment passes before he speaks. “I didn’t finish my contract.”

  “What? I don’t understand. That’s what you said.”

  He clenches the wheel. “I lied. I’m sorry.”

  The steep ascent forgotten, I sit up in my seat. “Why?”

  “I didn’t want you to know.”

  “To know what?”

  A muscle ticks in his temple. More time passes. “I lost the contract.”

  “Why?”

  “I fucked up.”

  “What happened?”

  “I made the wrong choices, the wrong investments. Lost my mentor millions.” His expression is haunted as he glances at me again. “I’m a failure. A scandal. I blew it.”

  “Why lie to me about it?”

  His jaw bunches. “I was ashamed.” He utters a wry laugh. “I am ashamed.”

  Insight hits me. “Is that why you didn’t come back?”

  Again, he stares at me briefly. It’s all there in his eyes, the disappointed and bitter disillusionment. Why haven’t I recognized it before? There are so many layers of broody intenseness that make up Jake’s past, it’s sometimes difficult to see the present. He says nothing, but he doesn’t have to. His silence is his answer. He couldn’t face the shame and humiliation of admitting he didn’t make it in the big world, no less to the very people he condemned for living a simple life in a backward town. His pride prevented him from giving us a chance.

  I swallow, suddenly emotional for a different reason. “Is that why you didn’t read my letters? You didn’t want to answer them with the truth?”

  He wipes a hand over his face. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Explain.”

  A look of regret filters into his expression as he waves a hand at the view. “I wasn’t planning on bringing this up now. I wanted you to enjoy the moment.”