by T M Bashford
Drew’s face lurches, rapidly stripped bare.
“If you can meet up with me and Sienna, we’ll be at the Tea Leaf Café, eight-thirty tomorrow.”
I don’t look back, don’t reply, just open the door to the taxi and throw myself inside.
Drew
I can see the softness underneath Shae’s rock-like exterior—it’s in the way her eyes flicker with memories and in the way the breath catches in her throat. I’m surprised I can still make her stop breathing just by being near her. It confuses me because she’s with Brett now.
The evening reception is an informal supper at the club. I excuse myself, telling Christian I’m jet-lagged. Instead, I mope through the city of Plymouth on foot, half of me needing to clear my head, the other half hoping to bump into Shae. Although I’ve tried to push her into my past, to cherish the memories but to look forward to a new future, my feelings for her have rushed at me like a breaking wave, swamping me with longing.
I lay awake most of the night, wondering if she’ll come to breakfast and remembering what it’s like to kiss her, how her body felt beneath me. But imagining her and Brett together leaves me wounded and weak.
The next morning, Sienna is spritely and cheerful, explaining how she transferred her degree from Portsmouth to Exeter because an old boyfriend got a job overseeing the training of guide dogs for the Blind Association.
“His name’s Blue,” Sienna says, “and we were childhood friends when I lived in Cape Cod. We’ve been on and off for a while, but he moved to England and we’re back on.”
I listen as best I can, but my eyes dart to the door every time someone enters the café. It doesn’t help that there’s a bell on the door, demanding my attention each time it opens.
“You’re not your usual self.” Sienna’s petite face is patched with concern. “You okay?”
“Jet-lagged. Feels like I’m sleepwalking.”
“More coffee required. My tip is to go to bed at UK bedtime. You’ll adjust faster.” I stir my drink and she passes me a second sachet of sugar. “And more sugar. Do you keep in touch with Finn?”
“Not for a while,” I say.
“I guess I should ask about Shae. It remains a big mystery—why you disappeared after returning to Samoa.”
“She’d moved on.” I keep stirring the coffee.
“Ouch. You risked everything to find her and she’d moved on?”
“There was more to it than that.”
“You’ve never enjoyed discussing your love life, have you?”
“Does any man? And no, I haven’t spoken to Finn. Not sure why, but he never returns my calls, even after all we went through with Eddie. Shae might’ve asked him to cut ties.”
“He can be a bit of an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ sort of guy.”
I’m done being stuck in the past and finish breakfast quickly, aware I’m terrible company. I consider booking an earlier flight home. I can’t bear feeling this way, and the more I think about bumping into Shae again, the more I don’t want to. When I first spotted her eating lunch yesterday, my heart felt as if it had been wrenched from my chest and was hanging there, suspended in mid-air, being pulverized like a punching bag. How is it she can have that effect on me after six months of living apart? I thought I’d accepted the fact that she had started a new life but evidently, I haven’t.
When I return to my hotel, I book a lunchtime flight to Sydney, which departs tomorrow. Although Christian has no objections to my leaving early as he has his wife here to support him, he won’t hear of me bailing out on a second event. He insists I come to the competitor’s welcoming reception.
“Besides, half the reason you came out here was to meet people who may help with the America’s Cup challenge,” he argues.
It’s to be a formal dinner and I struggle with my tie. I can’t believe I’m nervous, but I tell myself Shae will almost certainly not turn up. From the way she hot-footed it out of the pub yesterday, she’s avoiding me as much as I want to avoid her. Besides, she hates crowded parties and wearing dresses.
The yacht club is adorned with fairy lights and the restaurant has morphed into something out of a wedding magazine. White cloths, orange and blue flower centerpieces, and crystal glasses adorn each table and a live band makes it hard to talk. The room is packed. If Shae does come, it’ll be easy to avoid each other.
I accept a beer from Christian, gulp it down, and order another. Christian introduces me to several renowned characters in the sailing world, including a crew member from the last America’s Cup. I’m unsettled and edgy, slugging drinks and repeating to myself how this time tomorrow I’ll be on a plane to Australia where I’ll get myself back to normal.
The seating plan is pre-set so when the bell rings, we traipse from the bar into the restaurant, and I follow Christian and Leah, his wife. When we’re seated, I nervously check the room and wham—she’s there, about to sit at a nearby table. Shae’s stunning in an emerald-green strapless dress, which accentuates her tanned skin and dark, treacle-colored hair. She sits two tables over and is spinning her spoon, then her fork. I appreciate how her bare shoulders shift each time she moves, unable to forget how they felt under my hands, under my lips.
She glances my way. I observe her registering me, then her gaze drops. I reach for a wine bottle and top up everyone’s glasses.
I spend the evening stopping myself from glancing at her. But every part of me senses her movements and reaches for her.
She doesn’t want you anymore.
But I can’t live without her. I need to talk to her, maybe even fight for her? When I regard her again, she’s talking to the man beside her. I get the urge to leap over the tables and cut in. But then why aren’t I doing that to Brett? This is all wrong. She’s meant to be with me. I can still make her stop breathing simply by standing near her. She hasn’t forgotten what we had. Ava and my inheritance got in the way, that’s all. Brett didn’t give up on her. Why am I? But can I forgive her for moving on to Brett so quickly? If I could understand what happened... discuss it with her. At the time, she had assumed I’d cheated on her.
The dessert plates are cleared, and coffee is being circulated. People get up and mingle. As soon as the guy next to Shae gets up, I excuse myself to go over to her. But before I reach her, she’s on her feet, weaving through the crowd toward the lady’s restroom. She looks amazing, her dark hair sleek against the green dress. I start to follow but change my mind, not wanting to act creepy, and go to the bar instead.
There’s a queue for the women’s restroom. Each time the toilet door opens, I can see the line. When she eventually re-emerges, she seems sleepy and unsteady. Her palm traces along the wall and she starts toward the exit, feeling her way out. Is she drunk? She’s not a drinker, but maybe, like me, alcohol helped her survive the evening.
She walks into the foyer and bends to slip off her heels. The guy who she was talking to over dinner trails behind. His shoulders are hunched, hands stuffed in his pockets, and he casts around him before shutting the bar door as if checking that no one’s seen him leave. Something’s not right. I leave my drink and follow. Shae isn’t in the foyer anymore, but the man drops casually down the stairs and into the night. I loosen my tie and track after him. When I get outside, Shae’s resting on a bench and he’s standing next to her, his hand on her bare shoulder. He’s bent low, talking into her ear.
“Hey, Shae, are you leaving us already?” I saunter toward them to figure out what’s going on. The man abruptly straightens and shoves his hands into his pockets.
“Your friend’s unwell,” he says. “I’ll leave you to take over then.” He strides off and climbs into a white Mazda parked near the club.
I sit next to Shae, but she sidles sideways. Her strappy silver sandals rest on the bench between us.
“Are you drunk?”
She shakes her head in a way that makes her entire body shudder. “Only had two.”
“Are you sick?” But before she can answer she toppl
es forward.
She’s out cold.
I dial emergency and crouch on the sidewalk to rouse her. When there’s no response, I lay my jacket over her and rest her head on my knees. I’ve never seen her this vulnerable and my body jumps to protect her. I realize I’ve managed to keep going all these months only because I knew she was okay and because there was a seed of hope that one day we might work things out. But now, not understanding what’s wrong, knowing it’s possible to truly lose her forever... panic stirs in my gut and I kiss her forehead. I want you back.
A sheen of sweat covers her face but her chest rises and falls normally. My breathing becomes erratic as I wait, cursing the slow response of the ambulance. When they do arrive, two paramedics jump into action. They take her vital signs then lift her onto a stretcher.
“Too much to drink?” one asks me.
“No. She had two drinks.”
“Sure, she did,” he says.
“She had two drinks,” I repeat. “I am sure. There’s something else wrong.”
“Any drugs?”
“No. It’s something else.”
“You coming?” he asks and I jump in with him.
The sirens blare and we jolt back and forth in the ambulance. The monitor shows her heart rate spiking and falling in rotation. They put an oxygen mask on her, and I can’t look at her helpless shape without crumbling inside. I study the sea eagle tattoo on her ankle instead.
Moments before we reach the hospital, Shae pulls her knees up to her stomach and screams. They position her on her side and hold her in place, her legs hiked up to her chest. Her eyes are closed as if she’s moving through a nightmare. She moans and cries like there’s an alien trying to tear open her stomach. Could she be pregnant and losing the baby?
Brett’s baby?
Shae
I’m aware of the beeping of a monitor nearby. Then the bright light behind my eyelids. I’m in a hospital. I take a mental scan of my body. There’s no pain, merely a stretched sensation in my stomach, and I’m lying on my side. Then I feel the warmth of a hand holding mine. I open my eyes and shut them against the blinding light. But I’d seen someone there. This time I squint first, gradually prising my lids apart.
“Drew.” The word is a scratchy whisper. I struggle to swallow. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. His hair tickles my wrist. When I turn to him, his forehead is on our joined hands. “What happened?”
He lifts his head. “They believe your drink was spiked and you had an allergic reaction, which made the symptoms worse.”
A blur of white comes into focus as a nurse looms nearer. “We’re awake, are we? How do you feel, Shae?”
“Groggy. Thirsty.”
“We’ve got you on a drip. You simply have a dry mouth. I’ll fetch you some water to swill but you mustn’t swallow it yet in case it comes up again.”
I close my eyes and fall into sleep.
When I next wake, I remember where I am more quickly. Drew’s asleep in the chair, his head lolling awkwardly. I want to run my fingers through his hair. Emotion swills around my chest and I gulp back tears. The jerky motion wakes Drew and his face bobs up. He slowly unwraps a smile. Why had he hurt me so much?
He pushes the hair behind my ears. A lone tear skids across my cheek into the pillow. I turn away from Drew. He isn’t put off and walks to the other side of the bed to see my face. His bare feet are incongruous with the dark charcoal suit trousers. “Still prefer no shoes,” I say, more to myself.
He squats, his face in my eyeline. “Old habits...” He shifts my hair out of my eyes, and it feels so right. “But I’m getting help with my apple-sniffing addiction—went to rehab and everything. Some solitary confinement. Took a few months.” The backs of his fingers touch my cheek. “I might be re-admitted for a relapse, though.” His voice is suddenly intimate.
Is he flirting?
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say. “You should go.”
“Can’t, I’m afraid. You have to be released into someone else’s care for the next twenty-four hours.”
“What day is it?” I push up to sit.
“It’s only been overnight, but you’ve missed the final briefing for the competitors. Christian says he can fill you in, though. It’ll be fine. You’ve got two days to get fit. Doctor says you should be right as rain by tomorrow.”
I lay down stiffly, slowly taking in the information. I won’t go soft now. “I’d rather not be released at all than go anywhere with you.”
“That’s charming given I’ve missed my flight to Australia and spent all night watching out for you.” His words are filled with humor instead of annoyance. “I kept the police away. My hunch is it was the guy you were next to at dinner. I gave them a full description.”
I shiver, realizing I could’ve been sexually assaulted if it weren’t for Drew.
“Thanks. I’m grateful,” I say.
He smiles down at me, his concerned eyes tugging at mine.
“But you’ve hurt me more than any other person ever could, and I can’t be around you.”
His face becomes stern and rigid. “You don’t think you hurt me just as much?”
He cannot be equating how I didn’t immediately jump at his proposal with how he deserted me!
Drew’s raised voice attracts the attention of a passing nurse.
“Okey dokey,” she says. “Sir, can you please leave the room for a moment, I need to check over our patient.” I observe his mounting frustration climb down and he spins and stalks out. As the nurse checks my pulse and blood pressure, my gaze drops to the floor where my silver sandals from Target are lined up next to Drew’s black Armani shoes.
“Is everything okay?” the nurse asks. She eyes the door Drew exited through.
“Can you take his shoes to him and ask him to go?”
The race officials are happy to give me a personal briefing after I supply a medical certificate to declare I’m fit to sail. They’re shocked at the police visit on my behalf, but no one can identify the man who came to dine next to me. Harry Mathers was the name tag on the table, but the real Harry had pulled out last minute.
It’s a rushed final day before the race, and there’s no time to wonder why my eyes ache and my vision appears blurry. The doctor hadn’t mentioned these potential side effects. I pop some pain killers and continue with my prep.
Journalists interview the competitors and I’m a popular topic, being the youngest girl to compete. I accept all offers, certain the more publicity I receive, the more it’ll help me raise funds for my world campaign.
On race day morning, the weather is perfect with a ten-knot wind. I’m excited to get away at midday and leave behind the drama of the last few days. But barely fifteen minutes from leaving my berth, something casts a shadow over the documents I’m reading, and Drew is there. His gaze frisks over me, and he’s handsome in blue jeans and white T-shirt.
“Permission to come aboard,” he says, grave.
“I’m pretty busy, Drew. The race starts in—”
“It won’t take long.” He steps across from the jetty and he’s suddenly beside me on a boat far smaller than Sassy. Quite frankly, the Titanic would be too small to hold the both of us right now.
I try to calm my bumping heart and to ignore his lime scent. He reaches forward to touch my hair, but I jerk my head away.
“What are you doing?” I push all my anger into my eyes to ensure there’s no room for tears.
A cloud of anxiety hovers on his face. “Isn’t there a way of going back in time, Shae?”
“I don’t see how.” I make my words hard, like throwing stones at him, and then morph myself into rock, unemotional and tough. It usually ensures guys retreat. But he doesn’t leave. He looks as if he wants to kiss me, and I half imagine how that would feel, his tongue meeting mine as I wilt against him. Heat pools in my belly and waterfalls toward my groin.
His expression becomes stormy as if a squall went through him. “I still love you, Shae.”
I swallow, my heart luffing. “But I can’t love you back.”
“Because you love Brett?”
“What? Please get off my boat.” My brain is stuffed with razor blades and my eyes hurt again. He’s always accusing me of being into Brett. Even when we first met.
“Why do I have to take all the blame? Why can’t you forgive me if I can forgive you?”
“Not now, Drew. Please leave.” I untie the ropes tethering Gambit and jump below to flick on the engine. “You have to go, or I’ll be disqualified for having you onboard.”
I take the helm. He doesn’t move. My stomach coils when I observe the shimmer of his tears. As he steps onto the jetty, I almost grab his hand, almost attempt to comfort him. Almost.
Gambit drifts from her mooring. Drew watches me, arms hanging limply.
“What did you mean when you said I hurt you, too?” I yell, his words from the hospital haunting me.
He glares at me, lets out a laugh of disbelief. “With Brett? You fell for my best friend and you didn’t have the guts to tell me on Karma.”
“Brett and I are friends. That’s it. You’re the one who dumped me. You did all the hurting.” The wind whips away my words. I’m not even sure he can hear me. I say them again. His mouth moves in a reply, but short of turning the boat around, I can’t understand him. Spotted across the harbor, competitors are on their way to the start line. I must ignore what he said and blast the image of him on the jetty from my mind. I’m about to cross the Atlantic.
Drew
Gambit motors out to sea, carrying Shae away from me yet again. Shaky with emotion, I drop to the deck and squint into the sun as she grows smaller. The growing ball of frustration inside presses against my ribs and when there’s nothing to punch, it becomes hot and thrusts through my body.
Brett and Shae are just friends? But Brett said... the malicious words all over my sketches... they moved to California together. Went to Disneyland.
