by T M Bashford
She climbs out eventually but lies on her stomach on the poolside. The ache to go to her, to hold and touch her, is like a suppressed scream. I snatch a bottle of sunscreen from the outdoor table setting.
“It may be winter, but you’ll still burn. Can I put some sunscreen on your back? I could ask Jamison if you’d prefer...”
She doesn’t answer immediately, but then nods. “Okay. Like that day at The Trench.”
The day we properly got together. The day she let me kiss her and hold her on the beach. The day I slipped my fingers under her clothes and made her come apart in my hands. As I rub the sunscreen into her skin, I recall every moment and fight with myself not to pull the knot of her bikini as I had that time. Her bikini bottoms had fallen away, and she’d opened her legs to me. She had been hot and slick, and I know she’d feel the same way now, heated by the sun’s rays. My body stirs and my need for her swells through me.
Once I finish rubbing in the sunscreen, I put the bottle in her hand to let her do her arms and legs. I have to take a cold shower to avoid the urge to slip my finger under the elastic of her bikini bottoms. “Give me twenty minutes. I’ll be back to step out the return route when you’re ready.”
When Shae comes downstairs after her swim, she sits where she was before lunch.
“Hey,” I say to ensure she recognizes I’m in the White Room, too.
“Hey, back.” Before she picks up her ear buds and gets lost in her audio book again, I notice her toes curl into the carpet.
After an hour, I get up and pat her leg. “Want a soda?” I ask after she taps pause. She smiles and says thank you. “I thought I could read to you?”
“I’m not sure I want to hear Economics Can Shrink Your Brain.”
“I’ve already devoured it—twelve times,” I retort. “My dad gave me a list of the top twenty books you should read before you’re thirty. I have to admit I skipped The Joy of Cooking, but have you read High Fidelity by Nick Hornby?” She shrugs. “Give it a go, then? It’s light-hearted.” She agrees and after fetching the sodas and the book, I plunk on the other end of her sofa so I don’t need to shout for her to hear.
I lean against the arm, my legs bent, feet on the sofa facing Shae. I balance the book against my thighs and begin. Shae gradually makes herself more comfortable as she listens and whether she realizes or not, adjusts herself to mirror me. Our feet almost touch.
On Sunday morning, Shae’s swimming before anyone’s had breakfast. I hear her from my bedroom and peer around the corner of the house where I can spy on half the pool. She swims two more times that day. She only stops to shower, eat, and listen to me read. We settle into our same position on the sofa, facing each other, legs pulled up, toes a few inches apart. She could easily stay in her suite, distance herself from me, but she doesn’t. Instead, the White Room gets re-christened for the second time—Shae’s Room.
A few days ago, Sienna got in touch to ask how we were doing. She told me how her boyfriend, Blue, was a Seeing-Eye dog trainer in Cape Cod and now works for a similar company in the UK. When she asked him if Shae should apply for one, he said it was unlikely she’d be approved as Shae’s chances of regaining her sight are high. It might happen anytime in the next few weeks. But watching Shae grow in confidence makes me want to do more to help her find the old Shae. I bask in a new idea and text Sienna.
Shae
Drew had run from the breakfast table today, shouting goodbye and squeezing my shoulder on the way out to the office. With the front door slammed behind him, the house takes on the atmosphere of a crypt.
I sit in the dining room alone.
The two clocks tick and tock out of sync.
The waves outside make the rigging jingle.
This weekend had been quiet, but it was filled with the peace I craved. I’d stopped worrying about Drew’s intentions and settled into enjoying his company as he read to me or watched me swim. Now he’s gone, and I feel abandoned.
Last night, I had listened to him strum his guitar while I lay in bed. I’m not sure if he was on his balcony—I have worked out that his room is next to mine—but I’d left the French doors open as usual and it sounded as if he was right there, playing for me, singing for me. I had hugged a pillow in bed, remembering the time he sang to me on the beach in Samoa, wondering if he’d sing the same song again. He hadn’t, but I fell asleep to the sound of his strumming.
The doorbell rings and I’m stunned by my hope that it’s Drew, returning even for a moment to pick up something he left behind.
But it’s Miss Tiger.
I listen to her advancing stride alongside Jamison’s quick steps. “I bumped into Mr. Vega outside,” she states. “I understand you’ve done well with your visualizations and sensory clues.”
“It’s weird how everyone calls him that instead of Drew. He’s only twenty-four.”
“Twenty-five, according to Google. So, today, we’re going to ensure you don’t clean your hands with shampoo or wash your hair with bleach.”
She checked him out on Google, but more importantly, I’ve missed his birthday.
“I’m guessing you smell it first?” I say.
“Okay, smarty pants, let’s put you to the test.”
I can’t tell conditioner and hand soap apart, or mayonnaise and yogurt. She pulls out a random drawer and makes me identify things. I figure out the difference between pens and pencils and my shoes versus someone else’s. It’s another long day but by the end of it, I feel more in control of my life.
As the air cools, which means the sun is setting, I find myself wondering if Drew will come home for dinner or if he’ll work late and eat at the office. He’s done a lot of that lately.
When he swings into the White Room, I attempt to regulate the extent of my smile, but I know it takes over my face.
“Hey,” he says, and I listen to him huff into the sofa opposite me, pull off his shoes, and lump them onto the rug. “I hear you nearly put yogurt on your sandwiches instead of mayo.”
“Have you talked to Miss Tiger?”
“Yup. Said you’re her star pupil.”
“I doubt it.”
“Do you want to meet up with her again?”
“Yes and no. I’m not happy that you have to pay for everything.”
“She’s not expensive. She does two initial tutorials, and then lets you practice yourself before returning if you need her. We can work it out later. I don’t mean to brag, but I won’t miss a few hundred bucks. Stop worrying, okay?”
I purse my lips and steeple my fingers and decide not to ask about Lucas’s claim on Drew’s estate.
“Jeez, I need a beer. You?” I shake my head and sense him pass nearby. When he returns, I smell the yeasty drink. He’s followed by the clipping steps of Jamison.
“Sir. You have an unexpected visitor… at the gate.” Jamison sounds flustered. “Lucas Cunningham.”
I gasp and wish I could see Drew’s face. There’s a long silence before Drew says, “Ask him to please come in.”
“What could he want?” I ask. “Why come here in person?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out.”
“Do you need me to leave you two alone? You should go into your dad’s study.”
“No, stay. I want to keep this informal, friendly.” But Drew’s voice is stiff and hard, and I hear him pace between the sofa and the balcony.
“May I fetch you a drink, Mr. Cunningham,” Jamison asks as their footsteps near.
“Thank you, yes. Whiskey and water?”
“Lucas,” Drew says, and I hear him march toward the door. “Welcome to my home.”
“And mine,” Lucas says, a chuckle in his words. “It’s nice to meet you, little brother.”
“Well, those facts are yet to be determined,” Drew says. “Jamison, I’ll take one of those whiskeys, too, thanks. Lucas, this is Shae Love, my… very good sailing companion and friend.”
I cannot see his response to Drew’s introduction. He may have simpl
y nodded at me, but he doesn’t greet me.
“I decided I’d deliver the results of the test we’re all waiting for in person,” he says. “Given their content, I thought it appropriate to convene.” There’s a sound of shuffling paper. “You’ll understand why I referred to you as little brother.” He chuckles too loudly. “Little brother standing in rather large shoes. You’ve certainly bitten off more than you can chew of our father’s company.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Rumors. But I plan to step in and help, as soon as the appropriate legalities are out of the way.”
“You do intend to get involved at Vega Corp.?”
“Of course, I do. It’s my birthright. I only recently sought out my adoption paperwork and discovered exactly what my birthright is. I believe my experience in the business world fully qualifies me to take over the helm from you. I’m sure you’re aware—”
“Yes, I’m aware of your resume. But those are fighting words coming from someone who’s just met his new family. Shall we begin on a less controversial topic? Jamison, there you are. Thank you. A toast to…” Drew pauses, “family. I’ve always wanted a big brother.”
There’s the clink of ice cubes and the tick of the hall clock.
“I’m afraid I don’t share your views on family,” Lucas says. “Mine has never done a thing for me. Being abandoned by both your parents can leave a somewhat bitter taste.”
“They were both so young—”
“If I was in their shoes, I’d have made different choices. My mother, for instance, comes from a wealthy family. She let pride dictate her decision to cast me aside.” There’s a moment where it sounds like they both simultaneously sip on their drinks. Irritation rises into my gullet the more I listen to this guy. “But I’m not one to reminisce or blame,” Lucas continues. “I’m merely explaining my notion that family means little to me. Friends and colleagues, now they are a different story. Luckily, they can be chosen.”
“I’d be happy to tell you all about our father. He was a great man who survived a difficult childhood.”
“I’ve read all I need to know about him.” Another awkward pause and I bite back at the words I want to fling at him. “I believe I inherited my brains and acumen from him. I can thank him for that, but little else.”
Jamison snorts and clip-clops out of the room toward the kitchen.
“Our father was a good man,” Drew says. I can sense he’s getting upset. “Although, he wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes.”
“Me being one of them, is that what you mean?”
I jump to my feet. “Of course, that’s not what he means,” I say. “Drew is extending the hand of friendship, inviting you into his family, despite your rudeness and your desire to cause chaos at Vega Corp. Yet you insist on brushing him off and belittling a father you never met. I’m sorry you were adopted. No doubt you felt abandoned, but is that any reason to treat Drew like he had anything to do with it? This is a shock for him, too. Everybody in this world goes through tough times, but it’s not an excuse to become hard-hearted and impolite. I’m sorry, Drew, but it had to be said. I’ll leave now.”
I attempt to march from the room, but having mis-counted, I walk into the wall beside the door. I step sideways and into the hallway where Jamison takes my elbow and guides me to the staircase.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He chuckles near my ear. Then he marches to the White Room. “May I show you out, Mr. Cunningham,” he says, a smirk in every word.
I’m shaking when I return to my bedroom. I refused to listen to Lucas throw Drew’s attempts at friendship in his face. Something protective and animalistic had reared up from deep inside me. Now I’m overwhelmed with the need to go to Drew and simply hold him, comfort him—even show him that I do love him. Everything I felt for him in Samoa crowds into my heart. I want what we had back. There must be a compromise and we won’t have to live in his Sydney mansion all the time. If my eyesight returns, I realize, I want to find a way to have a future together.
Drew comes into my room again when I’m supposedly sleeping; it must be after midnight. This time, he ventures closer and sits on the carpet, leaning against the bed frame. I work it all out from the sounds and the way the bed jolts slightly with his weight. It’s good to have him there, and there’s no harm in it. At least he’s not pushing himself on me. I listen to his breathing, which becomes more labored. At one point, I think he’s crying or trying not to sob, but then there’s silence as if he’s holding his breath. Then a more normal rate of inhaling and exhaling returns. I realize it’s hard for him to have me here—he still loves me and hopes for a future. I picture his profile as he leans against the bed. He smells of beer and sweat more than limes tonight, but I fall asleep content—his presence, though secret, is more of a comfort than sighting Sirius had been in the past.
Brett
I scrutinize the balcony I just climbed down from. Drew and I had done that many times as boys, and the fact that the trees have grown helps my ascent and descent. It’s convenient of Shae to leave her French doors open. I don’t even have to use my key to gain entry and sneak through the house, potentially risking bumping into someone.
Creeping along the side of the house, I slip past the pool and through the hole in the hedge Drew and I made a decade ago. I chuck the sticky hanky I used to get off with in the bins lined up on the road and saunter to my car parked on the next street. When I’m in Shae’s bedroom, I have to jerk off to stop myself from sticking my tongue between her legs while she sleeps.
The sea glass jiggles in my pocket. Having given Shae two of them already, I have five pieces left. I leave Shae a gift after each visit. When they run out, maybe my gift to her can be me and the pleasure I can bestow on her tight little body. I noted her door locks from the inside. And just in case, I added a tracker to her cell phone and recorded her number.
But making her body mine is not going to make her mine for keeps. I want more than a few moments of pulse-racing pleasure. It’s Shae’s love I need. If someone like her can love me, I can be healed of the past. The nightmares will go, the flashbacks, the feelings which won’t leave me alone. I inspect my prosthetic pinkie finger—pathetic and weak, like me. One day, Shae will come to me and willingly spread those lovely tan legs. I imagine her, her head thrown back as I devour her flower. The image makes me impatient.
“After I’ve given you my last five pieces of sea glass, gorgeous Shae,” I say aloud, to make it official, “I’ll be ready to put my plan into action. Then we can be together.”
Forever.
Drew
After Jamison led Lucas out, I slumped into the sofa and laughed through tears of both sadness and happiness. How bittersweet to have my half-brother turn out to be an ass who hates my family, just as Shae steps up to defend my family, the one she hadn’t felt she could be a part of.
Jamison returns with a stern set to his mouth, yet his eyes twinkle with mirth. “Mr. Cunningham needs to learn some manners.”
“He doesn’t resemble my father or me. Can these tests be wrong?” I trace over the results again. “I’m going to fight it.”
“I’m afraid I have a confession,” Jamison says. The twinkle has vanished. “He’s telling the truth, unfortunately.”
“Take a seat, Jamison. You’re giving me a cricked neck.”
He perches on the sofa adjacent to me. “Years ago, your father informed me of a son he was too young and scared to take responsibility for. He was just a boy himself and was supporting his mother since his father was still in jail. He refused to beg Rebecca’s parents for their financial aid. Later, when he had the means to provide for Lucas, he railed over what to do. We had a few long chats, though your father never revealed his name. Anthony decided to leave things be, not wanting to potentially disrupt his son’s life when he was probably a healthy, loved boy. He decided it must be Lucas’s decision to search for him. Then he would welcome him with open arms.”
“Why didn’
t you say anything before?”
“I guess I hoped this wasn’t that boy and he’d disappear like so many of the other claimants have. But he’s the spit of his mother, Rebecca.”
“You knew her?”
“No. But she was in the media. She was the wife of a celebrity lawyer, after all.”
“How come she and my dad split up?”
“I believe the strain of the pregnancy and the adoption, the whole situation, was too much for their young selves to deal with. They argued, and the relationship ended.”
“Do you know why Rebecca abandoned Brett when he was a baby? Did it have anything to do with Lucas… or my dad?”
“Your father did confide in me. Apparently, giving birth to Brett reminded her of the son she had abandoned. She couldn’t live with herself. Having Brett made her feel more guilty every day. In addition, she was still in love with Anthony, but he had met your mother by then... and Rebecca’s husband at the time—Brett’s father—uncovered her earlier relationship with Anthony and believed they were continuing their affair. He didn’t even believe Brett was his child until Brett lost his white blond hair and turned dark, like him and Rebecca. A quirk of genetics.”
“She ran away, rather than face her responsibilities. Had she stayed, everything that happened to Brett after she left might not have transpired. He might’ve become a different person.” I’m back to feeling a little sorry for him. “And it explains why our dads never got on. Any more of Dad’s skeletons in the closet you’re keeping from me?”
“Not that I can recall at this time.” Jamison’s gives me a fond smile. “Wasn’t Shae spot on?”
“She took the words right out of my mouth.” I wanted to grab her and kiss her hard. I have the urge to go to her now and simply be with her, but she won’t let me near her, and I promised myself I’d remain patient and wait for her to come to me.
