The Chilling Tide

by T M Bashford

  “Jamison?” I say. “Lucas is a son Dad would’ve been proud of—not his rude manner—but he’s a successful businessman. He’s what my father wanted me to become. If you say my father intended to open his arms to his son should he come looking for him, then maybe I need to do that.”

  “Your intentions are honorable, sir. Though I doubt your half-brother deserves them.”

  Before I go upstairs, I visit my father’s study. I’ve recently started using the room. As I sit in his huge chair behind the vast desk, the sense I’m a child playing at being an adult or like I’m sitting with his ghost dwindles. I stay there for a while, hoping to channel what my father might do, if he was alive.

  Another week goes by and Shae lets Anthony drive her to a doctor’s appointment, which is progress. We slip into a routine of reading, eating, and swimming together when I’m not at the office.

  It’s late and I’ve just finished High Fidelity. Shae’s leaning against the sofa, sleepy and relaxed. I budge my feet so our toes touch. She doesn’t react. I leave them there, the blood fizzing through my veins like soda. My phone vibrates. I read the text: it’s Finn—he and George will sail Sassy Jam to Sydney in eight days. I rap my toes on Shae’s to catch her attention.

  “Top five foods,” I ask. The character in High Fidelity spends a lot of time compiling top five lists.

  Without hesitation, she reels off six. “Lu’au, taro chips, salted beef, oka, pancakes and jam, pork in coconut sauce.”

  Each food is one we shared in Samoa or on Sassy. I scrutinize her, but there are no clues to help me interpret her answer. Is she opening up to me? Giving me a signal? Every part of me wants to hold her and kiss her silly. But I won’t spoil the trust I’ve built if I’m reading her incorrectly. It’s possible they are her favorite foods. I get up before I do something I’ll regret.

  “Just remembered, I’ve got work to do. See you tomorrow.”

  I sit alone in my room, confused by how churned up I am. Shae’s words suggest she thinks about those times. Maybe there is hope.

  The next day, Sienna and her boyfriend arrive—part two of my plan to cheer up Shae.

  Shae and I are on the deck, taking in the winter sunshine, when Jamison leads them out to join us. Shae turns at the sound of them.

  “We have visitors,” I tell her as Sienna launches herself at me. I hug her back and nod at Blue, who’s holding the leash of a guide dog.

  Shae stands, a little worried. “Who?”

  “It’s me, Sienna, and Blue, my fiancé.” Sienna flashes her ring finger at me. “He proposed on the flight. How romantic is that?”

  “Hi, Drew. Shae,” Blue says, stepping forward. “We bought you a present, Shae. His name’s Boomer.” He bends to release the leash and guides Boomer toward Shae. The dog sits when asked. “Stroke him. He’s a guide dog.”

  Shae’s confusion treks across her face but she allows Blue to direct her hand to Boomer. She pats him, a fake smile pinned in place. I’m confused myself, because I remember she was fine with dogs in Samoa. Now, she looks as if she might cry.

  I rub Boomer’s back, ignoring the awkward silence. “Hey,” I whisper near Shae’s ear. “Are you okay?”

  Her mouth twists. “I’m sorry. It’s just—” Then she bursts into tears.

  I wrap my arms around her, mouthing “sorry” to Sienna and Blue, who are holding hands and baffled.

  “Are those tears of happiness, Shae?” Sienna asks.

  Shae snort-laughs. “White sticks and guide dogs mean… They confirm I’m blind.”

  “Temporarily,” I assure her. “He’s meant to provide you with some company while I’m at work, and you can go out without me to escort you. He’ll give you more independence.”

  “I know. I know. It’s just highlighting my… how helpless I am. But you’re all amazing. Sorry.” She turns to Blue and Sienna. “Did you bring him from England?”

  “No. He’s Australian-bred,” Blue says. “Normally it takes a while to receive a seeing-eye dog and even then, they don’t give them out to people who aren’t declared legally blind. But Drew pulled some strings.”

  “As did Blue. He’s a seeing-eye dog trainer and he has some great contacts,” Sienna adds.

  “But Drew had the cash,” Blue says.

  “I made a donation,” Drew explains.

  “A rather large donation.”

  Shae bends to touch Boomer again, this time squatting to give him a hug. “Sorry, Boomer. It’s not you. It’s me. You’re lovely and soft. What breed is he?”

  “A golden retriever,” Blue answers. “He’s recently finished his training, but I can help you bond and teach you how to instruct him.”

  “And when your vision returns,” Drew says, “you can keep him.”

  Over the next week, Sienna and Blue stay with us and accompany Shae while I’m at the office. There are endless meetings regarding Lucas with the added worry he may ally with another shareholder and gain a majority stake. I’m grateful Sienna’s here to distract Shae and keep her occupied while I’m absent. Blue helps her learn to work with Boomer, and they walk on the beach and even go shopping. Still, the spirit of Shae which has been locked away since her accident remains elusive. Maybe it’s too late and it’s lost. I just hope not forever.

  Shae

  “I don’t want to go,” I say and leverage myself out of the pool.

  “Come on, Shae,” Drew says. “It’ll be good for you. You need to get out more.”

  “I’ve been out plenty with Blue and Sienna.” There’s a moment of silence. I imagine the three of them exchanging glances and I feel even more separate from them. I wrap the towel around myself and begin to hedge toward the house. But I walk straight into Drew’s extended arm. The warmth of him against my cool skin, the nearness of him, has me coming undone, and I ache to wrap myself around him like a towel.

  “Hold up.” Drew’s tone is strident. “Arnold will drop us a hundred meters from the ferry.”

  “You don’t have to use the cane either,” Blue says. “You have Boomer to guide you. It’s a great idea, Shae.”

  “You’ll be out on the most famous harbor in the world, the wind in your hair,” Drew says. “You’ll love it.” His voice is a low whisper and my insides tremble. He takes my hesitation as a yes. “I’ll contact Arnold and change my clothes. Meet in the hall in twenty.”

  Half an hour later, when we emerge from the car at the ferry terminal, a cacophony of noise bombards me—voices, footfalls, cars, a closed-in sensation, exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke, cell phone ringtones, something sticky under my shoe. I’m on the sidewalk next to Sienna and I freeze. Drew arranges where to pick us up with Arnold and passes me Boomer’s leash. I take small steps, walking between the three of them.

  “The terminal is fifty meters from here,” Sienna says, but her voice sounds as if it’s a mile away because my heartbeat crashes in my ears.

  They were right, though—being on the ferry is a little similar to sailing on Sassy. They guide me up some stairs to the front. I grip a metal bar, shut my eyes, and lift my face to the salty breeze. During the entire half hour trip, I imagine I’m on Sassy Jam, alone, sailing into the sunset into a people-less world. Drew, Sienna, and Blue leave me to my memories and everything recedes so I can daydream. Only once do I get a fright when a man knocks into me and then grabs me by the belt loops on my jean shorts to steady me. It seems an overly familiar thing to do. He’s so close I can smell the beer he just drank.

  “Sorry, gorgeous,” the guy says, his voice unusually deep. Normally, I wouldn’t be spooked, but being unable to see him or where he goes throws me and I’m back to feeling vulnerable.

  When the ferry stops and Drew comes to collect me, he puts an arm around my shoulders and we walk off the ramp together. “Perfect day to be on the water,” he says. As our legs brush against each other, a hard shape, possibly his key, presses into my leg.

  In Manly, we stay in the ferry terminal and order hot chocolate made with real melted choc
olate. Sitting down, something hard presses into my leg again. I put my hand in my pocket to find what feels like a smooth pebble.

  Sienna slaps a hand on my arm, and I drop it back into my pocket, unable to think how it got there. “You should’ve heard Drew on Karma, Shae,” Sienna says. “He was non-stop, ‘On Sassy Jam we did this and Shae taught me that, Shae said x, Shae said y.’ It was pure torture for all of us.”

  Drew laughs good-naturedly. I wish more than anything that I could see what’s in his eyes, observe his toothpaste commercial smile. I can’t be painted in sunshine anymore.

  On the return ferry trip, I settle in the same spot, my hair flogging behind me. I’m shivering, the early evening wind too cool for a T-shirt and shorts. After a while, I sense someone standing beside me. I clutch the railing, certain it’s the same guy who crashed into me earlier.

  “You’re cold, but happy.” It’s Drew’s voice.

  I release my grip on the pole. “I always imagine Australia as permanently hot. Bit unprepared.”

  He rubs my arms with his palms. “You’re freezing.” He circles my waist, his warm chest against my cool back. I stiffen.

  “Would you rather go inside?” His breath on my ear sends a sharp tremor through me.

  I shake my head and let myself soften against him.

  “I’ll just keep you warm,” he says, and I silently add, and safe, mimicking what he said to me the first time we slept on the beach in Samoa.

  I perch on my bed and listen to Sienna admiring the size of my bedroom, the amazing views, the thick pile of the carpet, the painting above my headboard.

  “Ooh, what are these?” she exclaims.

  “What are what?” I bend to stroke Boomer, who’s madly sniffing at something on the carpet where Drew usually sits on his secret nocturnal visits.

  “Sorry. They’re like green and blue gems, all in different shapes. They catch the light prettily. One of them has a tiny hole drilled into it. I wonder if it’s sea glass.”

  “I didn’t know they were there.”

  “Here. Touch them.” One by one, she puts five cool stones into my palm. I rub their smooth surfaces with my thumbs until they warm up. They remind me of the sea glass I collected for George for his wind chime. I should ask him if he’s made it.

  “I found a similar one earlier today, it seems.” I pull the pebble from my pocket. “Are they in a bowl for decoration or something?” I must’ve absentmindedly slipped one in my pocket.

  “No. Just in a neat circle on the nightstand. Anyway, I’ll say cheerio, Shae,” Sienna says. “Thanks for having us, and please don’t get up in the morning. We’re leaving at stupid-o’clock and Arnold is driving us.”

  “Thanks for coming. Blue’s amazing. Good luck with everything in England.”

  “Drew’s a special guy, too, Shae. Don’t keep pushing him away. One day, he might stay away.”

  “It’s not that I’m pushing him away. I’m protecting him. And myself. Every time we find each other, the universe creates a situation which pulls us apart. What if it’s trying to tell me I don’t deserve him?”

  “They say we accept the love we think we deserve. According to Jamison. I thought it was profound. He’s a wise man.”

  “They also say girls marry their fathers.”

  “When Finn and I were together, he shared memories of your father with me. Drew isn’t like your dad. Believe me, Drew’s one of the good guys. When you almost die together, as we did on Karma, you learn what people are made of.”

  I remember when Drew and I were thrown overboard, and we nearly died. I had learned how love can be empowering.

  “From what I’ve seen and heard, you and Drew are meant to be. Jeez, if you’d seen him on Karma. He was one-tracked—sniffing apples and staring at the stars like you might be up there. When anyone asked about you, he’d get this ridiculous puppy dog expression. There’s no doubt Drew loves you.”

  That night, I toss and turn, going over Sienna’s words regarding keeping Drew at a distance and accepting the love we deserve. He visits my room again, and I struggle to remain motionless and not lean over and stroke his hair, even beckon him into bed with me. Again, his breathing becomes erratic—maybe he’s upset—then it stalls in his throat and dies away. I’m supposedly protecting him from getting hurt, yet here he is, barred from touching me because I asked him not to push me. He’s sitting by my bed and horribly hurt… because this is the closest that he can get to me.

  “Drew?” I whisper, wondering why he washes away his lime scent at night.

  He seems to hold his breath. Is he too upset to speak? Or worried I’ve busted him. I almost reach for him to comfort him. But what might it lead to? Already, I’m wet for him. Am I ready for sex? How do blind people make love? Of course, they can, but… it’s like my first time all over again.

  Focusing on his steady breathing, I let myself recall intimate moments we’ve shared and imagine doing them again, but without being able to see. The more I remember how his kisses melted my insides to slush, how his touch set my body on fire, how resting in his arms felt safe, the more the core of me aches for him. My breaths turn erratic.

  “I do want to be with you,” I say. I’m on the verge of reaching for him when I sense him moving away from the bed. His footsteps are muffled by the carpet and he’s so quiet with the door, I don’t hear it click. The room is silent and I’m alone again.

  Why didn’t he say anything back?

  I roll onto my side and stare into the space where he was until my eyelids can’t stay open. He could’ve easily slipped into bed with me—surely, my words could be considered an invitation. But he’s a good guy, as everyone says, and he’s giving me the time I asked for.

  I dream of tumbling through the never-ending darkness, of the darkness becoming something thick like blood, and closing in on me, choking me. I clutch around to catch hold of anything to halt my fall, but I only drop faster. My scream pierces the dark and I believe as long as I can scream, I am alive and someone might help me, so I mustn’t stop.

  Then Drew’s there, gripping my shoulders, repeating my name.

  “It’s okay, I’m here. You’ve had a nightmare,” Drew says. My breaths are sharp and fast. He pulls me to him and rocks me, stroking my hair until I’m calm.

  Drew then helps me untangle the sheets and lie down. “You have these blue and green gems in your room, too,” Drew comments as he tucks me in. “Jamison has no idea where they came from. I have one in my bedroom and there’s another on the table in the White Room. They appear out of thin air. You have seven of them. You must be especially magical.”

  “You can have them.”

  “That’s okay.” He sits next to me on the bed. “Would you like to talk about the nightmare? Sometimes it helps.”

  “It was silly.”

  “Nightmares generally are.”

  I’m embarrassed about telling him earlier that I do want to be with him because he didn’t answer. It’s possible he believed it was the start of another discussion about how I need to wait until my sight returns. I should be clearer about what I want now.

  “I’ll let you get back to sleep then,” he says, soft. The bed shifts as he stands. “Will you be okay?”

  I take a deep breath. “No.” Swallowing hard, I add, “Stay with me? I just want to be held.”

  It goes quiet until he climbs onto the bed on the opposite side as me. He reaches for me and I’m in his arms, taking in the lime smell of him. It’s familiar, more familiar than anywhere I’ve been in the last few months, like how I imagine it feels to return to a home you love. I’ve never had one of those. I nuzzle closer and the breath trickles from my throat and my body loosens. With every moment, desire ricochets through me. I shift again and take in his hardness against my leg. I nip at his chin. I’m not sure if I was aiming for his chin or his mouth, but it feels good and I do it again.

  He turns so his forehead is against mine. Our noses brush. His breath is on my lips. I push my lips to hi
s, and he opens to me, his tongue urgent and hard as our mouths join and move together. My palms glide under his T-shirt and up his back, and he rolls me on top of him, belly to belly. His hands rush under my cropped tank top to stroke my shoulder blades and down again to rest on my hips. He slides me over his erection and we both gasp into each other’s mouths. I arch to push against him from a better angle and he yanks my tank up and over my head, lifts his face to tease my nipples with his tongue. I spread my legs and rub myself against the length of him through his boxers and my panties. With each gentle bite of my nipple, a zing of electricity rushes to the core of me until I’m panting with the intensity of it. The orgasm builds slowly, a rising sun emerging from behind the hills, until it bursts through me like the bright light of dawn.

  When I collapse onto Drew, I realize I hadn’t thought about being blind once. People often make love without the lights on. Why was I worried? Except, I’ve discovered blindness is more potent than being in a dark room where there’s usually a light source, even if it’s only the moon. If anything, the utter darkness ensures the ecstasy is more intense, the focus on sensation and nothing else.

  I roll off Drew, bringing him with me, and reach for his erection.

  “I don’t have any condoms.” His voice is gentle, gravelly. “It’s not as if I’ve needed any since I got home from Samoa, and it’s one thing I’m not asking Jamison to buy.”

  “I don’t blame you.” I smother a giggle because the sound surprises me. But I don’t stop stroking him and slip my fingers into his shorts. His body tenses and he leans in to kiss me. I move my hand to grip him. His tongue probes harder and deeper until he pulls his mouth away and throws back his head, grunting and thrusting himself into my hand. With my lips against his cheek, I say, “I guess I didn’t just want to be held.”

  Drew

  “I’ve got a surprise for you,” I say as we finish breakfast on the deck the next morning. “But you need to have a sweater with you.”