The Girl of Sand & Fog

by Ward, Susan

  His laughter vibrates against my lower abdomen. “Not a chance. I’m taking my time with you. Having you my way.”

  With lips and hands he lowers to that spot desperate for release. A light blow against me. A kiss near and not there. My flesh is burning, I am throbbing and ready for him. I want to jerk up and force him to that part of me aching for him. I hold myself back, letting him guide me there. This time I’m going to let Bobby take me his way…

  Something pulls me from sleep—a cell phone?—and I slowly give myself over to waking when all I want to do is snuggle deeper into the sheets and sleep. Every part of my body is limp and sated for the first time in two years.

  Bobby’s way was slow, glorious, torturous, and magnificent. I’ve always been the more eager and aggressive one, and Bobby’s preference for slow savoring of the senses used to make me secretly wonder if his leisurely self-control meant he wasn’t really turned on by me.

  How paranoid and insecure I used to be at times. I always wanted a frenzied rush to orgasm as confirmation that he was totally into me. If the guy fucked me hard and fast it meant he couldn’t contain his desire for me.

  Boy, did I get that one wrong. His unhurried, sensual play is more potent and erotic, more deeply connecting than anything I’ve ever known with Bobby. The man made a symphony out of making love to me. All of my senses have been blissfully fed and I am consumed by my love for him in a peaceful intensity that is so very right.

  I pull a little more out of grogginess and realize that Bobby is talking on the phone. I open my eyes. The bedroom is dark, it’s night, and the light is on in the adjoining bathroom. I check the clock: 2 a.m.

  I pick up my panties and his shirt from the floor, pull them on, and am just about to go into the bathroom to see what’s up with that middle of the night call when Bobby steps into the bedroom.

  My eyes widen. The call has ended and he’s dressed. OK, what’s up with that? He crosses to me and plants a fast but fevered kiss on my lips.

  He smiles. “I’m sorry that I woke you. I need to go out for a while. I shouldn’t be long.”

  I sit down on the bed as Bobby sinks into a chair and begins to pull on a pair of hiking boots.

  I frown. “Where are you going?”

  He doesn’t look up and continues to lace. “It’s no big deal. Just something I’ve got to do.”

  I tense. Why isn’t he just telling me? He’s purposely not being specific and I don’t like that, not one bit. Bobby never withheld anything when we were together before.

  “You’re not going to tell me where you’re going?” I ask, beating off the rising temper and suspicion hopefully to a point where he can’t hear it in my voice.

  “No, not telling you.” He stands up and reaches into the closet for a jacket. He pulls it on, then turns to lock his gorgeous green eyes on me. “You either trust me or you don’t, Kaley. That part of us I’m not doing again.”

  My face heats with a burn. “I hardly think wanting to know why you are leaving me at 2 a.m. is a trust issue between us.”

  “It’s not. I’ve always trusted you. It’s your issue, Kaley.”

  The heat on my cheeks grows more intense. He goes to the dresser for his keys and wallet.

  “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

  His eyes lock on mine, direct and unwavering. “Every problem we had before comes from you having difficulty trusting. Even Graham Carson.”

  Oh shit, not now. Not that part of our history when I’m not prepared or expecting it.

  I bite my lower lip and struggle for words. “That was a mistake caused by too much alcohol and too much fighting. It was never about trust or not loving you.”

  The pleasant lines of his face relax into an expression of patience. “I know it wasn’t about not loving me, but it was about lack of trust. You don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone completely. You need to control everything because you don’t trust.”

  My entire body grows cold. This observation is something Bobby has never said to me before and I don’t know how to handle it, let alone analyze it to figure out why he’d say that to me now.

  I turn my face so I’m no longer looking at him directly. I feel a displacement of air and know he’s moving toward me. He crouches down in front of me, his hands on my thighs, the heat of his gaze hitting my face and making me look back to him.

  His hands lift and his fingers spread on my jaw, lightly caressing it.

  “I understand, Kaley,” he whispers. “I’ve always known what the real issue between us is. It’s not me. And it isn’t you, not the inner you, the you I love. Your dad did a terrible thing not being there for you as a child or wanting to know the truth that you were his daughter. But that’s your parents’ shit and they’re happy and married. You’ve come to terms with your dad, now let what your dad did stop hurting you and stop hurting me. I love you. Trust that and we’ll be OK.”

  A light trickle of tears spills down my cheeks and I brush at them furiously. How did we fall so quickly from the glorious heights of loving each other into this: my messed up childhood and our bits of unhappy history?

  I want nothing more than to sink into his chest and have him hold me. For some reason, I can’t make myself do it.

  We sit together like this, neither of us saying anything, for a couple of moments and then Bobby eases back.

  “So that’s it? You’re leaving?” I ask.

  He smiles, a sort of tender and tolerant twisting of lips, and continues toward the door.

  “I love you. I’ll be back in a few hours. Sleep. I want you here. You are the only girl I want or ever will want.”

  I make a face. “I’d have an easier time believing that if you weren’t leaving.”

  He shakes his head and chuckles. At the door, he stops to wink. “If you don’t believe it after last night, there isn’t anything that’s going to convince you.”

  Hunger drags me from sleep and I wake alone. The most perfect night of my life ended with me alone in Bobby’s bed and waking up without him. I don’t even know why he left me.

  I climb from the blankets and get my phone from my purse. I power it on. Shit, the screen fills with notifications. A half dozen from work, four missed calls and messages, but nothing from Bobby. Not a call or a text.

  Now I’m not just hungry, I’m pissed and feeling wretchedly suspicious again. I don’t want to be jealous. I don’t want bad thoughts but, hell, what do I really know about how Bobby spent the last two years? There could be someone else, maybe not serious, but maybe not over either.

  He’s too cute a guy, too wonderful and hot, not to have some girl somewhere interested in him. He also has a more than healthy appetite for sex. Sex was never one of our issues. He couldn’t have passed his nights alone here with the dogs living like a monk. No matter how much the thought of that pleases me, I don’t really wish for that to have been and I’m not really angry if it wasn’t.

  Maybe I’m just irritated because I can’t stand not knowing the details of things, and definitely not of something that took my guy away from me.

  I smile. My guy. I hope wherever he is, he is that.

  Listening to my phone messages, I start to make my way down the hall toward the kitchen. In the living room, I find Tiki sitting obediently in her cage looking as if she’s waiting to be released.

  I crouch down in front of her, checking to see if there is food and water. Those soulful dog eyes fix on me. I smile but I’m not about to release her.

  “Sorry, girl,” I whisper, slowly slipping my fingers through the cage to lightly scratch her ear. “You’re going to have to wait for your dad to come home. I’m not ready to trust you yet.”

  As if she understands my human rambles, a look flashes in her eyes as if to say I’m not ready to trust you either.

  I laugh. Leave it to Bobby to find a dog like me. My humor leaves me. Is she like me? Is that part of what Bobby said true?

  Shaking my head, I stand back up and continue into the kitche
n. I open the fridge and hang on the door trying to figure out if there is anything to eat here. Nope, Bobby was right. There is definitely nothing worth cooking in the fridge.

  I slam the door shut and find instant coffee on the counter. I rummage through the cabinets, find a cup, fill it with water and put it in the microwave to heat.

  I hit call back for the office, then the speaker button.

  “KKK Productions,” Veronica says pleasantly.

  “Good morning, Veronica. Got your urgent messages. What’s up?”

  I take the cup from the microwave and stir in the instant coffee.

  “Are you all right?” she asks anxiously.

  “I’m great. Why?”

  “You missed your afternoon meetings, and when I left work last night your car was still in the parking lot. Justin said he hadn’t heard from you. That’s when I started worrying.”

  I scrunch up my face. “Family emergency. Nothing is wrong. Just everything got so hectic I forgot to call.”

  “Are you coming in today?”

  “I’ll be there in about two hours.” I look in the pantry. Not even bread. “Justin wanted to meet at ten. Tell him that works for me.”

  I click off my cell and take my coffee back to Bobby’s bedroom. I stare at the bed, wishing he was here to spoon with all day, and feel a prick of unkind emotion that I don’t want as I wonder why he’s not here. I toss my phone onto the bed and go into the bathroom.

  After turning on the shower, I begin to absently rummage in the cabinets. I don’t know why I’m doing it. The fresh towels are neatly stacked on an open shelf right where I can see them. I look in the vanity drawer: a first aid kit, allergy pills.

  I go to the medicine cabinet: electric razor, shaving cream, cologne…

  I twist open the bottle and take a sniff. Thank goodness he wasn’t wearing that last night. It must have been a gift from his mother. Linda has unusual taste.

  Linda. I need to call her. Bobby is right about that. Without looking, I shove the bottle back into the medicine cabinet and a box falls out. Every man’s little gold best friend. Shit, I wish I hadn’t seen these. The condoms don’t surprise me, but the internal nerve pricks have just gotten worse.

  I lift the lid. The box looks almost completely full. It doesn’t mean anything. Could be new. I set it back on the shelf and close the cabinet door.

  I take a shower in record time, finger scrunch the dampness from my curls, pull on yesterday’s clothes and grab my purse. I check my phone. Still no message from Bobby. I pull free my keys and then freeze.

  Shit, I don’t have a car. How am I going to get to the downtown from here? I spot a set of keys still on the dresser. Maybe Bobby has another vehicle as well as Bertha.

  I go out onto the porch and find Bertha still in the driveway. So Bobby didn’t take the heap truck last night wherever he went. I’m hit with another internal nerve prick that I don’t want.

  I lock the front door, then close it behind me. I debate with myself whether to shoot Bobby a text but, hell, the guy should have texted me.

  An 8 a.m. commute on the 101 means a two-hour drive from Simi Valley into the downtown. If Bobby and I get back together, we’re going to have to figure out something so that I don’t have to do this commute.

  Back together. How would that work? Our living situations are incompatible now that he lives in Simi. Finally we are at perfect guy, perfect time and now there is geography ruining it.

  Oh well, he’s just nearly perfect at the moment. He’d be perfect if he’d text me so this rampant flashing suspicion would end. He’s doing nothing wrong. Bobby is an all-in or all-out kind of guy. I know that. Why is not knowing where he is driving me crazy?

  I park Bertha next to my shiny black Lexus. I laugh, wondering what everyone will think of me arriving to work in an old truck still dressed in yesterday’s clothing.

  I hurry through the double glass doors and Veronica’s face shoots up to greet me.

  She comes around her desk. In a whisper, she says, “Justin has had me on lookout duty for an hour. You’re late.”

  I frown, shaking my head. “What’s the big deal? He just wanted to meet and discuss a few things.”

  Veronica’s eyes widen. “He didn’t text you?”

  “Text me what?”

  “He did another cut of the documentary yesterday. Without you. The team voted on a new title. He pushed up the meeting with the distributor to today. They are doing the pitch today.”

  I freeze. “He did what?”

  Veronica makes a shush face. “We got a call from IGSB. We’re behind schedule. They were thinking of pulling out. The team worked all through the night, Kaley. IGSB wanted the meeting today. They’re scheduled to be here in two hours.”

  Oh crap. I scramble toward my office, feeling panicky, betrayed and irritated as hell. The one day I take my eyes off everything Justin can’t work things out with IGSB, he does a new cut of the documentary solo without my permission, and he’s about to show it without my approval.

  I dump my purse on my desk, hit the lights and then power up my computer. I look at myself in the wall mirror. Great, I have wind-dried hair and I look like a girl wearing yesterday’s outfit. Crud.

  I rush down the hall to the conference room, swing open the door, and the entire team turns at once and stares at me.

  “Justin? Can I speak with you for a moment? Privately.”

  I don’t wait for him to answer. I hurry down the hall to my office and settle on the edge of my desk feeling ready to pounce on him.

  “Why didn’t you delay the meeting with IGSB? They just want to keep track of our progress. Why take the meeting now?”

  Justin steps in and closes the door. “Rafe said they were going to pull the plug.”

  Rafe, my USC buddy and hotshot independent documentary distributer. Like hell he would have pulled the plug.

  “Why didn’t you call me? I know how to manage Rafe. Instead you did another cut, rushed, all without me. And then you take a meeting that, if it goes the wrong way, could bankrupt me. You do understand I need this project to succeed?”

  Justin stiffens, but his manner remains calm. “I couldn’t reach you. I made a decision. The one I thought was in the interest of the company. There was no point losing valuable production time because you weren’t here.” He checks his watch. “I’ve got enough time to run the cut for you before the meeting. You can decide after if you want to risk another delay with IGSB.”

  Justin’s calm infuriates me.

  “I specifically said I wanted to be there through the next round of cutting. I specifically said we don’t screen this unless I give it my OK.”

  “Kaley, you’re the director. You shoot the film. But I’m the editor. I turn it into a story. We’re a creative partnership. We’re not working against each other. The process would work a lot better if this was the process you’d commit to.”

  My cheeks burn. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”

  “No. I’m telling you how I do mine. If you don’t like the latest cut we can try to delay the meeting and start over this afternoon. We all have our talents, Kaley. You have vision. An eye. Determination. My talent is making the most of your vision.”

  I shake my head. I probably would have fired him yesterday for that, and yet something in what he said reminds me of where I messed up with Bobby, pricks at my conscience, and holds me at bay.

  “Let’s go look at the latest cut,” I announce and move quickly ahead of him out of the office.

  When we step back into the conference room, everyone looks at me as if they’ve speculated about the scene outside the room. I smile and sink into my chair. There is a printed list of the changes on the table in front of me. Finding Fiona.

  Fiona? Fiona? There is a photograph with the notes. I remember her. Great footage: young, still beautiful but bearing the marks of walking the streets, and poignant in her hope for something better that somehow still whispers from her eyes. She is fascinating and v
ulnerable. Much better title. So Justin changed the title. Did he change the focus, too?

  I lift my gaze. “Great title. Good work, everyone.”

  Cool. In control. Professional. Now let’s see what they did to my film. I lean back in my chair as the lights go out and the first footage is of Fiona. I don’t even remember shooting this. When did we cut it? It’s excellent.

  I shift my gaze to Justin. He looks at me. I nod. He deserves something for this. He made the beginning better, so much better than it had been.

  As I watch Justin’s creation, I can’t stop myself from recalling his words earlier in my office. You have vision. An eye. Determination. My talent is making the most of your vision.

  Without me, Justin’s work is brilliant. Has my enthusiasm over the work stifled the team? Am I helping them to be their best or preventing it? That’s something I’m going to need to spend some time analyzing.

  The documentary ends. The room is quiet. Allie turns on the lights and out of the corner of my eye I can see her watching, trying to assess my reaction to this.

  I smile. “Well done, everyone. Excellent work. We’re very ready for IGSB today, thanks to all of you. We can meet back here at two.”

  I nod at each team member as they leave the conference table. Allie closes the door behind her and leaves me alone with Justin.

  “It really is an extraordinary piece of work. You’ve done an excellent job. It’s like you could see what I was going for inside my head, but you made it happen.”

  Justin smiles and sinks back into his chair. “It’s your footage. I can’t do anything without your vision. There needs to be trust between us for both of us to excel at our work.”

  My cheeks color hotly and I don’t want them to. It is such a young woman thing to have allowed to happen, the chastised blush, but Justin’s comments bring Bobby’s back to hit me full force.

  I stare at my pen as I tap it on the desk and search for something to say. Trust issues. Why is that all I hear from people lately?

  “Can I give you some advice?” Justin asks politely.

  I don’t really want it and I realize that’s a petty thought. He just pulled a small miracle with this documentary and I know that under our tug-of-war he is, in his own way, trying to mentor me.