They plug in and say their goodbyes. She lies back, closing her eyes as instructed. He watches her fingers tapping to the beat, light blue fingertips matching a light blue bikini, matching towels and chairs, and even the umbrella. He needs to figure out how much he is willing to give with Anna and how much he wants to take. Sex is easy enough to give and to take. He doesn’t want to need her though. He doesn’t need another habit to break. She can’t become an addiction.
After landing piss drunk in Raleigh three days ago, he got a room near the airport to dry out. He spent most of the flight from Argentina trying to figure out what comes next. The bourbon gave him a break from the figuring. Over the last year and a half, Argentina was his base, but for the last year, he was mostly on the road. He worked stage crews, moving equipment for big name bands. After a year he was exhausted from the travel and the lifestyle, and he was ready to move on.
He pulls an icy water from the cooler and holds it to cool his neck. Anna doesn’t stir. Water bottles fill the cooler instead of beer. He needs to get his drinking under control. Drinking and drugs become part of the routine on the road if you aren’t careful. He was never careful.
Lynn’s last three words beat the shit out of him today. Call your parents. He hasn’t seen or spoken to either of them since Sarah’s funeral. He hasn’t wanted to, but the guilt is eating at him now. Maybe he’ll send an email later. Hi! I’m alive. Thanks for the house. Sorry I walked out on my wife’s funeral and haven’t called in a year and a half. Maybe some revision of that content would be good. When he stepped out of the car twenty-four hours ago, he was nowhere near considering contact. Maybe cutting down on the booze, getting laid a few times, and enjoying the company of another human being is helping him clear his head. He wonders if thinking about dying is a bad habit he can give up, like he gave up smoking in the 90s.
John closes his eyes and lets his thoughts ride with the music for a while and it returns him to thinking about Lynn. He googles compulsive alliteration. It comes right up. Obsessive compulsive alliterative disorder, a compulsion to repeat the first sounds of words. How the fuck did that happen? He knows about OCD, but he didn’t even know that this version of it existed. How did she stray so far off course and never make it back? She is in the same place geographically, but she is not the same girl. The Lynn he knew would have grown into a strong, competent woman with a full life, surrounded by people. Lynn isn’t that woman. The fiancé… Jimmy, Jessie? John digs around his memory. Gerry. The funeral wasn’t here, maybe up north somewhere. He remembers beach nights and bonfires. Gerry played a guitar, too. One day he wasn’t there anymore, and neither was Lynn. It was late in the summer. John never saw her again and didn’t give her much thought.
When the music ends, Anna takes off her headphones. He decides not to tell her about Lynn. If he and Anna aren’t sharing, he’ll keep Lynn’s story to himself.
“That was wonderful. I loved listening, knowing you were listening too.” She rubs his arm in thanks. He lets her this time.
“It’s hot. Swim?” she asks.
They swim for a long time. Anna is a surprisingly strong swimmer. Wrapped in towels after, they sit breathless. John moves the cooler that separates them to his left. He slowly reaches under Anna's towel, under her suit, between her legs.
"Close your eyes," he instructs.
But Anna doesn't. John doesn't mind and he explores the softest parts of her. Her eyes try to hold his, warm and blue. But as he quickly learns her ways, she is unable to hold his gaze. He watches her, filled with fire, like the sunrise, and she finishes mostly without sound. Then she closes her eyes. He leaves his hand, not ready to separate from her.
When her breathing evens she says simply, "You’ll be the death of me,” with a lazy smile.
I fucking hope not, he thinks.
“John?” she says.
“Hmm?” he answers.
“Righty.”
He laughs so hard, he nearly falls out of his chair.
Later they order a pizza and finish their day on Anna's deck, still in swimsuits. They drink beer and watch the pelicans diving for fish.
"I saw Citizen Kane in the CD library inside. I think it is The American Film Institute’s number one film of all time. Are you interested?" she asks.
The question freezes him.
“John?” she asks.
He last saw Citizen Kane at the AFI Theater in Silver Spring, Maryland, the night he proposed to Sarah. They walked from the theater into a tiny French restaurant. He can still smell the chocolate soufflé where he hid the ring. She said yes and they drank a bottle of champagne, the entire restaurant raising their glasses, toasting a long and happy life. Well that was bullshit. He grits his teeth and remembers he is with Anna. When he comes back to her eyes, she is studying him hard, looking slightly annoyed.
“My face go dark again?” he asks. She nods. “Should we talk? Do you need to know anything?” he asks.
“No thank you,” she says without hesitation.
If she doesn’t want to talk, he certainly doesn’t need to. He sips his beer and tries to figure out if maybe she is crazier than he is. That would be a stretch. What woman doesn’t want to know everything? It isn’t normal. He didn’t tell her about Lynn and she never asked. She is determined to keep her distance emotionally, but certainly not physically. Maybe her hand rubbing his arm isn’t the problem. She’s got a better handle on this. It has been a great day. He didn't expect to have days like this here. He’ll take a little abnormal. This whole situation is kind of fucked up, but he likes it. She doesn’t look at him with pity, just occasional curiosity.
"Actually it is a bit late. What a lovely day. I'm rather exhausted though," she says and stands, inviting him to go. He figures she is kicking him out for his own benefit, so he can take his broodiness home. He stands to go too, knowing if he kisses her he won't leave. His mouth finds hers anyway. He doesn’t intend to, but his mouth opens and that is all it takes.
Later in bed alone, she wonders how this is happening. What has she done? She feels her finger that held the ring until days ago. Was it really just one day ago? She took it off as she crossed the bridge onto Osprey Island. The ring rests in a small pocket in Anna’s handbag now. She thinks of Dylan and remembers days like today, long ago. It feels like a betrayal when she allows it and she tries very hard not to allow it. She sets those thoughts aside and tries to sleep.
She thinks John noticed the white band on her finger yesterday. He thinks I am married. There is a certain protection in that. No matter what she feels for him, she can’t have this become anything more than a summer fling and, hopefully, a pregnancy.
If she let herself, she could feel so much for him. When his face goes dark, remembering some horror she can’t even imagine, all she wants to do is wrap her arms around him and bring him back to her. If she did, he’d let her; she knows he would, and that wouldn’t be good for either of them. There is too much emotion under the surface. It is better to keep it buried, until he can sort it out. She has her own complications to sort out.
Sleep doesn’t come and eventually she gets up to find the handbag. She fishes out the ring and slides it onto her finger. The diamond is large and square. She remembers them taking it from her after the accident. She wishes they’d kept it.
She reaches for shorts and a sweatshirt and slides her glass door almost silently. Dylan hated to be woken. He was a doctor and sleep was critical. She still tiptoes through the night. Old habits are hard to break. John’s house is dark as she passes. She takes the walkway into the sand. The beach is empty. The sand is wet from the receding tide. The sky is black and starless. The air is filled with silence and secrets; the only sound is of waves beating the shore. Anna lies in the wet sand with a hand at her belly. It reminds her of laying on the cold marble the night her daughter died.
She awakens as her baby moves inside of her. She imagines her daughter sucking a tiny thumb. Anna knows she is a thumb sucker already, from the sonogram. Dy
lan sleeps with his leg over Anna’s. Her bladder is full and the pressure becomes unbearable. He hates to be woken, so inch by inch, Anna frees her leg from his and eventually he rolls over, releasing her. She slides toward the edge of the bed. He is a light sleeper. He works to save lives all day long, so he needs his rest. Finally she sits at the edge, letting the bed settle.
She sits for a moment with a hand on her lower abdomen, sharing the quiet and the darkness with her growing daughter. Anna imagines holding this baby in her arms, she has not named her yet, and breathing in the sweet smells of new life that will come from her. In the space of time that is less than a breath, Dylan has Anna by the hair, and he is pulling her back into the bed. She screams and begs, but it never changes anything.
He climbs on top of her, his face blank, and wraps his hands around her throat. He sits atop her baby, pressing her down further into Anna. Struggling for air, Anna is desperate to protect her child. Protect. Her. Anna reaches her left hand toward the night stand and grasps at the stone mosaic lamp. It is heavy, but Anna finds the strength to pull it free, fighting for air. She swings it at Dylan’s head. If the hit was solid, she might have killed him. It is more of a graze, but startles him off her.
She takes the moment of opportunity and runs. Her feet slide on the dark, hard wood floor but she rights herself and runs into the hallway, feet thankfully hitting short carpet. He stands watching her, dazed, but doesn’t chase her. This is it; I’m done, she thinks, as she runs to the stairs, just wanting to get out of the house. She gasps for air, still filling her lungs, and her foot catches on the first step. The staircase is the kind where brides walk to meet their husbands. It is wide and rounds a large foyer. If it was narrower, she might have caught herself on a wall, but she falls and rolls step to step like tumbleweed traveling through a deserted town. She lands hard at the bottom, on cold marbled black and white floor. Dylan runs to her with a look of loving concern, mixed with horror. My baby has no name, she thinks, watching him fly down the stairs… Grace. Lily. Emma. Sophia. Elizabeth. When the blood begins to flow, darkness comes.
Anna sits up. She wants to throw the ring into the ocean and say goodbye forever. She palms her ring and makes a fist, swinging it at the sea. But she doesn’t throw it away. If only it could be that easy.
She wishes John was up and he could help change her state of mind. If she knocks, he’ll answer. He’ll want to take her to his bed, but she doesn’t want to go to his bed. She doesn’t want to lie in a bed with another man, ever. She doesn’t know how long she can deter him. Eventually any man would want to share a bed, but she doesn’t want to talk about it either. Dylan’s bedroom slaps and punches, his hands at her throat, are not a part of this place. Even voicing them would bring them here, infecting the perfect clean slate she is creating on Osprey Island.
Heading back to the house, she can see John’s silhouette, sitting in the darkness on his deck. She knows he sees her and lets her pass silently. He is getting the hang of detachment, she thinks and goes in to bed.
The next day John rises early and deliberately doesn’t stop next door. He runs three miles to the north on the beach and then back. It is hot already. At the house, he breaks out a kettlebell for strength training. With the iron-handled ball, he moves through a series of motions that work every muscle in his body, hard. The more strenuous exercise is vital for his state of mind. On the road he never missed a run or a chance to lift. He can poison the shit out of his body with booze and whatever else is around, but exercise is nonnegotiable. Years of football two-a-days got under his skin.
He grinds his own coffee and sets a pot to brew before climbing into a hot shower, washing off sweat and sand. He lets the water beat over his back for a long time wondering about Anna’s late night walk to the beach. It was all he could do not to chase after her and make sure she was all right. To protect her. He doesn’t think she wants protecting though. If they were friends, he would have followed her. Maybe even acquaintances. This is different though. He is a little disgusted at his curiosity.
Later that night after grilled salmon steaks, Anna suggests a movie again. “You pick, I'll do dishes?"
He hops off the deck to visit the DVD collection at 517. As she is wiping the last plate he returns with a DVD in one hand, a bag of dark chocolate truffles in another.
"Good Lord, you do have an endless supply of chocolate."
"I have a hopeless sweet tooth. Good choice by the way. Don't you love dark chocolate and red wine together?"
He reaches to fill their glasses and samples each. "It’s a good match." He offers her a bite of his truffle, then she sips, closing her eyes in chocolate ecstasy. The face of her passion is too much for him. He moves their glasses to the table and pulls her close, kissing her, tasting chocolate and wine.
Her fingers plunge into his hair, pulling herself up to meet him. Her sundress is off with a quick pull and the rest of their clothes are shed in seconds.
"I think we like kitchens," he breathes, lifting her up to his counter and joining their bodies together. She leans her forehead into his, hands on his face, in his beard, steadying herself while they move together fast, then slow, and finally fast again. As they reach their end together, he pulls her into an embrace burying his face into her neck, suddenly needing her. Escaping the need, he moves away abruptly and dresses before moving to the TV.
“Casablanca, AFI’s number two,” he says, loading the CD into the player, trying to find a distraction.
John and Anna learn the housekeeping staff comes on Thursdays and decide to take a break from the beach and explore the city.
"Let me take you to dinner in Charleston tonight. You have fed me all week. Tonight it’s my turn to feed you," she says.
He protests the need for her to take him out, but agrees. They decide to spend the afternoon shopping the markets of Charleston and walking King Street.
"Have you ever been to Charleston?" he asks.
She has not.
"I'll drive."
The ride to Charleston is traffic free. John puts in an old Rolling Stones CD. Music plays loudly and the air moving through the car is warm, not hot. Before the end of the CD they arrive in historic Charleston, park, and take to the streets. They immediately enter the Old Slave Market on Chamber Street. The market shades enthusiastic shoppers from the afternoon’s glaring sun. Spiced nuts, popping corn, and the faint smell of horse, fill the air.
"This was a slave market?" Anna imagines the horrors that must have taken place here. Happy shoppers choosing between handmade pottery, paintings, leather goods, jewelry and clothes fill the open market. "You southerners are insane!" she declares. “Shouldn’t this be sacred ground or something?”
"Yeah, tour guides will tell you this isn't where slaves were bought and sold, but where they shopped, but that is bullshit. Only a piece of the history. I think they like to keep it light for the tourists." He looks around seeing it through her eyes. "What makes you think I'm a southerner?" he asks.
"The same instinct that tells me the sky is blue," she answers, lifting a burnt orange glazed vase.
"Close, but not quite. I’m a Texan. Born in Austin." He hesitates saying more, not sure where the boundaries lie on their sharing. "And what about you? Born at Downton Abbey?"
"How'd you guess? I am the Earl's illegitimate daughter sent off to America to avoid life as an old maid or worse, life married to a laborer."
"Your sister Mary is a bitch." He laughs.
"No. No you do not watch Downton," she says with exaggerated shock.
He shrugs and nods and she shrieks in laughter, buying the vase without bargaining.
"I support the arts," she explains.
They continue to shop and he realizes Downton Abbey was a good-natured deflection, but still a deflection. He is more patient than expected for a shopping male, enjoying her company. Eventually they stop in a stall with large framed prints and smaller bagged photos stacked in boxes lining the table. Anna flips through these silently
, lifting one of a waterfall in Hawaii. She stares at it for a long time.
"Do you like that one? It is pretty amazing." He glances over her shoulder at the enormous downpour of water framed at the peak of a sunrise. Without comment she quickly returns the photo to its slot and wishes the shopkeeper a good day.
They make their way toward Broad Street exploring exquisitely restored and maintained historic homes, gardens and churches. On East Bay Street they admire the array of brightly colored homes, known as Rainbow Row. Anna takes his hand as they walk. Her hand feels foreign in his, warm and smooth. He takes a moment to remember how it is done, where his thumb should rest against hers. When he settles into it, she rewards him with a smile.
Anna stops to sample honey in a shop on King Street. She makes purchases and gets recipe advice from the proprietor. John notices Anna's ease in this unique southern environment. She quickly understands the pace of conversation and the style of the locals. He admires her adaptability. As much as John has travelled the world, he respects a person’s willingness to engage with the local color.
"I'm a lousy cook," she says as they leave. "So I've decided to try my hand at baking."
They make their way to a hat shop and Anna naturally places a leather cowboy hat atop his head. "See?" She says. It fits like a glove and she can’t take her eyes off of him. He adjusts the brim to better suit his style, hair sneaking out the back, green eyes bright, creased with his smile. She reaches for his face, pulling his mouth to hers. Their kiss is private in the corner of the shop, and far too quick.
"And that is why I cannot wear a hat," he says with an exaggerated drawl. "It seems to have that effect on woman," he jokes, placing it back on the hook.
They find a quiet restaurant owned by a renowned local chef. They feast, embracing his farm to table philosophy, enjoying the authentic southern cuisine. Anna experiences her first shrimp with grits and finds it life changing. He orders short ribs with risotto and it is perfect.
Circling The Shadows (Sunshine and Moonlight Book 1) Page 5
