Undertow (Dragonfly)

by Moore, Leigh Talbert

  My chest felt heavy, and I was only making him angrier. “I’d better go,” I said. “I just wanted tell you what happened. And say I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, not looking up. “Thanks.”

  March 7, 19--

  Sitting here writing this, I remember the day it happened as if each moment were written in a book in my head, and I could go back and flip through it and pinpoint every place I went wrong, each time I could’ve made a different choice, a choice that would’ve changed the end of the story.

  But now it’s too late. Now everything is spoiled.

  A year had passed since my conversation with Bill that night in his office. Meg had the twins, and I thought those guys were making it through their long separation. The babies were gorgeous, and Gigi said they were the exact image of Meg as an infant. They both had her golden hair and blue eyes. Just perfect.

  Bill was at the hospital, and he seemed glad. He was very sweet with them, but I could remember a time when he was more affectionate to Meg. It hurt me to see them still so distant.

  Gigi was in heaven. She had come back from Sedona to help get them over the early days at home, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Meg was glad Will was in school. I smiled thinking of how frantic she’d been his first day of kindergarten. That fateful day I’d opened my big mouth. She probably counted the minutes until the bus arrived to take him away in the mornings now.

  As for work, we were charging through the last few buildings. That particular Sunday finished off a week-long push to complete Phase VIII. We’d barely left the office except to eat, shower, and sleep. Everyone was exhausted.

  It was a fun project, though. We’d gone with a Mexican theme for Phase VIII that was based heavily on Tango Sol, and I’d pulled out all the pictures I’d taken on the trip for ideas. Remembering how much fun we’d had made it a labor of love, and I found a funny shot of Meg and me in sombreros from the day we went souvenir shopping. I had it framed to give to her.

  I was finishing up the lobby sketches when Bill breezed into my office and started shutting the blinds and turning off the computers. He was dressed in a short-sleeve button up shirt and khaki shorts with Sperrys, and he was happier than I’d seen him in a while.

  “You’re very perky for how hard we’ve been working.” I looked up from the table where I was adding the color to my sketches. “And why are you shutting down my office?”

  “Everyone’s taking a break,” he said. “We all need some fresh air and relaxation, and I was thinking it would be a perfect day to take the boat out for a few hours.”

  “Are Meg and the babies coming?” I smiled, thinking I’d like to see them.

  He shook his head. “She took them into Newhope. It’s just you and me, Skipper.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “You know I hate boats.”

  “We need to work on that.”

  “Eh… come see what you think about this first,” I said. “I’m a little concerned it might be too colorful. I mean, it was colorful there. I have the pictures to prove it. But I don’t want it to be tacky here.”

  He walked over and leaned beside my table. I glanced up at him as he studied my drawings, thinking how foolish I always was to hang on his approval. Every time, my stomach was in nervous knots until he declared my work brilliant. It had been the same since that very first day in high school, when I’d sketched out his very first high-rise development dream. He’d taken one look, and I thought he was going to kiss me. My cheeks tingled remembering how it felt to make him that happy. I’d only wanted to keep provoking that same reaction every time.

  He slowly lifted the heavy paper, studying every part of the design.

  “Brilliant. As always,” he said, and I silently released the breath I was holding. “Our guests will feel like they’re in Mexico. And with our scenery, they’ll have it all.”

  “All but the iguanas.” I scooped up my pastels and started arranging them in their tray. “Those things were gross.”

  “Chicken. Hey, I like this,” he pointed to my idea for the trim work. “The Aztec details are a nice touch. Also, the waterfall. It’s like you read my mind.”

  “Those waterfalls were the best part.”

  “Now come on. You haven’t left this spot in two days.” He caught my hand, and I put the pencil down, smiling.

  “That’s technically not true. I went home and showered and got something to eat.”

  “Doesn’t count.”

  “Okay, but just a few hours. I have some things to finish today.”

  I hadn’t been sailing since that last trip we’d made years ago before the wedding. Driving over, I remembered when all of us would spend every day of every summer on the water either in somebody’s boat or just swimming and lounging by the Gulf. I still had a bikini stuffed in the glove box of my car, remnants of a youth spent growing up near the coast.

  When we were parked at the marina, I heard a popping noise as I grabbed my suit.

  “Champagne?” I asked.

  “Cheers,” he said, holding out a small solo cup.

  “What’s the celebration?”

  “We’re almost finished, it’s a gorgeous day, it’s spring. Who needs a reason?”

  “Well, I’m glad to see you so happy,” I smiled, taking it from him. “Cheers. But only one for me. I meant it when I said I wanted to work tonight.”

  We tapped plastic cups and tossed back the wine. I grabbed my suit and went to change in the restroom before we left, using Bill’s discarded shirt for a cover-up. It was one of the first warm days of spring, and already it was getting into the mid-80s. But the breeze kept it cool. It was a perfect day to be on the water.

  When we got out on the sound, the first thing I noticed was how few others were out with us. We were either too early or too late to get caught in the usual boat traffic. The second thing I noticed was my reaction to seeing Bill tying the ropes and maneuvering the sails. It had been a while since we’d been swimming together, but he hadn’t changed a bit.

  When we were kids, I’d seen Bill half-dressed so much, I’d taken it for granted. We were all like that growing up down here, running around town in shorts, bikini tops and flip flops nine months out of the year. My heartbeat picked up when I saw his tanned muscles flex and the lines in his stomach.

  I’d drunk my second glass of champagne too quickly, and it was making my head fuzzy. But not so fuzzy I couldn’t tell this was dangerous. All those things Miss Stella and Suzanne had been saying flooded my mind—it had been too long since I’d been with a man. Five years now. And I didn’t know if it was the power of suggestion, but I was having thoughts about Bill I’d never allowed in my brain before. Thoughts of how sexy he was, of how it might feel to have his skin against mine. My cheeks grew hot.

  “You’ll never get a tan with that on,” he laughed and pulled my shirt front toward him.

  What was in my head must’ve been plain on my face because when our eyes met, there wasn’t much time to react. His expression turned serious, and he stepped toward me, holding my arm as he loosened the mainsail, allowing it to go slack. We were a breath apart, and the wind carried the warm scent of his body right into my face. I could barely breathe. He stepped back and hit the switch to lower the anchor before taking my hand and guiding me down.

  I felt like I had somehow left my body. As if caught in a spell, I followed him, and the moment our feet touched the floor of the apartment below, we were in each others arms. He held my cheeks as his lips found mine then his hands moved to my shoulders, quickly sliding his shirt off my body. His mouth traveled to my neck and then to the line of my bikini top. I shivered, clinging to him, desperate and feverish.

  He straightened up again, covering my mouth with his. I felt him fumbling with the strings of my bikini, but I pulled back.

  “Wait.” I could barely gasp out the words for his kisses and my heart flying in my chest.

  He lifted his head to look at me with those beautiful blue eyes. That was my chance. The moment I cou
ld’ve changed it. One simple choice, the other side of the coin.

  Just then a breeze rocked the boat, and I leaned forward into his arms. My will dissolved as his mouth sealed over mine again, and I helped him find my laces, untying the strings of my bikini top. Two swift pulls, and we were naked, skin against skin. He lifted me with a groan, and I couldn’t help myself, I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist.

  We fell back onto the bed, me on top, and as our bodies slid together, I inhaled deeply his warm scent. Our mouths rocked together with our movements, and all I could do was hold him as waves of desire overwhelmed me and I gave in completely.

  I kissed his neck, it was salty like the ocean. I kissed his cheek, it was scratchy from his stubble. He rolled us over, and his lips moved from my shoulder to my jaw then my temple. He kissed my closed eyes and whispered soft words I almost couldn’t bear to hear.

  We shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be doing this. The stern voice in my head was no match for the tide of emotion pulling me under, drowning me. He lifted his chin with a groan, and I kissed his neck as aching pleasure flooded my torso, both of us clinging to each other in release.

  Before long, we were lying still in each other’s arms, breathing heavily. We stayed that way for several minutes, allowing our bodies to return to calm. Neither of us spoke. I didn’t know what to say, where to even begin.

  I rolled away, my back to him, but his arm went around my waist, drawing me tight against his chest. His warm lips pressed against the top of my shoulder, and my arms tightened over his in response.

  Oh, god, what had happened to me? I was reeling, stunned by the realization—I loved him. I loved him so much. Yet at the same time, how long had this been growing inside me? Growing between us? Years, it seemed.

  We only lay that way a few moments before he softly ran his fingers up the line of my stomach. I arched against him, and he rose up, leaning over to find my mouth once more, my arms wrapping around his neck. If the first time could be called an accident or a mistake or could be blamed on too much wine, I couldn’t rationalize away the second.

  He pulled me above him, my hair spilling all around us, and I kissed him eagerly, hungrily. His hands cupped my breasts, moved to my waist, and gripped my butt. We slid together, rolling over again until he was on top once more, looking into my eyes as we moved. I traced my fingers over his face, memorizing the colors of him—beige, sparkling blue like the ocean, honey brown with golden highlights. Gorgeous.

  Heat flushed beneath my skin with his touch, his mouth branding a trail of fiery kisses all over my body, exploring every curve and fold until the tightness in my belly grew so strong, I cried out when it finally burst through me. His mouth covered mine again as our bodies joined once more, and we finished together. I held him as tightly as I could, the words whispering silently, over and over in my brain, I love you.

  Tears filled my eyes. I could never say it out loud. I had no right.

  But it was wonderful and amazing.

  And horrible and tragic.

  And wrong.

  I knew what was out there waiting, the pain that would crush us both. But in this small room, in this secret place beneath the waves, I had something beautiful. I could pretend no one would ever know or be hurt by what we’d done. It was a precious lie I wanted to believe so badly.

  I must’ve fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes again, it was dark, and Bill was sleeping beside me. We hadn’t gone far from the marina, which was helpful. I slipped away without waking him, putting on my bathing suit and swimming to the pier. I changed into my clothes and drove home.

  Tomorrow I’d turn in my resignation. I’d leave East End Beach and never come back. Meg would never know what I’d done to her.

  That I’d betrayed my closest friend.

  March 8, 19--

  But I didn’t do it.

  Sitting here writing this, I know it was a mistake, but somehow I couldn’t leave.

  The phone rang, startling me from my sleep, but I didn’t answer it immediately. I watched it buzzing and vibrating, flashing his number, but I couldn’t pick it up. It stopped ringing and chimed out there was a message waiting. I pressed the button and listened to his voice. It sent a shock of longing through me that confirmed what I’d decided. I had to go. I couldn’t be trusted with him again.

  “Lexy, we’ve got to talk,” he said. “Please call me when you get this.”

  I pressed the button to return his call.

  He answered immediately. “Where are you?”

  “Home, but I’m going back to Atlanta. I can’t stay here now.”

  “Please don’t leave. Just wait. I need to see you again.” His pleading tone tore through my chest painfully.

  “No. I can’t see you. Ever again.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. “I’m sorry? It was all my fault? I should’ve known better?”

  “We both should’ve known better.” My voice was sharp. “We aren’t kids anymore. She trusted you. She trusted me.”

  “Don’t bring her into it.”

  “Why not? She’s the one you should be thinking about. She’s all I can think about.”

  “Just…” he sighed deeply. “You can’t go back to Atlanta. What about the project? Everyone’s worked so hard, and it’s almost finished. No one else can come in and pick up your work. It’s too distinctive. It’s exactly what I want. You’re exactly what I want.”

  My chest clenched, and I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead into my arm. “Maybe I can finish it from Atlanta. I’ll finish Phoenician VIII, and then I’m off the team.”

  “Finish it here. Please don’t leave.” He hesitated, and his voice cracked. “I promise. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “I won’t let it happen again,” I said. “And I don’t want to see you. I’ll come in after everyone leaves and finish up. Don’t call me either. Leave a note if you need anything.”

  My only answer was silence. I took a breath, not sure what he would say next. Then he spoke.

  “If that’s what it takes. Just don’t leave.”

  And that was all it took for me to make my second mistake.

  April 5, 19--

  Our arrangement was working. I only went to the office at night, and I only communicated with Bryant. I avoided every opportunity of seeing my best friend’s husband after that day on the water.

  Weeks passed. It took longer to complete Phoenician VIII because I was only able to work two or three hours a night after everyone left, and I was so tired all the time. As promised, Bill stayed away, but something was changing.

  I tried to blame the late hours and the trouble I was having sleeping, worrying about Meg. If she knew what I’d done, it would kill her. Her entire life was wrapped up in him and her little family. I knew that. I always knew that. It made me sick every time I thought about what I’d done to her. I was lower than the lowest insect that crawled under the cow piles out on Highway 42.

  After the third week of exhaustion, it hit me. I surveyed my calendar to be sure I wasn’t mistaken, and a quick trip to the drugstore confirmed what I already knew. My stomach sank to my toes, and I really was sick then. I cleaned up, splashing water on my face, then I leaned against the wall in my small, office bathroom blinking at myself in the mirror. I felt completely numb. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. There was no one I could tell.

  Almost no one.

  I jotted a note and put it facedown in the seat of Bill’s chair before I left the office last night. He would know what to do.

  May 18, 19--

  It was late spring, the most beautiful time of the year here. Everywhere you looked flowers were blooming and butterflies were drifting past on the breeze that was constantly blowing. The start of spring might fill some with dread at the oppressive heat on the way, but it was impossible to escape its glory.

  Wisteria was the first flower to appear. It only bloomed once in the very ear
ly months, its purple clusters of flowers hung from the vines like large bunches of lavender grapes. The scent was strange and woody, and I almost felt like I could taste it in the back of my throat. Giant bumblebees loved the wisteria blooms, and they were always out in teams crawling up the blossoms and collecting pollen.

  Azaleas arrived close on wisteria’s heels, and though I’d heard gardeners and extension workers argue against planting too many azaleas, since the flowers only lasted a few weeks, it was hard to agree with them when confronted with a mass of hot magenta faces pulsing their colors in my direction.

  Some people opted for white azaleas, and it was stunning to see a fist of white blossoms so pure and glowing against the dark green backdrop. I preferred the pinks. If only because who would believe such a bold color could come from an otherwise plain-looking bush.

  Azaleas didn’t have a scent, but I held them to my cheek thinking there must be something more I was missing. The dark, intense center of the blossom extended out to a lighter shade of the same color, and the soft petals were freckled like a child’s nose. I tried to find some way to impart this wisdom to my art. To follow the natural flow of dark intensity out to light in my use of color and my understanding of it. If my vision was blurred, and all I could see was the continuation of color, I would still know where the heart lay and where the arms extended outward.

  Hydrangeas came next, and I had to admit, they were my favorite flower. The giant clusters of pink, purple, and blue blooms grew in bunches as large as my face, and Miss Stella’s garden was stocked with layers of the jagged-leafed plant. They were her favorite, too, because she liked experimenting with the composition of the soil to see what colors she could create from year to year.

  One year she managed to get a creamy pink bloom, and we were both overjoyed. It was the most delicate color I’d ever seen—pure off-white at the base that gradually grew out to faint pink tips at the ends of the petals. Again, I was amazed at the ability of nature to produce something so gorgeous. It was a miracle.