by Aidèe Jaimes
Even if I keep the truth from him for now, I have to give him something eventually. Sitting at the desk, facing the open slider, I go over the nearly one hundred photographs. It’s dark outside and blessedly cool. A salty breeze flows through the room, bringing with it the sound of the crashing waves.
Eva’s face fills my screen. It’s the picture I took of her that first day I saw her, when she was out walking her German shepherd. She’s turned toward me, swiping at a persistent strand of hair. Her eyes never met mine, and she was so far away. But even then, I felt her.
I need to get out of here, to clear my thoughts of her.
Grabbing a beer, I head down the two flights of stairs to the boardwalk that leads to the beach. Cold sand spreads my toes with each step as I make my way to the water’s edge, staring out into the distance.
It’s so quiet tonight. The moon is long gone, leaving in its wake a trail of twinkling diamonds. I take a swig of my beer, breathing out the taste of hops and barley.
I wonder if Eva would like it here. Or would the quiet be too loud for her, like it is for me? Chiding myself for thinking of her again, I force my thoughts to shift to soft brown eyes and gentle ways.
“Are you there?” No answer. The wind coming off the water stings my eyes, making them tear up. I wipe away the moisture, knowing that it’s not actually anything in the air that’s causing it. It’s something inside of me, something that burns and aches. The pit of my stomach contracts in that familiar way it does whenever I think of Lena, making me take deep breaths to seek relief.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” I tell the ocean because she’s the only one listening.
When I asked Eva if she was with me because she wanted to be, I wasn’t sure who I was asking. Perhaps it was her, or maybe it was Lena. Maybe I needed to at least pretend there was that possibility that I didn’t force her to come with me to New York. That she loved me so much, she’d go anywhere with me.
Eva knew what I needed to hear. And that’s what she gave me.
Three Years Ago…
“New York? As in the city?”
“Yes, Lena. Look at the letter.”
My wife holds the offer letter, not taking her eyes off me. “I… Uh…” She shakes her head, giving it back to me. Her slim fingers tuck her hair behind her ear as she nervously thinks of what to say. “But I don’t want to leave. My family is here.”
“We can come visit often. Did you see how much they’re offering me?”
“Matthew, this isn’t something we can just jump into. We have to talk about it.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” I take her hand, pleading with her to at least consider it.
“Yes, but you can’t just walk in here and demand I move!” Snatching her hand away, she goes into the kitchen and starts cleaning up frantically.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her this frazzled. Not since the elementary school she worked at laid her off and she couldn’t see the possibilities beyond the now. When she finally worked through the disappointment, she realized she could teach online, with more flexibility and better pay.
Dealing with change isn’t her strong suit. I knew this when I married her. But eventually, she always figures something out.
I stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and bring her back to me. “Babe, this would be an amazing promotion for me. It would only be for a short time. With New York under my belt, we could move anywhere you want.”
She turns in my arms, placing her palms on my chest. When she looks up, I can see the tears that well in her beautiful eyes. “I don’t want to leave my home. Everyone I know is here.”
“For me. Do it for me. I’ve never asked you to step outside your comfort zone. Just this once. Please?”
“What if you go and then come visit every once in a while?”
The suggestion surprises me. “Are you serious? You’re my wife. I want you at my side.”
“I know. It’s just… A city like that scares me. You see it in the news; every day someone gets murdered. What if that’s me one day?”
I shake my head at the silly thought. “You’re not going to get murdered. I’ll make sure of it. We’ll take precautions. You can learn self-defense—”
“I can’t fight. You know that!” she nearly screams at me.
“Well, then you can learn to shoot. We’ll make you an expert.”
“I hate guns.” She looks down, picking a bit of lint from my shirt.
“That’s only because you’re not familiar with how to use one.”
“I wouldn’t use one, even if I could…”
As she says the words, she’s suddenly lying before me. The hardwood floor beneath her covered with her blood. She’s struggling to speak.
“Please, someone save her!” I scream, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from her neck. But I can’t. She’s hurt too badly.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” I repeat, begging her to hear me.
Her face relaxes, and her eyes are no longer brown. No longer Lena’s. Instead they’re clear and gray as they stare off into the distance.
“Eva!”
Present Time…
Panting, I sit up, searching for her beside me in the bed. But when the fog in my mind clears and my brain fully wakes, I realize that none of it was real—only, it was.
What happened years ago, the events that have filled my sleeping thoughts, are now mingling with my present.
“Dream of me.”
Damn Eva for saying that. Where once I was haunted by the woman I swore to love, now I’m tormented by the woman I feel I must save. But from what, or from whom, I have no idea.
Chapter 17
It’s one of those sticky types of mornings where the cool moisture in the air creates a filmy dew on your skin the second you step outside. The sensation of constant wetness that comes from living in Florida makes me incredibly uncomfortable, but I don’t care.
I’m so anxious to get the day started that I wait by the parking spot I know Carlos’s Lincoln will soon occupy.
He pulls in right at seven. When he steps around the vehicle to give me the pat-down, I see his aviators are completely fogged up.
“Hey, boss. Can you see through those okay?” I ask.
His face turns to me slightly. “I can see you perfectly,” he tells me, sending a shiver down my spine as I wonder what he means by that. Then I get into the car and wait in silent anticipation as we drive to the apartment.
The moment we reach the door, I hand him my phone and go in.
“Hello!” I shout, taking off my jacket and slinging it on the couch on my way to the bedroom.
Eva walks out of the bathroom, jumping into my arms. Our lips meet without hesitation, as if this is routine.
“Did you dream about me?” she asks, removing her shirt as I unbutton mine.
“You never leave my thoughts, asleep or awake.”
“Good.” She starts to work on my pants, dropping to her knees to tug them down. And when she releases me from my boxers, her eyes light up like a child that’s just found the cookie jar. “Because you’re on my mind every second too. I dreamt of this all night.”
Her lips wrap around my dick, making me moan. I throw my head back and close my eyes. “Shit, I can’t handle your mouth on me for too long.”
“I don’t want you to. I want you to let go. Just let yourself feel. And I need to taste you.” Her lips slide over the head, and further still, until the tip of my cock kisses the back of her throat.
“Shit.” Grabbing her thick hair, I push and pull her, guiding her at the speed I need. I bend over, running my hands along her smooth back and to her breasts, pinching her nipples, then moving them down to her ass and to her sex. I swirl my finger, wetting it, taking as much of her moisture as I can before bringing it to her puckered hole again.
The instant I pet it, she instinctively jerks away, moaning loudly. But then her hands grip my legs as she lifts
her ass just a little, giving me easier access. She likes it. Likes that I’m touching her there. Her lack of breathing when I tease it begs me to keep going. And it nearly undoes me.
A little pressure and my finger glides in. As she begins to pump against it, she takes me into her mouth again. The feel of her tight asshole around my finger and her hot mouth around my dick push me over the edge. I come, my muscles contracting with each pulse, filling her mouth. She swallows every drop, never releasing me. Even when I think I’ll lose my mind if I go on any longer, it continues.
It’s not until Eva’s sucked me dry that she sits back on her haunches and looks up at me with smoky eyes.
“You taste as good as I knew you would. But I want more.”
After we move to the bed and I give Eva plenty of more, we lie there tangled together, my arm wrapped around her as her head rests in the crook of my neck. While we enjoy each other in contented silence, she grazes her fingers down my chest, sending a shiver over my skin. Lost somewhere in her mind, she lazily tickles me, her lashes slightly lowered, giving me the perfect opportunity to explore her face.
Sunlight shines a bright spotlight over her features, highlighting things I’ve never noticed before. Like the myriad of brown freckles that dust her nose and cheeks and the faint crease in the center of her lower lip. Her lashes, full and dark, fade to blonde at the tips, curling a bit. There’s a scar on her left shoulder, next to where my hand lies, and I wonder what it’s from.
“Tell me something about you,” I whisper.
“You know everything about me.”
“No. Not Lena. You.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “I don’t—”
“I want something real,” I interrupt her. “Something that’s not a part of this world you created for me. We only have a few days together. I want something to hold on to when it’s over.”
“You’re not meant to hold on, Matt. Hold on to Lena. That’s what matters.”
It’s the third time I hear what my name sounds like in her own words. Matt. Not Matthew, and I know I’m talking to Eva.
“Please.”
She considers it for a moment. “I shouldn’t. You’re not here for me.”
“Tell me your name.” Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t know.
Her fingers stop moving and she bites her lower lip. “Eva.”
“Eva,” I say, letting it slide over my tongue. “Eva, tell me something about you.”
Giggling, she says, “I’ve already said too much.”
“How did you get this scar?” I trace the tip of my finger over her shoulder.
“When I was in high school, I tried to carry some large pieces of scrap metal. It was volunteer work—cleaning up sites where homes for the homeless would be built. I didn’t realize how sharp they were. That, coupled with their weight, did it. Several sheets sliced right through my shirt all the way to the bone. Got twelve stitches for it.”
“Must have hurt.”
“A lot.”
“And what about this?” I slide my hand down to her wrist and bring it to my face so that I can inspect the beautiful tattoo I saw the first day I met her. What I thought was henna is actually words surrounded by scrollwork. “One more day. What does that mean?”
Suddenly, Eva sits up, yanking her arm out of my reach. There’s real surprise in her wide eyes, as though I’ve caught her off guard.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t…” Letting out a deep breath, she closes her eyes and seems to think for a few seconds. Then her eyes pop open and she shows me her right hand. “Do you see this?”
Once I look close enough, I can see the knitted lines that mar the skin there, weaving, looking like distorted lace on her palm. “Is that a burn?”
She nods. “I inherited a cast iron pan from my mother. You know, the kind that heats all the way through the handle and you can only hold it with a thick oven mitt. I loved that pan. It was so old that I probably would’ve been able to cook in it without seasoning for the rest of my life.”
“My grandmother had one like that,” I say to her, remembering the black thing covered in thick oil.
As she continues, her eyes glaze over and it’s as if she’s there again, reliving it. “I’d warmed it up. I walked up to the stove and saw the mitt there. Yet knowing how hot it would be, I reached for it with my bare hand anyway. When I touched it, it only burned for a split second. It was such a fleeting moment of intense pain. Then it was gone. The temperature was set as high as it could get, but still, it wasn’t hot enough.”
While she tells me, I cradle her hand in mine, studying the burn marks left by the pan. “Wasn’t hot enough to what?”
Her eyes shift to me, and then she shakes her head, as if that act alone will clear the memory of whatever she just saw. Smiling now, she drops the subject and says, “Okay, since I told you something about me, will you tell me about you?”
Because I don’t think she’ll open up more, I let it go. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me something that hurts.”
Frowning, I ask, “Wouldn’t you rather hear something happy?”
“Happy things are just the in-betweens. It’s the painful parts that mold us. Their impact carves those deep craters that shape our paths. So I want to know what’s shaped yours.”
My eyes roam her face. “Was the story you just told me something like that?”
Her lips pull up slightly, yet it’s not a smile. Not really. “That impact didn’t just leave a crater. It destroyed me.”
It’s hard to decipher exactly what she means, though I’m certain the scar on her hand runs far deeper, as does the story.
“Lena loved her home,” I tell her. “We lived in Georgia, a town called Sea Island. It’s on the water. Old. Everyone knows everyone.”
“I like those types of places,” she breathes out.
“She did too. But I needed more than that. At least, that’s what I thought. When I was offered a position, a better paying one, in New York, I begged her to go with me. But she was afraid. Because of the crime, she told me. So I insisted that she learn to operate a firearm. I convinced myself that once she saw she could, she’d feel safe.
“She learned. Actually, she was pretty damned good. But it never made her feel safe. I turned a blind eye to that fact. And when the day came that she needed to use her gun, the one I made her train with, she didn’t have it on her. She was still afraid to carry it. Even then, she tried getting to it. She died less than a foot from the loaded thing that was meant to save her. It didn’t do shit.”
“I’m sorry, Matt. I’m so sorry.” She means it, I can see it in the softness of her eyes.
“I go over it again and again in my mind. If only I would’ve listened to her. It’s my fault. That gun was meant to save a life, not sit there as useless as I was. If only I hadn’t made her go with me. If I hadn’t assumed I was enough to make her happy. If I’d just come back five minutes earlier I would have been able to fight off the man who’d gone into the wrong house looking for his drug dealer. Any one of those simple changes, and she’d still be here.”
She squeezes my hand, but I can’t tell whether she’s comforting me or herself.
The light in the room is suddenly too dim. I guess that between the two of us, we have enough dark clouds to drown out the sun.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down,” I say.
Eva shrugs. “I did ask for something that hurts. You gave me what I wanted.”
“Yeah. But now you probably think I’m all fucked up.”
“What I think is that something terrible happened. And you’re human.”
I lie back, bringing her with me. We’re quiet for a long time, each lost in our own worlds.
Then out of the blue, she speaks. “You have no tattoos. No scars.”
“Not on the outside.” The inside is a whole other story.
“I looked for one yesterday wh
ile you slept.”
“Creep.”
She chuckles at the name. “You seemed so peaceful. And beautiful. I wanted to take you in.”
“You should have woken me. I didn’t pay to sleep.” I realize my mistake as soon as the words come out of my mouth. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I do have a scar. Here.” I point to the spot on the inside of my arm. “My brother, Justin, clipped a crab there when we were kids.”
A snort bursts out of her. “Clipped a crab?”
“Yeah. It hung on for a good five minutes. There was blood everywhere. We were at the beach. My dad threw up in the ocean the moment he saw it, so he was of no help. It was my mom who had to remove it. Whooped my butt for it.”
Her smile wide, she sits up and looks down at me. “Yours! But it was your brother that did it.”
“Yeah, but I stood there with my arm out and let him.”
She smacks my chest and laughs. “Oh no, that’s a terrible story!”
“Well, it’s the only one I got. There just haven’t been any other injuries.” I see the edge of her tattoo. “Lena and I talked about getting matching tats.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“We never got around to it. Now…” The rest of the sentence lingers between us.
The clock by the door goes off. Our time is up.
“Matthew, we should get up.” And just like that, Eva’s gone.
Eva. I feel her all over me still, hours after we say goodbye. When I close my eyes against the darkness of the room, hers are so clear in my mind that it’s as if they’ve been branded on my soul. They’re light. They’re dark. They’re ever changing, like the sea. Calm and serene one second, then wild like a raging storm. But no matter what their climate, they call to me, begging me to see past the clouds and see her.
Without meaning to, I smile, exhaling. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, I’ve looked forward to tonight. Because I know that once the night is over, I’ll see her again.
