by James, Ella
“Quite amazing,” Holly says, echoing my thoughts.
“Might be more amazing if he wasn’t any good.”
The minimizing comment is designed to deceive. The truth is, I feel shaken by the force of my ardor. I’ve never felt this way before. I fear my voice could tremble at the mention of him. So I try desperately to appear nonchalant.
I pick at a cuticle as Holly and Dot cook up a plan to offer him some homespun cotton candy after the game wraps.
“You two are horrid,” I murmur, and turn around to patty-cake with Kayti.
Anna whines about the casserole she promised Freddy she would cook, and then she’s tucking Kayti back into her wrap so she can greet him by the field.
“I’ve got a check-in call coming from Doctor,” I say, by way of an excuse for myself. I can’t bear—indeed don’t dare—to walk down to the field with Dot and Holly.
And yet, I can’t quite tear myself away. I chat with Molly Green, a school girl, aged fourteen, who wants to learn to throw clay. I explain my wheel is still at Gammy’s house and Declan’s staying there.
“When it’s time for him to go—that’s in near two months—we can get started. How does that sound?”
She beams. Over her right shoulder, my traitorous gaze hones in on Dot, Holly, and him.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. Anna. She’s gotten caught up gabbing before going down to Freddy. Since I’m still about, she wants me to walk down to the field with her to congratulate him. He got a poor hit—but still a hit—off one of Declan’s supersonic balls.
I feel robotic as we file down the wooden bleachers to the makeshift fence, where I stand beside Anna feeling like a flashing light. I try to fill my lungs with air, but I can’t seem to. I focus on Freddy and then on Mark Glass as he stops over to chat. Declan’s not in sight. For that I’m grateful.
Finally, with a glance at my watch, I break away. I walk behind the bleachers, clutching my unused umbrella’s handle, chewing harder than is strictly necessary on a bit of gum, and start toward the Away dugout. Everyone is congregating at the Home side, so it’s good I need to head away from it to amble toward the clinic.
Much as I crave an encounter with him, I don’t need one. Certainly not with so many others about. Who knows what might be said?
Thinking of that weighs on my heart. It’s only a matter of time really. All of this—this infatuation—has an expiration date. I feel a horrid swell of empathy—of sorrow—for Mum; surely, she felt similarly. My eyes blur and I wipe them.
The sky has darkened with encroaching evening, and no one’s walking near me. I take a few measured breaths and start around the rear of the Away dugout.
And there he is.
He’s leaned against it, holding his injured shoulder with one hand and a red-tipped cigarette in the other.
His eyes are closed. They open for me, and the world curves in around us.
“Hey there, Siren.”
My heart turns over at the soft twitch of his lips. My body flashes like a light bulb.
“Hi there.”
It takes me a moment to realize the particular look on his face is perhaps a bit of bashfulness.
“I couldn’t watch you throwing.” A grin splits my face. “It worried me for Sean—the catcher.”
That makes him grin in return.
Spurred by a bit of madness, I pluck the cigarette from his fingers and take a choking drag. I blow it out in circles, like that caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland.
Then I hand it back and squint against the smoke. “They’re bad for you, you know.”
He chuckles. “All the good things are.”
I wink, and he says, “Come with me tomorrow.”
“Where to?” I fix my face in an impassive look, as if I wouldn’t follow him to hell and back.
“I thought I’d hike up to the peak.”
Behind us, I hear someone’s laughter. In that sliver of time before whoever rounds the corner, I give him a coy smile. “Perhaps I will.”
Then, before we’re seen alone, I trot away.
* * *
Declan
Knowing how she feels about propriety, I get to her door before the sun is up. It’s cold out. Cold enough to turn my breaths into white puffs and make me wish I’d worn more than a fleece. Overhead, the moon shines, casting a pearly sheen over her porch and gleaming on the door’s six small glass windows.
I should knock. I shake my head at myself, grinning. I feel like a kid at Christmas. Finally, I give a few hard-but-not-too-forceful knocks, then wrap my hands around the straps of my daypack and wait to hear footfall. If she doesn’t answer, I figure I’ll go at it again.
A couple seconds later, the door opens, revealing Finley and her wide-but-sleepy eyes. She’s got on a soft-looking brown robe, and she’s wearing a funny little smile.
“The sleepy Siren.”
“Declan!” She laughs. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to take you on that hike.”
She laughs again, her pretty face incredulous. “Right now?”
“It can be the other way around if you want—you can take me.”
“Of course it will be. Silly interloper.” She looks down at her robe, then up at me again. Her eyes are dancing, her cheeks round with a suppressed smile. “I can’t believe you’re here! I suppose I’ve got to get dressed.”
A small, white head peeks around her robe-clad legs, and I crouch. “I’ve got something for you…”
Finley laughs and whirls away. “Wait there, kindly. No coming inside.”
“I’ll be here.”
I reach into my pocket and get a little piece of apple, holding it out while Baby sniffs it. She takes it from me, and I smile like an idiot as I listen to her chomp.
“That’s the good stuff, right?”
A second later, her eyes rise to mine in a request for more. I’ve got a bunch of little bits of apple, so I keep her busy while we wait for Finley. When the door opens again, she’s got her hair in braided pig-tails and she’s wearing dark leggings, a light green jacket, and boots, with a hiking pack flung over one shoulder.
“Is that apple?” she asks.
“Hope that’s okay.”
“What do you think, Baby?” She reaches down and scoops the ewe up. “Her first apple.” She peers over Baby’s head, her lips quirked up and pressed together, making her look a little like an angry duck. “Very crafty, Carnegie. Win over the ewe.”
I laugh like I have no idea what she’s talking about. Like I didn’t spend a bunch of time dicing up an apple, mostly to impress Finley.
While she disappears inside with Baby, I step off the small porch, pacing over to some brush near the cliffs behind the doctor’s quarters. I hear the thunder of waves breaking below. I think of Finley, only ever looking down the cliffs—no thought of leaving. I wonder if she even looks down at all. Maybe she can’t.
A moment later, she reappears, closing the door behind her and pressing a small sticky note to it. She doesn’t speak, just smiles, a little bit mysterious as she steps off the porch and joins me in the grass. She covers the distance between us with one long stride and stops right by me. Near enough that my dick perks up and I want to touch her.
“Careful, Sailor. Just beyond the vegetation here is a steep drop-off.”
I look into her eyes and feel myself smile. Watch as my fingers brush one of her braids. “I like this.” My voice sounds low and husky, like I’m talking with my hard-on. Because I am. Fuck. I grit my teeth and shift my weight as she looks away shyly. “Thank you.”
“Let’s get moving while we’ve got a little darkness left. You good to go now?”
Her thin brows notch as if she doesn’t understand.
“Can you be away from work this morning?”
“Oh…mm, yes, I believe. For a bit. I left a note.” Her gaze moves to the door, and I adjust my pants. Goddamn, I love her voice. Love her accent, love the way she can’t look at my face. I feel a bolt of pure lust
. Not just lust but life—that wasn’t there before I got here this morning.
“Did you tell them who you’re going with?” I smile as we start toward the dirt road.
She shakes her head, laughing. “Wouldn’t want to cause alarm. Who would trust the two of us together on the slopes?”
“I had that thought.”
“Don’t worry,” she says softly. “I’ll be a better guide this time ’round. I know all the trails, of course, and all the lookouts. It’s a bit of elevation, but you can choose how high we climb. I have perhaps six hours before I’ll be missed.”
Her elbow brushes my arm as we walk along the lane’s edge. Suddenly, I can’t think of a single thing to say. I think she just questioned my physical fitness with that shit about how we can stop whenever I want to. But I can’t even get my brain to work enough to toss that back her way.
“So, Carnegie.” She blinks up at me. “Tell me how you like it here.”
“Demoted to Carnegie again.”
She smiles, but it’s a little tight…or maybe coy. “I’d like to hear your impressions,” she says crisply. “What you’ve enjoyed and not about our island.”
Just a little hesitation over how to answer, and a cold sweat hits me. That’s how this shit is. Stuff that doesn’t ever make a normal person nervous makes my hands shake. It’s like this every day, though. I know how to hide it.
“I like it,” I say. “Good people, good food. Hey, that reminds me. I didn’t realize you moved out of your place for me. Thanks for doing that.”
She gives me a smile, and now I’m sure it looks a little strained. “Of course.”
I bump her arm with my elbow and smirk down at her, hoping to get her loosened up. “The tub’s my favorite.”
“Using all my bath salts, are you?”
“Nah. I used them a couple times, but not too much. I know you can’t get more.”
She waves her hand, not really looking at me. “I’ll get more eventually. I could put an order in and they’d come on the next ship. Not the next,” she amends, frowning, “but the one after. You’ll be gone then, I suppose.”
I swallow. “So what is that? How many weeks?”
“The next ship with supplies will arrive July.” Her face tilts up to mine. “Does that seem quite absurd to you?”
I lift a brow. “You ever heard of Amazon?”
“The river? Oh.” She snaps her fingers. “No—the mega-store.”
I grin down at her, and she elbows me. “I’ve heard of Amazon.”
“Welcome to 2018, Siren.”
She giggles. “You’re an arse.”
I catch her by the wrist. “Finley Evans. Did you just use a dirty word?”
I lace my fingers through hers, lightly swinging her arm as I aim a mock disapproving look down at her. With our joined hands, she punches at me. “Only for you. I never use perverse language except when influenced unduly.”
“Unduly influenced? Is that right?”
She lands a light blow to my chest.
“Finley, Finley…” I squeeze her hand. “What am I gonna do with you? Lashing out at me, using the devil’s language?”
She’s grinning, but I see her lips bend downward at the corners, like she’s trying to fight it off.
I stroke her wrist with my thumb. “Siren. I’ve been missing you.”
Color spreads across her cheeks. She bites the inside of her cheek before she presses her lips flat.
“Odd. You didn’t seek me out for company for near a week before I walked into a closet with you.”
Our path curves as we crest a small hill, and I see my borrowed cottage over on the left. Its underground window shines in the soft grass.
I squeeze Finley’s fingers. “Maybe I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”
“I tried to track you down for your check-up. You were never there.”
“Did you?”
“I did.”
My pulse kicks up a little as I think about that first night back, when I woke up without her. All the other days… I exhale. “I’m sorry.”
What can I tell her? I’m too fucked up to be alone in a house so I kept going to the bar, but I hugged my pillow and I thought about her lots? I rub my thumb over her knuckles, hoping she won’t pull her hand away from mine. I touch a Band-Aid taped atop her hand and trace its rough edge. “What’d you do here?”
“Slicing something in the kitchen.” Her pretty eyes are still on her feet. I can feel her brooding, and it makes me want to wrap my arms around her.
Instead of that, I draw our clasped hands to me. I don’t know what I’m thinking. That I’ll kiss the back of her hand? Some kind of Casanova shit? Another wave of cold sweat sweeps me, and I wonder if my hand feels sweaty.
I take a slow breath as we pass the cottage.
Finley glances at its front door. “I’ll be by to pull the weeds soon.”
I swing her hand. “I can do it.”
“You’re not grooming my stoop, interloper. You’re the guest. You’re meant to relax.” She gives me a smile plus side-eye. It’s so fucking cute, it helps me get my bearings.
“Is that right?”
“Of course. Listen to the ocean and endeavor nature walks. Get lots of rest and use up all the bath salts.”
I nod at the trail ahead, which disappears around the cliffs that lead up to the plateau. “I guess I’m doing this all wrong, then.”
She looks up at me, and there’s this sweetness on her face; it reminds me of the looks she gave me in the burrow. Like she’s happy she’s here with me.
“Tell me more of your impressions, city boy. I’ve heard a bit about your comings and goings. What are you drinking at the bar? What Tristanian dishes have you tried, at whose home? Have you seen things you consider odd here? I’d like to hear it all.”
I squeeze her hand. “Hmm, well, I saw Mrs. White’s orchids.”
“All nine hundred ninety-seven of them?”
I laugh. “They were nice.”
“Oh, sure.”
“I like flowers.”
“Sure you do.”
“Mrs. White is a nice lady.”
“Sure she is.”
I can’t stop laughing. “Spitting fire today, Siren.”
“What does that mean?”
“I had an Alabama nanny when I was a little kid who would have said, ‘She’s in a mood.’” The memory makes me chuckle.
“My mood is perfectly fine.”
“Sure it is.”
She sticks her tongue out at me.
“I’ll tell you what I’ve seen—I’ve seen some homemade tinctures. Not something you see every day.” She smiles shyly. “I found out the other day there’s only two more bottles of Macallan 18 on the damn whole island. Kinda stopped that nightly routine.”
She laughs. “For the best, perhaps.”
Our dirt path takes us past the plateau that overlooks the village—and her cottage. I point toward it. “I’ve been up there some. Does that count as relaxing?”
“Vloeiende Trane,” she murmurs.
“What?”
“Cascading tears,” she says dramatically.
“What language is that?”
“Afrikaans.” She wiggles her brows. “Is it one you don’t know, Sailor?”
Sailor again now. I shake my head. “How dare you name your cliffs in a language I don’t know?”
She laughs, her eyes on her feet again, as if she’s too shy to look me in the face. When she looks at me again, she flashes me a pretty smile. “How many do you speak? How many languages?”
“A couple.”
“A couple is two. You’ve already admitted to Italian, German, and French. And English.”
“So that’s four.”
“Do you speak more?”
“Would you be impressed if I did?”
She laughs softly. “Perhaps.”
Our trail forks, the left side veering toward the little lakes I ran to a few times, the right tilting up into th
e fog. The sun is rising, but we can’t see it through the heavy cloud cover. It’s turned the darkness gray-blue, but it doesn’t offer any warmth yet. The air feels thick and cool around us.
“What about you?” I ask. “What ones do you know?”
“Only French and Spanish.”
“I like Spanish,” I say as we skirt a patch of muddy ground. She looks down at her boots, and I admire her profile. In the burrow, she looked beautiful—and more so because she was so fucking nice—but I couldn’t see her clearly due to how dark things were. Now that I’ve got a good view, I can’t pull my eyes away from her smooth, freckled skin, her wide, expressive eyes.
“You ever read Pablo Neruda?”
I watch as her mouth falls open in what looks like happy surprise. “Pablo Neruda? He’s my favorite!” She swings my hand. “You like him?”
“No,” I deadpan. “I just said the name to mess with you.”
“You’re smirking.” She laughs. “Why are you smirking?”
I swing her arm again. “I don’t know. Just had a feeling you might like that stuff.”
“And why is that, pray tell?”
I smirk down at her. “Because you say pray tell.”
She ducks her lips up like she’s pissed, even as she’s fighting a smile. I tug one of her braids. She swats me.
“How do you know of him?” she presses.
I shrug. “Poetry class.”
She wiggles her eyebrows and waves her arm dramatically. “No estés lejos de mí un solo día, porque cómo, porque, no sé decirlo, es largo el día, y te estaré esperando como en las estaciones cuando en alguna parte se durmieron los trenes.”
“Don’t leave me,” I continue, “even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together. The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart.” I wink. “I learned this one in English.”
Despite my recitation in the wrong language, her mouth is open.
“Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach,” I recite, suppressing a grin. “May your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you’ll have gone so far, I’ll wander over all the earth, asking will you come back. Will you leave me here…dying.”
