by Iris Parker
“Is that her? The Emilia you’ve been talking about so much?” a small voice asked behind me, and I turned around to face the speaker. Bright red hair framing a frail face, my mother was smiling at me with the same half-regretful look she always had in my presence.
“Yeah, it’s her.”
“She’s very pretty,” my mother said.
“She really is.”
“But you didn’t have to come all the way back here just for a pretty girl,” she added, always astute.
I winced, wishing I could spill my guts. I wanted to let go of the past that had haunted me for so long, to finally explain.
I’d been so envious of Emilia at first, acting like a stupid teenage thug with a chip on his shoulder.
Well, that’s exactly what I had been.
She’d had everything, and I resented her for that. Friends who liked her for who she was, love from the father who had abandoned me, a happy life that didn’t know tragedy or hunger. I’d expected an arrogant bitch, manipulative and easy to hate.
The reality had been much harder to take. She was actually nice to me, she seemed to sincerely care. Not out of obligation like my so-called father, not because I was good at sports like the other kids, and not because she wanted something out of me like Argus had.
No, she just cared about me because of who I was.
Like Jake had.
I hadn’t been able to handle that. At all. So I’d destroyed her, and then fallen in love with her.
Or, more likely, I’d fallen in love with her and then destroyed her.
By the time I figured it all out, it was too late. She hated me, rightly so, and all I could do was run back to England. I tried to forget her in every way I could, by working myself to death on the rugby pitch, sleeping with the countless beautiful women who gladly let me do anything I wanted, by helping out total strangers in ways that never quite made the guilt go away.
None of it had worked, of course. Emilia had stayed nestled in my soul and heart, haunting me with every breath I took.
I wanted to explain all that, but looking into the sad eyes of my mother, I couldn’t. At least not yet.
“Yeah, there’s more to her than how she looks. Life really has a funny way of working out, doesn’t it?”
“That it does, babe. That it really does,” she said, lighting up a clove cigarette.
I took a deep breath, choosing my words very carefully. My mom still didn’t know who Emilia really was, and given the way things had ended with my father, there was no easy way to say it. Not by a long shot.
“Emilia is…” I began, bracing myself for the hurt that was sure to come.
My mother just looked at me, an eyebrow raised as I trailed off mid-sentence.
“Emilia is the daughter of the woman Robert married,” I said finally.
She didn’t say anything, her eyes lost in the distance as she slowly sucked on the clove cigarette. I looked down at the field below, latching on to Emilia’s small silhouette as she dragged a long hose.
“You can’t hate her for it, Mom. Believe me. I already tried.” She looked at me for a second before withdrawing into her thoughts even more, her gaze joining mine as she watched Emilia in the distance.
“It only made things worse,” I added quietly.
I could see the pain on her face as she dropped the cigarette, crushing it under the sole of her leather sandal, only to pull out another within a few seconds.
“I’m not condoning what he did. It was very wrong of him to leave like that, but it was his choice. Not Emilia’s.”
A small, sardonic chuckle came from her throat as she wrapped her arms around her small body. “It was all his fault. I was keeping it all together, until he left without even so much as a goodbye. Then it all went downhill, and you were so hard…” she said in a raspy voice, a single fat tear rolling slowly down her wrinkled cheek.
I nodded in agreement. It had been his fault.
At least in part; at least initially.
We’d come back home one evening, and he simply wasn’t there. He’d gone without any explanation or clear warning, leaving us penniless. We’d struggled for years, and my mom eventually sent me away to Saint Vincent’s, an English boarding school. Her brother worked there as the janitor, and called in a few favors for me.
It had been the very start of my redemption, but then everything went wrong. My father popped back up from nowhere, his new wife insisting I stay with them over the summer. The rest was history.
Tragic, bullying history.
“Emilia has nothing to do with anything that happened,” I told my mother again. She shrugged, looking at me with empty eyes before turning to leave.
“I’m going home, Simon. Staying out in the heat isn’t really my thing.”
I grimaced, unsure of what to say. I knew she’d come out to meet the woman I’d been so hung up on, but reality and Robert’s specter had come to slap her in the face once more. I could give her all the gifts in the world, but I couldn’t do anything about the painful hole in our past.
“Mom? Are you going to be okay?” I asked.
“As always, Simon,” she said, slowly making her way down the hill.
I wanted to run after her, to comfort her and tell her that everything would be okay eventually. But time and pain had run their course, and the distance between us seemed impossible to bridge now. I watched as her small figure got even smaller, vanishing entirely when she turned a corner.
It was really high time to make amends.
Emilia hates me. She has every right to, I know.
I hate her too anyways.
Fourth of July at West Field was always memorable, the rec center regulars turning out in droves to celebrate. It had always been a big deal, but its popularity had spiked a few years ago with the inclusion of two dunk tanks. Adam had rented them one year as an experiment, hoping to raise a little extra money, and it had been an instant success.
It turned out that everyone was more than happy to pay a few dollars to try dunking their youth center coordinators into a tank full of disgustingly warm water, and the first year alone we’d raised enough money to fund a couple of group outings that summer. Since then, it had turned into a beloved tradition, and this year would likely be no different. This time around, we wanted to finance a two-day camping trip to the closest National Park, and so I took great care to make sure the dunk tank attraction was stationed prominently in the center of the festivities.
Particularly since, this year, I imagined I’d be able to gracefully bow out and let Simon take my place in the tank. I was sure he’d be willing to volunteer, as soon as I explained it to him.
All around me, people were busy setting up other fundraising booths and stands. Soon, I knew, families and friends of the rec center would begin trickling in with coolers full of food from every part of the world, sparking off a great evening of communal fun.
As usual, Johnnie had given us access to his cold water tap, and I was busy filling the tank when Simon crept up behind me.
“Hey you,” he said, his voice soft and low as he leaned behind me and whispered into my ear. It was the first time he’d been this close since we left the diner that morning, and shivers ran down my spine as his breath tickled the hair on the back of my neck.
Seeing him help pull all the decorations and equipment from storage had been a revelation. Even with his muscular physique, jet-black hair and striking tattoo, Simon Ferguson was more than sex on legs. A lot more. He was actually an amazing guy all-around; smart, calm, clever, caring. He was a much better catch than any of my previous boyfriends.
Not that Simon was my boyfriend. Going out with your childhood bully would’ve been weird enough on its own, but dating your stepbrother was just crossing all kinds of boundaries. There was no blood relation between us, true, and we’d hardly been brought up together. Two summers as teenagers, and that was it. Overall I’d spent less time with him than I had with Timur, the limping exchange student from Uzbek
istan who had attended university with me for a year. Even so, there was no question about it. Dating Simon would be weird.
No matter how many stupid fantasies about it crashed through my head every time I saw him.
Or heard him.
Or smelled him.
Or breathed.
Of course, there were other fantasies. Ones that I had less problem indulging in, like sharing a bed with him for the summer.
“What is this contraption, and how can I help you set it up?” Simon asked, derailing my train of thoughts just before they turned into vividly reliving last night for the millionth time today.
“They’re dunk tanks.”
“Yes, I see that. But, tell me more about it. I smell something a little fishy,” he laughed, pointing to the hand-painted sign that read:
DUNK A COACH!
TWO BALLS $1
FIVE BALLS $2
“You’ll love it,” I promised.
“Is that a fact?” he said, a dash of playful indignation in his voice as he tried not to laugh.
“Besides, it’s a fundraising effort.”
“So if I donate another few thousand dollars, I don’t have to get wet. Right?”
“Or, you could donate another few thousand dollars and get wet.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” he conceded.
You’d have my eternal gratitude,” I said, fluttering my eyes at him exaggeratedly.
“Hmmmm,” he said, tapping his finger on his lips as he pretended to be absorbed in complex calculations. “And this eternal gratitude, exactly how does it show itself on a day-to-day basis?”
In spite of myself, I blushed.
“Stop it, Simon,” I said.
“Stop what?”
“Teasing.”
“Oh, now I’m the one teasing, little miss moans-through-breakfast?” he said, and I burst out laughing. He smiled, bringing beautiful light to his eyes and making me melt on the spot.
Everyone says working with your lover is hard, and I could see how this one-upmanship with flirting could get us both into trouble. Still, I hadn’t expected it to feel so good, or be so funny.
“So, I guess you guys are good to go, then?” Adam chimed in as he got closer to the tanks, eyeing the vats of water carefully.
“Yeah, they’re filling up good,” I said, pointing to the hoses we’d been lent to replace the leaky ones we’d had to use last year. “We should be ready by five, so you can start getting set up around quarter till.”
Adam raised a suspicious eyebrow as he walked to the table next to the twin tanks, pointing to the sign.
“It says ‘coach’ here.”
“Well, that’s what they call you,” I pointed out.
“Maybe, but I don’t actually coach anyone.”
“It’s the sign we’ve had for the past two years!” I protested, already seeing where this conversation was headed. “You’ve been dunked more times than I can count.”
“Yes, but it makes so much more sense if it’s the two of you,” he said, though I was already resigned to my fate. Of course he was right, and even if he hadn’t been, the gleeful look on Simon’s face told me there was no way out of this for me.
“We’ll make much more money this way, Em. You’ve always been way more popular to dunk, and think of how happy everyone will be to dunk two coaches!”
“Especially since we’ve been forcing them to play rugby,” Simon pointed out. “I’m sure they’ll love to soak us much more than they would Adam.”
Thanks for that, bro.
I looked down at my sandals and the short, sweet dress I’d brought for the occasion, letting a dramatic sigh escape from my lips.
Two hours later my fingers were gripping the underside of my tank’s seat, a huge crowd of howling spectators gathered around to watch the show. My heart sank as Jessa positioned herself to be the first in line; she was one of the center’s oldest regulars, living on her own.
In other words, she had a job.
Disposable income.
She’d bought a lot of balls, the look on her face manic as she flitted her eyes between my target and Simon’s. Unable to decide, she twirled around and quickly conferred with Shauna, who was standing next in line. I looked over to Simon, and the smile on his face spoke volumes about how much fun he was having.
I had to admit, his enthusiasm was catchy. Getting wet was hardly the end of the world, after all.
Their conversation concluded, Jessa sauntered in front of my tank while Shauna went for Simon. Jessa wasted no time in hurling one of the small balls towards my target, but it flew wide and rolled to a stop on the dry grass.
Off to the side, there was an immediate clang as Shauna’s first toss slammed straight into the target, hurling Simon into the tank while the crowd whooped and hollered. Everyone cheered her on, while Jessa lobbed another three balls harmlessly in my direction.
I was just starting to relax when the two young women looked at each other and nodded, switching places. Shauna bounced up towards my tank, and I had a moment to think about how the next few hours were going to go. Simon was a great coach, and almost everyone at the center had been getting more interested in athletics….
While I was wondering what, exactly, I had gotten myself into, Shauna’s second ball slammed into the target.
I fell with a loud splash and a roar of approval, just barely catching a glimpse of Shauna giving high-fives to the rest of the team as I recovered my senses. Jessa finally managed a hit as well, sending Simon down into the water for a second time.
Wiping the water from my eyes, I waddled over towards Simon for a second.
“Thanks for doing this, you know. You didn’t have to.” He wiped his own brow, laughing. His beautiful smile turned just a little wicked as he looked me over, scattering butterflies in my stomach. My body pulsed in response, wishing we had a little time and privacy together.
“You look sinful as hell. Just freaking gorgeous,” he whispered, staring at my submerged body. The crowd was starting to urge us back to our seats, and I realized with horror what was going on. Lightly colored and a little on the thin side, this was not a good dress to get wet in.
At least not both definitions of “wet,” and certainly not at the same time.
Crossing my arms across my chest to hide my reaction to Simon’s presence, I quickly scuttled back up the steps and sat myself back into place, trying hard to keep my face as casual as possible. The redness in my cheeks could be explained by the excitement of being dunked, and hopefully this would all be over soon.
Simon was still in the water, gesturing for Adam to come over. I didn’t have time to wonder what it meant, though, as the next person in line quickly scored another hit and sent me flying back into the tank.
By the time I got back in place, Adam was in front of the tanks and holding the megaphone we used to make public announcements during the party.
“Great news! I’m thrilled to share that Mr. Ferguson has agreed to match all the proceeds from the dunk tank today! For every dollar you spend, he’ll be donating a dollar himself!” Adam’s voice boomed.
The crowd cheered harder as even more people began to take their place in line. This was going to be a very, very long afternoon.
Out of the blue.
Emilia got hired as a coach at the Goodman Youth Center.
Seriously, what are the fucking odds?
By the time the sun had started to set, the line had finally dwindled into almost nothing. Emilia’s dress was still clinging to her amazing body, something that had proven to be an even bigger source of difficulty than the constant threat of being dunked.
First, I had to not gawk at her like a pervert.
Second, I had to resist the urge to strangle all the guys who did. No one had gone too far, but I could still see the amused satisfaction in their eyes, and that had been enough.
But, somehow, miraculously, I’d managed to get through the day without making headlines or having assault cha
rges pressed against me.
Thank goodness for that.
Looking to my side, I could see that Emilia’s arms were now staying wrapped around her chest even when no one was looking. Between the adrenaline wearing off and the evening air starting cool a little, I was beginning to feel chilly too.
Clearing my throat, I announced last call for the dunk tanks. Ten minutes later, we were once again soaked head to toe, but the ordeal was finally behind us as I helped Emilia off her seat. We were alone, and I was finally able to unabashedly stare at her sweet curves the way I’d been aching to do all afternoon long.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I said, admiring the way her damp hair curled in ringlets along her collarbone.
“And cold,” she answered, blushing slightly as she handed me one of the towels Adam had left for us.
“I assume you don’t have any dry clothes?” I asked, unsure about if I wanted her to or not. On one hand, she wouldn’t be wearing that gorgeous dress that was clinging to her skin anymore. On the other hand, she would be more comfortable, and we might be able to sneak off somewhere while she changed….
“No, I really thought Adam would volunteer to take my place,” she explained, making me feel simultaneously relieved and disappointed.
“He’s a smart cat. I don’t have a change either, of course. No one thought to warn me that I would be getting half-drowned today,” I said, chuckling. Not that I really minded. Even if she hadn’t set me up, there was no way I would’ve left Emilia to fend for herself in the tank.
