We stayed that way until the movie ended. The sudden blueness of the screen broke the spell. I ached, in my heart and at the centre of my sex. Gordon released my hand and as he passed through the doorway of my room, he said nothing but ‘good night.’
I should have said something. I should have touched him. I should have told him not to leave and led him back to my bed, but I was weak. Enough time has passed that I can look back and be certain that I failed us both that night.
I could not sleep after he left. When I finally heard my father snoring, and stopped hearing my mother admonish him for it, I crept down to the living room at the opposite side of the house, and took the matter of relief into my own hands. I bit a pillow to keep silent as I came at my own lonely touch. I cried quietly through each climax and there were many. I finally tiptoed back up to my room at dawn, my body exhausted and wet, my fingers sticky and numb. I told my parents, when they came to wake me, that I was ill. They went on to work. I stayed in bed all day and sobbed, and when Gordon called me, I did not answer. He left no message, either.
Had Gord meant for me to make a move? Yes, probably. At the time, I did not know, but I knew I should have done something.
I wanted to say, If only he had said something to me. I was a hypocrite.
The next time I saw him, things were awkward. We walked the loop yet again with our friends Bobby, Jenn, and Lucas. Gord and I talked to each other like normal, but it did not feel normal to me, not anymore. Gord was the second to leave, right after Bobby, so that he would not have to leave first this time. I stayed out until midnight, just trying to lie to myself. That was summer after senior year, just before I went away.
Now, tonight, Gord was standing right in front of me on the trestle bridge. Bobby, Lucas, and Jenn were not here. The town was quiet and it was well past midnight. I could no longer lie to myself. I loved this man in my youth, and unless something had changed drastically, something I was unaware of, then I loved him still.
“Walk with me,” I entreated, “like old times.”
Gordon hesitated, just briefly, then turned and began walking down Church Street toward the shore. I had to catch him up a bit. Perhaps my body was not quite what it used to be, but he seemed to glide, he was so fast.
“Dad didn’t seem sick for very long,” I mumbled, looking for a way to break into conversation.
“Cancer. That’s always a terrible way to go. Always.” Gordon looked at me as though disbelieving we were together after all this time.
“Dad’s not suffering now. He was ready, Gord, and I’m actually sort of happy for him.”
“I know,” he replied. “He’s at peace. We all deserve that in the end.”
“I like to think it’s something we all get when we die.”
He paused, and then turned up Roper Street, toward the Plantation. Mockbeggar Plantation was historic, and beautiful. I had passed it many times over the years before I finally went inside at fourteen. That was much too late considering I had grown up so close, but we rarely notice what is right in front of our eyes. The house was just one part of the Plantation, dating to the eighteen-seventies, but the fishing plantation itself predated it by at least a hundred and forty years. Mockbeggar had served many uses, and been a part of history for not only Bonavista, but for Canada. One of its many residents had been instrumental in making Newfoundland a province. How many souls had passed through this place, I wondered? What events did they witness? What was in front of their eyes that the rest of us might have missed?
“Do you remember telling me you’d seen a ghost here? In the middle window?”
Gordon stopped, turning slowly. He gave me a sharp look, as though he were reading me and had hit a confusing passage. “I doubt I ever said that, exactly. I said I’d seen a glowing light when there should not have been one. But a ghost? No. Never. Others told me stories, though.” He stepped closer to me, raised his hand as though to touch my sleeve, and then let it hover as though unsure whether I would be receptive to his touch. “What made you say that, Breanna?”
Now I was confused. Had I said something wrong? “Nothing, except it’s Hallowe’en and it just occurred to me that if I was ever going to see one in my life, tonight would be the night.”
“I agree.” He smiled but it seemed forced. “Listen. Not to change the subject, but I wanted to say I’m really glad to see you. I wondered if I would today.”
I felt my brows jump. “Did you think I wouldn’t come home for my father’s funeral?”
“No! I mean, I didn’t know if I’d see you…here.” He shook his head, rueful. “It…well…it’s been a very long time. You’ve been gone…”
“So have you.”
“Yes, but that’s… Never mind.” He snapped his mouth shut and began walking again.
I walked beside him, quietly for a bit, and then decided to break the tension. “It was a lovely service.”
“Which service?”
I laughed a little at that. What service other than Dad’s could I possibly have meant? “This morning, Gord. Or have you been attending a lot of funerals?” I bit my tongue as he flinched. What a stupid thing to say! For all I knew he could have lost a hundred loved ones in the past ten years. I had no idea.
Gord looked at me, again with the smile that looked a bit contrived. “Of course. I was a million miles away for a second, Bree. Forgive me.” His smile became more natural, and he looked down into my eyes, softly. “I think it was perfect for a man like your father. I’m sure there were a lot of people who couldn’t take the levity. You don’t often hear people laugh their way through someone’s eulogy.”
I grinned. “The only ones who would complain came for the free food and to show off new funeral clothes. Anyone who actually knew Dad was laughing. I bet Dad was too, wherever he is now.”
“He was. Don’t doubt it.”
He stood in profile, looking out over the water, and we could hear the waves like a whisper, more than a roar. My old fantasy of the wet sand began to coalesce in front of me, unbidden, as I listened to the wet rush, a passionate heartbeat quelled by the nature of the moon.
Gord had set his gaze on a point near the horizon. He was seeing something, perhaps a memory, perhaps a wish. It might have been something I was blind to, or something I simply did not care to see.
“You see a ship out there?”
He turned suddenly with wide eyes. “Do you?”
I squinted into the distance and, for a moment, I did think I saw a ship, a schooner. That was ridiculous, of course. Darkness had settled and what I thought I saw was from another time, when the supply ships would sail to the Ryan Premises, loaded with salt from England, molasses and rum from the Caribbean and the Americas, or barrels of flour from western Canada. “No,” I answered simply.
The opportunity to study his face by the moonlight and streetlamps was more than I, than perhaps any woman, could resist. Gordon’s jaw was square and strong, with a scar along the underside of the mandible that I did not remember from before. How did he come by that, I wondered? The scar did nothing to mar his features; he was more remarkable with it, in fact. A Greek nose, a subtle tousled wave in his hair, his large grey eyes and broad shoulders beneath the wool made him nearly irresistible. Nearly.
I was still scared. Still afraid after all these years—what the hell was wrong with me? It was not as though I could lose his friendship now. It seemed I had thrown that away a long time ago.
“Your Dad had a sharp wit, Breanna. I really respected him, you know.”
“He felt the same way about you.”
Gord laughed so hard I felt we had gone back in time. It was any old night on the loop, ten or twelve years before, the cars passing by at walking speed, people leaning out to chat everyone up, the smells of aftershave and hairspray mingling with salt air and hormones. Bobby had made some comment or observation about something inconsequential and everyone was laughing hard. Gord was laughing the loudest, though, partly because it encouraged Bobby to kee
p being funny and outgoing. Bobby was actually painfully shy and his comic attitude was a façade; for years, Gord was the only one who knew.
Gord always seemed to know things that were beyond the rest of us. We used to wonder, jokingly of course, if he had spies in town. Perhaps he was even a real-life incarnation of Sherlock Holmes. I remember I lost a silver bracelet belonging to my grandmother one night. I was devastated; my Nanny had loved that bracelet and after she died, it reminded me of her. Gord had been out of town for a basketball tournament, and yet he still managed to bring me to the exact spot out on the Cape where I had lost it once he returned. Another time we were on the loop, and he suddenly said, “Get off the road, guys! Now!” No sooner had we moved than one of the town drunks, Pervy Pete, sped up Church Street, leaving the road and hitting a pole near the Post Office, right where we had been standing. Later, I asked Gordon how he knew. He said he had recognized the loud muffler as belonging to Pete, but I knew from our last time on the loop that Pete had fixed the muffler, and besides, no one else had heard anything unusual. It was as if Gord had angels whispering to him.
Gord stopped laughing and the spell on my memory ended, too.
“What was so funny?”
“You, saying your father respected me. He may have, but he sure as hell never trusted me when he was alive.”
“That’s nonsense! God, he even let you hang out in my room, Gordon!”
Gordon got a great chuckle out of that, and it made me a little mad, to be honest. Did he think he knew my Dad’s mind better than I had?
“Your dad once told me that…if…” Gord practically doubled over, “if I ever hurt you with…with my ‘nightstick’, he’d hurt me with his hunting rifle!”
“Jesus! Your nightstick? He actually said that?” Now I laughed, too. “I don’t think he had much to worry about.”
Gordon’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon? You never saw my nightstick. It’s quite alarming, I assure you!” He raised a devilish eyebrow and grinned, then whitened as he realized what he had said. “Bree…”
I shook my head. “I never meant to insult your manhood! I meant that you weren’t…you wouldn’t…” I was certain I looked petulant, not to mention idiotic. I hoped I did not look hurt.
Gordon closed the short distance between us. He was so near, I could see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, a sharp reminder of the time that had passed. “Breanna, that’s not…” he sighed deeply, and his face was so sad. “That was…inappropriate. I’m sorry.” He turned, stepping back. “It’s late, Breezy. It’s so late.”
I had ruined things before I even started. I needed to tell Gordon how I felt. Now.
“Gordon, wait. I want to say something, things you deserved to know a long time ago.” I felt a tightness inside of me; there may as well have been no air to breathe, but I had to keep going.
“If you’re going to say that you didn’t want more than my friendship in high school, I had already worked that out for myself, Breezy.” He looked straight at me, and I could not read his features, but it was impossible to miss the note of disappointment and regret in his voice.
I fought not to weep. “No! God, no! Forgive me, Gordon. I was so, so stupid.”
“You couldn’t help how you felt.”
“You don’t understand!” I cried. How much had I hurt him? The full picture was in front of me. All that time, each of us wanting the other and denying ourselves. Had he yearned as much as I had? Did he suffer? How many sleepless nights might Gord have spent, aroused and frustrated, crying hot tears in the lonely darkness? No one could stop the rain. “I didn’t know how you felt about me, Gordon. I wondered, but I was scared.”
“So, what are you telling me? Would it have made a difference?”
“Yes!”
Gordon sighed heavily. “We couldn’t have been together, anyway, Breanna. I couldn’t have. It’s why I never said…why I never told you what I felt, what I wanted.”
I felt a surge of passion between us. It was not just my feelings this time. An electric thrill rippled through me, lightning seeking ground, but I could sense the same power in Gordon. The desire, had it truly been lightning, would have made us cinders in the street.
“We could have. We can! It’s not too late, Gordon. That’s why we’re here tonight, on the loop. That’s why we found each other!”
He wanted me. That much was obvious, and yet he kept stepping away as though I were hurting him, picking at a long healed wound and making him bleed inside his psyche just as I had.
“We can’t. It’s too late, Breanna.”
“Why?” I demanded. “What’s wrong, are you married? Are you worried I am? I’m not. I’m here, right now, tonight, and I want you as much as I always have.”
“How?” he asked, but I did not answer with words.
Inappropriateness be damned. I pushed close and clasped my arms around him, pressed my lips to his and kissed him hard. For all I knew this could be my only chance—I made it count.
And then he was mine.
Gord briefly went rigid with shock, but then he pulled me closer, wrapping one hand into my hair as his other pulled me at the base of my spine, pressing me close to his growing erection. Alarming, no. Impressive, however, he most certainly was. Somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, I wondered if he actually could hurt me during sex, after all. God help me, a tiny part of me even hoped. I wanted to feel everything he had to offer, even if it meant pain. In that moment, I felt we had never been apart, and I felt I had waited long enough. Besides, this was not mere lust. There was love here.
Clouds moved in unnoticed, and soft rain began to fall, cool and fine like mist. It seemed to emanate from him like steam, and we needed to find warm shelter. I do not remember how we made it to his house. His old room was much the same as it had always been, minus the posters and comic books, but the bed was there, and that was all we needed.
I sensed he felt somewhat removed, that he was holding back. I asked him more than once if he were sure, and he said yes, every time, but that he could not believe this was happening.
I could. It was easy to believe as I felt Gord’s hand and then his warm mouth travel over my breasts, past my navel and to my centre. His fingers slipped inside me, reaching and beckoning, insisting, and then slipping out to find my mouth. I tasted myself before I tasted him, and I loved the sweetness of us together, and then the salt of his climax. After he came, he brought his tongue once more to where his fingers had been, investigating my taste, my smoothness, the silk of the hair I had not trimmed in forever.
Gordon toyed with me, made me come beneath his mouth, paused to stroke my thighs and breasts, tickling gently before gripping my buttocks in his large, cool hands. I felt insane, fevered, desperate, fulfilled, languid, and then he would use his mouth and fingers to make me come again. Finally, he asked me to make him hard again, and he rode me, wild, fierce, and unafraid.
I could not remember any event in my life being so perfect, so primal, or so full of life. I could have died in the moment, and done so satisfied and blissful.
The mist had turned to rain. I could hear its soothing rhythm against the windowpanes of Gord’s old saltbox house. He owned it now, he told me as he swept my damp hair from my cheekbones, though he only spent a few weeks here each year. His parents had moved on from here long ago.
“I’m so happy, Gordon. I’m so happy to be here with you, finally.” I nestled closer to him, and he grazed my cheek with his long index finger, smiling contentedly. Almost contentedly. There was still a sort of veil between us, woven with a weft of sadness and a warp of disbelief. I had to know why. Why had Gordon thought it was too late? Why had he never tried to be with me, if he had always felt the same as I?
“I was told I couldn’t have a life with you, Breezy. I’m sorry, but I had to listen.”
“What are you saying? Did your parents tell you that?” I had always believed they liked me. I was certain of it, in fact, and so his words made no sense to me.
“No, of course not. Breanna, are you sure you want to ask me these things? Tonight is perfect. Do we need to pull it apart?” He continued touching my face, but closed his eyes tightly, wincing as though he were in pain.
Nothing could deter me now. “I think we do, Gordon. Tell me. You’ve always held something back from me. Given what we’ve shared tonight, don’t you think it’s time we finally be honest?” I sat up, not bothering to cover myself. Gordon’s hand slid down my neck and to my naked breast, and he spoke to my flesh, not able to meet my eyes.
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” he whispered.
I told him I never could, unable to imagine what he was about to tell me. I placed my hand on his heart, and lowered my head to kiss the waves of his dark blond hair.
“Remember how you used to say, I always knew things that other people didn’t?” I nodded, and he continued. “What if I told you that…that I had help? That I had someone to tell me those things? More than one, actually.” He paused for a while, searching for words, but I was patient.
“Bree, did you ever believe in spirits? I mean, I know you believe in an afterlife, but I’m talking about spirits being among us, all the time.”
I thought about that for a moment. I did not have an answer. What did I actually believe? More importantly, what did Gordon believe? “I’m not sure, but I believe in you. Don’t stop. Tell me whatever you need to; I’ll listen.”
He laughed a bit, nervously, and it made him seem so like the boy I remembered, innocent and sweet. Now I reflected on it, though, he had always seemed burdened by something. It rarely showed, but there was always a haunting aura behind his smile.
“They’ve always been with me, Breezy. Always. They talked to me, and I learned not to question it. I kept it to myself, but it’s always been a part of me, of what I do.” He sat up and met my eyes, searching for judgment, and found none. It seemed I believed in spirits, after all.
“You could have told me. I would have understood.”
He was not finished, though. “I wasn’t ready, Bree. I was much too scared to tell anyone about the things I saw. And when the guides told me that…”
Tricks & Treats: A Romance Anthology Page 22
