Simmering Season

by Jenn J. McLeod

  ‘So, you’ll be going soon?’

  ‘Doc suggested a couple of days before making the trip, just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘A couple of days,’ she repeated, her voice flattening, along with her mood. The heat wasn’t helping.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Feeling the heat.’

  The swimming hole was a lot less crowded than Maggie had expected and she had to admit the water looked inviting. She’d thought the sandy area—the closest thing to a beach in Calingarry Crossing—would be swarming with people trying to cool down, but things had changed since Maggie was a girl when very few luxuries, like air-conditioning, made it to Calingarry Crossing. Nowadays, even though many of the houses looked much the same on the outside, air-con, spa baths and gaming consoles drove people inside to escape this sort of insufferable heat, the simple pleasure of rope swings and natural swimming holes lost.

  A small group of teenagers played in the water. The six of them had swum the fifty metres out to the pontoon in the middle of the river and the boys were taking turns to dive bomb, splashing the two girls sunbaking in bikinis and making them squeal.

  ‘Remember being young like that?’ Maggie asked, possibly more forlornly than she’d wanted to sound.

  Dan laugh. ‘Geez, you make us sound ancient. How about we get our gear off and show these kids how to do it?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Skinny dip. That’s what I used to get up to.’

  ‘While I did no such thing.’

  She would have loved to, but Maggie Lindeman was never that bold and some things didn’t change. Instead, she slipped her shoes off and wandered over to the edge to let the water lap over her toes as it had during childhood summers. The memory persuaded Maggie out further and she was surprised by how cool the water felt the deeper she trod. Bending down and cupping her hands, she splashed water on her face and the back of her neck, instantly cooling her temperature a notch or two. She was grateful for that, given Dan had waded in and was now staring at her, pushing her temperature up again.

  ‘Is that helping?’ he asked.

  ‘A bit,’ she said, smiling on the inside.

  ‘Then this should cool you down a lot more.’ With that, Dan initiated his attack, filling cupped hands with river water and launching three quick sprays at her, securing direct hits each time.

  ‘Are you crazy? Stop it!’ Maggie squealed, sounding like the girls on the pontoon.

  Launching into her own attack, she kicked water wildly, no thought about whether she was hitting her target or not. Spray after blinding spray she kicked. When her laughter made the smallest kick impossible, she collapsed on the spot, no longer caring that she was up to her waist in the river, laughing and panting.

  The pair had attracted an audience, all six pontoon dwellers standing up and staring at the old fogies frolicking about on the shore. Maggie’s cheesecloth top, now glued to her skin, showed off her favourite aubergine-coloured bra, making her breasts purple and perky.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Dan took her hand.

  ‘If you expect me to go strolling back into town looking like this—’

  ‘No, I don’t. That’s why you have to come with me. I assume it’s still accessible.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This way.’

  He led her to the end of the bush pathway, stepped in front of her and trailblazed his way through the overgrown tunnel of scrub, dragging Maggie by the hand as she instinctively waved her free hand over her head, trying not to think about spiders and other creepy-crawlies.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked breathily as they came into a small clearing.

  ‘There.’ He pointed to a fallen log on the river bank.

  The massive tree lay where it had toppled, possibly victim of a flooded river many, many years ago. Despite the solid-looking roots, the gum tree had been too tall and heavy, the sandy footings unable to support the weight. Maggie didn’t know what sort of gum it was, just that it had once been big and strong, until a flood washed by, stripping out its foundations.

  ‘It’s still alive.’ The childish exclamation sent a flush of extra warmth to her already hot face. With a few roots still clinging and partially buried in the side of the bank, along its length the massive trunk sprouted spasmodic leafy-green shoots.

  ‘I hoped it would be. Amazing, eh? Kind of glad it’s hung on all this time. I remember the year it came down. Figured the thing would die.’

  ‘Why didn’t I know about this spot?’

  ‘Nobody did but me, which is how I liked it. I’d come to this place when I wanted to escape. Only one person I’ve ever wanted to share it with.’

  Maggie refused to take the bait. ‘What did you do here?’

  ‘Think. Dream. Wish. Smoke pot.’ He winked.

  Maggie wasn’t going to ask him what he wished for. The squeeze of his hand on hers was answer enough.

  ‘Come on.’ He jumped up onto the trunk and motioned for her to follow.

  ‘Forget it,’ she said, snatching her hand back. ‘I’m not walking out on that. I’ll fall.’

  ‘No you won’t. And it’s not deep.’

  ‘Yes, I will. Didn’t I mention at the reunion I was lousy on the balance beam?’

  Dan laughed. ‘I’ll protect you. I won’t let you fall. Trust me.’ He stretched out his hand, urging her to take it.

  A voice in her head spoke. Just do it, Maggie.

  Brian had accused her of not being adventurous any more. He’d teased her and called her names like uptight, scaredy cat, wimp, then done his funny chicken walk.

  Just do it.

  ‘Come on, Maggie.’

  She took his hand and part-jumped while Dan pulled her up, allowing her time to steady herself on the trunk before inching forward.

  ‘What now?’ she said, pausing, concentration clamping her jaw tight.

  ‘Over there.’

  Maggie trusted herself to look slowly up from her feet. They’d walked out from the bank, about halfway along the tree trunk and beyond a particularly dense clump of she-oaks. To her left was a small quarter-moon patch of sand.

  The fallen tree was a bridge.

  ‘Keep coming. Take it slow.’

  Every few steps they ducked, tunnelling through low-hung branches until they were in the clearing, a very secluded sandy shore.

  ‘There, you did it,’ Dan said as he settled on the ground, propping his back against the tree. ‘Imagine what Mrs Whoseywhats—what was her name? The sergeant major who took PE class? Imagine what she’d say.’

  ‘Ha!’ Maggie’s legs shook so violently, she almost fell on the sand next to him. ‘When the teachers were trying to convince me that learning to walk the balance beam would come in handy one day, I’m sure they never considered this scenario.’

  ‘I have a confession to make, Maggie.’

  He shifted his body so he faced her and took one of her hands from her lap, sandwiching it between his own. ‘I used to consider this scenario a lot. All of it. You didn’t?’

  ‘Dan … I … I’m not sure about anything. I’m not sure what I’m doing here.’

  ‘If you want me to take you back to the pub, tell me now.’

  When she didn’t answer, he let go of her hand and Maggie found herself staring, surprised by her physical reaction. The spot where that hand had rested seconds before seemed suddenly cold and exposed. Something as simple as a warm hand had had her feeling something she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  Connected.

  A fusion of fear and excitement fired through her, the kind that trembled a body from the inside out, like when you’re about to do something you know is wrong. Maggie had been adventurous once, and sitting here with Dan she yearned to be young and brave again, thirteen again, a matchstick in her hand, sneaking out in the dark to light her first-ever firecracker—the Catherine wheel her father had fixed on the old outhouse door. She knew playing with fire was wrong and that her father would
be mad as hell, but such things were every kid’s rite of passage come Cracker Night. She hadn’t thought twice about the dangers then, driven by the need to take a risk, do something crazy, break out of her own protective cocoon.

  ‘Dan …?’ she breathed his name, the words Say goodbye banging about her brain while Don’t go pounded in her heart. She was on her knees beside him. One trembling hand found its way to the scar on the side of his face and she traced the line from his ear to the cleft in his chin, not daring to look him in the eye. ‘This is wrong.’ Disappointment flashed over Dan’s face, then he smiled and a whoosh shot through her body like that spinning firecracker in her backyard, the one that had hurled sparks into the night sky, threatening to tell the whole world, not just her dad, how close she’d come to getting burned. Now she was that crazy girl again and someone was handing her one more matchstick.

  Their mouths locked, the force of their kiss passionate enough to break teeth. Had she not been so desperately ripping the shirt from his body like a crazed woman, she might have worried that it had. With Dan disrobed, the desire to feel skin on skin forced her arms into the air in a silent command which he obeyed, peeling her top up and over her head, flinging it. She kissed his mouth, his face, his eyes. Then her lips traced the line of his scar from one ear, over his chin and down his neck. He tasted salty and sweet all at once, the synthesis of bare skin and sweat a heady concoction. It sent a ripple of warmth through her, the kind she’d long ago forgotten from those early days of her marriage to …

  ‘Brian!’ She pulled away gasping for breath and saw the surprise on Dan’s face. ‘Oh no, I … That wasn’t what I …’ she whispered into cupped hands. ‘Oh, what am I doing?’

  ‘Maggie, please don’t cry. We don’t have to … if you’re not sure …’

  Concern carved Dan’s words, shaping them into something soft and beautiful, something she wanted to take away, like a tiny memento, and keep somewhere safe so when she was down or desperate for its warm hug, she could take it from her secret hiding place, put it under her pillow at night to remember today.

  ‘I’m not crying, Dan.’ She surrendered her hands to her lap, her gaze fixed on fingers twisting into knots, unsure if she was strong enough to look him in the eye. But then she heard the echo of her father’s last words: You are strong. It was important to let Dan see she wasn’t crying, she wasn’t a foolish young girl. Maggie was all grown up with a son and a husband—a husband she didn’t love and who clearly no longer loved her. She hadn’t been able to admit to that until Dan’s kiss revived that untamable tremble. The taste of his mouth had shut down the last skerrick of common sense and reawakened every sleeping speck of sensibility.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Dan?’

  ‘Maggie, I’ve done nothing but think about this and you.’

  ‘But maybe we should …’ Should what? she thought. ‘Chill. Maybe we need to chill.’

  ‘Chill?’ Dan chuckled.

  ‘Noah’s word, not mine. He’s forever telling me to chill, so …’

  ‘You’re right.’ Dan leapt to his feet and for a split second disappointment jabbed at her chest. ‘We need to stay cool about this. Come on, take my hand and I’ll help you up.’

  ‘But …’ Dan dragged Maggie to her feet, hitching her body against one hip, one arm pinning her there as he part-carried, part-dragged her along the sandy bank. ‘Dan? Dan, don’t you dare.’

  She giggled and squealed like a teenager and just when Maggie didn’t think he could take any more of her breath away, Dan plunged them both into the cold river, taking Maggie under with him. She surfaced, breathless and laughing, threatening revenge. Soon they were playing in the river like teenagers, touching, teasing each other, splashing, squealing. When the laughter stopped, limbs in a tangle beneath the water, they sank down, spluttering back to the surface and laughing again.

  ‘Maybe I’m not as young as I think I am. I’m having trouble here. My jeans, they’re like lead.’

  Maggie giggled. ‘Then let’s get to the bank before we drown each other.’

  They lay side by side on the sand, shirtless and panting, Dan on his stomach, one arm draped possessively across Maggie’s purple bra. There they fell asleep, under the protection of Dan’s tree that refused to give up.

  48

  Maggie

  Ethne’s face resembled the entrance to Sydney’s Luna Park gates when she stopped Maggie mid-stride, bailing her up as she tried to slip through the beer garden to the private residence.

  ‘Well, well, well, someone’s had a good time.’

  Maggie did a little nonchalant flick of her hair and saw a leaf flutter down the front of her still damp shirt. She’d spent the walk back trying to finger-comb foliage from the tangle, leaving a sheepish but smiling Dan partway along the path. She’d asked him to hang back for five minutes, immediately regretting the suggestion for the way it had made what happened between them seem sordid, when to Maggie what it really felt was so right.

  Ethne’s face now added to Maggie’s awkwardness, her expression caught between mother and best friend, one that both chastised and cheered, as if she was saying: ‘What have you been up to, young lady?’ at the same time as ‘Tell me everything, girlfriend, I just have to know.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ethne. Noah in his room? I was on my way out to see him.’

  Maggie declined to add she needed to see her son for a reality check. She’d agreed to have dinner in Saddleton with Dan tonight, but only dinner. She’d made him promise that would be all. Then she made him promise again so she could see he didn’t have his fingers crossed behind his back. At least they’d parted laughing, guilt complexes left behind on the riverbank. Until Maggie’s caught up with her just now.

  ‘I believe Noah might be in his room, but before you see him, love, you might want to take a look at yourself in the mirror.’

  ‘Take a look at myself in the mirror?’ Maggie baulked, feeling a lecture coming on about responsible parenting.

  Ethne laughed again. ‘Relax, I’m not talking figuratively or anything. I mean actually take a look in the mirror. Unless inside out is a fashion statement I’ve missed this season, you’ll be wantin’ to fix that top of yours.’

  A few minutes later, Maggie was groaning at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Ethne had been right. Maggie looked like she’d just had wild outdoor sex. Only she hadn’t. Goodness knows how they’d stopped when they did. How Dan had stopped.

  Poor man.

  She smiled at herself, a wicked grin, then she showered and checked all her clothes were the right way around before walking down the hall to her son’s room. She went to knock on the door as usual, but stopped when she heard Noah’s voice. He was on the phone, or Skyping, or whatever it was called. Maybe she’d come back in a bit. There was nothing urgent. Maggie had only wanted a dose of reality. Noah would remind her she was a seventeen-year-old’s mother, still someone’s wife. Whatever this was she was doing with Dan Ireland, it was not real life. It didn’t come close to real life, nor was it the same innocent fantasy any more.

  Things were changing.

  Dan picked her up from the main bar at 7 pm. They had previously arranged for Maggie to wait up the street, away from prying patrons, but she’d rung him and changed their meeting point to the pub.

  ‘Might as well be upfront,’ she’d said, using the same line she’d used with Brian. ‘There’s no gossip in something that’s out in the open.’

  Should they bump into one person they knew in Saddleton, or should one person see them out together, the news would be all over town before they ordered entrée. Maggie had suggested the Glasshouse Tavern. Food was good, the service too, even though pub food was the last thing she wanted to eat. As if he’d read her thoughts, Dan said he fancied the idea of Chinese, so they took a back corner table at the Fortune Cookie and ordered a banquet for two—minus the fortune cookies.

  While they found plenty to talk about—Noah, Fiona, Charlie,
Dan’s twins—the conversation soon turned to their ‘moment’ at the river today. Dan’s description, not hers.

  ‘Can we talk about today? Are you okay?’

  She smiled. ‘Of course I’m okay.’ I’m not sixteen, she wanted to add. I may have acted like a pathetic, desperate born-again virgin, but … ‘Why?’

  ‘Just checking. You seem a bit distant.’

  ‘Dan, it’s been a stressful couple of weeks. And it was hot. Humidity makes people a bit crazy.’

  ‘You’re blaming the weather for what happened?’

  Maggie was glad the restaurant wasn’t too crowded, the excited chatter from a Chinese family at the big banquet table towards the front of the room just enough to mask their discussion. She poked at her plate with the chopsticks, remembering how she’d wanted to poke her eye out with one of Fiona’s. Anything to avoid another centenary committee meeting. Sitting here with Dan’s eyes now burning into the top of her head had Maggie contemplating the same thing. She hadn’t wanted to ruin their night by deconstructing what had, or hadn’t, happened. The reality was that Dan would be gone day after tomorrow. The doc had given his all clear and suggested he didn’t delay his travel plans too long in case old Charlie changed his mind about being so agreeable.

  ‘Look Dan, about that—’

  ‘Uh-oh.’

  Maggie jerked back, surprised by the flippancy in his voice and the smirk on his face.

  ‘What’s with the uh-oh?’

  ‘I might not have dated a lot since Trace and I … split, but I know the start of a this-was-all-a-mistake line when I hear one.’

  Maggie pushed her plate away and reached for her drink. The rim of the glass hovered at her mouth before she returned it, untouched, to the table. Eating was not as important right now as keeping a clear head. Besides, the lump in her throat probably wouldn’t let her swallow a thing.

  ‘Dan, things did get out of hand a bit today, don’t you think? I mean … It was …’ She swallowed, but the lump didn’t budge. ‘Look, this has been crazy. Amazing, but crazy. The reunion was not what I expected. To be honest,’ she whispered and giggled hoping to lighten the mood, ‘I felt a little like Cinderella, only slightly older and a lot more complicated.’