by L. B. Dunbar
“I guess, I’ll go to bed,” she said.
“You never had dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Is that why you’re so thin?” I asked gently, as I looked up into her sad blue eyes.
“I’m thin…because…I just am,” she sighed. I felt she wanted to tell me more, but I couldn’t even guess what more to the story there would be. For now, I didn’t care. My heart broke for her, and I was the one that usually did the heart breaking.
Chapter 13
[Ireland]
Encouraged comfort to shed the light
I was drained after telling Tristan so much of my sad story, and I longed for my bed. I showered to warm my skin, which goosed up in the cool air conditioning, and I dressed in short pajamas and a tank top. I climbed into bed, the soft, white sheets reminding me again of a honeymoon suite. I suddenly couldn’t sleep, despite my weariness. I needed something to take my mind off my story, which now replayed over and over in my head.
By midnight, I had tossed and turned enough to shove the comforter onto the floor. In a huff, I decided sleep was avoiding me, so I rolled out of bed. Choosing to watch more mindless television, I tiptoed toward the living room to find the glow of the large screen and Tristan sitting with his eyes closed on the large sofa. His feet were propped up on the ottoman and he was dressed in fresh clothing.
He looked calm and peaceful, after his raving in the water earlier in the evening. He was angry and bitter, and I knew it had to be more than just my being engaged. He couldn’t possibly be that upset about my having a fiancé. He was only disgruntled at the fact of me not being available to him, even if he didn’t want me anyway. I was actually surprised that Estella hadn’t been invited back to the house to fulfill his needs. I realized, for the first time, that he hadn’t left the house other than to have dinner in town once. Maybe he saw Estella, then. A pang of jealousy that I didn’t have a right to feel ripped through my chest.
I wandered into the interior of the three-sided couch and sat on the right side, since Tristan was positioned in the middle. I didn’t know what he was watching, but it didn’t matter. The volume was on low, and I was only going to stare at the picture screen. I was angled so my side rested against the back cushions, my hand braced under my head as my elbow balanced against another cushion. A few moments passed before I felt two hands on my hips.
“Come back here.” He tugged me gently as his husky voice spoke in my ear. He sounded sleepy, or maybe it was the effects of drinking again and swallowing all that salt water. Either way, I gave in, and let him slide me backward to sit next to him on the middle stretch of the sofa. He left his arm on the back of the couch after he pulled me to his side. I rested against him slightly, our upper thighs definitely touching.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked with a yawn.
I shook my head, even though he wasn’t looking at me.
“Want me to change the channel?”
“Nah, staying here is just fine,” I said to the flat screen, implying the channel. He looked at me, then. When I didn’t turn to him, he closed his eyes again. I stared at nothing in particular for a long while.
I wasn’t sure how long I watched the television, but eventually my lids closed. I woke up on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of arms and legs, as my back was wedged into the cushions and my body draped over Tristan Lyons. My face was pressed into his chest, as his arms wrapped around my back. I could see the details of his tattoo. I studied it for a few moments, lingering in our entwined bodies.
The tattoo was definitely a dragon in reds and blacks. The front of the dragon was on his chest with the lower back wrapping around his left side, under his arms. The tail and wings were on his lower back. It was the positioning of the dragon that so intrigued me. The body was standing on two legs, with another two reaching toward his upper chest. The mouth was open and it looked as if it was going to bite his nipple. Instead, fire was breathing out and up toward his neck. The fire was a strange combination of flames and upside down looking hearts, which seemed surprising on a man so careful not to commit to love. The talons on the front claws looked severe, as if they were trying to claw their way toward his heart. It appeared almost painful. I was certain that was the intent. What I wanted to know was why? The way Tristan laid, it looked as if he was capturing the dragon and holding it under his closed arm, as if it was real and might struggle to fly. Ironically, there was a scar across his chest that looked like the head of the dragon was being cut off from the neck. A person wouldn’t have noticed the scar, unless she was close enough. I was definitely close enough.
“Good morning,” he spoke, his voice rough with sleep.
“Good morning,” I said, looking up at him. I recognized instantly my morning breath and clamped my lips closed.
He laughed softly against me, as if he read my thoughts.
“How did we get like this?” He looked down at me and raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know.” I made to move, but he clamped his arms tighter around me.
“Don’t move,” he growled low.
“Why not?”
“Morning,” he said.
He’d already said that. I didn’t understand. He must have understood my confusion, and he raised an eyebrow again at me in question. Was I serious, it asked, and I was. I didn’t know what he was trying to tell me. I had never spent the night with a man. I had never slept in a man’s arms. I had never been, what I considered, this intimate. I didn’t know what he meant.
He pushed himself forward at the hips so his middle brushed against me.
“Morning,” he emphasized again.
“Oh my God,” I scrambled to sit upright. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…I didn’t do any…”
“Irish Isle,” he chuckled quietly, as he clamped a hand over my mouth to prevent me from rambling. “It happens.” His lips quirked up on one side. I slowly relaxed, but he still held his hand over my mouth. He began to trace his thumb up and over my top lip. Then he rubbed it across the bottom. My lips parted, despite my morning breath, and he repeated the motion again. Up over the top, down across the bottom. He repeated the motion one more time. Without thinking, I pulled my lips together and lightly kissed the pad of his thumb. He stopped immediately.
I had been watching his sleepy green eyes, which were following the motion of his thumb against my lips. When I kissed him, he looked up at me.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and slipped his arm out from under me. He rolled to his side, falling off the couch then stood up. He ran a hand through his hair and another over his face afterward. He slid both hands in his shorts’ pockets. He remained silent, watching his feet, but didn’t move. I was still angled on the couch, still feeling his soft tracing against my mouth, the imprint of his thumb across my lips.
“I’ll make coffee,” he mumbled and turned to walk away from me. I couldn’t move off the couch. I missed the warmth of his body against mine, his arms surrounding me.
I eventually decided to go for a run, despite the temptation of coffee. Tristan wasn’t in the kitchen after I dressed for my morning routine. After stalling for I didn’t know what, I left. I took my time warming up this morning, drinking in the potential for another gorgeous day. When I returned from my run, there was still no sign of Tristan, and I began to question the night before.
I wasn’t exactly sure how I ended up in his arms, but I still felt the impression of him around me when I closed my eyes. It was a strange sensation. It was the actual physical impression that someone was holding onto me when he no longer was present. I soaked in the feeling as much as I could, before sensing it slipping away from me.
I changed into another bikini and headed to the beach, book in hand, but knowing my mind would not be able to concentrate. Had I said too much to him last night? Did he think I’d planned to curl up next to him? Was he turned off by the look I had on my face as he stroked my lips? Or the fact I kissed his thumb? I sat forward on the lounge, staring at the sand be
neath my toes and letting the sound of the waves drown out the nagging in my head.
After revealing so much of my painful story to Tristan, I mostly feared he’d send me home. Maybe that’s whom he was talking to on the phone. Maybe he had called Isa. I heard him speaking to someone through his bedroom door. I could only assume it was a phone conversation when no else responded. Time was passing slowly without his presence, and I was about to walk the beach again when he appeared at my side.
He was dressed in a bathing suit and had a snorkeling set in his hand: flippers, mask, and snorkel.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Where’d you go this morning?”
“I went for a run.”
“You train a lot.”
“Helps me think. Where were you?” I tried to sound casual.
“On the phone,” he said, as he looked out at the water.
“Everything okay?”
“Nope. But I don’t want to talk about it. Want to go snorkeling with me?”
“Really?” I sounded too eager and I knew it.
“Sure.”
I tried to be casual, when walking back to the house and opening the backdoor. Once I was certain he couldn’t see me inside the back entry hall. I quickly searched the closet for a mask and snorkel, but struggled finding flippers in my size. Returning outside, I announced I needed help adjusting the flipper straps.
Tristan told me to sit down on the edge of the water, and he held each foot in turn to tighten the heel strap. It shouldn’t have been exciting, or remotely sensual, but it was for some reason. He held my ankle tenderly, and he pulled the plastic adjustment, making sure it was snug. But it was the way he held on a moment longer than necessary, rubbing a hand over my ankle, up my calf muscle. Letting his eyes wander up my long legs to the center of me as he held my leg in the air, had me burning with desire. He fought to look away, but didn’t do a good enough job. A thumping pulse in my center increased as waves crashed between my thighs.
He held out a hand to help me stand and steady myself before guiding me deeper into the water. Tristan eventually let go and dove into the warm shallows. He seemed to stay under for quite a while before springing up ahead of me. He put his mask on his head and adjusted his snorkel as I made my way to him.
“I don’t want to hold you back,” I called. “I’m not a great swimmer, so go ahead.”
“No, we’ll go together.”
He reached to help me with my mask and I adjusted the mouthpiece inside my mouth. It took some concentration to breathe slowly through my mouth, and I was willing myself not to panic. True to his word, he stayed by me as we began to travel a strip of coral, looking at the beautiful glow of tropical fish. Silver stripes, long and sleek. Iridescent shades of blue and bright yellow. Black shapes, beautiful and quick.
If Tristan wandered off from me, as his body was longer than mine, he would always return and check on me. It was in one of those moments of him wandering off, that I lost sight of him. There didn’t seem to be another snorkel relatively near me. I was trying not to overact. After his attempted drunk drowning the evening before, I was certain it had been the alcohol and nothing more that tossed him into the water. After not seeing him all morning, and his words that he didn’t wish to discuss his phone call, I was slowly beginning to worry that he might try something risky again. After thinking of my words from the night before, when I told him I should have let him drown, the start of full-fledged panic took over.
My heart raced as I spun in a circle, around and around, searching for him above the surface. I didn’t see him anywhere. I began to call his name. Calmly, at first, hoping the stress didn’t show in my tone. I almost laughed out loud as I realized if he was under water he couldn’t hear me.
I returned my mask to my face and dove into the ocean, looking in all directions. Again, I spun myself around and around, searching the clear water from below. But I could only see so far. When I broke the surface for air, and still didn’t see another snorkel, I let the scream inside me escape.
Chapter 14
[Tristan]
Until water nourished the thought of more.
I was beginning to realize that Ireland was a nice distraction. If I was honest with myself, I could admit that she’d been a distraction from the moment I met her. After her story last night and my phone calls this morning, spending time doing something exotic, yet normal for this climate, was just what I needed.
She was beautiful in a natural sort of way, and I was finding it hard not to try to touch her in some way. Holding her while we slept had been without my consent, yet somehow my body craved to wrap around hers. Caressing her lips this morning was a mistake, yet my fingers seemed willed to trace her. Holding her ankle and rubbing her calves was another mistake, but I had a thing for her legs. They were long and smooth, and my palms could not resist a slip down her skin. I had to remind myself that she had a fiancé, despite her explanation.
She was also amusing to be around. During our attempted guitar lessons, our morning walks, and our occasional meals, I found a strange comfort in being around her. She seemed concerned about me, saving me twice now from myself, and asking about me after my dreaded phone calls.
I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about any of it yet. I had called Kaye back to double check that I hadn’t dreamt the whole conversation regarding Arturo, to confirm that I wasn’t still drunk and hallucinating it. Arturo was going to be home in a few weeks, but that was all I knew. Kaye didn’t think Arturo had contacted Guinevere, and I didn’t feel it was my place to tell her what we knew. Mure Linn probably knew more than all of us, that bastard. I didn’t have a close relationship with Arturo’s mentor. I didn’t exactly trust him, especially if he had been in contact with Arturo and never told the rest of us.
I called Lansing Lotte, fellow guitarist, who didn’t seem to want to discuss Arturo’s potential homecoming. He didn’t convince me that he was excited. I sensed something was wrong, very wrong. I knew Lansing had good reason to fear Arturo’s return. It would be a moment of truth; one I was certain Lansing feared.
Perk, on the other hand, didn’t seem as surprised that Arturo was coming back. He was calm, as he always was, and listened as I went off with my conflicting opinions. When I was finished, all Perk asked was: “Are you done?” He was like that, allowing others to talk; he would listen. He never said anything negative behind someone’s back. He’d been scarred by the talk of others, when he was young, and he didn’t do it as an adult. He always believed Arturo had his reasons to stay away, and he would return to us when he was ready. Perk was even further convinced after seeing Arturo outside my place last Christmas.
I used the time with Ireland to let go of all the conflicting conversations. She made me smile and I liked it, more than I should. I was having trouble again, being near her as we swam and snorkeled in the ocean. It was a gorgeous day: hot and sunshiny. The warmth felt amazing on my skin, as did the refreshing water. I felt renewed, at the moment, like the rainstorm days before. I kept diving away from Ireland, only to fight the temptation to take her in the ocean. I longed to let my hands travel up her legs to the barely covered patch of her body under that orange bikini. I couldn’t understand how I made it through each day with her thin body so exposed to me, but I did know my body was hardly fighting the attraction. I had to move away to disguise my obvious response to her.
My mind wandered to her potential engagement story, which I had spent plenty of time trying to process the night before. I couldn’t come to any different conclusions, other than what I thought the previous night. It didn’t seem possible that an arranged marriage could take place in this day and age. I planned to discuss with Ireland some possible options, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about herself today, any more than I wanted to discuss Arturo’s potential return. Snorkeling became our escape from reality, for the time being.
I had another perfect distraction when I saw a larger object floating off
to my right, in the deeper ocean water. I wasn’t afraid, just curious. I stayed low to see if the object would come closer to me. I began to follow alongside it, letting it lead the way as we drifted closer to one another. I watched the shape take form. It was a giant sea turtle.
The soft green colored creature was in no hurry as it pushed the water gently and floated slowly forward. I hesitated as it drew closer, yet still kept my distance from this majestic life in its natural habitat. I didn’t want to intrude; I just wanted to share the calm I felt coming off the reptile I was sure had lived a lifetime. I floated alongside the creature, peacefully snorkeling, until the turtle drifted back out to sea, much farther than I intended to swim. I broke the surface to see that I had traveled quite a distance from Ireland, who I could hardly see from my new position.
I assumed the spot of a human head in front of the house was her, as the water on either side for some distance seemed more crowded with resort visitors and private condo dwellers. I took off the snorkel and swam at a brisk pace in her general direction. As I was getting closer, I noticed her spinning in a circle, then diving under water. After repeating the cycle three times, I realized that she seemed distressed. She had told me she wasn’t a practiced swimmer, but assured me that she was comfortable. When I was close enough to possibly call her name, I heard her screaming my own in sheer terror.
I dove for her, pushing through the water, just below the surface, and stroked as fast as I could push myself through the waves. The calmness of the turtle left behind, I willed my body to get to her as rapidly as I could. I broke the surface once for air and called her name, before diving in again, quicker than she could respond.
When I was close enough to her that I could breaststroke on the water’s edge, I saw her wiping her face and pushing her wet hair back on her head, holding her hands on her own neck.
