I watch Ryan totter towards his car, imagining how excited he must have been to surprise me and then to be hit by all of this. I’m almost peaceful as I send him fond, silent wishes, imploring a safe journey home, and call upon all that is good in the world to find him.
Ryan ducks into his car, fiddling inside a rucksack as humanity picks up around me again. Gulls commence their cawing, kites take flight, and seaweed dries under the sun to diffuse the air. My verve had been washed away like footprints in the sand, restored by another set of imprints in this circle of life and proving the great scheme of things. Jason ambles away, granting me solitude as I watch Ryan prepare to go, but he comes around the car with something more to say. In fact, Ryan’s a freight train.
“You know what, Caroline. You deserve to see this,” he slurs, outraged.
Ryan thrusts a blue box under my nose, and I jump back. He continues, drawing out a black ring box from its interior, and I’m forced a peek of a dazzling, absolutely overwhelming ring. He yanks it, gripping it between his fingers.
“This is what I put in, Caroline. This was my investment in us, and do you know what you gave me?” he roars. “Nothing!”
He hurls the empty boxes at my face, and they reach their destination. I’m hit with his fury, and a burst of activity escapes the cottage. Ryan looks over to the commotion.
“And who the fuck is this guy?” he growls as Alec’s frame materializes.
Oh God, no!
Jason also turns up, his arms extended, refereeing the shuffle. Alec’s hair is in such disarray, undoubtedly he was running his hands through it to tame the maddening urge to intercede the entire time.
“Alec, get the hell inside,” Jay orders.
Alec’s mouth is a flat, white line. Turning to me, I can almost taste his fear as I process his presence, an apparition that changes everything. My body pines for it, covets him closer for sustenance and back-up. Alec takes a deep breath, looking apprehensive. It takes mine with it, and I gasp for air, too. The tongue-tied exchange between us says it all.
“You gotta be fucking shitting me,” Ryan wails. “You fucking cheated on me, too?”
I cower, mindful that curious joggers and strollers are cautiously spying in.
“Will you two get inside!” Jay pleads, frustrated. “And dude, you have to step off the property now.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ryan declares, irrefutably beside himself.
I’ve never witnessed him so emotionally consumed. The guilt turns my stomach.
“What the hell happened to you? You left the country to become a whore!”
I flinch. Ryan’s words hang in the air dripping venom. I stare back, swallowing a vicious gulp as Earth’s rotary takes me round with it. I blink, staggered, but catch Alec from the corner of my eye pushing in like a bull.
“Alec!” Jay screams.
“No, please. Alec, don’t!” I petition. Oh why the hell did he come out here? Sofie’s now in the mix, and dust rises from the gritty driveway.
“Enough!” she’s yelling. “The neighbours look like they’ll call the cops.”
My panic boils over. Ryan is in a different world, full of betrayal and indignation, and Alec a meteor fueled with ire. There is an uncomfortable logic or validity behind their rising strife, but gratefully, Jay’s tenacious, his body demanding they not pursue this anymore.
“I told you to get the fuck inside, Alec! And you,” Jason barks at Ryan, “you need to leave. Now. You’ll have to wait till she gets back to Montreal to have this conversation. This is over. Do you hear me? Over!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The pad of one foot chafes over the other. That’s what happens when you’re barefoot for nearly a week, insouciant to the elements or terrain. You suddenly become desperate for the glass tub of coconut oil you didn’t think to pack.
Prior to Alec’s art exhibition yesterday, I applied a watermelon polish, which is dull today, but my sea foam fingers persevere against the harsh influences of living at the beach. I suppose I should be grateful for the distraction. At least my roughed-up skin has jarred me to think of something other than the spectacle with Ryan. To think I rose out of bed figuring the messy, rippled sheets were my biggest problem.
I imagined Jay and Alec having their morning brew with Sofie and me, either on the porch swing or on the stone jetties. The hot mugs would divert us from the frigid sea drowning our feet, and we’d marvel at the creeping, clingy life around us. Baby crabs, mussels, and urchins would go on with their day around us, basking against the rocks and under piles of seaweed as we four went on with ours, probably deciding on flounder or snapper for a traditional New England sea bake supper tonight. Instead, I turned out to be the eye of a storm, hurting and spoiling plans for everyone.
Ryan is miserable, and Alec’s glum, discouraged thoughts speak volumes. I worry about my new ex’s drive home. Without a doubt, he’s anxious and agitated, rehashing the hundred things we said, the thousand things he didn’t say, and the million more he plans to throw at me when he sees me again, or better yet, to everyone we know. I’ll be the whore. I’ll be the lying whore, caught in underwear with a lover, finagling her way out of a relationship before the shit hit the fan.
I clutch my knees, making a quick, interested grin to a sweet little thing running towards me.
“Oops.” She smiles, halting in her track, and promptly the little girl finds the woman she’s seeking out. She shows off her pickings in a yellow sand pail as her mother insists on a t-shirt and cap.
“Later,” she says, running off towards the Atlantic again.
Oops. I couldn’t have said it better myself.
My emotions have settled somewhat, like excess water seeping into a flower bed. More than anything, I’m numb now that my nerves have trickled down, and I figure it’s as good a time as any to make my way back to the house and join my group by the unlit fire pit that started it all. I lay on the packed, leaden sand, on Sofie’s round, black and white Aztec fringed towel as a sand castle goes up in front of me. The coast’s unremitting breeze screens the sun’s fervour, and with nothing in my belly but tapering bile, I pick up and abandon the beach.
Scrambling to my feet, I buckle my shorts, forcing the fedora onto my head. I gather the towel and move laboriously across the beach, advancing my heavy heart towards the cottage. Coming up from behind, I notice Sofie ready to bite into a blueberry bagel, but I snatch it. I’m lost with what to do with my eyes as Alec sits across from her. He suddenly feels like something that was blown in by the wind. We moved one step forward last night, only to fall countless steps back today. I don’t have what it takes to recapture the moment, and on this very last day in Maine, how can I possibly recuperate fast enough when I’m pedalling backwards through the damage?
“Hey, wait,” Sofie yelps, inspiring my thoughts to shift. “Weren’t there four chairs out here? How come we’re down to three?”
I poke my tongue into my cheek. Alec scratches his temple as our minds fumble in unison. I swallow the bread, absorbing it in the flutters of my belly. The skin-to-skin memories resurface. The sweating, pulsing, insane desire made our hours wrapped together incendiary. Without knowing it, Sofie has restored some normalcy between Alec and me, lightening the mood in the way she does, in the way I absolutely adore her for. I evoke the night’s glory, summoning every sensational stirring, and my reservoir of desire, and maybe even love for Alec, is brimming, sparkling again like the crests of the gulf out in the horizon.
“That’s a long story,” I tell Sofie, finally looking firmly at Alec.
He takes a breath, licking his lips, and sits back relaxing a little in the relief that I’m still somewhere entangled in those bed sheets with him. This man is my in-house energy system—the force I need to leap and blossom. Every time my eyes set on Alec, it’s like a password magically opening up a strange, beautiful world for me,
and surfing its depths with him makes the highest tides less daunting. He’s a light to my misguided attempts; a tower ready to illuminate the way if I want to jump in and start something new. His presence is sobering and dizzying. It’s reckless relying on such a potent combination, but it’s the incite I need from the man I crave.
“I’m heading in for coffee,” I announce, gambling that a splendid pot awaits me since fresh coffee is a staple of Sofie’s. Ironically, it’s a tea shop she has in mind to undertake. I’m hoping a cup of caffeine will ease my headache, but then again, Alec and I still have a lot of straightening up to do.
I expel a robust sigh. What to do there?
“Hey,” Sofie barks, smacking my thigh.
I look down at her, finding her eyes under a wide-rimmed, straw hat. Her soft, bohemian tunic dress makes her look romantic and relaxed. I long to pull at a thread from her character, unspooling some peace and untroubled air for myself.
“Snap out of it!” she says, and I straighten, trying to redeem myself and doing my best to accept and move on from this morning’s faceoff.
“Alec?” I beckon.
His mouth falls open. “Yes, sweetheart.”
“It’s only fair you help me clean up my room since you made half the mess.”
Alec dissolves in laughter, and Sofie makes whimpers of mirth.
“Oh my God. What did you do with my girl, British boy?” Sofie asks, offering a bemused smile as I walk past her to enter the kitchen.
I’m quiet again, pouring my salvation in a white Cape Neddick mug, preparing it to go upstairs.
“Did Jay leave?” I ask, turning to Alec as he follows behind.
“He rushed off to a job site,” he says, clearing that up for me. “But he’ll be back before supper, love. We’re grilling tonight, if that’s still alright with you.”
“Sure,” I corroborate. I take in his shirt—the one I was wearing earlier. “You changed out of Jason’s t-shirt.”
There’s a snicker, followed by silence. “As much as I appreciate the lad, sweetheart, I much prefer to smell of you.”
Giggling, I step into the rumpled room and scan the situation. I blush, half from embarrassment and discomfiture, and half from the pride and pleasure of recalling the ardour and desire that was set free in here. Still, I can’t help tribute the memories with a saddened smile.
“Caroline,” says Alec, “please, sweetheart. Talk to me.”
Alec looks tied up with unshakable concern and fear. He’s at his gentlemanly distance, longing to come closer and touch me, but wanting very much to offer the detachment I may need instead. It must be alarming, how I can’t bear to look him in the eyes. I know it shouldn’t be this way, so I try jumping off this roller coaster sooner than later.
“He thinks I’m a whore.”
“Don’t go down that road, love. You’re no such thing.”
“Aren’t I?”
At that, Alec winces, and I bow my head.
“Because, no offense, Alec, I slept with a guy days after I met him. I cheated on my boyfriend, and I omitted a big chunk of what the hell was going on here when he nearly walked in on us. That’s almost the exact definition of a whore.”
“Don’t.” He lifts a hand. “Stop. Saying. That.” Alec marks each word with a finger.
“Why? This was a breakup of epic proportion,” I counter. “You have to admit that it doesn’t get more dramatic than this.”
His jaw clenches. I’m so mad at myself that I can’t even find it in me to give into the pull of my heart as I look at his pained face.
“I feel for the bloke, I do,” he cuts in austerely. “I happen to know firsthand how terrifying it is to lose you. It’s the hardest thing to try and get over you. Frankly, I think it’s impossible, so I feel for him. Believe me, I do.” Alec scrapes a hand through his hair. “But I made love to you last night, Caroline. I. Made. Love. To. You.”
His tone is scathing, his stare fevered. “What was it for you? Did you fuck me, or was it more, sweetheart?”
I shudder. Alec has never resorted to cursing the entire time I’ve known him, and I’m in disbelief, grimacing from the kick in the teeth.
“Did I fuck you?”
“Yes. What?” he scoffs. “Wasn’t the question clear? I think it’s as clear as that ring he flashed in front of your face.” Alec startles me with his disdain. “So, Caroline. Did you fuck me, or did we make love last night?”
He regards me shrewdly. I’m appalled. Does he really need to ask such a thing, deflating me in this way? It may not seem like much after less than a week, but the amount of restraint and contemplation I put in before finally letting go was almost traumatizing. I’m outraged he’d even ask. I professed last night that the only other man I’ve been with was Ryan. I thought what was clear as a diamond was that our connection outshines any other experience for me. I thought it transcended into my every kiss and embrace, in my moans and requests. I have never put myself on the line like I did with Alec, and he has the audacity to question me!
“Well, I don’t know what you’re used to, be it with your art gallerina girls, or Thea,” I slur, “but I definitely don’t empty my soul on a bed with just anyone. This was not some holiday hook-up. This was something bigger than I ever imagined, and you came into my life basically at the speed of light!”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Intimidating bastard. I take to task, advancing one, admonishing step. “That’s because your question sucks. It’s insulting!”
He splutters. “Well you’re the only one here attacking your dignity, and if you are, in fact, this whore that you claim to be, then you offended me. You insulted me and merely fucked me last night when you knew I would wrangle out of that situation before I let it get that far.”
I stare, bewildered by his sardonic burst. A flicker of fear comes to light, and his derisive air swaps places with trepidation. It melts the contempt off Alec’s face, thawing the disdain in his stance. But alas, the heavy silence doesn’t calm me down. Instead, I’m shaken seeing him affected and so ill-at-ease.
I straighten, my poise restored. “I dare you to ask me that again,” I say, and neither of us put our austere glowers down. Ironically, our hard looks at each other ooze intimacy. Alec’s eyes rivet on me, and my bad temper is suddenly difficult to deal with.
I don’t even know where to start being mad. I’m going over it again—how I did Ryan wrong, how I may have done Alec wrong, too. He was onto something, worrying how different I could feel once Ryan was actually before me, and I was forced to tunnel my way through the displeasure of breaking up with him and still come out on top, not feeling this beat and torn up. The truth of the matter is I should have waited to make things more complex with Alec. A better person would be heading home tomorrow short of a physical connection to another man, to break up earnestly with Ryan. Then, if it’s even possible, to break away again before summer’s end, and pick up where Alec and I left off. That would have been the ideal thing to do; the more human thing to do.
A smarter, more sensible, less treacherous woman would have done just that. I hate what this says about me—how I single-handedly damaged my character, risked not only my reputation but wholesome people in my life. I’m not denying what sneaked up on me when Alec tip-toed into my life. He’s like one of the hundreds of tulips I planted last fall around Catherine’s House, volunteering a month’s worth of weekends of gardening for the center. Alec poked up into my world from under a cover of cold, dark, desolate territory, luring me to him as his array of colours spread and grew, soaring through all the rest to take his place in my life. But, if truth be told, then I like his place in my life. I’m partial to it, in fact, and to be honest, I may love it. Yet, being with him makes everything else swing against what I’m used to. Things feel more out of reach, like I’m losing my grasp, and yesterday I was keen, thinking how despe
rately I needed that, but today I’m quite frankly spooked, wrought with confusion.
My mind rewinds, stopping at the challenge that’s left on pause between us.
“Cat’s got your tongue?” I quip, curling my lip. “How could you ask me that?” My voice carries a warning, and Alec’s dazed, dumbfounded.
“Caroline,” he commences dryly, as though his mouth is void of moisture or strength, “I know that was an ugly scene out there, and Ryan’s furious, and duly so. In fact, he’ll be that way for a long time, but you are not a whore.”
He gazes at me with an expression that’s rampant to catch evidence of concurrence. The blue of his eyes are high-pitched, like deep, radiating jewels, and the ringlets in his hair retell the story of me twisting them on my finger last night. My body tingles from the memories. The recall shoots shivers across my skin, and I hark back more, like the exquisite shudder he made when the tips of my hand skipped across his ear and down to his neck, gliding past his shoulder and through his chest. My body is on the constant verge of ripples and contraction around him, spasms and palpitations interrupting its ordinary rhythm.
“Caroline,” he endures, “I know our connection was immediate and startling, but you cannot call yourself any such thing. The thought of you regretting us twists me. It’s wretched, do you understand that?” He stares anxiously at me. “I’m sorry our connection is something you and Ryan could not build, but do you know why that is? Meeting you, I’ve come to know that a connection like ours just happens. It doesn’t need work. You and I are driven by something more, whether you accept that or not, it remains the truth.”
Panic pumps my heart, but a frisson of joy or excitement still wonderfully chills my skin. I’m desperate to make amends, hollowing out room in my condensed life for an addition like Alec. I’m awash with fraught dreams of finally abridging my worlds, and Mom suddenly jumps to the front of my mind.
All of These Things Page 23
