by Jen Christie
On board, Lucas was continually in motion, moving from one side of the vessel to the other, pulling on the ropes, raising the sails. He was incredibly limber, even with his bad leg, and moved about the boat as if he’d grown up on it. Once we left the protection of the harbor and were on the open seas, Lucas lifted the sails and turned the rudder, and we crossed the wind until it picked us up, and then we were flying.
The feeling of being on a sailboat reminded me of slipping on a wet surface. At any moment, the wind could come along and lean the boat harder than expected. It is a feeling of restrained wildness, of holding back enough to make the most of what would normally just take you up and away. When the wind pushed in a new direction, and the sails caught just so, the boat would groan, a long, drawn-out protest of wood resisting water and wind, and always, always the wind prevailed. I saw from the gleam in Lucas’s eyes that he too loved the thrill of sailing over the water, from the wild joy of speed and danger.
Once the wind had been established and we were underway, Lucas sat across from me and I had the joy of circling the island.. The island was rising and jagged, and jutted up from the ocean. It was not difficult to think of a volcano in ancient times erupting to the surface, pushing until it rose just high enough to draw the eye of man.
We skidded along the surface, and Lucas had a windswept, almost happy expression. It seemed that whatever cloud followed him on land was left far behind when he was on the water. I was content to ride, content to watch him and exhilarated with the feeling of harnessing the elements. I was so taken with the idea of riding, of the power of sailing that I wanted to learn it for myself.
“Show me how to do it!” I called to him. He sat behind me, with his arms around me, and showed me how to steer the boat and operate the wheel. His hand was over mine, and I could feel the ocean fighting at the wheel, but his firm touch kept it in check, and his large frame shielded me from the wind.
Later in the voyage while riding the waves downwind, He yelled, “Jibe-ho!” and we ducked together as the wooden mast swung just over our heads, with a loud whoosh sound. I felt just on the edge of danger, and yet entirely safe with him beside me. My normally hesitant nature fell away, and I was braver. Lucas stood next to me and pointed out the parts of the sailboat, stopping now and then to adjust the heading and calling out “Jibe-ho!” and then we would duck together in a dance step of sorts.
“Are you hungry?” Lucas asked me, and I realized that I was famished.
We went below, where there was no wind at all, and my cheeks burned with heat. We had shrimp sandwiches. Food had never tasted so good in my entire life and I devoured every morsel. Lucas brought wine and poured me some in a blue paper cup. I was so thirsty I drank it in one gulp, although I never drank wine at all. My cheeks burned even more then and we went back on deck.
I had a newfound bravery and moved about the boat almost daringly. I scurried around the deck with ease, ducking when Lucas called out to me to do so, and heedless of anything except riding the wind. We came around the tip of the island, we had circled the whole of it, and there was the glass house, watching over us like a crystal sentinel. I was enraptured, watching the setting sun bounce its rays off the building. I stood on the edge of the boat, a rebellious savageness that thrived on the danger of my position. Quite out of nowhere an enormous wind came, and I turned into it, foolishly. Behind me, I heard Lucas call out, “Jibbing!” but his voice was far away and of a dreamy quality. Everything slipped into slow motion, and I turned to see the solid wooden arm of the boom reaching for me. It walloped me, striking me straight on the torso, and I was like paper, crumpling about it.
Then there was nothing under my feet, and I hung like a rag doll around the wooden pole. Lucas yelled, a horrible deafening cry that bordered on rage, and I was thrust out over the railing and above the water. I dangled only a moment before the wooden arm flung me into the water, and I splashed underneath the surface.
I shall never forget the quiet of that moment, the feel of the water enveloping me, welcoming me, embracing me. I thought of my father and suddenly felt close to him. I had a detached feeling, as if I were witnessing two worlds. Above the water the boat slid over me like a wavering ghost, and I heard Lucas again, muffled and even farther away than before. He was hanging from the side of the craft, his arm extending and trailing along the water.
I reached for it, but alas, the boat was already gone, far along the water, and I was alone.
At that moment, I had a decision to make, and I made it quickly.
I kicked for the surface, choosing air over water, life over death, and burst above the foam. Lucas was throwing a ring overboard, and it sailed through the air and landed a short distance away. I lifted my arm and waved at him, and I saw him respond, see the relief in his body, and he called out to me and I heard the words with strange clarity that I grasped on to.
“Don’t fight it! Just float! Wait!”
I swam to the ring, which was almost the hardest thing I have ever done. Water slapped against my face and the waves kept rising up and blinding me. I would see the ring, and then the ocean would pull me down again and disorient me. Adrenaline now coursed through me and made every nerve zing. The water was choppy and grabbed at my face and body and beneath it all, the water, a vibrant blue, swelled and receded, rose and fell, and I was just a small speck of life against the hugeness of the ocean.
When I reached the ring and put my arm through it, a choke escaped me, a nervous sob, and then I was left to watch as Lucas attempted to save me.
Lucas pulled the sails in tight, and the boat arced in a wide circle across the waves. He was coming back for me, and I knew that he would have to head far beyond me and then circle around again. The ocean was rising and falling, in a great fullness of breath, and I moved along with it, up and down, up and down, until it seemed that the sailboat was mocking me, hiding and then reappearing, only to hide again. I tried to focus on his words, don’t fight it, just float, and I felt calmer by doing this, so I closed my eyes.
I heard the crisp snap of the sails and I looked up to see the boat downwind of me. Lucas trimmed in the sails and was drifting toward me, but faster than I would like. I didn’t know how this would work out, only that it would, with Lucas at the helm.
The boat came closer. Lucas leaned over the edge. He had a very sure look about him, and I was once again looking at the face of the man who was about to save me from disaster.
“Ready?” he called out. “Put your arms up and I’ll pull you in.”
I did as I was told, and as the boat closed in on me I could hear a ripping sound, like fabric coming undone. I held up my arms and then our bodies were one and he was pulling me onto the boat.
We collapsed onto the floor, and the water rushed over my body, over him and onto the wooden deck beneath us. I was completely on top of him and didn’t move, didn’t want to move, I just wanted to stay where I was, safe and slowly returning to normal. My head was on his chest.
Perhaps it was the surge in adrenaline, but something very primitive overtook me and I slid upward until my face was above his. Water dripped from me onto him. I put my hands on his sandpapered cheeks and then my lips over his, and I kissed him. I was coldness and he was heat, and somewhere in the middle our lips collided. Hunger for him rolled over me like a wave and I completely gave in to it.
He growled and rolled me over, until the wood of the deck was at my back, and he covered me with his form and crushed me with his weight. He was demanding, not asking for anything. He ground his hips into me and through my wet bathing costume I could feel him stiff and angry against my body. He tore at my sarong and clothes until it was opened and my breasts were free, cold and puckered and when his lips touched them they melted me like ice.
The boat rocked and then let out a loud groan, and the boom came around again.
“Shit,” said Lucas, “Shit.” And he jumped up and I saw how aroused he was, and the sight of it put a knot in my stomach. He ran to the sai
l lines and pulled on them, before he returned and stood above me on the beam, looking down at me.
The sky was a mellow, hazy blue sheet behind him, and his face was blackened in shadow, but his form was perfection, a distinct outline of male strength, and I knew that at that moment I had fallen in love with him.
The certainty unnerved me. While he worked the ropes and the wheel, I sat up and tried my best to fix my sarong. There was a towel on one of the seats and I grabbed it, wrapped up in it and went underneath to warm up.
Lucas ducked into the small doorway. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Are you in the mood to explore?”
“Of course I am,” I replied. “Let’s go.”
I sat next to him as he steered the boat. He brought us to a small cove, a perfect little horseshoe of secrecy. The beach was beautiful, and he dropped anchor just far enough away that I could lift my sarong and walk ashore.
“Follow me,” he said.
He walked up the beach and disappeared into the foliage.
A shell of a house was hidden just ahead of us. It peeked through the trees and when we came to the clearing I saw that it had once been an enormous estate home.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s an old house—my family used to live here, so long ago that we don’t even know when.”
The roof was gone, the windows were gone. The dark gray walls were all that remained, and they were tumbling down or already missing. It was stark and frightening and almost seemed a warning to me. This house had once held a vibrant family, and it was all reduced to a ruin.
But when Lucas took me by the hand, I forgot my fear. Without a word he swung me into his arms and stepped through the broken entryway to the house. As soon as we were inside, he set me on my feet and kissed me. “Welcome home, darling,” he said, and kissed me again. His skin was warm from our afternoon in the sun and at first his lips were playful and teasing, but then they became demanding before I broke away.
I was wrong about the house. From the outside looking in, the house was scary. But from the inside, looking out at the beautiful cove, at the sailboat waiting patiently for us, it was perfect. Instead of half-destroyed, I saw that it was half-built. The windows turned the cove to artwork, and we stood there arm in arm watching the world around us.
We explored.
“Look what I found,” I said. He came over, and I pointed to where the north wall of the home used to be. “Here, see?” I showed him the half-collapsed structure of bricks. It was a chimney, evident because it still had its shell about it and the sand-colored bricks that remained were stained black with soot.
“We shall warm ourselves by the fire on stormy nights,” he said.
My soul felt featherlight and I eagerly played along with him. “Especially on those nights when the fog rolls in and the chill creeps about our house.”
“Those are the nights that we shall need to keep especially warm,” he said.
Just at that moment, the canopy of trees above us danced and bobbed and the lush green glade was dappled in golden light. Once again I felt a rush of love for him. The knowledge came over me in a wave, and I felt heady from it, intoxicated.
I walked to a break in the stone, a window that overlooked the ocean. “Right here I shall sit and wait for you to come home, wait until I see your boat docked just out there on the water. Then I will run down to the beach and greet you.”
I walked to the north end of the house. There was a perfect glade with a lush green carpet, and I could tell by the border that it had been a bedroom. The trees turned the sunlight into a web of shimmers that danced on the ground.
“See?” I put my hands on his chest and pushed him down onto the grass. The grass was dark green and when he lay against it his hair looked blacker than midnight. “Lay here and I will come to you every night, and seduce you and make you happy to be my husband.”
He became very serious all of a sudden, his smile disappeared, and his dark eyes watched me. His gaze filled me with bravado, a desire to be bold, not to come to him under the dark of night, or the passions that controlled me in the glass house, but in the light of day, with the troubles of the world, that world, far away.
“Stay here,” I whispered. The sand was soft under my feet as I dashed from the room and went just outside, past the jagged wall. I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, in shock at what I planned to do. With a trembling hand I peeled my sarong from my body.
I stepped into the doorway of the bedroom. Never, ever will I forget the sun at that exact moment, the way it was a soft gold color, the way it spread through the trees and over me. I stood perfectly still, hopeful and a little bit afraid. But when his eyes met mine, when they swept over my body and he inhaled a deep, jagged breath, my fears were gone and only desire remained.
When I reached him, he held out a hand and pulled me to him, onto his body. There was surprise on his features and he stared at me intently.
It was as if I were seeing him for the first time. I sat on his hips, and already felt him hard as stone beneath me. He ran his hands in my hair, pulling the pins away. My hair fell loose over my back and around my shoulders like a dark blanket covering both of us. The world was far away, beyond the barrier of my hair and our secret glade; it was so far away as to not matter.
“Reyna.” He spoke only my name. There were a thousand questions in that one word.
I gave him one answer. “Yes.”
The sunlight dappled my tan skin, and Lucas reached out and touched one small circle of sunshine. Then another, and another, linking the points of light with his touch. I could take it no more, grabbed his hand, and pushed it against my breast. He rose up, trapping me in his lap, with his legs at my back and his chest at my front, pushing against me.
He kissed me. He tasted of salt and wind and a secret passion just for me. His hands were rough and grabbed at my exposed skin and my body responded to all of it, to the heat of his mouth, the demands of his hands. He lowered his mouth to my breast and I ran my fingers along his shirt, pushing it away, needing it to be just my skin against his. I tugged at his knee pants, trying foolishly to pull them off.
He knew what I wanted. In a swift movement, he rolled over, pressing me beneath him, and I eagerly spread my legs for him. In that moment, that one delicious moment right before he entered me, each second seemed an eternity, and I begged him, whispered wildly in his ear, my hands buried in his hair, until he pressed himself into me and I cried out his name.
After we made love, I took my time and explored his body. He was beautiful with no clothes on, except for the large pink scar on his leg. It ran from the top of his thigh and wrapped around all the way to his knee.
“What happened to you, Lucas?” I asked him.
“You don’t want to know.”
The way he spoke made me realize that it had something to do with Celeste. “I think I need to know,” I said.
His jaw tightened and a look of sheer agony crossed his face. It was a long minute before he answered, but I kept silent and waited.
When he spoke, I could hear the waver in his voice.
“When I was looking for Celeste, I fell and broke my leg.”
“I’m sorry.” I rubbed his scar with a gentle hand.
“It was sliced open, the bone sticking out.”
My hand stopped.
“I don’t know if I should say—God, I don’t know—but there’s more.”
His hands clenched my skin, digging into it. I didn’t move, didn’t want to disturb him.
“I heard her screams, Reyna. I heard them. Everyone thought I was mad. But I heard her. I know it was her. That’s how I broke my leg. I couldn’t sleep and came out to the gardens, and I heard her cries more clearly than I ever had before, and I knew that I was right. She was alive. She was out there. So I ran and screamed and looked all around. And I fell and broke my leg. Broke my damn leg, busted it open. I couldn’t move, tried to
crawl, but…nothing. I had to sit all night and listen to her. And I hollered back, God I yelled, but I don’t know if she heard me. Then, before the sun came up, her voice just faded away. Over and over, I live that night, I can’t escape it.”
A great, aching sadness filled me as I realized that not one, but two people died on that day, and both of them were still lost. Lucas and I were quiet for a long time. I lay with my head on his chest, until his breathing was even and I knew that he slept.
* * *
I wonder what would have happened if I had fallen asleep like Lucas had. Afterward, we lay on the grass and I glanced over at the trees. There was an unusual shape there, just against the tree line. It looked like a headstone, a grave. I went to investigate.
It was not a grave. It was a monument. The letters were chiseled in crudely and worn down, but I could still read them. It read, “High water mark. Storm of 1761. Lucas St. Claire and family washed away.”
I recoiled and stepped away. It was a shock to see his name, his ancestor’s name chiseled in stone. I realized with horror that the ruins we had made love in weren’t abandoned—they had been destroyed. I felt chilled and fought the sensation, the urge that it was an ill omen for us.
Lucas was walking toward me on the sand, in a lazy stride and with messed-up hair.
I pointed to the marker. “They all died,” I said. “They all perished, right here. Your family.”
He came closer and stood for a long moment staring at the stone, before he spoke. “Let’s go home.”
It was only when we were underway again, with the wind blowing the memory of the ill-fated St. Claire family from my mind that we were able to smile and laugh again. Lucas teased me playfully, and helped me steer the boat again, and finally it seemed we had put the whole ordeal behind us.
