That Was Yesterday

by Vella Munn

  Mara had poured herself a cup of coffee and was sipping it, trying to rouse her brain, when she realized she wasn’t alone. For a moment she did no more than hold on to her cup and tell herself she would go through the day without touching Reed, without undoing everything she’d spent the night fortifying herself against. Walk along the beach, he’d suggested. Talk. Swim. That was enough to build a day on.

  Then Reed touched her back. “One of my greatest fantasies,” he whispered, his voice husky with sleep. “Waking up to find a woman fixing me coffee.”

  Gathering what was left of her resolve, Mara stepped out of his reach. Concentrating on what she was doing, she picked up a cup and waved it at him. “It’s instant.”

  “Instant.” Reed watched while she spooned out crystals and added hot water. “Instant always smells better than it tastes.”

  He’d pulled on jeans but hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Mara stood barefoot in the middle of the enormous kitchen a foot away from his sleep-warmed body. Now, feeling Reed’s presence, she knew why she hadn’t slept. “Eggs? Are eggs all right?”

  “Anything. Can I help?”

  “You could mix up some orange juice.”

  He presented her with a little boy’s smile. “Orange juice it is. You look wonderful. I had to tell you that. You look wonderful.”

  Under the weight of his compliment, Mara dropped her eyes. They should talk about the tide, about how to regulate the gas range. He shouldn’t be taking up space she needed for herself. Still, when he moved to the refrigerator, she felt the small loss.

  It was too chilly to eat on the deck. When breakfast was ready, Mara and Reed took their plates into the living room with its sliding glass door and sat on opposite sides of the couch while they watched distant seagulls playing in the wind. When they were done, Reed refilled their coffee cups, this time settling himself a few inches closer. Mara asked if he knew who owned the cabin, but afterward she couldn’t remember what he told her. He still hadn’t put on a shirt. He needed a shave.

  And he hadn’t touched her again.

  After doing the breakfast dishes together, Reed brought up his earlier suggestion that they explore their surroundings. In an effort to keep the moment light, Mara pulled a coin out of her purse and flipped it to see who would get the first shower. She won.

  She was standing on the deck running her fingers through her hair to dry it when Reed, smelling of soap and shampoo and clean cotton, joined her. Wordlessly, he took her hairbrush and began brushing the back of her head. Mara started to lean toward him, then caught her balance. His scent, his dangerous scent, was already inside her.

  “A walk?” she began unsteadily. “Before other people show up.”

  The brush moved toward her crown. Reed’s fingers blazed the way, once again sanding her flesh into sensitivity. “I love your hair.”

  “I need to have it cut.”

  “The sun’s on it. It looks as if there’s gold in it.”

  Gold in her dark hair. Mara pulled the brush out of Reed’s hands, knowing she wasn’t strong enough to meet his eyes, and stumbled into the first thing that came to mind. “I wish we had the beach to ourselves,” she told him. “Can’t we chase everyone away? Claim squatters’ rights.”

  “They’d just come back, Mara.”

  “Yes. I guess they would.”

  He reached out to do nothing more than curve a strand of hair over her ear, and she couldn’t think. “If I could,” he whispered, “if it were possible for me to do such things, we’d have the world to ourselves.”

  Oh God! Tears stung Mara’s eyes. Her arms felt both leaden and lighter than air. This was a solitary man, one who had devoted himself to only one other human, and now he was telling her he wanted to give her the world. “We can pretend,” she whispered. If she turned, if she so much as moved, they would wind up in each other’s arms, and she would make love to this stranger.

  Yet she wanted. Despite all reason, she wanted.

  But the need to know how he’d come to this place in his life, and whether there was room for her in it, was stronger. “You can’t,” she told him and walked into the house.

  He didn’t immediately follow.

  Mara’s emotions were easier to handle once they’d put on tennis shoes and were wandering along the beach. Except for an older foursome who told Mara and Reed they were there from Kansas for the summer, the clean stretch of sand was deserted. While Mara studied the sand-flecked suds left behind by retreating waves, Reed asked the vacationers detailed questions about their homes. By the time they parted company, groups of teenagers had begun to show up. She’d been right. Reed couldn’t keep the world away.

  It didn’t take Mara long to realize that a separate universe from any she’d ever been part of existed on the beaches of Southern California. Girls in bathing suits so brief she had no idea how the fabric did its job were being ogled by muscular young men. Boom boxes blasted out everything from hard rock to rap. The scent of suntan oil filled the air.

  “Don’t any of them work?” Reed asked as, hand in hand, they skirted a large group in the process of setting up a volleyball net.

  “It’s the weekend,” Mara reminded him.

  “People don’t get tans like that if they don’t live in the sun.”

  Mara had to agree. She felt out of place, herself, in her shorts and loose top, but she wasn’t about to dress in two square inches of fabric just to blend in. She didn’t want strange men staring at her. If Reed wasn’t with her, she wasn’t sure she would have stayed on the beach at all.

  “My college roommate went to Fort Lauderdale three years in a row,” Reed told her. “I always figured spring break was a good time to make some money. Now I’m sorry I didn’t go with him.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yeah. I am. We weren’t that close, but I think we would have had a good time.”

  “If you could, would you go back?” A beach ball bounced off her foot. Mara picked up the ball and tossed it to a grinning blond with a tan so dark that his sleek black suit blended into the background. The blond ran his eyes down her, then nodded. Mara tensed and avoided eye contact. “Would you want to live your teen years over?” she asked.

  “They weren’t my best. Would you?”

  Mara watched a trio of girls being chased by musclemen. The girls didn’t put out much effort and were soon hauled, squealing, into the ocean. Because Reed was close, the hard contact didn’t make her shiver. “No. I don’t think so. The emotional ups and downs that go with being a teenager… I can’t help thinking about the young people who don’t fit into this scene. The majority. Maybe they don’t have the right bodies or the freedom or money. Do they feel as if they’re missing something important?”

  “I don’t know.” Reed squeezed Mara’s hand and smiled down at her. His touch was casual, nothing more than a way to keep them together in the growing crowd. Still, Mara felt rich for the contact. This weekend had been planned so they could become friends. It was happening.

  A moment later Reed led her toward an ice-cream stand. “Maybe they do,” he continued. “It’s hard to judge something we don’t have. To imagine a different life. To be objective, even critical about something that looks perfect from the outside.”

  This was a man who claimed to know not enough about the forces ruling his parents? “Yes it is,” she said before stepping up to the stand. In a clear voice, she placed her order.

  Over chocolate cones, Reed elaborated on his belief that, although these sun-kissed young people enjoyed a freedom most people never experienced, in the long haul it was those who were working at fast-food restaurants and construction sites who would be better prepared for life. Mara agreed.

  They sat cross-legged on the sand watching a volleyball game in which the only point seemed to be the amount of body contact allowed. Mara lingered over the rich taste of her ice cream before tossing the cone to a stalking seagull.

  “I haven’t spent much time trying to analyze life,” she said
, deeply appreciative of her ability to once again enjoy the food she’d associated with her attack, and knowing who was responsible for the change. “Discussing philosophy isn’t something the Curtis family does.”

  “Action, not contemplation?”

  “Something like that.”

  Because noisy children had discovered the ice-cream stand, Mara and Reed got up and wandered away from the attraction. They walked aimlessly for a long while, while Mara tried to hold on to sights and sounds. But Reed had his arm over her shoulder, and her arm was around his waist, and she couldn’t think.

  The beach stretched for miles. After emptying her tennis shoes of sand several times, Mara gave up and walked barefoot with her shoes dangling from her free hand. A few minutes later Reed did the same, leaning on her while he struggled with a lace.

  Reed helped a man drag a large piece of driftwood to his car. Mara kept an eye on a toddler while the mother nursed a baby. They talked and sometimes they were silent. Eventually they turned around and started back toward the beach house. They passed expensive homes, speculating about what kind of people lived in them and occasionally trying to picture themselves as the ones surrounded by luxury.

  Mara knew she didn’t need luxury; she had Reed’s hand.

  The house’s interior was now too warm. While Reed opened windows, Mara made iced tea, and they went onto the patio to watch more seagulls and discuss the vital issue of what they would eat for lunch. Reed maintained they needed to go to a grocery store. Mara, grateful to have something mundane to talk about, contended that they had enough on hand and anyone with an ounce of imagination could come up with a decent meal. The teasing made her feel a little, but not enough, like a long-married woman.

  “Tomato soup and crackers is not going to keep me alive,” Reed grumbled a half hour later. “Do you have any idea how much sodium is in canned soup?”

  “You’re eating it.”

  “I’m eating but I refuse to enjoy it.”

  Once their meal was out of the way, Mara gave in. An expedition to the grocery store was, like it or not, in order if they were going to eat in tonight. Maybe, Reed offered, they could go to a restaurant. He didn’t look enthusiastic about it, and Mara told him that it wasn’t necessary. She knew he ate more meals in public than in private. She wouldn’t subject him to yet another restaurant. Besides, they hadn’t come to the ocean to sample the skill of some chef.

  The first store they walked into was outrageously expensive. Even though it meant putting more mileage on the Corvette, Mara refused to patronize it.

  “I have no idea how you managed to live in Southern California for as long as you have,” Reed teased a half hour later. Although a stop at a gas station would have cleared up the mystery, at the moment, neither of them had the slightest idea where they were. Somehow they’d managed to leave the beach road and were weaving through Pacific Beach’s residential streets.

  Mara didn’t care. The Corvette was humming, its sounds as familiar as before the attack. Reed sat beside her, easing the car through quiet streets. He kept his hand wrapped over the gearshift, muscles contracting as he slipped through gears. When a teenager driving a black pickup with massive tires pulled alongside, Reed looked over at it, then nodded. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and he straightened his spine. For a moment Mara thought he might answer the challenge being issued by the truck’s revving engine. She would have. With Reed’s nearness driving her mood, she needed sudden, dangerous speed. Instead, after a moment, Reed shrugged. Still, a boyish smile touched his lips. Watching him, Mara felt young. Together they’d race the wind.

  He turned his smile on her, and she became interested in something far different from a simple race.

  Reed was responsible.

  Mara nodded as they passed through a neighborhood of Spanish-style houses. The yards were tiny but the houses large and clean and expensive looking. Swimming pools and garage door openers were the norm. “Would you like to live in one of these?” she asked, surprised that her voice sounded normal.

  “Whatever for?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a home than an apartment?”

  “Maybe. But not one of these cookie cutter things.” Reed turned down a narrow street and slowed to avoid a cat that darted in front of him. “When and if I buy my own place, it’s going to be in the country. Maybe I’ll farm. Grub in the earth.”

  Reed, a farmer? “There isn’t any acreage left,” she told him. “Not around here.”

  “Yes there is. You just have to be willing to pay for it.”

  He was looking at her, his eyes asking…what? “I don’t see you as a farmer,” she said.

  “Don’t you?”

  “You’d have to put down roots, Reed.” Mara kept her tone light.

  “Yeah.” The word took a long time. “I’ve never done that, have I? Never tried. Mara, do you do this much? Wander around. Look?”

  He’d changed the subject. “No. Not much,” she told him.

  “Because you’re happy where you live?”

  “Because…maybe because I’ve never seen the purpose. Never taken the time.” Today she had the time. And the reason was sitting beside her. “I think, if I had a choice, maybe I wouldn’t be living in this part of the state. I love the climate, and it’s a good place for the business. But…”

  “But what?”

  “Maybe I’m just feeling restless these days. I’d like to show you the Sierra Nevadas, the wine country. The pace is different there. Slower. There are seasons. And colors so vivid it makes me want to cry.” Had she really said that? Felt that? Reed was responsible; he made her feel so much.

  Once again he gifted her with a smile. “I’d like to do that.”

  Ahead of them a young boy waited for the Corvette to pass so he could cross the street. Mara turned, watching the boy gather himself and explode into action. He ran as if propelled by the joy of life. Mara hadn’t touched Reed since they got back in the car. Now she placed her hand over his. And tapped his energy when she was already exploding with her own. “Maybe we can,” she told him. “Head north. Follow one-lane roads through rolling hills.”

  Under her fingers Reed rotated his hand, pressing palm to palm. “When this is over for me. We’ll do it then.”

  We.

  Groceries weren’t important. Wandering aimlessly through neighborhoods neither of them knew existed before today no longer diverted her. Mara pointed at the first grocery they came to. She grabbed a basket and began tossing items into it. Eat? She couldn’t imagine ever needing food again. The store wasn’t large enough to contain her. There were too many people. Too many lights. Too much noise when she needed to hear only Reed’s heart.

  The world narrowed, fading away as they left the parking lot. Once again Reed spread his fingers over the black gearshift, and Mara fought to keep her hand off his. He looked over at her, not smiling. Not speaking.

  It was just as well. She seemed to have forgotten how to speak.

  After the groceries had been put away, Mara slipped out of her shoes and stood in the doorway to her room, waiting for Reed to come out of his. They should have raced that black pickup. She would suggest an ocean swim instead. Would she tire before they reached Hawaii?

  Feeling both nerveless and nerve filled, Mara walked into the living room and sat on the couch closest to the patio. A half second later she got up and slid the door open. The ocean breeze touched her temples but cooled nothing. She breathed, deep, not deep enough.

  If she didn’t do something, she would explode.

  Reed walked into the room. His bare feet made the faintest sound as he stepped around the couch and stood before her. She stared at his feet, his ankles. He’d changed into shorts. Softly curving brown hair caressed his calves and thighs. A single, faded scar trailed around the outside of his right knee. Mara opened her mouth; for too long nothing came out. “How did that happen?” she whispered.

  “Bicycle accident,” Reed said and sat down. His thigh,
his naked thigh touched hers. Mara held her breath. It seemed that he was doing the same.

  Slowly Reed ran his forefinger over the thin, white line. “I was looking at the stereo system here,” he told her. “Maybe you’d like to hear it.”

  “Later.”

  “Have you looked at the books? Maybe there’s one you’d like to read.”

  “Maybe.”

  Again Reed held his breath. “Are you all right?”

  “All right?”

  “You’re quiet.”

  “I—I guess I didn’t sleep very well last night,” she said, although that wasn’t it at all. “A strange bed.”

  “Yeah.” Before she could stop him, Reed turned her away from him and began rubbing her neck, not as she ministered to her father when old injuries bothered him, but with fingers that tapped into something deep inside her, something struggling to be set free.

  She had to think, about anything. “You slept all right?” she asked.

  “Well enough.”

  “Good.”

  Reed worked his fingers lower, pressing his thumbs against her shoulder blades. Mara concentrated on breathing. She was tired. That was it. Exhaustion had depleted her defenses. If she’d slept last night, she wouldn’t be so aware of his knee nudging the base of her spine.

  Reed spoke with his mouth so close to her temple that every word sent a shiver through her. “I love it here,” he told her. “Maybe I belong on the edge of the ocean.”

  Fighting for strength, Mara nodded at a couple of joggers kicking up sand in the distance. “Even if you don’t have the beach to yourself?”

  “There won’t be anyone on my beach. No one I don’t want there,” Reed said as he touched his lips to the back of her neck.

  Mara started. She told herself to relax but wasn’t sure that was possible. All he’d done was begin to work the tension out of her body. She should be grateful for that. She was. Only…