Thirty Days: Part Two

by Belle Brooks

  The view was flawed. I just couldn’t see it from that far away. I smile from this observation.

  In the distance there’s a silhouette of a person. We are not alone here on this beach, even though from the top of the hill it looked completely deserted.

  Two pale seagulls spread their wings in flight just above us, a few centimetres ahead as we continue our walk to the place where water meets sand. Even though I can now see all the flaws, this beach still holds so much beauty.

  Maybe I’m not cursed.

  The closer we get the more distinguished the silhouette by the shore becomes, and before long I can tell this person is male, by the shape of his body. My heart begins to gallop like race horses vying for first place in the Melbourne Cup. The sound of cheering fills my ears and the smell of salty air is replaced by that of freshly mowed turf. I’ve been to the Melbourne Cup. Small clips from that day tease my mind—I’m clung to Marcus’ arm, cheering for Bluebell to win. I’m happy, in love, and on top of the world.

  Two more steps have me stalling. My lungs suck air hard, but it’s not from panic this time, it’s from suspense. I already know who’s standing there waiting. I already know what’s to come.

  “Abigail, keep going.” Mar-Mar’s voice is soft as she encourages me to stay focused. “It’s okay,” she whispers before removing my cap and tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Hold my hand,” I plead.

  “Not this time, Abigail. This is your picture. You need to walk alone.”

  Shaky legs take me the last few steps as I see his sculptured back imprinted in a tight white tee. My body trembles, but not out of fear, rather from the adrenaline that pumps through my blood. Slowly, he turns, the sunlight harsh behind his head.

  “Abigail.” One word. My name from his lips.

  “Marcus.” I catch his infectious smile.

  Messy dark hair, eyes so murky they almost mirror the colour of his pupils, and a scar no bigger than my fingernail has butterflies fluttering in the pit of my stomach.

  I do love Marcus. This is our perfect picture. Right here. Right now, on this beach.

  And so it Begins

  Marcus’ hand cups my cheek, causing my head to tilt, nestling against its warmth.

  “We went to the Melbourne Cup?” I tremor.

  “We did. Bluebell won that day.”

  “She did.”

  “Yes.” His lips upturn. Everything about Marcus is perfect. So why did he do such awful things?

  “Abigail, I am really sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I just wish I could explain things without you going off your rocker before I get the chance.”

  “I’d like that.” I bite my lip.

  “I’ve always loved you doing that.”

  “What? Biting my lip?”

  “Yes, biting your damn lip. It’s always told me you were deep in thought about me. It’s why it makes me wild. It’s why it makes you irresistible.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “What?”

  “The fact that you say such things. I feel like I’m at an unfair disadvantage.”

  His chin tilts back and he half chuckles. The sound is music to my ears, even though he’s essentially laughing at me.

  Warmth fills my opposite cheek as his hand mimics the other when his laughter stops. “Let me love you,” he says, staring deep into my eyes.

  “Okay.” The words leave me without consent.

  His head tilts sideways before his lips meet mine. They are like the pillows that are needed for a bed. My bed. Letting my body simmer under his touch and the heat of the sun, I allow every tingle to dance across my skin. I allow every beat of my heart to pound to the rhythm of his voice, and I allow myself to succumb to him and his desire.

  There’s just something about Marcus. Magic.

  The sound of a deliberately clearing throat has our mouths disconnected and Marcus moving away from me.

  “That’s better.” Mar-Mar grins. She studies my face, one I can only imagine is flushed a searing pink. Reaching into the pocket of what I believe are hemp hippie pants, she removes a key, one that has a purple tag attached. “Here.” She takes my hand and places it in my palm. “You two have much to talk about. This cannot be done at my place. I have a villa two blocks from here. The address is labelled on that tag there. Go and talk. I will be expecting you at my house tonight for dinner, Abigail. You too, Marcus. Seven p.m. Don’t be late.”

  Nodding, I close my fingers around the key and accept a kiss on the forehead from Mar-Mar. “Take your time,” she whispers into my ear before adding, “life is not always as it seems, Abigail. It can be masked by many disguises.” After leaving these messages, she steps back, which has Marcus leaning in and pulling her into an embrace.

  “It’s good to see you, Ilish.”

  “As you, Marcus. Don’t stuff this up.” Her warning is loud and clear.

  He quietly chuckles in response before giving her a sly wink.

  “I’ll see you two tonight.”

  Watching her aged body walk along the shoreline away from us, away from her shoes, and away from the direction she should be heading leaves me puzzled, but nobody tells Mar-Mar which way to go in life. She’s always had the most amazing adventures planned out for herself.

  “Shall we?” Marcus holds out his hand in wait of mine. At first I hesitate, finding myself biting down nervously at my lip, thinking only of Marcus.

  Damn him, I do, do that.

  “Abigail,” he says before our fingers interlock. For the first time in days all the anger and madness I’ve bottled inside because of Marcus floats away. My shoulders drop and my feet move steadily across the sand. I don’t look at Marcus. I just keep my eyes staring ahead and will the constant flip flopping in my tummy to subside.

  I’m surprised to see Grady standing by the same black SUV that greeted Marcus and me at the airport in Sydney after my sneakers are secured to my feet once more.

  “Abigail.” His smile says it all.

  “Grady.” My free hand wraps around his neck in welcome. “What are you doing here?”

  “Someone had to get Marcus to you safely.” He flashes his dimple and suddenly I feel excitement.

  “Grady.” Marcus’ tone is full of authority.

  “Sorry, Mr. Klein.” His dimple disappears, replaced now by regret.

  Marcus grins in a way that says ‘I’m joking.’ Grady doesn’t appear to get the joke and quickly opens the back door, getting straight back to work.

  “Where would you like to go, Mr. Klein?”

  Without so much as a glance in my direction or the key tag still clutched in my hand, he says, “Vermont Villas, Corner of Shellwater and Spray.”

  How did he know that? My brows cross in confusion. Has he been there before?

  We speak not a word on the short trip. Our hands stay connected and our eyes forward. Well, my eyes do. Marcus, I’m not so sure. Getting out of the car, I snicker at the close proximity of these villas to where we just were. Mar-Mar wasn’t kidding it was literally two blocks down the road.

  Grady removes two ports from the boot and hands both of them to Marcus. “I will leave you be, sir. Please call when you need me.”

  “Good man.” He pats his shoulder. “Ready?” He moves his attention to me, and I startle at how intense his gaze suddenly becomes.

  Am I ready for this? I’m not so sure. “I think so,” I murmur.

  Beige-coloured stones roll under our shoes as our hands reconnect and we walk side by side through a maze of palm trees and pathways.

  “I’m sure there will be someone at reception to direct us.”

  “No need.” He doesn’t bat an eyelash.

  What’s going on here?

  We stop at the far back corner where I see a perfect hut that looks like it has a straw roof.

  “Can I have the key, please, Abigail?”

  My hand twitches as I pass it over.

  Marcus’ top lip arches as he says, “T
hank you.”

  The key slides in with ease and a soft click signals the door is now unlocked.

  “After you.” He places his hand gently to my back, urging me in.

  The room is filled with cane lounges and similar furniture. The floors are tiled in a light orange and the walls have pictures of all of Mar-Mar’s family. Me growing up, Dad, Mum and Uncle Rick, pictures of Poppy. The one that has me staring is their wedding photo. Mar-Mar looks so much like me in that picture, or is it me who looks like her? Poppy died when I was twelve, a farming accident, and then she lost Dad so young. Uncle Rick, well, he’s somewhere in the world, but where I’m not sure. Probably a question I should ask Mar-Mar tonight.

  Marcus’ hands snake around my waist from behind and he breathes against my neck. “I really thought I’d never get to see you again, Abigail.”

  “Well, everybody’s flawed, Marcus. I owe you the chance to explain.” I guess my walk with Mar-Mar this morning really rubbed off. She and her marvellous, well calculated plans. Maybe Mar-Mar is the real magician in this whole situation.

  Goose bumps coat my skin as my throat tickles from his soft kisses. “Marcus, stop,” I whisper.

  His hands leave my waist and his body touches me no more. “Sorry,” he speaks to my back. “It’s hard for me not to touch you.”

  “Well, I have a lot of questions that need answering. First question, how did you know where this place was?” Turning on my heel, I’m greeted with eyes that scream guilty. Marcus has been here before. How? Why? And when?

  “Can we sit?” His hand directs me towards the cane lounge.

  “Sure.”

  We sit side by side, but angled so that we can see each other. My palms bead sweat as I rub them together.

  “I’ve come here many times over the years.”

  I knew it. He has been here just as I suspected. My eyebrows lift high onto my forehead. “Why?”

  “Because I never stopped contact with Ilish. Coming here has always been a way for me to connect with you without being close to you. Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but your grandmother has a lot of things to teach someone. She taught me patience.”

  “Don’t I know it. Hang on, that’s how you knew I was getting married. Mar-Mar told you.”

  He nods.

  “It’s also how you knew where to find Mike, isn’t it?”

  He nods again, only this time he runs his hand through his thick locks.

  “Why would you want to hurt me like that?”

  Marcus stands abruptly, then paces in front of me. I know he’s trying to find the right words because he’s delaying his answer.

  “Okay, I was selfish to do what I did. I admit it. Are you happy?” His palms face upwards with his arms outstretched.

  “I’m not happy, Marcus.”

  “Abigail, I wanted you. I wanted us to have a chance. If you married that man, then for us it was game over. I had to try.” He sits beside me once more, this time holding on to my fingers with his. “Have you ever loved someone so much that whenever you thought about them your heart went crazy and your stomach tensed so tight trying to control the pure elation bubbling inside of you from just being in their presence?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  His eyes widen and his countenance tells me he’s horrified.

  “I felt that for Mike.”

  His face becomes expressionless before paling in colour. His fingers lose all grip on mine. “Really?” This one word is almost inaudible.

  “Yes.”

  “I had no idea. Well—”

  “I loved him, Marcus.”

  “Not in the way I love you, Abigail, and not in the way you loved me. I’m sorry, what you had with him…it wasn’t true love. Abigail, I chose you and you chose me. There’s a big difference in these two situations. It never went away. It never left my dreams. You have never really been gone for me.” His voice deepens to a semi-growl as his expression changes to that of jealously, before quickly changing to a scowl similar to one delivered from a prepubescent boy.

  “I believe you. But for me…for me it’s confusing because up until recently I never remembered you existed. Now all these memories are flooding in. I can’t make sense of any of it and I have all these huge and strange—”

  “You still love me.” His Hollywood smile beams. “You do, don’t you?”

  I can’t answer.

  “Let me show you who we were together. Let me show you how amazing it was. Abigail, I promise you, if you do, you’ll see that there is a huge difference between what you think I’m referring to and what I am. I promise I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Open door, nothing left untouched.”

  “Did we really go to the Melbourne Cup?”

  His head tips back and he chuckles. “That we did, Abigail, that we did.”

  “Really?” My nose scrunches tight. He’s having me on.

  “Really, really. It was a year after we started seeing each other. You weren’t acting like yourself. It was understandable as it was edging closer to the one-year anniversary of your father’s—” Stress lines mar his face.

  “It’s okay, tell me.”

  “Well, since your dad passed. This was something you wanted to do. You said your dad promised you when you were an adult he’d take you. Since he couldn’t, I did. It was a pretty big surprise and took a lot of planning behind closed doors. You’ve always been really nosy and have a way of figuring out surprises just before they happen. I pulled it off, though, by the skin of my teeth. We flew to Melbourne, first class. Drank too much champagne and you just thought we were having a romantic three days away.”

  “Stop.” Closing my eyes, my breathing becomes shallow as memories of our little getaway re-enter my mind in a flood. “You blindfolded me. I was in sweats and a ‘Jazz Rules’ T-shirt. You bought me that shirt at a concert as a gimmick.”

  “I did and you were.”

  “I was mad because when you took the blindfold off, I was standing in a bustling airport. I was even madder when I had to sit in first class like that.”

  The sound of his deep laugh has my eyes springing open. It’s still not funny and I know I’m scowling.

  “You were such a shade of red, and boy, were you steaming. See, I pulled the surprise off by the skin of my teeth.”

  I bite down on my lip as I think of the cheesy grin he had plastered on his face that day.

  “You’re thinking of me, aren’t you, Abigail?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Marcus, the green dress.” I gasp. No, it can’t be. “I wore it to the races that day. It was identical to the one you bought me in Sydney. How can that be?”

  “I have my ways.”

  I bite my nail, my nervous habit in full swing. Dropping my head, I try desperately not to cry, but a lone tear escapes.

  “Hey,” he says, lifting my chin, his thumb wiping at my cheek.

  “You did everything you could to make me remember.”

  “Everything I thought would work.”

  With full force, I press my lips to his. The taste of mint fills my mouth. The magic that is his deep love for me slides down my throat and into my heart, the feeling so strong I fear it might burst. His hands wrap around me as he holds me in a tight embrace. I have so much to remember and there’s so much I want to know.

  “I want you to be mine. Tell me, how do I make you mine?” he speaks against my lips.

  “I don’t know. So much has happened.” I put distance between us. “Five years, Marcus. You left me for five years. Then you pulled the rug out from under my feet and left me to fall deep down into the depths of hell. How can I forgive you for that?”

  His head shakes. “I couldn’t lose you. Can’t you see that? You have always been an honourable person, Abigail. If you married Mike, you would have never walked away. Not for all the money in the world. Not for anything I could give. You wouldn’t have afforded me a second glance.”

  “Why did you wait five years, you arse?” I slap his chest h
ard before standing upright. “Five fucking years,” I shout, pained.

  “I thought you’d remember me. I didn’t—”

  “How? How the fuck was I supposed to do that when there was nothing to even help me find a way?”

  “Please,” he begs, standing to his feet. “Please, let me finish.”

  “You abandoned me.”

  “Do you think this was easy for me? How the fuck do you think I have survived these five years? Well?”

  “Work. You just worked. You also ran away.”

  “Stop. Don’t.” His eyes narrow. His breaths become forced.

  “Well, you did.”

  “To protect you.”

  “No. To protect yourself,” I scoff, turning away from him.

  “Abigail.”

  “No, Marcus. You should have stayed. You should have made me remember. And if as you say it was the right thing at the time to do what you did, then you should have returned to me well before five years of my life passed, that’s for sure. I could have been married now. Don’t you see? I would have been happy.”

  “Not without me.” He believes this to be true. It’s written in his pleading expression.

  “Says you.”

  “I came back to you, okay? I did it well before now. Three times. Three fucking times. I did try. I did. Think back, Abigail. When else have you seen me? Look at me.”

  I pull away, turning on my heel.

  Marcus grabs my wrists hard. “Look at me.”

  I close my eyes.

  “Fucking look at me, woman.”

  “No.”

  “Stop being so stubborn. You promised me a chance.”

  “And you promised I’d be yours forever.”

  “That’s a low blow.” His tone expresses his anger more than his words.

  My eyes spring open. I can only imagine they are fire red as I snarl loudly.

  “Abigail. Remember that you’ve seen me again before that day in the cemetery. Before the law office. I force you to remember.”

  “I can’t.” My legs lose the ability to keep me upright. They weaken until they buckle and I slink down to the floor. Marcus still holds on to my wrists, leaving my arms held high above my head.