by Susanne Beck
After a long, silent moment, Ice abruptly spun on her heel and strode back toward Ruby’s house, never once looking behind her.
Pop sighed, removed his cap again, and twisted it in his hands. "Knew I should’a made ‘em ask first."
"Ice ...isn’t very comfortable accepting surprise gifts," I replied, stating the obvious just for something to say. "She’s a pretty private person."
"I know." He shrugged. "It was worth a shot, anyway. Thanks for at least listenin’, Tyler. I’ll get the folks and leave you two alone. Sorry for the intrusion. Won’t happen again."
"Wait," I said, looking toward the house and seeing a shadow pass against the open door. Ice reappeared, something in her hand. When she got even with us, she shoved it at me, then breezed by us both.
"Let’s get on with it, shall we?"
Stunned, I looked down. Her sketchpad, filled with all the drawings of our future home sat in my hands. I looked at Pop. He looked back. Then we both turned and watched as she was swallowed up by the grinning crowd of eager helpers.
"Well, whadda ya know," Pop half-whispered.
Indeed.
* * *
It was the first week in July before the lake was warm enough to swim in. For me, anyway. Our neighbors had been sampling the ‘refreshing’ water since May, but that didn’t surprise me, since I was convinced a common Canadian ancestor had once mated with a Polar Bear somewhere along the line anyway.
As for Ice, she’d taken to washing off her sweat in the lake since early June, which in and of itself posed somewhat of a problem, since she regularly shucked down to her civvies in full view of the working crew before diving in. Doc Brown, the town’s dentist, had to take a week off after bashing his thumb a good one with his hammer, and one of the Drew boys almost met an unfortunate end when his brother let go of the ladder he was holding in order to take in the splendor that was my lover.
I nearly burst my spleen trying to hold back my laughter over that one, and finally, for the health of the men and women, as well as our cabin, had to inform my partner exactly what havoc her mid-day swims were causing in the crew, asking her nicely to please wait until work was done for the day before showing off what the good lord, and years of hard work, had given her.
She accepted, somewhat graciously I thought, though our helpers threatened to stage a revolt over the sudden halt to their daily entertainment.
The cabin’s building was going better than I expected, though the work had started to ease off some, given that the tourist season was beginning and most of our helpers were up to their eyebrows in paying tasks that had priority over this, as it should be.
Though the Fourth of July was, obviously, an American holiday, it marked the beginning of the tourist season in this part of the land, and the town was soon filled to overcrowding with a great many Americans anxious to spend their hard-earned dollars on a bit of rest and relaxation.
That sounded good to me as well. At least, the R & R part did. So when Ice suggested a day’s break from our building labors, in celebration of the holiday, I jumped at the chance with all the grace of a wounded gazelle trying to escape the jaws of a hungry lion.
Enthusiastically, to say the least.
I grinned evilly to myself as I slipped on the bottom half of my secretly purchased bikini. Of course, half wasn’t the best word for what I was now wearing. ‘Pitifully thin strip of clingy material barely covering one’s more delicate parts’ would have been a more apt, if a bit long-winded, description.
Still, as I wasn’t planning on a vigorous game of water-polo, the positive effects of wearing little more than dental floss and a smile far outweighed the negatives, in my opinion. The biggest positive, of course, being the look that was sure to appear on Ice’s face when she saw me in it. The second biggest being what she might want to do to, for and with me after seeing me in it for several hours.
Ah, yes, this particular Angel had fallen. Hard.
Grabbing a towel, I ran out of the house, blithely ignoring the scandalized looks thrown my by the members of Ruby’s bridge party as I passed through. I got partway down the long hill that separated the house from the private beach before realizing my error in neglecting to don footwear for the trek. Dried pine needles pricked at my feet in retaliation for thoughtlessly crushing them. I hopped around trying to brush them off, but the sticky resin coating the needles made the effort a lost cause.
Hearing laughter and splashing from the direction of the water, I resolved to grin and bear it, and resumed my quick trot down to the beach where my lover waited.
She sat on our dock, one leg tucked under her, the other playing idly through the water as she watched the colorful parade of sailboats glide around the lake. The sun was continuing to bestow its blessings upon her, tanning her skin to a rich mahogany brown which blended nicely with the black racing suit she was wearing. Her hair was wet from a no-doubt recent swim and brushed back from her face in a shining mass of inky black, bringing her features, even in profile, into sharp relief.
So intent on watching her, I impaled my big toe on a rather large pinecone lying in wait for my tender foot. Cursing a blue streak, I hopped around on one foot while disentangling myself from my spiny intruder. Task completed, I looked up to see Ice watching me, amusement sparkling in her eyes.
Not quite the entrance I’d imagined.
Gathering up the last tattered shreds of my dignity, I pulled myself together and settled for my most sultry walk instead, hoping to make up lost ground.
Sultry isn’t easy to do when you’re limping.
I was about to chuck the whole thing and settle for some good old fashioned groveling when the look in her eyes stopped me dead in my tracks, my sore toe completely, utterly forgotten.
It was a look that could have incinerated an iceberg, had any been laying handily about. My entire body pulsed with the intensity of it and my knees hit the oatmeal stage. The temperature, already pleasantly warm, shot up another twenty degrees in a split second.
Then she stood, and the sight of her long, lean body, all oiled skin and rippling muscles, dried up every single bit of moisture my body had ever thought to produce.
The upper half, anyway.
"Very nice," she purred, still raking my body with her searing gaze. "Very nice indeed, little Angel.
Oh, for the gift of words. I’d have given a kingdom, had one been mine to give. Lacking that, I settled for trying to remain standing as she stalked over to me, the most sensual smile I’d ever seen curving her full lips. When the tiniest sliver of her tongue darted out to wet them, I was sure that the sand and I were destined to become one.
From somewhere, I heard a whimper, and from the darkening of her eyes, I realized it had come from me.
Then her hands were hot on my shoulders, scorching through me and branding my soul. She slowly—God so slowly—lowered her lips to mine and merged us together by the passion of our kiss.
I didn’t care that we were doing this in full view of everyone on the lake. Didn’t care that there might well be repercussions later. I wanted her, needed her in a way that surprised even me.
To be truthful, kissing Ice this way in public was a bit of a turn-on for me, as if it were even possible for me to be more turned-on than I already was. The irony of my feelings didn’t escape me, either. With very few, and therefore all the more precious, exceptions, making love in prison meant doing it in full view of whomever happened to wander by. And during those times, when it was possible for me to think at all, I wished for privacy. Now, with the possibility of a private rendezvous just a closed and locked door away (when we actually obtained doors and their attendant locks, that is) I found myself reveling in a more public display.
Then she deepened the kiss, melding our bodies together, and I stopped thinking of anything at all.
When she finally broke away, the only thing keeping me upright were her firm grip on my shoulders. Shaking my head to clear it—a lost cause—I cleared my throat instead, taste
d my lips, and opened my eyes to see her smiling down at me. "You know you’re killing me, right?"
Her only answer was a smirk.
"I’m about one second away from chucking this whole ‘day off’ thing and getting back to building the cabin. There’s only so much of this extended foreplay I can stand here, and I’m just about at my limit."
When will I ever get it through this thick head of mine that statements like that only served to incite the woman who lived for a challenge? She closed in and kissed me again, so deeply that the only sound I could hear was the rapid and thundering beat of my heart in my ears.
This time, it was my turn to pull away, which I did, but not without great reluctance, and, shrugging out of her grip, made an abrupt right turn and threw myself into the lake. The chilly water did nothing to dampen my ardor, but it did wonders for my spinning head. I came up after a long moment and wiped the hair back from my eyes, treading water and looking toward shore. Ice was standing there, hands on hips, shaking her head at me.
"Better now?"
"Not really, no."
She grinned, obviously quite pleased with herself.
"Care to join me?" I asked, wondering if it was possible to get the jump on her in the water and give her the dunking of her life for putting me through such wonderful torture. Barring that, I was more than willing to see just how long I could hold my breath underwater by returning her torture a thousand-fold. A flock of goosebumps broke over my wet skin at the image flashing behind my eyes.
"I have a better idea, if you’re interested." She cocked her head to the left and, looking in that direction, I noticed for the first time the colorful sails of a small boat floating complacently in the small cove next to the dock. I recognized it immediately as being a 16’ Hobie Cat, a sailboat that I’d always loved as a child.
"Where in the world did you get that?" I asked. Hobie Cats weren’t cheap. My father told me as much every time I would beg him to trade in our old Sunfish for one. And certainly not on our shoestring budget.
"I was informed by a certain irritating old woman that you loved to sail and if I had the sense god gave a rooster, I’d go into the garage, dig this old fossil out, and take you out on it."
"You’re kidding."
"Nope."
"You know how to sail?"
"Yup."
"Why doesn’t that surprise me?"
One broad shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. "Dunno."
I grinned. "That’s one of the things I love most about you, Ice. Your utter verbosity."
She shot me a mock scowl. "You wanna go sailing or not?"
"Aye, aye, Cap’n!" I tipped off a jaunty salute just for the irritation factor.
Oh. I was so dead.
* * *
Wow!
Painfully inadequate as far as descriptions of joy went, but about the only word I could come up with as the water’s spray needled into my grinning face. Balanced precariously on one of the pontoons and leaning back to avoid toppling head first into the glistening water below, I watched the lake race by beneath the boat, my eyes wide as silver dollars and the grin threatening to permanently etch itself into the lines of my face.
To my left, Ice’s long body lay almost full out in the racing sling, keeping the boat balanced on one pontoon while using the rigging to keep us going in the right direction, all at an incredible and mind-numbing (for me, at least) speeds.
I felt the true power of nature there, as if the rushing wind, beaming sun and spraying water were all conspiring to give me a high that was near to being untouchable in my experience. The only thing close would be making love, but this was a great, if somewhat distant, second.
Ice followed the gentle curve of the lake’s central island, a tiny, tree covered affair, and bled the boat’s speed until it was resting on both pontoons once again.
"Why are we stopping?" I asked, not a little disappointed.
"Your turn."
"My ... . But I don’t know how to sail."
She turned her head slowly to pin me with her gaze, one eyebrow raised high on her forehead.
I looked back, feeling a little defensive. "Well, I don’t! I begged my father to teach me, but he said that sailing was for men. Women just had to learn how to look pretty while sitting in the boat."
My partner snorted. "What a crock of shit."
I shrugged. "Yeah, but he was my father. There wasn’t anyone around who wanted to cross him, on that point anyway, so I just got used to sitting in the boat and looking pretty." I looked down at my feet, unaccountably embarrassed over the revelation.
A warm hand under my chin urged my head back up. I looked into eyes the color of the summer sky and swallowed hard. "There are few things in my life I have to be grateful for, Angel, but right now I’d have to say that not having the dubious pleasure of meeting your father ranks near the top of that short list." She dropped her hand and her smile became bittersweet. "I sometimes wonder how you came to be the person you are with the upbringing you had. And at the same time, I can’t help but think that my own parents are rolling in their graves over what I’ve become." She turned her head and looked toward the sun, her face once again a stone mask.
Moved beyond words over the precious glimpse into her heart, I could only reach out my hand and gently lay it on her arm in a woefully inadequate gesture of support and thanks.
A moment later, she turned back toward me, the pain in her eyes pushed back into whatever place she kept it. She shot that endearing half-grin at me. "C’mon. Let’s teach you how to sail."
* * *
I sat on the sofa, legs curled beneath me, reading the same passage for the seventh time (or was it the tenth?) and trying desperately not to look at the clock that was ticking impudently at me from its place on the mantle. She’ll be back. We’ve fought before. She just needs some time to cool off. She’ll be back.
Maybe if I thought it hard enough, I could even make myself believe it.
After all, it wasn’t as if we hadn’t ever had words before. There were times in the Bog, more often than I’d like to admit, when we seemed to be avoiding one another more often than we sought one another out. As partnerships went, we had more than our share of bones of contention hanging in skeleton filled closets. A fight wasn’t anything new, nor particularly unexpected. Even now.
So why was I so worried? Why were my guts a tangled knot somewhere in the vicinity of my larynx? Why was that damn clock moving so damn slow?
I had awoken that morning with a vague feeling of unease which had begun to plague me during the preceding week. A nebulous feeling of anxiety, perhaps mixed with a touch of depression, it left me feeling out-of-sorts. It wasn’t something I could articulate, even to Ice, who’d noticed my mood quickly and had asked what was going on with me.
With Ruby off visiting friends and Ice again working at the garage, I was left alone with my thoughts, there being little else to do on a rainy July day but think.
And then it hit me.
I wasn’t anxious or depressed. At least, not primarily.
What I was feeling was useless.
Leaning my head back against the rough fabric of the couch, I mulled the revelation over, not liking the bitter taste it left on my tongue, but forced to admit the truth of it nonetheless.
It stirred within me feelings, emotions I’d thought long buried beneath the weight of time and experience.
As a teen, I’d railed against my father’s indictment that a woman didn’t need a job to find happiness. Happiness was a pregnant belly, a hearth and home, and a husband to care for. Peter carried on that corollary, and except for the pregnant part, fulfilled my father’s dreams for me to absolute perfection.
The irony of finding freedom in a prison never escaped me. It was there that I was nurtured and given the freedom to grow into the woman I believe I was meant to be.
And now, I was forced to face the fact that once outside those confining, and yes, comforting walls, I’d fallen back into old hab
its, and perhaps an old view of myself, much too quickly.
And this time, I had no one to blame but myself.
Leaving the matter of blame behind for a moment, I tried to think of ways to rectify the situation. Unfortunately, however, all the alleys I went down led to dead ends. After all, I wasn’t in Canada legally. I wasn’t a national. I wasn’t even a landed immigrant. I had snuck over the boarder like a draft dodger, aiding and abetting the escape of a fugitive from justice, no less. Not something likely employers were apt to turn a blind eye towards.
Ice was lucky, in that Pop didn’t give a horse’s behind who or what she was, as long as she was good at what she did, which she undeniably was, and still is. Problem was, however, that there most likely wasn’t more than one ‘Pop’ in a town this size. Without immigrant papers, without even so much as a passport, I was dead in the water, so to speak.
My mood went from bad to worse, and when the rain stopped, I went outside and took my frustrations out on the cabin, pounding nails until my hands were blistered and raw.
And when Ice came over the breast of the hill, a jaunty step to her walk and a wad of cash in her hand for a night on the town, I’m afraid I did a butcher’s job of ripping her head off.
