Courier of Love

by Della Kensington

  Clay’s eyes, framed in his mask, were patient and prompting, their earlier provocativeness gone. In the initial step of learning to share one breathing apparatus, Christina’s heart began to beat faster as Clay reached up and pulled his mouthpiece loose and let its air escape to the surface. She could not hesitate now…his eyes were waiting. Their hips touched and their legs moved softly against each other as they drifted magically, buoyantly above the floor of the pool, a symphony of underwater sounds and sensations swelling against the walls of Christina’s consciousness.

  Inhaling the last breath of air, Christina closed her eyes against the intimacy of their action and pulled her mouthpiece from her reluctant lips. Clay’s powerful hand took hers and easily guided the bubbling apparatus into his mouth. Her eyes open again, she saw him wink and with a finger moved towards her chest, he indicated they would pass the mouthpiece back. His expression vanished behind a wall of bubbles and her mouthpiece was returned in another flood of bubbles, warm and gentle from the recesses of his lips.

  Their hour at the pool passed so swiftly that Christina was almost disappointed when it ended. The experience, far from frightening, had been exhilarating and Clay’s announcement that they were now going to a reef to try out what she had learned came as exciting news, though she expressed concern about going so quickly from the safety of the pool to the reality of the sea.

  Returning to the marina, the wind flowing playfully through its strands, Christina’s hair dried. She restrained from her impulse to talk excitedly about the diving experience as Clay in one spoken gesture, congratulated her on how well he felt she had done. She thanked him politely and identified his skill as an instructor. They exchanged however, minimal remarks while a dozen questions that Christina suddenly wanted to ask Clay about himself began running through her thoughts. She held them, cautious as always, knowing that men like Clay interpreted interest as invitation. Besides, she thought, he has hardly spoken to me since we left the pool.

  Clay, sitting beside her, his face adjusting to the salted air coming across the windshield, seemed quite content with his own thoughts. He whistled to himself and occasionally busied his attention away from the road by adjusting his sunglasses and fumbling with a loose knob on the dashboard of the noisy, ancient jeep.

  …

  Clay’s boat was not large, but surprisingly well kept compared to his car. Once free of the dock and skimming the surface of the crystal clear water, Clay reassured her, over the noise of the powerful engine, “We’re not going out far, but I want you to have the opportunity to practice today in open water while everything is still fresh. How are you doing?” he asked, his eyes traversing the water ahead of them.

  “I’m feeling great about this. It’s exciting.” Her words seemed caught by the salt scented air as it rushed past her face, her skin coloring from the day in the sun.

  Having turned the boat around in a wide circle, Clay dropped the small anchor over the side and explained again, in detail, the things they were going to do. After fitting his own tank, flippers and mask onto his body Clay professionally helped Christina into her gear, carefully checking the valves and straps while continuing his methodical safety instructions about what they were about to do.

  Falling backwards from the boat into the water to avoid a needless injury from the tanks, an unexpected feeling of panic and disorientation swept through Christina and her arm and leg movements lost their customary grace. Flailing about and reaching in all directions she suddenly found herself being held steady between Clay’s strong hands; his knowing eyes assuring her that she was safe and his hand and finger movements relating that the feeling she was experiencing was a normal one for this first experience. Held like this, as they slipped silently through the dream-like colors created by the sun’s rays, she felt a degree of safety in Clay’s grasp, the gentleness of his hold however, quite unlike the strength she knew this man capable of.

  In their descent she became aware of the deepening colors and the beautiful coral formations directly below them. Within a few more yards Clay motioned for her to pinch her nostrils thereby forcing air through to equalize the pressure in her ears. She nodded and found herself hoping that he would be pleased with her as a student.

  He returned an okay symbol with his fingers and then pointed her attention to a brightly hued fish as it weaved its way past her left shoulder. The fish was like a jewel, radiant in colors of yellow, royal blue and emerald green. Below them, just a few feet away, hundreds of small fish darted back and forth like kites roaming in spring time breezes. The coral around them was alive with color and life and the sight of this aquatic drama sent waves of excitement whirling through Christina’s perceptions. The color of the coral seemed to Christina a wondrous stage for the living and moving jewels that darted and danced and disappeared in the crevasses and valleys of its organic structure. With every movement of her body, Christina’s eyes beheld some new subtlety of nature, some new prism of sunlight.

  …

  Leaving a more than adequate margin of air in their tanks, Clay eventually signaled that they would have to surface and feeling as if she was about to be taken from the circus before the show was over, Christina’s sense of disappointment returned. Her feelings surprised her.

  Ascending slowly to the surface, the pressure equalizing in her ears made a strange whining sound. To Christina the sound seemed as if her body was silently protesting an end to the experience.

  …

  Clay was the first up into the unfiltered sunlight and as she waited by the boat he flung his tanks easily up the large swim step and then, lifting his hard sea streaked body, he turned and offered her his hand. As he helped her remove the heavy tanks her excitement about the dive won over her restraint and as they drove toward the marina she found herself verbally animated in an excited review of what she had seen.

  …

  Returning to the dive shop and finding a note from Joe that apologized for his inability to take her home, Christina found herself suddenly self-conscious in Clay’s shirtless presence again. The shop was empty and the matter of dressing resurrected her earlier feelings of vulnerability, but to her relief Clay announced that he would be glad to go next door to get them a cold drink and an ice cream bar before he drove her home. She smiled in acceptance of the offer and as he slipped his T shirt on and left the shop she looked reverently upward in thanks and expelled a sigh of relief at having the opportunity of dressing in the small shop alone.

  While changing, Christina’s thoughts became a collage of feelings about her underwater adventure, her anxiousness to share the experience with Arthur and a disturbing, anticipatory excitement about Clay’s imminent return to the shop and tomorrow’s diving lesson. Dressed and standing in front of a full length mirror, Christina reached out and put her fingertips on the dive tunic that she had worn and that Clay had hung back onto the wall. Delicately and mindfully Christina’s fingers first traced the shoulders of the tunic where Clay’s hands had held the rubber garment against her body. Her hand then slowly moved to the area of the tunic where Clay had forcefully tugged the zipper together near her thighs. Her fingertips lingered here for a moment, exploring the taut surface of the fabric before falling away from the garment and spreading out across the front of her shorts on a path that would rise up and across her breasts, the length of her neck and into the still damp recesses of her hair.

  She breathed in deeply. The bamboo chimes sounded the opening of the door to the shop.

  Chapter 8

  Clay’s jeep bumped over the ill kept road as it wound through coral colored houses, each with its own particular look of poverty. Somehow, with the sea as a background and the lush, green foliage that seemed to threaten each yard, the poorly kept dwellings were a sharp contrast to the happy looking children, children who were running, laughing from one yard to another as Clay and Christina passed.

  The right wheel, riding a larger than normal chuck hole, jarred Christina’s attention away from the chil
dren and back to her question about where Clay was taking her since he had, some minutes before, turned away from the direction of the Vaughn’s home. Grabbing the dashboard to steady herself over another particularly bad rut, she looked at Clay’s face, his chin sharply defined against the profuse roadside foliage. His open amusement at her apparent physical discomfort brought a familiar rush of irritation to her face.

  “If your purpose in taking this miserable road is to color an otherwise lovely afternoon, you’re succeeding,” she said coolly. She moved her honey colored hair away from her eyes, the sun reflecting in its long, golden strands as they followed the air riding over the jeep.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to Arthur in one piece,” Clay promised. His chin raised, his smile broadened, his blue eyes stayed steadily on the challenging road.

  She clenched her teeth at this return of what she felt was his provocative manner and with a deep breath Christina tried to maintain a fragile grasp to her softened feelings about him.

  Turning his face, which looked innocently boyish as the wind caught and tossed his hair, he smiled even more widely and said over the noise of the jeep, “…..besides if you bounced out of here and got hurt, all the trouble and expense of renting your equipment this afternoon would be wasted.” He turned his self-amused attention back to the road.

  Christina flushed under her tanning skin, embarrassed at her momentary hope for some sign of sincerity in his words.

  “Do you ever think seriously about anything Mr. Corbett, when you’re not driving, that is? You’re obviously very serious about that.” She turned her eyes back to the road and with a sense of emotion in her voice added, “For awhile this afternoon, I actually started to think…” Her voice trailed off in an act of verbal control.

  Clay waited for her to continue and when she did not he looked briefly in her direction, expectation in his eyes. She was silent. “Are you always so serious about things Miss Weldon?” he queried, his brow darkening, his smile fading.

  Just as she was about to speak, the jeep lurched to a stop that once more required her to hold on to the security of remaining in the jeep by placing her hand against the dashboard. They had stopped in front of a small faded pink cottage that was in a state of disrepair. Two small boys were playing with toy trucks in the dirt by the front porch. A dog ran towards the jeep wagging its tail as if in recognition of the vehicle.

  Clay lifted his muscular legs over the edge of the jeep and with a smile returning to his face in the greeting of the dog, said, “I’ll be right back.” His soft, expressive eyes left the dog for a moment and met Christina’s.

  “Really,” he reassured and for the first time since they had met Christina saw a wonderfully warm, sincerity in his expression.

  “Clay, where are we?” she quizzed, aware that she was using his name for the first time.

  Clapping an authoritative hand on the fender of the jeep and rounding to her side, Clay said, “I’ll be right back,” he paused, “….Christina.”

  Her name left his lips with a softness that danced across her growing curiosity about this man and in the spell cast by the way he had said her name, she hardly noticed that he hadn’t answered her question. Before she could speak he had turned and was cupping the brown dog’s head in his large calloused palm. It wagged in happy response, jumping and turning beside his long footsteps. The boys, having looked up from the business of toy trucks, were running gleefully towards Clay. Bending towards their arrival Clay’s assured stride stopped and the boys, Clay and the dog became a huddle of joyful enthusiasm.

  “Hi guys!” she heard him exclaim as she watched him scoop the boys up into his arms and the shoulder seams of his shirt pull against the muscles they covered. The fabric of Clay’s shirt stretched wide across his tapered back as he lovingly and easily lifted the boys into the air and against the power of his torso.

  Her voice, controlled with hesitation, Christina attempted to get his attention. “Clay…, Clay….,” she called. Without turning he whispered something to the boys and lowered them to the ground. They ran to the jeep giggling with delight over the secret that had been shared.

  Her impulse to resent his ignoring her was momentarily erased by the faces of the two flashing-eyed boys who, having passed a jasmine bush had picked several large blossoms they were offering her. Christina reached from the jeep, her delicate long fingers accepting the ivory colored gifts from the boys, their broad beaming smiles, magical in their childlike trust and pleasure. They turned quickly upon her acceptance and ran once more laughing and pushing and tumbling back toward the house.

  Lifting the flowers to her nose, Christina looked over their fragrant petals towards the boys only to notice Clay standing on the deeply shaded porch with a young woman who had apparently come out of the house. She was about Christina’s age, but looked childlike in her simple white dress and waist length black hair. Clay’s hands were on the attractive, young woman’s shoulders and she, with fingers spread lightly was touching his upper chest near his right shoulder. Clay was speaking quietly and Christina noticed the girl seemingly bite her bottom lip at his words. In a single movement Clay’s hand moved to the girl’s hair and she put her head on his chest, her face brushing the muscles at the base of Clay’s powerful neck.

  Christina shook her attention away from the porch. She felt a sense of embarrassment at witnessing what appeared to be a significantly personal moment in Clay’s life. Until now, he had simply been an arrogant, overly confident man with some capacity for professional politeness, a man with whom she, of necessity, had to spend several days with. His meeting on the porch, whatever its intended purpose brought him into the realm of personal reality for her. She was not pleased with having to consider her feelings about this man beyond those that he represented in his role as a diving instructor. She was not going to be interested in anything about this man’s life. His boastful display of this relationship in front of her, for whatever reason, was going to be without effect she told herself impatiently.

  Mixed emotions suddenly flooded Christina as she self-consciously grabbed the mirrored visor and pretended to smooth her hair. Arthur is probably worried sick about where I am she thought as she attempted to erase Clay’s encounter on the porch from her mind. On impulse she peevishly reached across the gear shift and struck the horn lightly, reprimanding herself for the act even as she was performing it. The horn’s sharp blast jolted through her and she snatched her hand away from it in electric remorse.

  Within a minute she apprehensively felt Clay’s presence in front of the car and without looking in his direction she attempted to appear nonchalant by putting on her sunglasses and reapplying lipstick. Catching sight of the young woman from the corner of her eye as Christina touched the enameled tube to her rounded lips, she noticed the girl waving in their direction. She was beautiful of course, Christina thought. She assumed Clay was waving back, but she kept her profile straight ahead while her eyes were riveted to the side, purposefully away from what she feared would be his anger at her foolishness with the horn.

  With moistened palms, she attempted to compose herself, saying, “Would you take me home now, Mr. Corbett. Please!”

  His weight rocking the jeep as he climbed in, she saw his sunburned hand and highly veined forearm begin to wave in the direction of the house.

  “You’d like Penny. If we had more time I would introduce you. She’s…”

  Christina interrupted with an air of detachment, “I’m really not interested in your private affairs Mr. Corbett. Could we please go now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, half smiling again and sitting straight to attention as if to mock her. “…and could I be hav’in the night off ma’am?” he added, a subservient accent in his voice.

  She ignored him, tipped her chin slightly upward and set her gaze straight ahead. The jeep bolted forward. She again had to catch herself by grabbing the dash with whitened knuckles.

  …

  Returning to the ho
use, after what she knew was an unnecessarily bumpy ride home, Christina jumped from the jeep the moment its wheels stopped. Back lighted by hundreds of sweetly scented flowers, Christina rubbed her jostled hip tenderly and threw her hair back with a resentful twist of her head. “Well Mr. Corbett, the ride home has been truly enlightening. I can’t wait to see what you’ll allow me to experience tomorrow!” Christina’s violet eyes widened and mimicked the mechanical coolness of her voice.

  “You never know, Miss Weldon.” Clay grinned widely at her obvious displeasure, “Every day here in Tortola is said to be more special than the last. You never know what kind of experience is going to offer itself up.” He winked, his full bottom lip moving in a self-satisfied way up and slowly over the rim of his top lip.

  Putting the car in gear and backing out of the drive, Clay left Christina unsatisfied in her need to put a final verbal edge to her comments and his ruggedly handsome face was now lost behind the reflection of the blue sky and palm trees on the windshield of the jeep. He was gone. The afternoon was over and turning toward the house, Christina found herself already missing Clay’s arrogant presence, his smell, his relaxed and easy laugh, his…

  Angry at herself she walked quickly towards the side entrance of the cottage and away from any immediate greeting that Arthur and his mother might or might not have for her.