by Sienna Blake
Then it was back into the car to drive past a forty-foot massive cartoon-pink dinosaur, a tall tree sculpture on a stretch of white, barren desert, and an old-fashioned trading post before hitting the Four Corners, the meeting spot of Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico. We waited our turn in the line of bustling tourists getting their pictures taken touching all four states with hands and feet. We asked an older woman with her husband to get our picture and in an outdoor version of Twister the three of us all contorted to squeeze into.
With a red-faced giggle, I hopped to my feet, dusted off my palms against the leg of my pants, and pushed my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose with the back of my hand as I went to take back our camera.
"Thanks so much," I said as the woman passed the camera back over to me.
I was squinting against the hot rays of sunlight and checking over the pictures when the woman said, "You know, that's quite a lovely little family you have."
I glanced over my shoulder at Michael, who was still straddling the four corners with Zara draped across his back and laughing as her hair fell into his face. I blushed as I looked back at the woman.
"Oh, we're not a—"
In the pictures of my camera the three of us looked just as the woman said: a family, a lovely little family. In the picture the three of us were smiling, Zara in her white plastic heart-shaped sunglasses, me in my rose-coloured aviators, and Michael a pair of sleek blue glasses straight out of the '80s. Our limbs were all intertwined like the deep roots of an old oak, like we were all a part of something ancient, sacred, linked by something greater than the ground we all touched. There was no distance between us, no painful past, no years of an ocean dividing us. Nothing other than togetherness. Love. Family.
I cleared my throat as I stared at the picture a moment longer, then looked up at the woman, who was looking at me.
"Um, thanks," I said, my throat tight suddenly. "That's all I meant to say. Just thanks."
The older woman smiled kindly and patted me on the shoulder before walking away after her husband. I returned my attention to the perfect little picture of the perfect little family. I ran my thumb over it and sighed. I wondered if when Michael returned back to Ireland, when this all fell apart, if I would like to look back at this picture one day, remember the little weekend when we all pretended we were someone else. I wondered if I would find some comfort or joy in looking back at it. Or whether I would delete it, smash the camera, and burn the bits to nothing but melted plastic.
I was startled slightly by a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey," Michael laughed, "I said your name like three times. What are you so focused on?"
I smiled and pushed my hair back out of my face and draped the strap of the camera casually over my shoulder.
"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "Just thinking about the next time we're getting ice cream. Where's Zara?"
I checked for her over Michael's shoulder, but the next family had taken their turn at the small landmark.
"She went inside the little museum with her notebook," he said, jutting his chin toward a small building. "I asked if we were having too much fun and she said 'research is fun, too' before running off."
I chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess I didn't manage to wring all of you out of her," I joked playfully with a wink.
"Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve to see any of me in her," Michael said, the sudden melancholy in his voice surprising me.
I guided Michael by the elbow toward a bench, and we sat down as people milled cheerfully around us.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Michael took off his sunglasses and squinted beneath the bright summer sun. He wiped his palms against his knees and with a sigh, finally turned to me with a sad smile.
"I mean, you must know why," he said softly, his eyes searching mine. "I wasn't there, Abbi. We've been avoiding that nasty little truth this whole weekend, but it's still there, isn't it? I wasn't there for you and I wasn't there for Zara, for my daughter."
Michael dropped his head between his arms and I saw his back give a slight shudder as he exhaled.
"I don't deserve to see any of me in her because there was none of me in her life," he continued. "It's like expecting to see your reflection when you're standing in front of a concrete wall."
I scooted closer to him on the bench and laid a gentle hand on his knee.
"Sometimes it was hard," I said, looking over across the square to the welcome centre where Zara still was. "Seeing so much of you in her, I mean. It made it harder…I don't know…it made it harder to forget you."
Michael's chin was still resting against his chest, his eyes still hidden by the crook of his arm.
"That's all I really wanted for a long time," I said softly. "Just to forget you. To drive away your memory. To scrub you from my mind. But then I'd see Zara and…and it'd all come crashing back. Again and again."
The sun was too bright and I felt my eyes water.
"But I'm happy that there's you in her, Michael," I whispered. "She's strong. Stronger than I am, than I ever was. She'll be okay when…when…"
My throat tightened. I didn't utter another word for fear of it coming out like a strangled sob. I wasn't even sure what I would say. When you leave? When you decide we're nothing compared to your career? When you disappear from our lives and I call and say it's Abbi and Zara and all I hear on the line is 'who'?
After a moment I saw that Michael had turned his face and was looking at me.
"Abbi, look, I want to make things right," he said, his eyes holding mine. "I've talked to the Dublin office about staying on in Denver a while longer, even after the merger."
I shook my head. "But your job—"
"Can be done from anywhere."
"Okay, but your apartment and your clothes and your office and—"
"Are replaceable."
I dragged my hands through my hair, fighting tooth and nail against the swell of hope that threatened to sweep through me like a flood through a deep canyon. I didn't want to trust that bright light, that warmth, that gentle comfort like a shoulder to lean against. I'd only known lights to blink out, warmth to fade and the cold to sink in, shoulders to pull away, leaving you alone, terribly alone. I shook my head again, searching for any weapon to protect myself with against the onslaught of hope.
"But, but, your family!" I said almost triumphantly as I snapped my fingers at him. "You can't leave your family."
I'd done it, I thought. I'd found a way to pinch myself awake from the dream, the dream that the pixelated picture on the screen of the camera could be something more, something real. I'd done it, I thought. I'd found a way to keep myself safe. I'd done it, I thought. I'd found a way to keep the risk of pain far, far away. An ocean away…
But Michael was staring at me steadily, unflinchingly. I hesitated. I'd missed something. I saw it in the certainty of his blue eyes as it was his turn to place his hand on my knee.
"Abbi," he whispered as softly as the wind through the pines, "You guys are my family."
Michael
I was nearly asleep atop the thin, scratchy sheets of the old interstate motel just outside of Albuquerque, New Mexico when a tiny knock came from the adjoining door across the bed. At first I wasn't even sure I heard it as I lay there in the dimness of parking lot light streaming through the cracked curtains. But after a moment or two of holding my breath and staring at thin plywood door now a faded yellow, I heard it again, a little thud, as quiet as if little more than the tapping of a pinkie.
My heart skipped a beat. Because I knew who was on the other side of that adjoining door.
We'd driven through New Mexico, winding like a lazy river along the backroads that crisscrossed the major interstates. As dusk settled in, we finally stumbled upon a flashing neon light proudly announcing Vac-n-y. But when the three of us squeezed into the miniscule office stuffed with mounted antelope heads, we learned that the vacancy was only for two single-bed rooms. It was a
greed that Abbi would bunk with Zara and I would take the single bed in the room across from theirs. We got takeout from a local burger joint that smothered their burgers with fiery heaps of roasted green chilies and made a complete mess of ourselves while squeezing onto the single bed and watching a grainy rerun of Bonanza. At midnight, stuffed to the brim with milkshakes and chili fries and enough burger grease to clog arteries, we said our goodnights and I went to my room.
I'd expected nothing more till I heard the little knock that stopped my heart.
With sweaty palms I pushed myself off the old rickety bed, the aged springs groaning. I crossed the short distance to the adjoining door in my boxers and hesitated with my hand on the doorknob. Then, with a nervous breath, I quietly pushed open the door.
In the dark, I felt Abbi slip past me and close the door silently behind her. Her hair smelled like gasoline and watermelon, the one we all ate on the hood of her car beside that roadside farmer's market. Without a word, Abbi took my hand in hers and guided me back toward the bed. She was wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties as she stopped and stood in front of me at the end of the bed. Her hair was still damp from her shower and fell over one eye as she lifted her chin. The beam of light from the parted curtains fell across her face as she stared up at me.
Her hand came to the back of my neck, already slick with sweat from the oppressive desert heat, and she pulled me gently down to kiss her. Her lips tasted of spearmint toothpaste and they tingled against mine. We kissed and then Abbi took a small step backwards. Her eyes, though, did not leave mine as she slowly stretched her arms overhead. Then she waited.
My eyes moved to the very tips of her fingers held suspended in the silent, unmoving air. Despite the darkness, I thought I could see sunlight dancing off them. Her slender, tanned arms were still, but I thought I could see them waving to an unheard beat, the pounding of a drum, the thundering of feet, the rise and swell of a wild heart. Her lips were parted just slightly as she watched me watch her, but I thought I could see them singing loud and off-key to some Celtic song she didn't know the lyrics of, head thrown back, laughing when she messed up the words. Her hair hung limp, cut around her jawline, but I knew, I just knew, I could see a warm mountain wind playing with it, weaving through it like tall golden stalks of wheat.
My eyes trailed over her paper-thin t-shirt, her hard nipples pressed against the soft material, over her hips, over her long legs, over her bare feet. As I looked at her with a shuddering breath, I could see her body dancing all those years ago in Ireland. It was like she'd been frozen mid-song, as she stood there with her arms above her head in front of me. She'd been waiting, all these years she'd been waiting for me to realise what she'd known on that muddy dance floor in the wild grasses.
We fell in love that night.
And we never fell out.
My fingers shook slightly as I reached my hands out to grip the hem of Abbi's t-shirt. It was cool like the lakes of Glendalough. For all my life water had been slipping through my fingers, but in that moment I held it and it did not run away. Abbi's breath hitched as I began to lift the t-shirt over her body. Her head disappeared as I dragged it past her fingertips, and then I looked at her as the t-shirt simply fell from my limp fingers. I remembered the first time I saw her breasts, how they took my breath away. It was no different nine years later.
Abbi's fingers went to the waistband of her panties and her eyes flicked to my boxers. With the self-consciousness of two inexperienced teenagers we each pushed down our underwear. As Abbi stepped toward me and I toward me, everything was suddenly new. The brush of her fingertips against my shoulder sent jolts through my body like I'd never been touched before. Her lips against mine electrified me in a way I hadn't experienced in years. I ran my hands down her back, along her hips, against her ass, and it was like I'd never known the shape of a woman till I knew the shape of her.
Neither of us said a single word as we lay facing each other on the bed, the springs moaning loudly in protest. Our faces were inches from each other and for a moment of racing hearts and hesitant breaths, we just looked into each other's eyes. Abbi laid her hand against my cheek, and I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. There was almost something frightened about our motions.
I thought that it was because each of us saw this as more than just fucking, more than even making love, if that's what you call it. This was daring time itself. We were challenging the very universe. With our silent bodies we were screaming to the world that we could change the past, with our hands alone we were saying we could mould steel.
We were back in that motel in Ireland, up in the mountains, and we were going to change the outcome of our Fates.
Abbi's thumb ran across my lips as her eyes traced their curves. She was memorising me, as if my body was a map that would lead her back to me. When her eyes shifted up to mine, I saw her lip tremble. I wondered if she could see in my own eyes that I was scared, too.
Abbi moved tenderly to keep the mattress subdued as she swung her knee over my hips and shifted so she was on top of me. Her damp hair fell to curtain our faces as her breasts brushed against my chest; gone was even the faint yellow light from the parking lot, and yet in that intimate space, I could see every flutter of her eyelashes as she guided my cock between her legs.
My fingers dug deep into the flesh of Abbi's back to keep myself from groaning at the sensation of being inside of her once again. My chest stuttered and I struggled to keep my heartrate under control as Abbi stilled herself atop me. She looked down at me and we saw the truth in each other's eyes: this was a leaping off point. We were about to step out into the open air together. There was no turning back.
Abbi's lips parted in a silent gasp as I slid my hands to her hips and rocked her back and forth on my cock. We had to keep silent to not wake Zara in the next room. Abbi slipped her arms around my head and buried her mouth in the crook of my neck. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep quiet as our chests slid against one another's, slick with sweat from the unmoving air.
I pulled Abbi closer, and closer still wasn't close enough. I wanted more of her, I thought as our breathing grew more and more uneven. I wanted the years I missed, the years I let wither like a wild rose without water. An almost unbearable anguish filled my chest as my fingers started to shake on her glistening skin. Abbi raised her head and rested her forehead against mine, as if sensing my pain.
Her fingers reached for mine as I felt her thighs tense, her muscles twitching. Abbi squeezed my hand like it was a lifeline and placed her lips against mine to mute her screams as she came. She sagged against my chest, fingers still interlaced with mine, and it only took a few more erratic thrusts to follow soon after.
Abbi and I held each other for a long time, neither moving, both barely breathing.
Finally Abbi whispered, "I better go."
But when she went to drag herself off me, I kept hold of her hand.
"Stay," I whispered. "Stay just for a little while."
We ended up staying up all night, Abbi cradled in my arms against my chest, whispering into the dark. We hid our giggles in pillows and relearned the lines of each other’s bodies with our fingers like two lovers meeting for the first time; there was that same excitement, that same exhilaration, that same certainty that everything was beautiful, magical, perfect. We were still wide awake when the yellow light between the parted curtains changed from the parking lot lamps to the pale rising sun. It was only when we had to shield our eyes from the dazzling golden light that Abbi finally pulled herself from me.
"I don't want Zara to wake up alone," she said, leaning over and kissing me with a smile. "We'll find a way to tell her the right way."
I nodded but pulled her back for one more kiss. She stumbled and fell back against me. We laughed and kissed. We'd done it, we'd really done it: we'd rewritten the past. Dawn had come, golden and shining instead of raining and grey. And I was here. I was still here.
"We'll head to your dad's place after br
eakfast, okay?" Abbi whispered as she tugged back on her t-shirt and panties.
She paused by the adjoining door and glanced back at me. I smiled and nodded despite the sudden knot in my stomach. It was like a rain cloud gathering on the horizon when the day was perfectly clear.
"Okay, bye," Abbi whispered, biting her bottom lip as she grinned irresistibly.
I mustered a smile myself. "Bye."
Abbi slipped back into her room with Zara as quietly as she had entered hours before. I sat on the edge of the bed and dragged my hands through my hair. The prospect of seeing my father for the first time in all these years, the actual reality of it being here, made me feel sick. I looked over at my duffel bag. I didn't even have a suit with me. I had dirty shorts, touristy t-shirts from gas stations and flip-flops. I rubbed at my wrist; I didn't have my Rolex either. I ran my hand along the stubble across my chin. When was the last time I even shaved? What kind of impression would I make arriving at his front door?
With a twinge of panic I rifled through my duffel bag for my cell phone. Maybe I could find a barber nearby. And a mall for some fresh clothes. But when I plugged in my Blackberry, which had gone dead who knows how long ago, a flurry of messages from work made the phone practically vibrate out of my hand. I sank to the dirty motel carpet and scrolled through countless texts, emails, and unlistened-to voicemails.
I'd been pushing off work like a teenager who thought cleaning his room meant shoving everything underneath a rug and calling it a day. But everything I'd neglected in lieu of Abbi and Zara came crawling back out. And the pile of it was monstrous.
I was needed back at work. That much was obvious. Things were held up because of me, and that was my fault. Yes, I had to attend to this. Right away. The idea of returning immediately to work numbed the scars of my heart like a bag of frozen peas. My breathing returned to normal and the panic I felt at having to stand in judgement before my father dissipated. I held my Blackberry like a safety blanket and it felt…familiar.
