For Lila, Forever

by Winter Renshaw

  “Yes, now come on.” I trace my fingers down his bare thigh. and he rips the foil between his teeth and proceeds to slip it over his fully engorged cock.

  The two of us are completely naked for the first time, which is risky because on the off-chance someone busts in here, we’d be screwed—literally, no time to tug on pants, zip zippers, or mess with shirts. But he leaves in less than two weeks and I want my first time to be special. All of him and all of me. Nothing quick, nothing rushed.

  He positions himself between my thighs, which I now realize are shaking, and drags the tip of his sheathed cock along my seam before slowly guiding it in.

  It’s the strangest sensation at first—slightly painful before a satisfying burst of pleasure once he’s all the way in.

  “You doing okay?” he asks as he looks into my eyes.

  I bite my lip before nodding. “Yeah. Keep going.”

  Thayer fills me again and again, taking his time, his hips moving in perfect rhythm, not too fast, not too slow, and my body unfurls beneath him, relaxing and sinking into the mattress below.

  I’ve never felt this close to anyone, and my only regret now is that we didn’t do this sooner.

  “I love you, Lila,” he whispers into my ear.

  “I love you too.”

  I run my hands along his sides, his muscles rippling beneath my palms with each thrust, and my hips buck in response.

  With his head buried against my shoulder, he kisses my neck before working his way down to my breasts, taking each nipple between his soft lips before getting back into his rhythm.

  I could so do this forever with him.

  When the ache between my thighs intensifies a few minutes later, I know I’m getting closer and there’s no turning back, and when I ride the wave that follows, I swear I see stars.

  He thrusts harder, faster …

  And when we’re both finished, he collapses beside me, breathless, his hand interlaced with mine.

  I curl up against him, resting my cheek against his chest and hooking my arm over his stomach. He kisses the top of my head, and we lay there, still and basking in the moment.

  “I want to go to Italy,” I say.

  “That’s random.” He sniffs a laugh through his nose.

  “I know. I don’t know why, but I just decided that,” I say. “We should go there someday.”

  He traces his fingers down my arm, leaving a trail of tiny goosebumps. “Maybe we should talk about next month before we talk about someday...”

  The delirious smile I’ve been wearing leaves my lips and I know it’s time to have the conversation we’ve both been putting of all summer.

  “Yeah.” I sit up. “So … where do we start? Who goes first?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you think and we’ll go from there?”

  “What I think about what? Staying together? Splitting up?”

  He winces. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, if he’s wincing because I mentioned “splitting up” or wincing because he thinks I want to stay together and that’s not the same thing he wants.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says, getting up. He disappears down the hall, cleaning up I assume, and when he returns, he lies down and pulls me up against him. His heart drums against my ear. He’s just as anxious about this talk as I am.

  This conversation isn’t going to be easy, but we have to have it, so I stuff my nerves deep down, take a second to gather my thoughts, and let him have it.

  “I love you, Thayer,” I say. “Like … beyond obsessed and addicted and insanely wild about you. I can’t see myself feeling this way about anyone else. Ever. You have my heart. And I think you know that. When you leave, you’re going to be spending the next two semesters on a campus filled with thousands of beautiful women, and odds are some of them are going to cross paths with you and when they do, they’ll realize what a catch you are. And I’ll be here. On this island. With your grandfather and my grandparents, missing you, thinking of you, and wondering every single day if you still feel the same way.”

  He’s quiet, but I realize he’s holding my hand.

  “I’ve thought about the long-distance relationship thing,” I say. “But there’s no cell service out here. No internet. We can’t send each other letters for obvious reasons. If I called you from my grandparents’ phone, they’re going to see it on their phone bill and figure it out. I’ve got no way to leave the island and come visit you for days at a time without that being a huge red flag. This whole thing is a logistical nightmare.” I take a deep breath. “But all of that said … I’m not ready to let you go.”

  “Then don’t.” He sits up and pulls me into his lap, our naked bodies touching at every curve and bend, fitting together like two perfect puzzle pieces. “Lila, you have my word that when I go back to school, I’ll be one-hundred percent focused on my studies. My heart will belong to you and only you. And I know you’re going to worry. That’s in your nature. That’s who you are and I’ve known that from the day I met you. But you’ll just have to trust me.”

  “So when will I see you again? Will you come back here for winter break?”

  His shoulders fall. “Maine winters are brutal. A lot of times there’s no travel to and from the mainland. Granddad usually comes to Bridgeport for the holidays and your grandparents stick around to take care of the grounds. Coming back here while the rest of my family is in Connecticut isn’t going to be an option.”

  “So I won’t see you again until … next May?”

  “Right.” He softens his voice, but it only amplifies the disappointment in his tone. “It’s not going to be easy, but with a little trust and a little faith, I know we can do it. I mean, I kind of think we make a pretty amazing team, don’t you? Look what we pulled off this summer.”

  “Yeah …”

  “So what do you say?” he asks. “Are you in this with me?”

  I lose myself in his calming ocean eyes for a moment before kissing the lips I’m going to spend the next nine months missing like hell.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m in this with you.”

  Chapter 27

  9 Months Later…

  Thayer

  “Where … are … they?” My lungs burn after sprinting from The Lila Cottage to my grandfather’s house where I stormed into his study, a man on a mission.

  “Thayer.” He rises from his leather chair, a cordial smile on his face as he dog-ears his Architectural Digest magazine and rests it on a coffee table. “What a pleasant surprise. Wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Come on in. Have a seat.”

  He waves me over, but I remain planted. I won’t rest, I won’t make myself at home until I know why the Hilliards are nowhere to be found.

  The boat dropped me off at the dock a half hour ago, and as I made my way to the main house, I couldn’t help but notice from a distance that The Hilliard Cottage looked … off. And then I realized there were no flowers. Junie always plants flowers at the end of April, and it’s the middle of May. Also there were weeds growing out of the old flower beds. Ed never would’ve allowed that to happen. Curious—and concerned—I made my way to their cottage, only to find the front door unlocked and the place looking different from the last time I was there.

  I made my way from room to room, and it only took me a minute to realize all the family photos that Ed and Junie had were gone. In their place were the faces of smiling and posing strangers. I went to the main bedroom next, only to find the closet half-filled with women’s clothes, not so much as a hint of anything a man would wear. When I went to Lila’s old room next, I found it stripped to the bones. Not a picture. Not a book. Not a single article of clothing on the dresser.

  The Hilliards were gone.

  I left their cottage and sprinted to the abandoned cottage. I know Lila—she wouldn’t have left without an explanation. I was positive I’d find a note somewhere in the house, and I tore the place up looking for it only to come up empty handed—except for the notes I’d written and hidden for
her before I left.

  She didn’t find a single one, never had a chance to read them.

  Granddad rises from his chair, the corners of his lips turning down. “I’m not sure why that’s any of your business.” And then he chuckles. “Or why you’re so visibly upset.” Walking toward me, he places a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s head to the kitchen. I’ll have Bernice prepare a snack for you. I’m sure you’re hungry after your travels.”

  “Bernice?”

  He ushers me out of his study. “The new help.”

  “Where are the Hilliards?” I ask as we walk.

  He chuffs through his nose, taking his time answering. “They retired, Thayer. That’s what people do when they reach a certain age.”

  I exhale, the tension in my shoulders dissipating in small increments. Retirement makes sense. They were in their early sixties last I knew, and they’d been caring for the family’s island off the coast of Maine since before I was born. Junie did the cooking and the cleaning and Ed tended the garden, maintained the landscaping, combed the private beaches, and kept up the boats and three main houses all twelve months of the year.

  “They moved to the mainland then?” I ask.

  “I haven’t the slightest. I sent them on their way last fall and haven’t heard from them since. For all I know they’re living their golden years in sunny Florida, or perhaps they made their way to Arizona. I believe Junie has a sister there. Either way, they’re having themselves a time, I’m sure of it.”

  His nonchalance is nothing short of concerning.

  Ed and Junie were like family. They’d been around for decades. I can’t imagine they wouldn’t stay in touch—or that my know-it-all grandfather wouldn’t have so much as a clue as to where they went. That coupled with the fact that Lila didn't so much as leave a goodbye letter tells me that he’s not giving me all the facts.

  I follow him to the kitchen where a middle-aged woman with gray-brown hair stands at the sink, washing dishes by hand. She’s shorter and thinner than Junie, her hair straight and cut blunt at her shoulders. There’s a permanent scowl etched on her face. She doesn’t light the room like Junie did.

  “Bernice, this is my eldest grandson, Thayer,” Grandfather says.

  The woman glances over her shoulder, offering a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it half-smile and a nod, her yellow-gloved hands still deep in the dirty dishwater.

  “Very nice to meet you,” she says, her back toward us. “I’ve heard so much about you. Your grandfather tells me you’re pre-law at Yale?”

  "Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  “Just finished his second year.” Grandfather beams from ear to ear. It thrills him to no end that I’ve chosen to follow in his collegiate footsteps. “Anyway, he’s made quite the jaunt today and my boy is starving. Would you mind preparing him a sandwich?”

  “It’s fine. I’m not hungry,” I say.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He puffs his chest and follows with a pompous chuff. “You just drove several hours and then you ferried in.”

  He’s right.

  I drove four straight hours from New Haven, not stopping once, because all I could think about was getting here—to Lila. And then I waited two hours for a ferry that took three hours to get me here because of all the other island stops we made.

  Mile after mile, the thought of seeing Lila kept me going. The sheer excitement and anticipation of being together again was all the distraction I needed.

  I daydreamed about sneaking up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist.

  I pictured her sweet smile and her sparkling amber-green eyes.

  I felt her hands on my face and her hair between my fingers as I stole her away and claimed her pink lips with a kiss behind the boathouse.

  “How can I find them?” I ask my grandfather.

  His thick brows knit. “Who, Thayer? I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

  He’s playing dumb. I know better than to buy into his act.

  “The Hilliards,” I say, without naming Lila specifically.

  “And what reason on God’s green earth would you have to contact them?” my grandfather asks. “They’re retired. I’m sure we’re the last people they want to hear from.”

  “They were a big part of my childhood. I considered them family,” I say. “It’d just be nice to be able to keep in touch is all. Would’ve been nice to know the last time I saw them was going to be ... the last time.”

  Granddad hooks a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

  “You’re too sentimental, boy. Just like your mother. Speaking of which, she’ll be here in two days. The rest of the crew should be here by the weekend. Say, I was going to get the ol’ ketch out and go for a sail this afternoon. You’ll join me.” In true Howard Bertram fashion, he isn’t asking.

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to pass. Not in a sailing mood today.”

  His cheery disposition fades and he studies me for a moment. “This isn’t about the Hilliards, is it? If you’d like to write them a letter, I’d be happy to have my attorney work on locating them and sending it on.”

  I consider his offer. “And how long do you think that would take?”

  He squints. “Is this an urgent matter? I was under the assumption you were simply wanting to keep in touch.”

  Yes, it’s urgent.

  The woman I love—the only woman I’ve ever loved and will ever love—is out there somewhere and I haven’t the slightest idea as to where she is, how to contact her …

  … or why she would’ve left without saying goodbye.

  Lila had my address at school—before I left, I gave it to her for emergency purposes as well as my number and email address. She could’ve written me a letter. The Hilliards didn’t own a personal computer of any kind, but there was a lab at the public library in Rose Crossing—she could’ve easily looked me up and emailed me.

  I believe that the Hilliards retired, but I don’t believe that Lila would have left here without so much as leaving a letter in the cottage.

  Something isn't adding up here.

  “Thayer.” My grandfather clears his throat. “I’m speaking to you. Are you all right?”

  I realize now that I’m sitting at the base of the grand staircase in my grandfather’s foyer. I don’t remember walking here. I don’t remember sitting down and placing my hands in my hair, tugging until my scalp throbs.

  Coming to, I pull in a deep breath and force myself to stand. “I’m fine. Think I just need to lie down for a bit.”

  His mouth flattens. He’s disappointed I won’t be sailing with him this afternoon, but he’s not going to push it. The summer is young, I’m sure he’s thinking.

  “All right. I’ll have Bernice get you the key to Ainsworth,” he says. “We weren’t expecting you home this early, but everything should be in order. If it isn’t, let me know. This is her first time opening the island for the summer.”

  Opening the island …

  He opened the island the way other people open their pools for the summer: with checklists and procedures and quiet fanfare. “Opening the island” was always his expression for this time of year, when our entire extended family would abandon their modern lives, their work and school in favor of sun, sand, and sailing off the coast of a New England island hideaway. It was always Ed and Junie who would prepare for our arrivals. All the linens would be freshly washed, beds made. Junie used to fold our towels into little animal shapes, like we were at some resort, and Ed would shine up the boats and hose off the dock. Junie would place freshly picked and trimmed flowers in vases in every living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom—that alone must have taken her hours if not days considering each home had at least five bedrooms and six baths. But she always loved to go the extra mile to make our annual homecoming a splendid affair.

  My grandfather disappears into the kitchen, returning with a set of keys to my family’s designated house just a few hundred yards down the drive.
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br />   “Dinner will be at six,” he says, dropping the key ring in my hand. “Get some rest, but don’t be late. We have much catching up to do.”

  As soon as he’s gone, I realize I’m squeezing the set so hard, the metal teeth are leaving indentations in my palm. Relaxing, I show myself out and head down the path to Ainsworth, gaze locked on the cedar shake siding that covers the backside. Last summer, I stole a kiss from Lila next to the white peony bushes on the north side of the house.

  The bushes are lackluster now, appearing as if they hardly intend to bloom this year.

  Once I get to the house, I unlock a side door and head in. My lungs fill with stuffy, slightly damp air. Apparently Bernice didn’t air out the house the way Junie always did in anticipation of our arrival, but I know she’s new so I won’t fault her for it.

  Passing down the hall, I make my way to the living room before cutting through the foyer to get to the kitchen. There’s no bowl of fresh fruit waiting on the counter. Not a single vase filled with picked hydrangeas or lilacs as per tradition.

  A moment later, I climb the stairs to the second floor and find my room at the end of the hall.

  No folded swan towels.

  No welcome note in Junie’s whimsical handwriting.

  No secret welcome note from Lila tucked into my pillowcase.

  I head to the windows first, sliding up the sashes and letting some much needed fresh air fill the space.

  Collapsing on the bed next, I slide my hands under my neck and stare at the lifeless ceiling fan above. Everything … and I mean everything … has taken on an empty quality.

  The island.

  The house.

  Me.

  It’s like a substantial part of me is missing—and that part of me is her.