by Rachel Lacey
15
Nicole lingered in the doorway as Fiona walked ahead of her into the studio, wanting to observe her for a moment in this room that must be her favorite, her oasis, her creative place. She walked to the easel and turned to face Nicole, a dreamy smile on her face.
This was what Nicole had come to France hoping to find: this version of Fiona. The Fiona that stood before her now in a long, flowing green dress, eyes gleaming with health and peace and happiness.
“There’s something I wanted to show you,” she said.
“Did you paint me?” Nicole asked teasingly, stepping into the studio. It was a sort of all-weather porch at the rear of the cottage with windows on three sides to let in lots of natural light and a large wooden easel in the center. A tarp covered the floor, spattered with paint every shade of the rainbow.
“Sort of,” Fiona said, gesturing to a painting on the wall beside the door.
Nicole turned to face it, pressing a hand over her mouth. It was them—her and Fiona—or a fantasy version of them. They wore the red strips of fabric they’d fashioned out of Fiona’s dress on the island, hands entwined as they dove deep below the turquoise waves of the ocean.
“I call it ‘Fire Under Water,’” Fiona said, coming to stand beside her.
“It’s…it’s beautiful, Fi.”
“I tried painting us on the island, but I could never get it quite right.”
“This is perfect,” Nicole said, staring mesmerized at the painting. “I love it.”
“I’m glad.” Fiona’s fingers slid into hers, squeezing gently.
“I keep that drawing you made for me beside my bed.”
“Do you?”
Nicole nodded. “It helped me feel close to you, when I was there, and you were here.”
“I guess I felt the same way about this one.” Fiona leaned in, resting her head on Nicole’s shoulder the way she’d done that endless night on the lifeboat when everything had been so terrifying and miserable.
“I’m so glad I’m here.”
“Me too.”
They stood there for a long minute, holding each other and staring at the painting of them diving together in a turquoise sea in their flaming red outfits. Fire under water. If that didn’t describe everything they’d been through…
“Do you want to go out, or…?” Fiona asked.
“Not tonight. I mean, unless you want to.” But she already knew Fiona didn’t, and tonight, she was the only thing Nicole wanted.
“No,” Fiona said. “You must be tired from your flight.”
“I am.” And she really wanted to keep Fiona all to herself tonight. But sooner or later, they needed to try their relationship out in the real world. So far, they’d existed together mostly in a void. They’d never gone on a date or even gone shopping. And before she went home, Nicole wanted to see at least a little bit of the French countryside.
Instead, they got domestic together. Chatting comfortably in Fiona’s kitchen, they prepared a chicken to roast with various root vegetables and a handful of fresh herbs Fiona had bought that morning at the market. This was something Nicole rarely did. Sure, she’d cooked plenty of meals for Brandon over the years, but from scratch was hardly her forte, and with them both working full-time in the city, they’d often resorted to takeout or pre-prepared meals.
Since the divorce, Nicole was more likely to fix herself a sandwich and eat on the couch in front of the TV than make a home-cooked meal. Cooking with Fiona was oddly comforting, though. Once the food was in the oven, Fiona poured two glasses of wine, and they sat on the back patio, watching the sun settle below the trees.
“I see why you love it here so much,” Nicole said softly.
“It’s peaceful.”
“A world away from New York.”
“City mouse meets country mouse,” Fiona said with a smile.
This was the part Nicole wasn’t sure how to resolve, and ironically, geography ought to have been the least of their problems. But if Fiona gave her the chance, Nicole would embrace a long-distance relationship, and maybe eventually, it could be more. Maybe they could split their time together between New York and France.
Over the past few weeks, Nicole had been considering the possibility of leaving her corporate life behind. She could open her own marketing firm and work from home. She had the experience to make it work. Now that she was here, sitting in Fiona’s garden sipping wine, body humming from the magic they’d shared in bed and her heart fuller than it had been in years, she felt like the future was hers for the taking, as long as Fiona was a part of it.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Fiona said with that amused look on her face, the one Nicole had seen so often during their journey together.
“Just thinking how much I like it here.”
“Do you like the wine?”
“Yeah, it’s nice.” Nicole took another sip. “Wait a minute…”
Fiona’s eyes sparkled. “Remember it now?”
“You bought the same wine we drank on the boat?”
“I already owned it, actually. Told you it was a good one.”
“Well, cheers.” Nicole leaned over, tapping her glass against Fiona’s. “To the wine that led to our first kiss.” She had so many questions about what had happened after that first kiss. About the man, Dimitris. And Fiona’s father. What had happened that day in the hospital room? Fiona hadn’t said a word about it after he’d left.
But Nicole wasn’t going to ask them tonight. Tonight was for everything warm and wonderful, and she meant to enjoy every moment.
“WHAT DO your neighbors think of you?”
Fiona turned at the unusual question, narrowing her eyes at Nicole. “How do you mean?”
“I mean, are you the nice neighbor who buys groceries for the old lady down the street or the kooky artist who keeps to herself and people whisper about when they see her leave her house?” Nicole smiled. She was joking, but her words still hit a bit of a sore spot.
“Somewhere in the middle, I suppose.”
This was Nicole’s third day in France, and Fiona had brought her into the heart of Nice to the touristy area she generally avoided. They’d shopped together, had dinner at an outdoor café, and were now strolling along the seaside, shopping bags in hand.
“Today’s been so amazing,” Nicole said, a relaxed smile on her face.
“It has,” Fiona agreed. Sometimes she spent so much time avoiding people, she forgot she didn’t mind being around them from time to time, and especially with Nicole at her side.
“I think we have to do it,” Nicole said, looking at her like they were about to rob a bank together.
“Do what?” Fiona had no idea what she was getting at.
“Put our toes in the ocean.”
The way she said it, so earnest but with that wicked smile, Fiona turned to kiss her but instead found herself doubled over in laughter. She laughed until tears leaked from her eyes, and then she took Nicole’s hand and dragged her toward the beach. They dropped their shopping bags in the sand, kicked off their shoes, and jumped in.
With waves lapping at their knees and half the population of Nice turning to stare, Fiona wrapped her arms around Nicole and kissed her deeply and thoroughly.
“Well, that was nice,” Nicole said when they’d come up for air.
“Wasn’t it?” Fiona nudged her nose against Nicole’s and gave her another quick kiss before leading the way back to the pavement. Her dress was wet below the knees, her toes gritty with sand, but she didn’t care. They’d drawn quite a crowd, though, and that she did care about…just a little.
She’d become something of a local curiosity after Dimitris was arrested. Between the notoriety of having been lost at sea and her connection to the man behind it, for a little while, everyone had been looking at her. And so, she found she didn’t like it now. She wanted to be just another nameless face in the crowd, a woman out for a walk with her girlfriend.
She hustled Nicole back to the car
a bit more quickly than she probably should have, claiming her wet clothes bothered her. Nicole wasn’t fooled, having spent a week in wet clothes with Fiona, during which neither of them had spent much time complaining about it, but she played along, talking cheerily about their day as Fiona drove them home.
“Did it bother you, all those people watching us kiss?” she asked finally as they walked into the cottage.
“No…I mean, I don’t mind kissing you in public. Everyone who knows me knows I date women.” She walked to the kitchen and poured wine, handing a glass to Nicole.
“Then what?” she persisted, and Fiona smiled softly, wondering that she’d ever thought she might have gotten off from this line of questioning.
“There’s just been a lot of staring since everything that’s happened. Those weren’t random onlookers. They recognized us, or at least some of them did. People are curious. And I don’t like being stared at for reasons that are none of anyone’s business.”
“Oh.” Nicole sat at the table, sipping her wine. “Tell me, Fi. Tell me what wasn’t in that article. What really happened with Dimitris?”
Fiona sighed, settling into the chair beside her. “I was naïve, that’s what happened. I was a fool.”
“You’re anything but a fool,” Nicole said, reaching for her hand.
“This time, I was. I met Dimitris about five years ago. I’d been invited to a gallery event where a few of my paintings were on display. He was there. We hit it off. He was rich and charming, but not in the pompous way men often are. He was enjoyable to be around, and he was good in bed. He traveled a lot on business, which brought him to Nice once or twice a year, and we fell into a routine where he’d phone me up when he was in town, and we’d spend a day together, maybe a couple of days, if I wasn’t seeing anyone else at the time, which, let’s face it, I usually was not.”
Nicole opened her mouth as if she had questions, then closed it and gestured for Fiona to continue.
“I never looked him up. Frankly, I wasn’t interested enough in him to care, but that was my mistake, because if I’d searched his name, apparently I would have found that he’d been questioned by the police multiple times over the years for his connection to organized crime.” She paused, sipped, looked over at Nicole, sipped again. “So when he asked me on this cruise with him, I thought it sounded like fun. Like I said, I was a fool.”
“If that’s foolish, then I’m an idiot too, because I’ve never run a Google search on anyone I’ve dated, including you. You’re human, Fi. You made an error in judgment.”
“What happened to your marriage?” Fiona asked, turning the tables on her.
It was Nicole’s turn to sigh, to settle into her chair for a tale she’d rather not tell. “We married young. We were so much in love back then. It’s hard to remember now, but we were. But then we grew up, our careers grew up, and before we knew it, we were two strangers sharing a house, fighting over stupid shit and resenting each other for being the people we’d become. And eventually, he found someone else.”
“Growing apart isn’t an excuse to cheat,” Fiona said quietly.
“No, it’s not, and I can’t forgive what he did, but I’ve moved on. I don’t hate him. We weren’t happy for a long time before he cheated, and that wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just was. One of us should have had the courage to walk away years ago.”
“Always easier to see in hindsight.” Fiona swirled her wine, staring into its ruby-red depths.
“It is. But it made the divorce easier, in a way. I wasn’t in love with him anymore, so the feelings weren’t as raw. Emotionally, I’d been alone so much longer than three months. And having been in a loveless marriage, it makes me appreciate even more when things are good.” She leaned forward and kissed Fiona, a kiss that made what they’d shared on the beach in Nice look like a peck on the lips, the kind of kiss that sent clothes flying and ended in bed.
They rolled together over the sheets, hands roaming, hips rocking, mouths never losing contact in their desperate tumble toward release. Nicole broke first, hips jerking against Fiona’s as she came with a cry that brought Fiona right over the edge with her. They ended in a tangled heap of body parts, breathless and sweaty, giddy smiles on their faces. Fiona’s heart felt so light, she could hardly stand it. This was the effect Nicole had on her. It was strange and terrifying and wonderful, all at the same time.
Exhausted, they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. When Fiona woke, it was dark outside, but she couldn’t see the clock without disturbing Nicole, so she snuggled closer against her, mentally replaying a highlight reel of their day, and there were a lot of highlights.
“Are you awake?” Nicole whispered.
“Yes.”
“We’re so lucky, aren’t we? To have escaped that ship and survived everything we did on the lifeboat and the island, and to have found each other in the process.” Nicole’s arms tightened around her, her voice rusty with sleep and edged in nostalgia.
“Lucky is one word for it.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Lucky isn’t usually a word I use to describe myself, no.” She heard the bitterness that had slipped into her tone, immediately hating it, but she couldn’t change the truth either.
“Why is that?” Nicole asked, her question whispered into the dark, echoing endlessly inside Fiona’s brain. “What happened with your family? With your dad?”
It was a question that reminded her of a time in her life when she’d slept with her bedroom door locked and a flashlight under the covers. She felt herself stiffen at the memory, knowing Nicole felt it too but helpless to prevent it from happening.
Nicole squeezed her gently, moving one hand to stroke her face. “What did he do to you?” she asked, her voice quiet but fierce.
Fiona looked away, even though it didn’t matter in the darkness of her bedroom. “It’s not so much what he did as what he didn’t do.”
“What didn’t he do?” she whispered. “Who did he not protect you from?”
Air whooshed from Fiona’s lungs, her chest collapsing like a ruptured balloon. She pressed a hand against it, willing herself to find air, to form the answer to Nicole’s question, but neither came. Her lungs burned, and her vision blurred, and tears splashed over her cheeks.
Nicole brushed them away with a touch that was heartbreakingly gentle. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too difficult.”
Her lips brushed Fiona’s, and that contact seemed to break something inside her, the dam holding her emotions in check. She buried her face on Nicole’s shoulder and cried, big racking sobs that shook her entire body, leaving her weak and shaky, a limp and soggy version of herself who was tired of drowning in her own private sorrow.
“It was my Uncle Timothy,” she whispered against Nicole’s skin, wet with Fiona’s tears.
“Oh, dammit,” Nicole breathed, her arms holding Fiona against her, holding her together. “I’m so sorry.”
“He didn’t visit often, but when he did…” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. The pain, the shame, the bruises she’d had to wear tights under her skirts even in the summertime to hide.
Nicole’s hand stroked her hair in the dark, giving her the strength to continue.
“He went away for a while, and the next time he came to stay with us, I was old enough to know what was happening. I told my mother. She screamed and cried and locked herself in her bedroom. My father swore a lot and couldn’t look at me. I thought he didn’t believe me.”
“Oh no,” Nicole whispered.
“After I went to bed that night, I heard the yelling, my father and Uncle Timothy. He said he would call the police if his brother ever set foot in our house again. The next morning, my uncle was gone.”
“He should have called the police anyway.” Nicole’s voice was filled with quiet outrage. “Did your uncle ever face charges?”
“No.” Fiona cleared her throat, hoping it might add some strength to her voice. �
��Maybe he would have, but he went home and killed himself instead.”
“Oh my God.” Nicole’s arms tightened around her.
“It was awful,” she whispered. “So much fucking crying. My mother never stopped. My father never left his study. I never left my room.”
“Oh, Fi… Didn’t anyone hug you?”
She laughed bitterly. “The Boones weren’t very prone to hugging.”
“I may have to hug you forever to make up for it,” Nicole whispered.
Fiona drew strength from Nicole’s embrace to finish the story. “A few weeks later, my mother died of a heart attack.”
“Oh my God. Oh, Fiona…” Nicole pressed their foreheads together, cupping Fiona’s face in her hands. “That’s…that’s maybe the saddest story I’ve ever heard.”
Fiona sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Nicole’s hair.
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“And what happened? It was just you and your dad left?”
“He told me after my mother’s funeral that he had failed us. I didn’t think he had. Not yet, anyway. But he retreated into his work after that. We hardly ever spoke. That’s when he failed me. The housekeeper looked after me, mostly. I was angry. So fucking angry.” She breathed again, holding onto Nicole in the darkness.
“I’m angry for you,” Nicole said fiercely. “And so sorry.”
“I was a nightmare teenager,” Fiona said. “I skipped curfew and drank too much and tried too many drugs and slept with too many people. I yelled at my father when he tried to discipline me. I just wanted someone to hear me, and he never fucking did.”
“He should have, dammit. How did you get from there to here?”
“I grew up, despite my best efforts otherwise. My father paid for me to get my degree in graphic arts, again despite my best efforts otherwise. I moved out. I got a job I hated, and eventually, I came here.”
Nicole kissed her, holding on to her in the dark, her anchor, her center, her everything. “What happened when he came to visit you in the hospital in Greece?”