by Aidèe Jaimes
Seeing the door across the hall from the bedroom, I fumble with the handle, but it’s locked. “What’s through here?”
Eva takes my hand, easing me away from it. “The owner stores things in there. It’s off limits.”
“What is it that appeals to you about this place? Most women would prefer luxury. Spas.”
“I’m not most women,” she informs me.
“I see that.”
She opens one of the French doors that leads from the living room to a large wood deck at the back of the house. We step out onto it, and instantly, I see what would attract someone like her, and me, to a place like this.
As the sun lowers into the thunderheads, it bathes everything in a delicate light full of pinks and golds, making it seem like a vivid dream.
“I first came here years ago, searching for something,” she says, taking in a deep breath of the mossy air.
“What?”
“A way back to what I once had.”
“Did you find it?”
She shakes her head. “No. But I found a window to it, I guess you could say. When I come here, with nothing to distract me, I can hear the whispers. Do you hear whispers, Matt?”
At her question, I turn to her. In this light, her eyes also shine gold, making her appear otherworldly. It’s almost as if she really is looking into Heaven.
“Have you lost someone, Eva?”
When her eyes shift to me, the sun breaks its hold, releasing them back to their gray despair. She swallows hard, her voice coming out choked. “I’ve lost my soul.”
I reach for her and move that strand of hair that insists on touching her cheek. “Why do you do this? Why not be with someone who loves you? Settle down.” I will her to tell me about her life because if she opens up, maybe I can find a way to take her from this.
Sarcastic laughter escapes her. “Because love caged me, Matt.”
“What do you mean?”
Sighing heavily, she leans against the thick railing, once again gazing out at the scenery. “I’m married.”
I widen my eyes to show surprise, though she’s not looking. “How can you do this and be married?”
“That’s the real question, isn’t it? Peter. That’s his name. He… He’s a good guy who didn’t know how to handle a bad situation. We…” The pauses tell me she’s carefully thinking about every word before she speaks it. “We got into financial trouble. He placed the blame on me. In a way, it was my fault, but it was only because I became too afraid to talk to him about it. I made very poor decisions and didn’t consult with him.
“When he found out, he changed roles. He was no longer a husband. He was more of a dictator. He watched me like a hawk, questioning me to the point where every conversation about money felt like an inquisition. And still, he didn’t give me more, knowing I didn’t have enough. It didn’t matter what I said, what I showed him. He didn’t get it. I proved I wasn’t spending any of it on me. It was all bills, groceries.”
“Why didn’t you get a job? A normal one?” They’re reasonable questions. I’ve heard of plenty of women who’ve pulled themselves out of near bankruptcy with hard work and determination.
“I tried. But we have two boys. Twins. As soon as I got a job, one would get sick, then the other. The callouts got me fired every time. I did at-home stuff, but I couldn’t get the hours I needed. God, if I had known when we decided to get pregnant and I gave up my job that I’d end up financially strapped, I wouldn’t have done it. By the end, Peter had become so overbearing that I started to hate him a little.”
“What about a divorce?”
She waves the thought away. “I didn’t have a dime to my name. Everything was under his. Actually, that’s a lie. I did have debt in my name. Lots of it. I was drowning in it. Every day, I wondered if it would be the day my heart finally gave out. At times, I thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it did, because then, at least the kids would get life insurance. Either way, if I left him, I couldn’t even afford an attorney. He’d take the kids. I couldn’t bear to lose them.”
“What about family?”
She looks down at the wood, picking off a splinter. “My dad died years before. And my mother… She was worse off than me. She lives in a memory care facility, here in Naples.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She’s happy there. And Ember saved me. It saved my marriage, to an extent. Now I have so much money I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Can you take your kids and go?” I ask.
“Now I don’t have a reason to leave. Peter and I don’t fight. He can put all his money wherever the hell he wants. He can go through our accounts with a fine-toothed comb and find nothing. The kids get to keep their dad. And he’s a good one. Takes them to soccer games, roughhouses with them, always goes in to say goodnight. He loves them.”
I snicker. “Sounds like father of the year.”
“He sort of is. Now, husband of the year, that’s another matter. You want to know something funny? Well, it’s not really funny. My maiden name was Free. I was Eva Jean Free. Not once did I think about the significance of it when I changed my name to Cage. So I literally went from Free to Cage.” She laughs hard as she ponders it, scaring me a little because of how crazed she looks.
“Why not leave this business if you have so much money? Are they forcing you?”
“Matt.” She pauses, touching my forearm. “When I find a reason to leave, I will.”
“How did you get involved with Ember? A lot of women have hardships and they don’t go this route.”
“That may have been the case for me too if I hadn’t been at the right place at the right time. I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse. Anyway, that’s a much longer story, for another time. Matt, I don’t want to talk about my life anymore. This is our day, remember? I brought you here because it’s my favorite place, and I thought maybe you needed a little piece of Heaven too.”
I wrap my arms around her, bringing her into my chest. With my chin on her head, I say, “I do.” But I won’t look toward Heaven, because in this moment, I think Eva is all I need.
As we stand there, enjoying the feel of one another, I catch sight of the sign that hangs over the back door. “One more day.” Just like the sign out front, it’s written by hand, in blue.
“Did you get the idea for your tattoo from that?” I ask, pointing to it.
She looks up with just a hint of surprise. Her other hand covers the tattooed wrist, as if she’s forgotten it’s there. “Mmm,” she mumbles.
“So what should we do with all this time we have together?” I ask her.
“Right now, there’s only one thing I want.”
“Really? And what is that?” I reach out, bringing her close.
“Food. Should we catch something good for dinner before it gets dark?”
“Catch. As in catch live food?”
“Yeah.”
“Where? In there?” I point to the suspicious looking waters that seem to get darker by the minute as the sun makes its way down.
“Yes.”
“Well, I could stick a leg in and see what grabs on. A gator, perhaps.”
Laughter bursts from her, and for the first time, it touches her eyes. They light up, brighter than they were when the sun touched them. Tiny specks glow and as I stare, they seem to turn from gray to blue. But only for a moment.
“Have you always been this funny?” she asks.
“I was going for sarcastic. But I’m glad it made you laugh.”
Eva pulls away and walks over to a shed attached to the back of the house. Opening the rickety door, she goes inside and digs through the cluttered space.
“Careful in there. Looks like spider central with all those webs.”
“They’re harmless,” she says over her shoulder.
“I wouldn’t bet on it. Maybe the owner should hire a better cleaning lady.”
“I am the cleaning lady,” she grunts as she moves stuff around. “At
least, while I’m here.”
“Then I should get you a duster.”
“All right, sassy man. Here.” She hands me a fishing rod. “Am I correct in assuming you’re not an outdoors type of guy?”
“Not at all. I love to fish. On a pier. It’s wooden shacks like that thing that give me the willies. All-inviting to hornets and wasps and other things that sting.”
She heads back into said shack, grabbing a few buckets and a tackle bag. “Why so afraid of the creepy crawlies?”
“When I was a kid my family took us camping. I went to the bathroom behind a bush that was apparently loaded with wasps.”
“Ooh.” She scrunches her nose. “They got you, huh?”
“Let’s just say they made an ass out of me. Literally. I had so many stings that my butt swelled to the point where I ended up in the hospital. For weeks, I couldn’t sit. Ate on my belly. Played on my belly.”
“Oh no! Poor baby.”
“Yup. Everyone called me Matterpillar for a year.”
“Oh, please stop!” She holds her hands to her face, trying but failing to stifle her laughter.
“They’d say, ‘Look, here comes Matterpillar. Matterpillar the caterpillar!’”
She’s outright laughing now, not even attempting to hide it. Bent in half, holding her belly, she reaches out for me. “Please tell me you’re just making that up.”
“I assure you it’s true. To this day, I can’t lie on my stomach without hearing the chanting in my mind,” I say, cupping my ear as if I can hear it now.
“Oh boy. You’re too funny.” Finally calming herself, she stands up, wiping away tears. Happy tears. “Thank you for making me laugh.”
“Thank you for laughing. I love the sound of it.” And I love knowing that it’s me that made it happen.
I always enjoyed making Lena laugh too. It wasn’t hard to do. All I had to do was say the first thing that came to mind. After she died, nothing but sarcasm came out and it made no one smile. Until now.
Eva loads my arms with bait and gear, all the while smiling. Shaking her head and giggling, she whispers to herself, “Matterpillar.”
We walk down a short dock to a shallow swamp boat that looks a bit rusty, in my opinion, but she gets in and I follow. She busily works on setting up for our evening fishing tour, unaware that I’m watching her.
The sun’s reflection bounces off the water at just the right angle so that it hits Eva square in the eyes. She squints against the brightness, but I can still see them. And they’re beautiful.
“You know, when I first met you, I thought your eyes were the grayest, most impossible shade I’d ever seen. But they have blue in them.”
Faster than I can think, her smile is gone, and so is the blue.
“There’s no blue. Anywhere,” she utters.
Frowning, I ponder everything she’s said. The overwhelming sadness she can’t quite hide. And if what she’s showing is just a part of the story, the tragedy must be truly terrible. It makes me ache to know her. To help her. To save her. “What makes you so sad, Eva? Please tell me.”
She swallows, the action taking so much effort that her eyes close. When they open again, she smiles that sort of smile that leaves me raw. “We have Snook. And Tarpon. Crazy big ones. Are you a good cook?”
I stare at her for only a second. When she’s ready, I tell myself. I’ve been there. There’s no way to force that dam open.
Smiling back at her, I say, “I’m an excellent cook.”
“Good, because I can’t cook worth a damn.”
“I thought that was just pretend. That you said it to be more like Lena.”
She gives me a come-hither look. “There are many things I haven’t faked with you, Matt. And my lack of cooking skills is one of them.”
My mouth instantly dry, I ask, “What’s another?”
“You’ll find out tonight. Hopefully, many times.”
Chapter 22
Eva just put me to shame. While she caught three snook, I caught a tackle bag that had been submerged for years, guessing from the amount of crayfish and old rusty hooks attached to it.
But I have to admit that I’m enjoying myself more than I have in a long time. More than I’ve allowed myself to.
The swamp boat is nice and wide, allowing us to move around comfortably. Eva has brought a portable speaker and is playing Taylor Swift. I couldn’t name a single one of her songs, but watching as Eva sways, singing about some dress, she’s suddenly my favorite singer.
The sun retired half an hour ago, giving way to a crescent moon. Every bug and its mother is out and they’re feasting on my body. Hell, they’re having an outright banquet and I’m the fucking main course. But I don’t care. I wouldn’t ask to go inside now for anything in the world. Not when Eva turns to me with rod in hand, not missing a single lyric, and she’s so stunning that I never want to look away. Hundreds of fireflies light the air, surrounding her as if they too are mesmerized by her beauty.
“Eva,” I whisper.
Her smile suddenly fades and I know she can see what I need. After setting her rod down, she walks to me slowly. She removes the pin from her hair, and it cascades down her back and around her lovely face. Her lips part slightly as she leans in and briefly touches them to mine. “Matt, do you want to make love to me?”
“There’s nothing I want more.” I bring my mouth back to hers. But instead of initiating another quick fuck like the ones we’ve had this past week, I take my time. I taste her, slowly sliding my tongue over hers.
She pulls away, turning toward the center of the boat. Out of her backpack, she gets a thin wool blanket and rolls it out. When she lies down, her arms reach for me, and I settle in beside her, placing the lantern we brought beside us.
“You’re so beautiful, Eva. I don’t know if I can let you go.”
“Then don’t. For tonight, hold on to me tight.” The words come out choked as her eyes fill with tears.
I wipe them away with my thumb. “Don’t cry.”
“Then kiss me.”
And I do.
Everything about tonight feels different. Whether it’s the change of scenery or because it’s Eva I’m with, I don’t know. What I do know is that this is so much more emotional. When I lift her shirt over her breasts and take a nipple into my mouth, I do it gently. Lovingly. When I pull her shorts off and bring her core to my tongue, it’s the intimacy of the act that I seek.
And when I lie between her legs and press myself into her, it’s my soul that wants in. My orgasm is just as intense as it’s ever been with her, but this time, after I’m done, I lay my head on her chest, listening to her heart beating fiercely.
Her arms wrap around me, and I burrow myself farther into her. As she runs her fingers through my hair, I enjoy the feel of her and think, This really is Heaven. My warm, sweet, passionate Heaven.
“Eva.”
“Hmm?” She sighs.
“You said you’d leave this when you found a reason. I could be that reason.”
Her fingers stop, her heart rate increasing. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Don’t I?” I prop my chin on my hand and gaze into her eyes. In the dim light of the lantern, it’s hard to discern the color, the dark making them look more like black marbles.
“Matt, you know what I am.”
“Yes. And before you say you do this because you want to, I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’d rather be doing something else.”
She rolls her eyes, and that, I can see clearly. “It’s not as easy as you think.”
“Why not? Leave your husband. If he’s the one making you miserable, leave.”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“I won’t.”
I sit up, frustrated with her. Hurt. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I can see it in your eyes. Some terrible thing that’s got you in shackles. Isn’t that what you said earlier? You�
��re a slave to something. I think it’s your husband.”
Now it’s she who sits, huffing as she does. “It’s not my husband.”
“Then what is it? Tell me!”
“What? You want to air out our dirty laundry here? Believe me, you don’t want to know about me, because then you’d carry the horror of it. Matt, the fact that I would rather knowingly live a lie than face the monstrous reality of my truth should tell you something.” She’s on the verge of crying but trying very hard to stop the tears from flowing. Deep breaths meant to calm only seem to agitate her more.
I bring her to me, holding her tight as she trembles. Her hands cling to me as though she’s afraid she’ll drift away if she lets go. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” I beg.
“Don’t make me. I can’t do what you want.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I won’t ask again. Shh. It’s okay.” I’ll let it go because of the distress it causes her, but now more than ever, I’m determined to get her the fuck out of the business. Away from that man. From the pimps she works for.
After getting dressed, we row back in silence, and to our fortune, we’re not attacked by anything other than mosquitos. We unload our catch, and while she showers, I cook up the three fish big enough to feed only one person. But I can make do with less.
Eva comes out, smelling fresh, with dripping wet hair and a long T-shirt she obviously pulled out of my gym bag. She chews on her lower lip, looking down at the counter, picking at a little scratch on the surface.
“I’m sorry,” she says so softly that I can barely hear it.
“You don’t have to be, Eva. I obviously touched on a sensitive subject.” I load her plate with the fish and some green beans I found in the freezer and set it in front of her. Reaching out, I lift her face to me with a finger under her chin. “I just want to know you. And I want to take away the hurt in your eyes.”
She nods as she has a bite of the fish. “Wow. You really are a great cook.”
“I told you.”
“Guess you’re good at many things.”
“Some things.” I reach toward her plate with my own fork and get a bite of the tender fish I broiled. The blackened seasoning I mixed with the few ingredients I had on hand turned out pretty good. It’s a natural gift, one I inherited from my mother.