by G L Rockey
“I forgot to get your manuscript and I....”
He reached and took her hands.
She stepped to him, dropped the phone package to the floor, and they locked like reunited time travelers. As they devouring each other, he kicked the door shut.
She whispered between bites, “I never knew it could be like this.”
She stepped back and they looked at each another. She said, “And what have you be doing all this time away from me?”
He said, “I can't believe any of this.”
“Believe it.” She picked up the package she had dropped. “Here.”
“What's this?”
“Open it.”
He did. “I don't want a cell phone, I hate phones.”
“You are a twenty-six year old dinosaur,” she said as she embraced him again. “I sometimes hate them too … but how else am I going to keep track of you?”
“Marry me, live with me.”
After a passionate few minutes, she stopped him and began detailed instruction on how to use the phone, his number. He pushed the phone away. They couldn't keep hands off each other.
An hour later, lying on the sofa, the windows open, a warm breeze flapping through the thin white curtains, Seth said, “I can't believe this is the reserved professor I met only months ago.”
“Bosh.”
She put her hand on his chest, “Seth I'm thinking of going to our cottage, Houghton Lake, couple days, do some sailing, wanna go?”
“When?”
“We could go tomorrow.”
“You could get away, I mean....”
“Not a problem, what about you, da Vinci work?”
“Not a problem.”
A thought crept into Seth. Could she be playing games with me? She probably has a different student every semester, student hors d’oeurve, toothpick and olive, Ritz cracker up.
Rachelle said, “What's the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Don't you want to go?”
“Aren't you afraid someone might see us at our cottage?”
She sat up.
He pulled her back, “Kidding.”
“It's in the boon docks, isolated … and it's not our, I mean it was my family’s, I inherited the cottage.”
“Is this where you take all your promising students for summer flings, to your cottage den....”
She abruptly stood and started to dress.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Go to hell.”
“What are you doing?”
“If you say something like that ever again you'll never see me again.”
“Will you relax, I was just joking.”
She pointed at him, “Don't.”
“Where is it?”
She told Seth of the cottage on Houghton Lake. “You’ll love it. It's heaven this time of year.”
“Where is Carl these days?”
“He's in Washington, then he's going to Spain.”
“Spain?”
“Football game.”
“Oh, I get it, that's why we can go to Houghton Lake….”
She stood and stared at him.
“I'm sorry.”
“Are we criminals planning something evil?”
“I don't think so.”
“I don't' feel sneaky guilty about us. Damn it, I want the whole world to
know.”
“Me too.”
“So what's the deal with Ms. Laura?”
“I told you.”
“Tell me again.”
“I met her, about a year ago, art show, then I saw you and nothing else mattered … I never....”
Embracing her, he said, “Why don't we elope somewhere, run away.”
She looked into his eyes, “Oh, Seth, if it were only that easy.”
“Why don't we?”
“Seth … how are we going to do that?”
“Just go, Jude did.”
“I wish.”
“Why not?”
“You are such a dreamer beamer.” She looked off silently, thinking.
“Carl. You fear him, don't you?”
“You don't know Carl.”
“I think I do.” He paused, “You know, he's going to find out sooner or later.”
“I don't want to contemplate that.”
“But, what if....”
“'What if' is God's joke on us all … what if your Laura friend … why don't we talk about everything up at Houghton Lake, I think better up there.”
“You going to wear your disguise?”
“Keep it up.”
After they dressed, she stepped to him. They stood silent holding each other, more at clinging.
She looked at her watch. “I'll pick you up at 11:30 tomorrow morning.”
She paused, “Maybe....”
“What?”
“Maybe I should pick you up someplace else.”
“Oh wow, how about the bus station.”
“I'll be here, 11:30, don’t be late.”
“If I'm not here, I'll leave the door open, or just knock.”
“You're being difficult.”
“I know.”
She said, “See you tomorrow morning.”
Their fingertips clinging, touching, releasing, she stepped to the door then turned back to him. “Work on that manuscript, bring it with you, we'll get it ready to send to Triune.”
He moved to hold her.
She said, “This could go on for a week, see you tomorrow.”
She slipped out the door and left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Rachelle home, there were three messages from Carl. She turned her cell phone on and as she deleted them, her cell phone began the familiar CAT’s theme. Caller ID, Carl’s cell. A new Rachelle, What the hell? She answered, “Hello.”
Carl: “Where the bejesus you been?”
She rolled her eyes, looked at the ceiling.
Carl: “You in Ann Arbor?”
“What....” she almost forgot. “Tomorrow.”
“Where you staying?”
“Have to see what's available.”
“Well, I'm at the Mayflower in D.C., let me know.”
“Okey dokey.”
“You see it?”
“What?”
“What! The hearings all over TV.”
“Been so busy, no.”
“More tomorrow, I gotta go back.”
Sudden unease, her Houghton Lake plans, “Oh, pray tell, will that interfere with your Spain plans?”
“Shouldn't, we're leaving Friday, game's Saturday.”
“Oh, that's good.”
“Let me know where you're staying.”
“Okay, bye bye and say hello in Español.”
She pressed end and found T.S. staring at her.
She winked at him, “I getting better at prevarication, don't you think?”
He yawned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Thursday morning, Rachelle—mouth dry, palms sweaty, pulse near jogging rate, amazed at how right this all felt—overflowed T.S. Eliot's food bowl with Cat's Meow dry food. Eyeing her, he seemed to know what was going on.
Rachelle said, “I know I know, but life is that way.”
She filled a second bowl food, topped off his water, and refreshed his litter box.
After showering, blow-drying her hair just enough so the natural curl hung slightly wet, she packed a small overnight bag, dressed in white Bermuda shorts, green M.S.U. polo shirt and, sans socks, slipped on her Adidas running shoes.
Downstairs, T.S. sitting at the door to the garage, she said, “I'll only be gone two nights, be back Saturday, so behave yourself, you have the run of the house.”
She checked to be sure the answering machine was on. “You be good and don't answer the phone.”
He rubbed past her legs as if he approved.
Bimini sun glasses in place, she drove to Seth's apartment repeating to herself, in various tones and accents: Do you have a
ny idea what you are doing? I think so and I don't feel guilty.
And then aloud, “Do you have any idea what you are doing? I think so and I don't feel guilty.”
Arrived five minutes early, 11:25 A.M., she turned on Allen Street ad pulled to the curb beside Toni's Deli. She turned the engine off and, as she opened her door to get out, Seth stepping from the stairwell. Touting a small khaki duffle bag, he wore white painter pants, a purple T-shirt, and brown loafers.
Getting in the car, he said, “You're out of character.”
“Why?”
“Early.”
“Must be more to this than meets the eye.” She reached and squeezed his hand, “I missed you.”
Driving north on Michigan Route 27—warm sunshine, clear sky, windless day, temperature seventy on its way to a predicted seventy eight—fragrant air gushed through the open windows.
Rachelle, dazed at how right this felt, glanced in the view mirror and thought she saw, three vehicles back, a familiar black sports car. It pulled in behind a U.P.S. truck and stayed there.
Glancing back several times, miles passed and, dismissing it, she reached and put her right hand on Seth's thigh. He put his hand on top of hers. Amid squeezes they talked in spurts like this couldn't be real.
Seth said, “This cannot be allowed without, at some point, punishment.”
“Stop that.”
Fifteen minutes from Houghton Lake, Rachelle exited the Interstate and pulled into a Convenience Mart. While Seth filled the car with gas, she went inside and bought milk, bread, eggs, lunch meat, cheese, lettuce, a rotisserie roasted chicken, and, two liters of white merlot. No ginger beer, she picked up a twelve pack of Canada Dry ginger ale.
Arriving at the Houghton cottage just after 3:30, Rachelle drove down the packed gravel drive. After winding along through the tall pines and thick undergrowth, at the end of the drive, she stopped and said, “We're here.”
Seth scanned the cottage, view of Houghton Lake and the sail boat tied to the dock.
She said, “You like it?”
“Are you rich?”
“Right.”
Getting out of the car, Rachelle carried the groceries, Seth the luggage, and followed her to the cottage.
She opened the screen and unlocked the back door. Inside, Rachelle opened windows and began unpacking groceries.
Seth helped and, when finished, she gave a quick tour of the cottage ending up in the bedroom. Rachelle suggested they change into swimsuits and go tour Esther II.
Unable to keep their hands off each other, after a half-hour detour of love making, swimsuits on—light-blue boxers for Seth, Rachel a white one piece—he said, “You are stunning.”
“Bosh.”
Outside they walked down to the dock where Esther II bobbed placidly on the water.
Rachelle said, “Twenty-six foot sloop. Eight foot beam. My father named her for my mother.”
“You can sail her?”
“Yep, and with a mate, it's even easier.”
They boarded and Seth got a topside tour then she opened the mahogany door that led below. They squeezed down four steps and were in the cozy cabin. Porthole and galley to the right, porthole and dinette to left, the head was forward. Beyond that was a berth with an overhead hatch. The air stale, Rachelle knelt on the berth and opened the hatch. Seth embraced her from behind. She turned, lay back on the pillow and said, “I can’t get enough of you.”
****
An hour later, after a quick swim, back at the cottage, Rachelle tossed a salad and poured herself a glass of wine. Seth drank ginger ale and, with fingers, they ate roast chicken.
Finished eating, they went to the sunroom. She sipping wine, he ginger ale, sun about to set, Rachelle was not surprised by her cell phone’s chime coming from the kitchen.
Seth stood, “I'll get it.”
She grabbed his arm. “Are you insane?”
She went to the kitchen and answered: “Hello... oh hi Carl, how did it go … that's too bad … I told you, I had that seminar in Ann Arbor … yes, you still going to Spain … good … nothing … Sheraton, but save time, just call the cell phone … yes … in my room … doing some reading ... nice ... good ... okay ... bye ... what ... oh good ... okay ... bye ... what ... oh, me too.”
She pressed off and paused, Did I say Marriot or Sheraton? She sighed, he was drunk anyway.
Seth, standing in the doorway, said, “You do that pretty good.”
“Until I met you, I never knew this person, and just in case....” she turned the cell phone off.
Seth: “Let's go outside.” He took her hand and they walked to the shore and looked out across the Lake. Warm yellows and soft red streaked the sky.
Contemplating the moment, she asked, “Should I be feeling guilty?”
“About what?”
“Lying, this, us, being here.”
“Do you?”
“No, and that's what concerns me.”
“After the Red Sea closed on the Egyptian army, killing all, do you think Moses felt guilty?”
“Oh my, a Biblical scholar.”
They watched the sun set.
In bed, just after midnight, Rachelle awoke, thought she saw a shadow at
the window.
Seth awakened by her movement, said, “What?”
“Nothing, I thought … nothing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Friday morning, temps predicted to be in the upper seventies, after coffee and bagels, Rachelle and Seth put on their swim suits.
While Rachelle took a moment to prepare a lunch basket, Seth waited on the walkway that led down to the dock. He shielded his eyes from the morning sun and watched a honey bee work a flower.
Simple is elegant, he thought, then his dark side took over, this time will
end.
Rachelle, radiant, carrying a small wicker basket, came from the back
porch. She wore a light yellow shirt over her swim suit.
Seth: “You are beautiful.”
“Bosh.”
Cloudless day, brilliant sun, sky cerulean blue, they boarded Esther II. Rachelle gave orders to novice sailor Seth, and in minutes they were sailing Houghton Lake.
Around noon, near the middle of the lake, they dropped anchor and she said, “How about some lunch?”
In the galley, she opened the lunch basket and they ate ham and cheese sandwiches.
After lunch they went top side. The water lapped peacefully against the hull. Distant sounds from the shore were tiny echoes. Rachelle spread towels on the forward bow. After applying sun screen to each other, Rachelle lay on her back. Seth settled on his stomach. She closed her eyes against the sun. Seth looked out over the bow and noticed a small speeding power boat abruptly stop some fifty yards away from Esther II's bow.
Basking, they talked about art—modern, classical, her father's work. Then the conversation went to writing. They had not yet gotten to Seth’s manuscript.
“Wonder why?” He said.
She poked him in the ribs, “I can't imagine.”
Looking out across the bow, Seth shielded his eyes and noticed the same power boat he had seen before, dead in the water, someone near the stern. “That boat has been there for a half hour.”
“Fishing, they go for walleye, rock bass, perch, you name it.” She kissed his arm. “Did you want to fish?”
“For you.”
She turned on her side and looked at him. “When I first saw you, what, nearly a year ago, I didn't realize it fully but I knew. Then at the Simone party, after I took you home, when I left, I knew my life with Carl was like a tree that dies in the middle of summer and there was I among all the green trees.”
“You should write a book.”
She said, “Then there was that first night we made love … I can't believe you did that, in the open like that.”
“Me?”
She touched his chest, “I feel this feeling I have for you will be with me, if there is such a thing, forev
er.”
“You really should write that book.”
She stood, “Let's go for a swim,” and dove in.
After swimming they sailed back to the cottage, docked, showered together and pulled on simple things—shorts, T-shirts—and shared cold chicken for dinner.
The sun setting, streaks of crimson red across the sky, they walked to Esther II, and sat on the stern.
She said, “Front row seats for the celestial show.”
His arm around her shoulders, watching the sky become a backdrop of purple, Rachelle stood, dropped her shorts and pulled off her top. “Let's go for a swim.”
“You are amazing.”
She slid into the water.
Seth stripped and joined her.
Out of the water on Esther II's deck, Seth took the towel she was wiping herself with and patted her dry.
Tugging gently at his hair, “Seth,” she laid him down and was over him. They and Esther II pulsed gently with the lake.
After some time, the night having turned very still and black, off to the west flashes of lightning revealed ominous cumulus clouds. In the distance muted thunder followed.
He said, “Go away with me.”
“In time.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“We can't hide this Rachelle. They will not allow it.”
“Who they?”
Lightning streaked the sky above and thunder rumbled across the water.
Rachelle said, “Oh my, you've awakened Zeus. We better go in.”
She wrapped a towel around herself, grabbed her clothes, jumped to the dock and ran to the cottage.
Seth followed.
Inside they showered, dried off, and, the night warm and humid, sat naked on the sunroom sofa. Windows open, a light rain began to pelt the roof.
Seth said again, “Go away with me.”
“In time.”
“You said that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Senate hearing a bust, Carl summoned back for a second and third round of testimony on Thursday and Friday, he cancelled his planned trip to Spain.
He returned to Detroit late Friday night on a red eye flight. Arriving at 3:30 A.M., he thought about driving to East Lansing then, smashed from a half dozen rum and Cokes, remembered Rachelle was in Ann Arbor, thought about surprising her at the Sheraton but he was exhausted.