#SandyBottom

by Alexi Venice

  Amanda kissed the tanned skin above Jen’s tank. “I accept your apology, and I brought something you might have forgotten.” She suddenly released Jen and turned to her designer handbag. She unsnapped and unzipped, foraging deep within.

  Jen’s heart slipped to her toes, fully anticipating what Amanda was after.

  Amanda turned back with the black, velvet ring box in her palm that she had originally presented to Jen when she had proposed to her. She opened it, and the internal light on the top lid once again illuminated Jen’s diamond and gold engagement band. She was reminded of the brilliant reflection of the sun on the water the previous morning when she and Tommy had chatted over coffee on the screen porch—before she had driven to Eau Claire in search of a new life with another woman. She suppressed the hot gust of shame that swept up her windpipe, all the while returning the diamond band to its proper finger. “Thank you. This is where it belongs.”

  “I’m so happy you think so,” Amanda said. “Marry me soon, will you?”

  The familiar tears sprang into action, jumping over Jen’s lower lashes and somersaulting down her cheeks in a show of glory. “Yes. Yes I will if you’ll still have me.”

  Amanda pulled Jen close. “Of course, babe. One fight and a few days apart doesn’t change the way I feel about you. If anything, it cemented that I’d do anything to be with you and Kristin for the rest of my life.”

  Jen shook with remorse and sobbed over Amanda’s shoulder. “Me too.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Relieved to be welcomed into the Dawson family cabin with open arms, Amanda was surprised to be the one supporting Jen, who was now a sobbing mess. Amanda had difficulty processing the change in attitude from Jen’s fury in San Francisco to her contrition at the lake.

  Amanda widened her stance and adjusted her arms. “What’s all this about?”

  Jen spilled unintelligible murmurs down Amanda’s back, but Amanda thought she heard “I’m sorry for everything” in there somewhere.

  She stroked Jen’s hair, whispering, “It’s all right. I’m here.” When she decided to spring a surprise visit, she merely hoped that Jen would be receptive, not that she would hemorrhage humility and regret.

  Even though Jen came across as an unshakable, calm and reasonable physician, Amanda was reminded anew that Jen was emotionally labile and could turn into a puddle at a moment’s notice.

  Amanda had hoped their undeniable chemistry would triumph over her only indiscretion—a distant memory that didn’t warrant the attention Jen had given it when the photo surfaced—but Amanda was surprised at Jen’s spontaneous meltdown. She wondered if Jen had finally realized that she had overreacted to the salacious selfie that they all wanted to forget. Amanda mentally ripped the photo to shreds for the final time while running her hand the length of Jen’s back.

  She would never point out to Jen that Jen had sort of, kind of, maybe a little bit overreacted to Amanda’s drug and trauma-induced weekend hookup. Not that cheating was trivial, and to be fair, an affair was as big of a deal as the cheated-upon partner decided to make of it. Once the truth was out, it didn’t matter if the cheater denied attachment and professed love only to her original partner. The only opinion that mattered was that of the woman who was on the receiving end of infidelity. Amanda had learned that principle the hard way and vowed never to experience Jen’s wrath again. Why can’t I be more like her?

  Ecstatic to be back in Jen’s good graces, Amanda let her hands slide to the small of Jen’s back, a bit thicker from a week of vacation. She envisioned some of Jen’s go-to comfort carbs—beer, pretzels, chips and desserts. Amanda cupped the soft mounds above Jen’s butt, not quite love handles—God forbid she ever say that—and ran her thumbs in circles across them. Jen’s tanned body shook with tremors then molded to Amanda’s. Yay. I still have the touch, Amanda thought .

  As Jen’s crying subsided, Amanda lay her head against Jen’s chest, listening to the lub-dub, lub-dub of Jen’s expressive heart. The deep rhythm reminded her of playing cello—moving with the flow of music. Of life. Of love. Of commitment. Of forgiveness. For once, Amanda wasn’t thinking about only sex. Love and connection were foremost on her mind. She, too, was almost brought to tears by their timeless bond. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Jen said through a hiccup. “Only you.”

  Amanda squeezed Jen then slowly pulled back, her eyes searching Jen’s anxious face. “No regrets, okay?”

  A flash of panic widened Jen’s eyes. “What?”

  About leaving me in the dust in San Francisco, you dork. “About the past. What we’ve said or done. Let’s put it all behind us and move on. What’s important is that we’re here, together again.”

  Jen averted her eyes and collapsed against Amanda. “That sounds perfect. No regrets. Start fresh. Forgive and forget. Being together is all that matters.”

  Amanda inclined her head. A week apart, and she finally came around to my kind of thinking. Maybe she buried Roxy once and for all. Their prolonged hug reached its natural end, the point at which at couple turns it into something more passionate or breaks. Unfortunately, they had to break.

  “Why did we come in here again?” Amanda asked against Jen’s shoulder while tracing her fingers over the sexy ripples around Jen’s shoulder blades.

  Jen shuddered. “I know, right?” Her hot breath caressed Amanda’s hair. “For you to change into your suit. I should probably go. My family will wonder what happened to us.”

  “Even though I’d like to spend the afternoon in your arms, you’re right. I’ll change.”

  Jen pushed back enough for Amanda to see her tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes. Despite her tan, Jen looked tired, and despite her enthusiasm for Amanda’s arrival, she looked worried.

  Amanda ran her hand down Jen’s strong arm. “It’s okay. I love you.”

  Jen closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, Amanda saw a thread of uncertainty deep inside those iceberg blues, a new layer that hadn’t been there previously. Amanda made a mental note to uncover whatever was going on with Jen. They needed privacy and intimacy for that, however. Sex always helped when it came to unpeeling the emotional layers of Jen, as she was as physical in bed as she was at sports. After they made love, Amanda knew Jen would be in the mood to talk. A mental image of them lying naked in each other’s arms populated Amanda’s mind, so she embraced Jen again, grateful to be in that moment.

  When they reluctantly parted, Amanda expected Jen to sit on the edge of the bed and chat while she, Amanda, changed into her suit. There was no time like the present to catch up, which included dropping the bombshell that she’d been fired, but Jen quickly moved to the door, her hand resting on the knob.

  A final hiccup escaped as Jen spoke through it, “I’ll leave you to it then while we get things ready for the boat.” She nervously smoothed her hair and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “Okay,” Amanda said, puzzled by Jen’s departure. She rummaged through her massive roller and found a nautically-themed, blue-striped bikini and coverup. As she donned the tiny pieces of fabric, she reflected on what she and Dave had seen at the private side of the Eau Claire airport. Two government jets, one large and one small. The airport grounds crew was tight-lipped, but the pilot for the smaller jet had told Dave that the CIA was investigating homicides as a potential terrorist attack

  Amanda didn’t view that type of hangar-talk with much credibility, though. First, she doubted that a terrorist attack could take place in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. A triple homicide probably had thrown them for a loop. Second, just hearing “CIA” reminded her of Roxy—and her offer—which Amanda had already turned down. She turned off that line of thought and sauntered over to a full-length mirror to confirm that she still looked okay in a skimpy bikini, raising her arms to doublecheck that her armpits looked smooth and hairless.

  When she was finished admiring herself, her eyes roamed over the furniture and were caught like a barb on a white piece of paper resting on the se
at of the rocking chair. She picked it up and read the black scribbles in Jen’s handwriting, the unmistakable beginning of one of Jen’s trademark love poems:

  Bulrushes and clear waters of the cape,

  Framing your sandy bottom in my mind.

  Kissed by sunlight on the bow,

  I row faster to catch your shape.

  To taste the sweetness of your center,

  To hold you in my arms on our magical date.

  Later, when together we die that little death,

  Our souls and hearts a unity create.

  Amanda sighed at the raw sexuality of the words, a smile creeping around her lips. Her Jen, daydreaming about making love while in a rowboat. God, Amanda loved her. She tore the poem from the white sheet, folded the tiny piece of paper in half and slipped it into her cell phone case. She planned to ask Jen about it later. Or, maybe she wouldn’t ask Jen. Maybe she’d just cherish it privately.

  She picked up the pen and drew a heart on the remaining piece of paper, then wrote: Thanks for the poem. I’ll cherish it. Love, A.

  Carefully replacing the paper on the chair, Amanda grabbed her tube of sunscreen and joined the others in the living room. Dave, Jake, Patrick and Tommy were ready to roll.

  “Roger and I will stay behind with Kristin,” Kay said.

  “I think she’s ready for a little nap, anyway,” Jen said.

  “Come on, Ranger,” Jake said to his slobbering Labrador.

  “He’s not coming, is he?” Jen asked.

  “Of course he is,” Jake said.

  “There are too many of us,” Jen said. “I don’t want his humongous tail whipping me in the face.

  Amanda, not being overly fond of large dogs herself, was glad Jen nixed the drooling machine.

  Jake’s quick brown eyes did a head count. “Fine.”

  “Buster can come, though,” Jen said.

  “What? Are you joking?” Jake asked.

  “No. He’s calm and tiny. He can sit on my lap the entire time,” Jen said.

  Hearing his name and seeing the adults gathering, Buster barked in agreement.

  “Pick you up?” Jen asked Buster, who was quivering with anticipation at her ankles.

  He rotated his rump toward her and stilled. She picked him up, and he licked her nose.

  “You ask his permission to pick him up?” Amanda asked, scratching behind his perky ears that were disproportionately large for his small head.

  “Yes,” Kay said. “I trained him to do that. Otherwise, when I bent over to pick him up, he would play chase like it was a game. Once I started asking his permission, though, he cooperated. I think that’s the miniature Pinscher in him.”

  “Interesting.” Amanda smiled at the contented dog in Jen’s arms.

  “Hard to tell who’s training who,” Roger said.

  “Unreal,” Jake muttered. “I guess he’s coming now. But, as soon as we’re on my boat, I’m captain, and Buster will follow my orders.”

  “You’re going to have to grow a thicker beard for that to happen,” Jen said.

  “Booyah!” Patrick high-fived her.

  Jake dope-slapped Patrick then self-consciously rubbed the splotches of soft curls in a chinstrap shape along his jaw and across his chin.

  Tommy shook his head, his Italian stubble incomparable in depth and breadth from only a few days of growth.

  “Do I need bug spray for the boat?” Amanda asked.

  The Dawsons looked at her in surprise.

  “Uh, no,” Tommy said. “It’s just a short walk down the hill to the dock, and once we’re in the boat, they won’t bother you.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t feel reassured, recalling the terrifying incident by the cars.

  Jen picked up some beach towels with her free hand, and Tommy stood at the ready with a cooler of beverages.

  “Let’s hit it,” Jake said, following Tommy out.

  Once outside, Amanda kept a wary eye out for the monster mosquitos, but the group quickly made its way down the brick walkway to the dock. She was impressed with the thick woods along the lake, tall ferns with broad leaves fanning out along the water’s edge.

  A metal dock was flanked by a fancy ski boat on one side and a pontoon on the other, a giant American flag flapping overhead.

  Stepping onto the dock, Amanda’s eyes were drawn to the clear water and sandy bottom. A cluster of Lilly pads swayed in the deeper water, their hearty, white flowers sunning themselves on the green leaves.

  “You don’t mow your lawn down to the edge of the water?” she asked Jen, gesturing toward the shoreline.

  “No. We want to preserve the natural shore, so we let the bank grow wild even though we could create a beach there.”

  “It’s very lush,” Amanda said, comparing the thick flora to the expansive beaches in San Francisco.

  “We access the lake by the stairs off the dock.” Jen pointed.

  “Very environmentally conscious.” Using her hand as a visor, Amanda gazed north to the ever-expanding lake, and saw a body of blue water with a distant tree line that looked like green popcorn. Infinite shades of green surrounded her, unlike the dry, brown landscape of northern California she had left behind. To the south was a boot-shaped bay. The Dawson dock was located on a straight separating the large and small sections of lake.

  The fresh-water lake smelled differently than her Pacific beaches too. A sweetness rose from the marshland directly across the narrow straight, filling the air with the smell of wet grasses, water-logged bogs, and all things life.

  Jake held his hand for her, and she stepped onto a seat in the boat and down to the floor.

  Once everyone was comfortable, Jen seated next to Amanda with Buster on her lap, Jake lowered the electric boatlift and motored toward the north end of the lake. Amanda breathed in the fresh air, tilted her face to the afternoon sun, and reclined. She smiled at Tommy, who was wearing only board shorts, his caramel-colored chest hair bleached from the sun. He looked more relaxed than she had seen him in ages.

  “Enjoying your time away?” she asked.

  “Very much so. I might never return,” he said.

  “I doubt that. You’re addicted to solving murders, and you know it.”

  “Maybe,” he said, his voice cracking. “Maybe not. Lately, I’m addicted to being on the water. Speaking of which, anyone care for a beverage?”

  “Is there any water in there?” Amanda asked.

  “Carbonated or flat?”

  “Flat, please. I’m parched from travel.”

  “How does that happen when you fly privately?” Patrick asked. “I usually get dehydrated from lugging my bags and standing in long TSA lines.”

  Amanda shrugged a wordless response and cracked open her bottle.

  “How about you?” Tommy asked. “Did you do anything exciting last week?”

  A pang of desperation struck her in the chest. Just cried in my bedroom and played depressing music all night. “Not really. Played some cello. Visited Chance and Kip at Stinson Beach.”

  “That sounds nice,” Jen said. “Was that the party we were invited to?”

  “Uh-huh,” Amanda said. “It was less of a party and more of a casual weekend of adults getting away.” Best not to mention getting high and kissing the flutist.

  “Anyone we know?” Jen asked equably, no trace of suspicion.

  “Surprisingly no. Mostly musicians.”

  Jen nodded. If she was concerned about Amanda meeting someone, she didn’t show it.

  “Any word from Chief Delmastro?” Tommy asked, dropping his cousin’s name with sarcasm.

  “I saw him briefly when I visited the office,” Amanda said.

  “What’d he have to say?” Tommy asked then took a swig of beer.

  “Not much relating to you.”

  He nodded, content. “Did they get your office cleaned up?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind,” Amanda said.

  He held up a hand. “No argument here.” />
  Jen’s hand landed on Amanda’s knee, and she immediately felt comforted.

  “Okay, everyone. Hold onto your hats. We’re powering to the other side of the lake where it’s calm for skiing,” Jake said.

  He eased the throttle forward and the bow momentarily surged up as the boat gained speed. It quickly planed out, and they flew across the lake, the wind rushing through the center divider in the windshield and whistling through the ski rack overhead. Buster snuggled in close to Jen’s tummy, which Amanda found hilarious. How could she become attached to a dog in the span of a week?

  Distracted by a career of fighting criminals—and her vices—Amanda had forgotten how much she enjoyed boating. As teenagers, she and her brother, Nate, had sailed with her parents in and around San Francisco Bay on Jack’s substantial yacht. They had weathered a few harrowing experiences, facing huge Pacific swells that reinforced the unyielding power of the sea, but the family had bonded over their ability to conquer and persevere. Why don’t we do that anymore? Maybe I’m the only one who doesn’t. Maybe Nate, Heidi and their kids do.

  Amanda had never inquired if her family still sailed. Was she missing out? She had never suffered from FOMO, but she suddenly found herself a little jealous of Nate’s stable lifestyle, and the amount of time he, Heidi and their kids spent with Jack and Chloe. Now that she was sans employment, she could reconnect with family, and that sounded relaxing. And normal. And, maybe she could think about getting pregnant again.

  She was yanked from her reflections by Jen asking her a question.

  “Are you going to ski today?”

  “Ha. Absolutely not,” Amanda said. “I’ve never water skied, and I’m sure as hell not going to try at the age of 37. God only knows what muscles I’d pull. You know I’d love to watch you, though, right?”

  Jen laughed. “I’ll teach you how to ski.”

  “No such thing is happening,” Amanda said. “I rolled my ankle coming out of work the other day.” She leaned down and massaged her ankle, which was only mildly stiff.