Circling The Shadows

by Paige Randall

  She throws her napkin at him. John tells Anna of the earlier call from Lynn and Lynn’s mention that Anna was also a “one.”

  “I think she switched our keys,” he says.

  "Do you really? She is a snake, that Lynn, an absolute snake. I adore her!" Anna laughs. "How dare she play matchmaker."

  "I hope there isn't a web cam in your kitchen." He laughs too.

  She shrieks in mock horror. "Oh, screw it. Let her have her thrills." Anna places a hand over his, becoming more serious. "Really, was that too much? I don’t know how things are done, but I imagine not like that." She looks into his eyes without shame, thinking if she is already pregnant, she is having a gorgeous baby. His eyes are the deepest green, hers are blue. Which is recessive? She wonders and decides her panties need to come off.

  He doesn't hold her gaze. Instead he looks up at the clouds drifting past the moon. "Anna, our time together today has been a welcome surprise. It's been a good day.”

  She studies him. He goes from laughter to very serious so fast. She thinks the laughter might be a little out of practice. He does look sad, but he’s trying not to, and he is stunningly gorgeous. "Without asking questions, because I'm not, did you come here to be alone? I don't want to intrude on your privacy. Or are you meeting someone? I hadn’t even considered that. Today could be just a one-time thing. We could leave it at a lovely afternoon and a well-grilled steak."

  John seems to consider her question for a long time, weighing his words before answering, furrowing his brow a bit. "I am alone Anna,” he says finally, “but I’m not committed to being alone.”

  "I’m alone too," she says. The weight of their common state sits between them. "But my goal here is not to be solitary. I don't mean to be cooped up and go adopt a dozen cats or anything."

  He laughs and she loves the sound of his laugh, how it fills the dark night. "What are you hoping for this summer Anna?" he asks.

  Oh if he only knew! I’m going to hell, she thinks. She’s been living in hell for most of her life, so what is the fucking difference? “I’ll just run to the loo for a quick moment and then we’ll talk all about that.” She finds the bathroom and slides off her panties. She debates tossing them in the trash, but tucks them in a drawer to retrieve later. They are nice panties.

  She kisses his check before sitting back down. “Thank you for this lovely dinner.”

  He startles, almost imperceptibly, at her kiss and she thinks maybe he hasn’t been kissed in a while.

  “Okay back to your question. What am I hoping for this summer?” She thinks awhile and then smiles with half of her mouth. "I am fighting an inappropriate urge to sing ‘My Favorite Things.’ You know it? Julie Andrews, from The Sound of Music. It’s a defense mechanism. Humor keeps honesty at bay, right?"

  John smiles and nods in agreement. She imagines he understands a little something about keeping honesty at bay.

  After taking a deep breath, she speaks. "I have given this a lot of thought. I have a lot to say.”

  He nods, encouraging her on.

  “I want to read good books. I want to see old, famous, black-and-white movies. I want to listen to great music. I want to see a concert, a really loud concert. I want to eat a lot of excellent food. I want to gain at least 10 lbs. I’m far too skinny. I want to take up running or swimming or something. I am a weakling. I want to see sunrises over the beach. I want to be outside at night with just the moonlight, when it is late and quiet and maybe a little magical. I want to climb things. I want to buy things. I want to nap during a thunderstorm. I want to make love. Everywhere. I want to do the things that make people happy."

  John listens intently, but she knows she sounds a little crazy. She knows it isn’t just the doing that makes people happy, but it’s the best she’s got. She has to stop sitting in dark rooms alone, counting the hours until she can take her next Xanax. Judging from his disappearance this afternoon, he probably isn’t the one to be offering life lessons in happiness anyway.

  "That list pretty much sums up things happy people do," he says. "So with regard to making love, and you are quite excellent at it by the way."

  She’d like to be splayed naked on his counter right this minute.

  "Are you looking for a monogamous situation or a variety of partners this summer? No judgment. You’re clearly on a quest for experience. I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of your intentions."

  She shakes her head slowly. "One would be absolutely lovely. Spending time with someone who shares interests would be lovely too. I don’t want to be alone, but I’m not quite up to meeting loads of people either. I’m really using you terribly here, aren’t I?" she asks.

  “Use the fuck out of me Anna,” he says more seriously than she would have expected. She wonders if he’d say that if he knew that her intention was to finish this summer with his baby in her belly. He’s practically giving her permission.

  “Literally or figuratively?” she asks, tilting her head inquisitively.

  “Both.” He pulls her chair closer to face his, placing her bare feet, with pink tipped toes, on either side of him. Her long sundress rests on her bent knees and creates a flimsy blue boundary between them. He holds her ankles. He seems to consider her ankles with great seriousness. She wonders what happened in his life that makes him smile with his mouth, but not with his eyes. Something really terrible must have happened to him. Maybe he is recently divorced or lost someone. She can bring that smile to his eyes, she knows she can. It is a fair trade too. She’ll make him happy and he’ll make her pregnant.

  “I’ve known you for six hours, and I think I’m going to ask you to go steady," she says settling back into her chair, anticipating what is coming next. His hands feel so good on her skin.

  "Ask me Anna," he says quietly. His hands move up, wrapping around and holding her calves, almost reverently.

  "Will you play house with me this summer?” she asks and tries not to pull her dress off, not yet.

  “I certainly will,” he says. His hands make it to her knees, pushing her dress up an inch, maybe two. Her breathing hitches just a bit.

  Suddenly, she is afraid he’ll ask her about birth control. This afternoon was one hundred percent spontaneous, but they are planning for a summer together. Better to get out in front of that. “Quick logistics chat, a day late and a dollar short. I am on the pill,” she lies easily. “And I have no diseases, sexually transmitted or otherwise.”

  He laughs again and she can tell he is happier already. “Same,” he says pushing her dress nearer to her thighs. She stops him, covering his hands with hers.

  “John I have a confession to make,” she hesitates, but only for a moment. “I left my panties in a drawer in your bathroom.”

  His right hand is about twelve inches from making that discovery on its own. He pushes past her hand, letting his rise and grazes her with his thumb. Her sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement he needs.

  “I think there’s more to talk about,” she says and her eyelids become heavy under the weight of her desire.

  “The conversation ended when you told me about your panties.”

  He blows out the candles and pulls her into his lap.

  John comes with a force that nearly knocks the wind out of him. It pushes all of the noise from his head. After, she twists her body to be cradled in his lap while they catch their breath. Her breath on his neck is more soothing than most prescriptions. He wonders how this is happening.

  Lynn certainly had a hand in placing Anna next door. But why? Lynn is definitely talking to his parents, but did they set this up? They have been begging him to come back, since the day he pushed past his father at Sarah’s funeral eighteen months ago. Anna could be a hooker hired by his parents. At this point, they would probably try anything to get him back. If she is a hooker, he’s not giving her up just yet. He’ll treat himself to the night on his parents’ dime. If she is a professional, she’s a damn good one.

  The house next-door to John�
�s is dark, and Anna’s neighbors in 518 have not yet arrived.

  "I owe you a swim," John says. They decide to skip the bathing suits, wrap in large green beach towels and take the walkway into the sand. The beach is deserted, so they drop their towels and run into the water chased by moonlight. They swim out far.

  “Are there sharks here?” she asks, treading in water too deep for her to stand.

  “Yes,” he answers honestly, both feet firmly in the wet sand. “They are probably more active at night too.”

  “Suddenly I feel like that blonde in the first five minutes of Jaws.”

  “Let’s hope not. Don’t wear yourself out.” He pulls her to stand on his bent knee.

  He thinks about just how much he has missed this. Until today, he hadn’t realized he had missed it at all. The smooth soft feel of her skin… her smell of sweetness… the sound of her voice, like fingers dancing over strings... the taste of pleasure and passion. Woman. He imagines days and nights like this. Dinner across the table, watching her face in the moonlight. Desire finally remembered and satisfied every day. How can time spent with a smart, funny, beautiful, adventurous woman, not be good for him?

  Maybe 562 days was enough time alone. This could change me, he thinks and decides he will try so hard to let it change him. A connection will be good for me. Anna can help him get some distance from Sarah. He can help her do all of the things happy people do and show her the summer of her life. Maybe fake it till you make it would work here. This is the first commitment he has made in a long time. It’s finite, but it’s a commitment just the same.

  She runs her hands along his shoulders. “There is just one problem with all this." Her hands glide over his back, learning him.

  "Go on," he says. Please don’t change your mind.

  "If we spend the summer together, I think I might fall for you. And the summer will end and, as you said, there is no future tense. And you were right, there isn’t. I'm not sure how I feel about opening myself up to that." She wraps her legs around his waist, punctuating her last statement. He doesn’t care if she is a professional. He’s keeping her all summer.

  He lets her words sink in and answers with a seemingly easy smile, humor keeping honesty at bay and all. The wine helps a lot. John is intrigued by her simple beauty and complex intentions.

  He answers with an easy tone, even though his words are serious. "If we go on like this, I'll probably be in love with you by Wednesday. Maybe Tuesday. Really, I might be in love with you by midnight. But Anna, I can't see a scenario where we become buddies and hang out together and I don't remember how you taste."

  She shudders at the memory and he feels like he’s still got some game.

  She studies his face. "What about you? What are you hoping for this summer?"

  It is a complicated question. His answer will determine how he spends his next three months. He feels the bones of her spine beneath his hand, thinking that she’s too thin. Something has kept her this way. He’s going to feed her all summer and make her healthy and strong. But what does he want? He could stay fucked up, drunk, and alone, drafting suicide notes, until he up and does it already. Or he could be something else, something else with someone else.

  "I came here to be alone,” he says, “to hide and fish and get drunk, to remember myself in simpler times. Maybe pick someone up at a bar for a quick roll in the hay on occasion. But I don't want to be alone.” He is done, but thinks he hasn’t said enough. “I don’t want to be alone if the alternative is being with you."

  She smiles at his added sentiment. “Most people our age aren’t hiding out, beachfront, by themselves,” she says.

  John silently waits for the questions once more, but they still don't come. Thankfully.

  “Whatever brought you here, I’m sorry.” She lays her head on his shoulder and says no more.

  He feels compelled to explain this afternoon. "Earlier, when I left you standing on my deck,” he starts, not knowing how to finish.

  "I don't need an explanation," She says without moving her head from his shoulder. "I think we both have our share of crap.”

  “I’m sorry for whatever brought you here too.”

  The sound of the ocean is enough for a while.

  "I'd like to suggest just one condition to our somewhat indecent proposal,” she says.

  “Lay it on me, Demi Moore.” He can lighten the mood when he tries.

  “Are you Woody Harrelson or Robert Redford?”

  “I’m offended you even had to ask.”

  “Mr. Redford then. Let's have fun, but at the end of the day, you return to 516, and I'll return to 517."

  He understands the closeness that comes from curling together at night, waking together in the mornings. He imagines how she looks sleeping, hair spread over the pillow, and shakes off the thought. She clearly wants to limit their intimacy, and that works well for John. Playing house and living it are two very different things.

  “Okay,” he agrees. “Let's do things this summer. Let's have fun and fatten you up and listen to music. Read books, climb things, and do this,” he runs his hands along her bare bottom. “But separate beds in separate houses. You make a good point. We'll have fun until we say our goodbyes after Labor Day or stop when you stop having fun."

  "Or when you stop having fun,” she adds.

  He’s not sure if it’s holding a naked woman in his arms for the first time in more than a year and a half, or the wine or maybe both, but he can’t imagine how this wouldn’t be fun. The tension he felt in the afternoon feels very far away now.

  “And our sad stories?" she asks.

  "Later, much later. Or maybe never." Why go backward?

  "Carpe fucking diem," she says, laying her lips on his.

  After they say goodnight, John returns to his deck. He sits with the towel around his waist and pours the last of the wine into his glass. Crossing his feet on the railing, he leans back to look at the stars. The sound of cicadas fills the night. His phone vibrates. He sees a familiar smiling face with eyes crossed on the screen and ignores the call. He needs more time, even if she doesn't want to give it to him. He tosses back the wine, wishing Stephanie would leave him alone. He watches 517, and after a few minutes the lights go out. He wonders what Anna would think if she knew about everything. Would she pity him? Of course she would. Everyone did. He was so sick of being the object of the world's fucking pity. He doesn’t want their pity, and he sure as shit doesn’t deserve it. He deserted his daughter.

  What does Anna know about me? He thinks on this. Almost nothing. She knows I’m fucked up. I’m a decent lay. I grill a good steak. And what do I know about her? She’s beautiful, fearless, and very hot in bed. Well, not in a bed so far. She’s not a professional though. She’d have implants if she were.

  He remembers the telling white ring of pale skin around her finger and guesses. She probably has a cheating husband. Maybe she’s separated or taking a summer off to try out being alone. Her husband must have done some real shit to her if he is swinging the cost of an ocean front house for the entire season. It must be something like that. John has no moral issues with this. He’s more than comfortable sharing her bed for the summer and sending her back to her husband in September.

  He has his own shit to figure out this summer. September is either going to mean going back to his old life and his family or leaving it all behind for good. He needs to figure out what leaving it all behind means. He’d thought it would be the bottom of the ocean, but that pull is loosening its grip. It might mean surrendering custody permanently and letting his daughter go. He doesn’t want her to know her Daddy deserted her, when she is old enough to understand.

  He thinks about the possibility of falling in love with Anna. John wonders if he can still fall in love and doubts it, but thinks knowing is important. He has been numb for so long. Hot sex and dinners in the moonlight aren’t love. He doesn’t need a relationship now, but making a connection could change things for him. He has no doubts though, h
e knows how to say good-bye and he will let her go at the end of the summer.

  Anna’s bedroom is feminine, decorated in classic beach house décor—framed black and white lighthouse photo print, seashells under glass, walls painted in a pale blue. The bed is big and comfortable with a blue-and-white floral-print comforter. She gets out of the bed and moves the tabletop knickknacks to a closet. She doesn’t know what to replace them with. Thinking for a moment, she heads out to the kitchen and brings back the vase filled with the flowers John brought earlier and centers it on the dresser below the mirror. Anna intends to make 517 a place of her own this summer. She still can’t believe she is here. She had been aiming for a small ocean-side condo and ended up here, ocean-front in a house. Lynn put together a great discount with the owners since Anna wanted to rent for the whole season. Between John and this house, she is off to having a very fortunate summer indeed.

  She ends the day with a warm cup of cinnamon tea in bed. Open windows let the moonlight cut the darkness. The gentle rolling sounds of the surf are creating the perfect calm. The night air is cool, and she wears just a tee shirt from a concert she didn't see. In her mind, she revisits every moment with John like a schoolgirl after prom. She remembers every kiss, every touch, every move of his tongue on her. She has never felt like this before. She has never behaved this way before.

  John is exactly the second man she has been with in her life. With Dylan, it was all about need. She was a seventeen-year-old virgin when she met Dylan. He offered her an escape from a life in England that was worth leaving, a cold and disinterested adoptive mother, and an adoptive father who liked to drink and hit.

  With John it is all about want. She wonders about him. She watched him for a moment through his glass door earlier when he didn’t show up at the beach. Before knocking, she could glimpse him sitting at the table with hands in his hair looking stricken, maybe a little panicked. She imagines he lost someone close, maybe his wife or child. That seemed to be the end of it between them and she hoped their counter-top quickie had done the job. When he knocked on her door later, she was surprised, never considering he’d be back. His smiling face over dinner was a world of difference. He is a bit of a performer. Cheers to him for choosing the distraction instead of letting it drown him. Whatever it is.