by Hildy Fox
A shiver ran through her as she set her eyes on the man not fifteen metres from her. The water must have been freezing. The mountains on the horizon to her right were still capped with Spring snow, and the run-off would be what was causing the river to run so deep and strong. But if it was cold, the swimmer showed no sign of it. He swam as strongly as before, and he breathed on opposite sides every third stroke. It was an odd spectacle to see such a powerful man remaining in virtually the same place for all of his effort.
He had dark hair and wore goggles, which was the only thing Lahra could distinguish about his looks. But she found it hard to concentrate for too long on what he looked like. His back and shoulders rippled with energy, clearly defined beneath the water that glanced over them. The curve of his lower back accentuated the white, round buttocks that bobbed left and right in time to his slow kick. He looked long and hard and lean, cutting through the icy water like he had been made to do so. Lahra suddenly felt embarrassed. What was she doing, crouching in the bushes spying on a naked man? Yes, she was curious to see who it was swimming in the river beside her house, but this seemed quite the wrong way to go about it. Her heart was beating hard for the second time that day. She had better get out of here and back to the house before the man stopped swimming.
She took a step and that was as far as she got. The swimmer stopped, and let the current help him closer to the opposite bank. He stood, breathing heavily, looking at the sports watch on his thick wrist. Lahra held her breath, and stood motionless, sure that he would turn around at any moment and see her hiding there in the trees. As it was, he stood with his broad shoulders and dripping back to her, waist deep in the river, lifting the goggles up onto his forehead. She prayed he would simply climb out and walk away without looking back. But another part of her wanted the stranger to turn, just to see his face. Just to see if it really was the man she imagined it to be, despite all reason pointing to the likelihood that it couldn’t be him, and despite her refusal to entertain it begin him as a real possibility.
A second later and she had her answer. The wet man bobbed down in the water and turned in Lahra's direction. As he stood, she wasn't at all aware of his nakedness. The thing that held her immediate attention were the bright green eyes that sparkled with gold. The eyes of Marcus Dean.
Lahra gasped, and the adrenaline that burst through her chest told her to run. Instead, she tried to push herself further under cover, the fear of being seen now double, triple what it had been. But the edge of the river bank at her feet was soft and unsure, and it took just a split second for her to lose her footing altogether. She clutched desperately at the tree beside her as the water came up to meet her. She screamed.
Everything was wet and grassy and muddy, and Lahra flailed her arms and kicked her legs against the sudden ice-coldness that enveloped her. She swallowed mouthfuls of water as her fingernails scratched into the earth of the bank, and what little oxygen she could find wasn’t enough. She gasped and choked as her feet vainly tried to take hold on the river bed. Her glasses were gone, her vision made worse by water that seemed alive, intent on dragging her below. Inside she was screaming, but no sounds came out. Her heart pounded on the inside of her ribcage as if it were trying to escape the icy waters on its own.
Then, air. Solid, dry ground beneath her. Her knees found room to push the rest of her upwards and out of the water. She coughed and gasped, gratefully sucking in great lung-loads. She was dimly aware of hands on her thighs, lifting her and pushing her away from the river, but she was too exhausted to care much. She slumped onto her back and just breathed, her chest heaving quickly with each intake. Slowly she relaxed, and her breathing became less desperate. She opened her eyes once again and looked around. Crouching beside her was a very scared looking Marcus Dean.
"Lahra? Are you okay?"
No, she wanted to say. She wasn't really all that okay. But speech wasn't high on her list of priorities as she grappled with the problems of breathing normally and embarrassing herself so completely like this.
"It looked like you were in trouble. The bank's steep on this side. You frightened the hell out of me screaming like that. What were you doing in there, anyway? Are you okay?"
Lahra coughed once again, and her vision, along with her mind, cleared a little. There was only one thing she could think and say. "You've got no clothes on." She sniffed and averted her gaze. She could sense Marcus’s hesitation, then he slipped back down into the water. It just reached his chest.
He smiled. "Well the eyes are still okay, anyway. Is the rest of you alright?"
"Yes, fine," Lahra said, sitting up. She was beginning to feel in control again—as much in control as circumstances would allow. "Thanks. I don't know what happened."
"Why are you skulking along the river?"
"I wasn't skulking! I live here. Or at least-" she coughed "-my family used to live here. It's mine now. I come here once or twice a year. I just arrived today-" her mind raced searching for a way to explain herself "-and saw a stranger in the river."
"So you thought you'd come down and spy a little." By the look on his face Lahra could tell that he was thoroughly amused by her embarrassment.
Lahra felt herself blushing and took her time sweeping her hair back off her face. "I just thought I'd come down to see who it was, and I slipped. God, I feel so stupid." She hung her head between her knees. Perhaps she'd better turn the conversation around to avoid feeling any more embarrassed than she already did. "And what are you doing here? Marcus, isn't it?"
"Well, it's not Cary Grant," he quipped, flashing his teeth for the first time. "Yes, it's Marcus. I live here, too. Up there. Or at least, I own the place. I bought it when the Taylors moved out six months ago. I wanted a weekend retreat, I guess you'd call it. It's absolutely perfect."
"I didn't know they'd moved." Lahra found it difficult to be angry at Marcus for his arrogance that morning. He'd virtually saved her life. A fresh shiver gripped her as the cool air hit her wet clothes. She noticed goosebumps on his chest as he ran his fingers back through his hair. Even half-submerged he had the same confident gait. She felt her nipples tighten beneath her t-shirt, and she was aware of his gaze shifting across her body. She pulled her knees up and coughed a little more.
"You must be freezing," he offered. "Sure you're okay?"
"I'll dry out. You don't look so hot… I mean, warm yourself."
"Actually I love it. The river was one of the main reasons for buying this place. I swim every day. It used to be the most important thing in my life..." Lahra watched the green-gold eyes cloud over with memories for an instant. Sad memories, she thought. But in an another instant they were gone. "...but these days it really relaxes me, helps me get away from work."
Lahra considered explaining that she didn't, or rather couldn't swim. But when her darkest memories threatened to come alive she thought better of it.
"Hang on, what have we here?"
Marcus reached into a bush which hung over the water, and brought out Lahra's glasses. He walked to the very edge of the bank to give them to her, and Lahra's breath caught in her throat when the water level plunged below his navel. She took the glasses from his hand and put them back on. She thanked him as her focus became sharp again, trying to avert her gaze from the clear water. He slid back again, his swimmer's shoulders sending large ripples back into the river.
Lahra wanted to get up and go, but her jeans and t-shirt clung to her like plastic wrap. If he weren't so smug and confident looking she wouldn't have felt so vulnerable. Perhaps she could get him defensive by reminding him of the Valley Bridge incident and make a swift exit. "So you got to your Skype okay, then?"
Marcus laughed. "The little diversion you provided didn't hold things up too much. Still managed to close the deal." He considered things for a moment. "And that makes it twice I've rescued you today."
"I suppose so." Lahra did her best to avoid his intense gaze, but found that she couldn't.
"Well then the least you
can do in return is have dinner with me tonight. I'll cook. Think of it as a kindly gesture between new neighbours. What do you say?"
So much for getting him on the defensive. She'd only succeeded in provoking him into full scale attack. Now what? "Well, I don't-"
"You can't turn down a man who's saved your life twice in one day. Besides, I make a fantastic vegetarian lasagne."
All Lahra wanted to do was get indoors and get dry. Her teeth were on the verge of chattering. If she stayed here another moment she'd either freeze to death or die of embarrassment. She could see no quick way out other than to agree to his request. "Fine."
"Great. Seven o’clock." Marcus pushed himself backwards into deeper water and began swimming away from her. "Dress casual." Lahra stood and smiled wanly. She felt like she had a neon sign on her chest. She crossed her arms and began to walk backwards away from the bank. "Of course, if you choose to stay as you are I'm not complaining." Marcus thrust himself back through the water, side-stroking against the current.
Lahra ignored his provocation. She turned and walked quickly back up the hill.
Great, she thought to herself, just great. Dinner at seven? What was wrong with her today? Maybe watching all of those movies had finally caught up with her. Maybe she was starting to act like a character in some B-grade romantic comedy. Verbal showdowns on bridges. Spying on naked men from bushes. Accepting dinner invitations from strangers, even if he had saved her from the river, and even if he was her new neighbour, and even if he was incredibly good looking and scrambled her brain just by looking at her with those amazing eyes. Maybe she ought to just turn back and say she couldn't come to dinner, she had other plans for the evening, and be done with it. Well, maybe she would have, but in her mind she could already see his naked form climbing out of the water, as slick and shiny as the car he drove, and she knew that to turn back and see that would not be good, not good at all, because the things she'd already seen had made her mind and pulse race like they never had before, and the last thing she needed was a man to complicate her life, just when things were going so well and she was feeling like she was finally beginning to achieve some of the things she'd set out to achieve, but here she was and she couldn't go back and she was supposed to be having dinner with him at seven o'clock and what the hell did “dress casual” mean anyway, like he expected her to roll up at his door in an evening gown or something, yeah right!
Lahra locked the glass verandah door behind her and went back into the kitchen to get another glass of water. Her hand trembled slightly as she looked out to the river. Try as she might, she couldn't see him. Marcus was gone.
TWO
The Doyle River was a wide, deep waterway that cut jaggedly through the expansive plains of the Charlotte Valley, originating in the mountains to the east, and fed by the smaller Severence River (or the Ulonga-Bola River, as the young Lahra Brook had dubbed it). The two merged at River Fork, where the hills greeted the plains, and Lahra steered the Jeep past the junction for the second time that day and onto the main road that led into Riverbank.
Riverbank was a fifteen minute drive from the foothills where Lahra's family home was nestled. A large and growing town that was born during the gold rush and founded on the banks of the Doyle River, it was now a regional centre of some importance. This was largely due to the Riverbank Campus of Charlton University. Its influence on the community ensured the town had a vibrant atmosphere; restaurants, cafés, clubs, sporting facilities. As the Jeep rounded the campus, Lahra fondly regarded the buildings in which her parents had lectured. It was a shame she never got to study at Riverbank.
Before long Lahra approached Main Street, and she tingled with a resurgence of anticipation. She missed the place even more than she thought. Everything about it. The interesting blend of Victorian and Art Deco. The grassy strip that ran down the centre of Main Street. The statues, fountains and pretty park benches. And of course, the Miracle Cinema.
As much as Lahra was tempted to drive straight to the other end of town and see the Miracle, first things were first. Her fridge and cupboards had been without supplies for almost a year, and the supermarket beckoned. She parked, gathered her purse, and headed inside.
The first thing she noticed was that the checkouts were all new. Streamlined, chrome plated, laser scanning technology had replaced the old line of tills. A shame, she thought. The old stuff had a certain charm about it. The shopping trolleys were all new, too. She selected one and it veered unexpectedly to the left. At least some things never changed.
Half an hour later, Lahra had a trolley full of most of the things she'd need for her month in the country. As she stood at the checkout listening to the 'blip-blip-blip' of the scanner, something nagged at the back of her mind as if the shopping list inside her head wasn't complete. What was it she'd forgotten?
A tinkling noise behind her interrupted her thinking, and she turned to see a hand trolley being wheeled by, stacked with boxes of local wine. It suddenly occurred to her. Dinner at seven. She'd been invited to dinner and she had nothing to bring. Assuming of course that she'd actually go. Would she go? Should she go? Now that she'd begun to think about it the questions came at her like machine gun fire. Who was Marcus Dean, anyway? What sort of person swam naked in freezing conditions and asked passers by to dinner? What sort of wine might he like?
Lahra paid the pimply-faced boy at the register and wheeled her fully laden trolley to the liquor shop alongside the supermarket.
Even if she didn't end up going to dinner—and she probably wouldn't—a bottle of chardonnay wouldn't go astray. Or perhaps two, for later in the week. There were some excellent local wines, so she went straight to the racks where they were on display. What better way to help her settle in?
"Lahra?"
She turned to the strangely familiar voice, and stared blankly for a second. The man before her was about Lahra's age and very tall, with longish brown hair that didn't want to behave and a chiselled, narrow face. He was dressed in jeans that were well past their best days and a checked flannel shirt that exposed a hair-thatched chest. He held a slab of beer cans under one sinewy arm. Recognition dawned. "Kurt!"
"Gee, Lahra, you look fantastic!" Kurt's deep voice drawled. "I haven't seen you for, gee, it must be getting on to three years or more. Back before the last flood."
"Yeah, three years," Lahra confirmed, beginning to wish that it had been longer. "You look... really well."
"Yeah, well, I like to keep in shape," Kurt laughed, flexing his free bicep. "Your hair's a lot shorter than it used to be. I like it on your shoulders like that. Same colour, too. You must be the only girl from Riverbank who didn't dye her hair blond and frizz it all up! You look great!"
"Thanks, Kurt." The scattered jigsaw pieces of her past began falling quickly into place. Kurt Carol used to be the shortest kid in primary school, and most of the other kids teased him about his Brady Bunch surname. But come high school, Kurt suddenly became the tallest kid in the class, and he didn't take kindly to anyone who had a problem with the name Carol. And somewhere along the way Lahra got the notion that Kurt looked a bit like a young Gregory Peck. To think that all these years later, whenever she remembered her first kiss, she'd see the very non-Gregory Peck face that was before her now.
"So what are ya doin' in Riverbank? I thought you'd moved to the big smoke."
"Just here on holiday. I like to get back every once in a while."
"You're a teacher now, aren't you? Films, or something?"
"I lecture History of Cinema and Film Appreciation at Charlton University in Sydney. And I do other bits and pieces. A few independent film projects here and there."
Kurt smiled slyly. "Yeah, you always did like your movies."
Lahra immediately picked up the innuendo in his remark and ignored it, avoiding his stare.
"So, you married, engaged?"
"Happily single," Lahra insisted. She waggled her ring finger as physical evidence of this fact.
"Yeah, same.
Happily single. Got mum on my back about it all the time."
"And what about you?" Lahra quickly changed the direction of the conversation. "What are you doing with yourself these days?"
Kurt held up the back of his hand to Lahra. His fingernails were black. "Still doing what I do best. Riverbank's growing pretty fast so there's always plenty of cars that need fixing. I'm Johnno's head mechanic now, so I get to run the shop a few days a week. I've got this afternoon off coz I worked through on Saturday when one of the boys was sick."
Lahra nodded, feigning interest.
"So how long you in town for?"
“Couple of weeks," she lied.
"Gee, great. We oughtta catch up. Maybe come round for dinner sometime. Mum won't mind. Always plenty on the stove. She'd love to see you."
"Yeah, I'll see how I go. I've got a lot I want to get done while I'm here-"
"Still up at the house?"
"Yep."
"Well I'll give you a call soon, see what's happening. It'd be great to see you again."
Lahra was very uncomfortable with the emphasis Kurt had placed on that last sentence. But she smiled a tight smile and nodded. "Sure, call sometime."
"Well, I gotta run. I'll talk to you soon, then. Seeya."
"Yeah, see you."
Lahra turned back to the wine, watching Kurt leave out of the corner of her eye. Finally he was gone. Kurt Carol. It was a name she hadn't thought of in three years. Two dates almost ten years ago and he'd been keeping tabs on her ever since. She laughed to herself as she contemplated the doggedness of the male species, and went about making her selection.
*
Lahra switched off the engine and just sat there, staring. Across the road the huge, gracious structure that was the Miracle Cinema rose from the pavement.