Wet Part 3

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  He turned his gaze back to her, and caught her staring, and licking her lips. She blushed at getting caught, and looked down to study her bare toes.

  “Them too,” he said with a smirk, pulling her chin up with his finger. “I’ve been dealing with crushes from both sexes, and all ages, for most of my life, but a student is a student, okay?”

  “Then maybe you should stop bribing them to leave, just because I happen to innocently admit that I think they’re pretty.”

  Paul froze momentarily at getting caught.

  “Who told you?” He blinked a few times and shifted on his feet.

  “The second night he babysat me, Christian said he’d like to learn more about your new loan program for impoverished divers, and how he might qualify for one. Lorencio finally got around to emailing him a while ago, and Christian asked him why he’d up and left so suddenly.”

  “Where is Christian? I haven’t seen him around.” Paul’s grin dropped along with his voice, “Never mind.”

  “He’s pretty upset. He’s taking a few days off to think. He said he’s been considering joining up with Lorencio, but I talked him out of it. I hope.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll speak to him, and apologize.”

  “Yes. Please do that . . . but maybe you should wait another day or two.”

  Paul arched a brow. “That mad, huh?”

  She winced, and then nodded.

  “See? I fu—I mean, I mess everything up.”

  She slipped her arms up and around his neck. The look in her eyes melted his heart. He couldn’t do it any longer. He decided right then and there, once and for all, he was done trying to do the right thing. He would take every second he could get with her, the future consequences to his heart be damned.

  “To heck with it.” He kissed her, soft and chaste, but long, and on the lips.

  “Tonight,” he said, smooshing his lips to the side of her face. “No alcohol. No lube—”

  “I didn’t use the lube,” she said with a frustrated cry. “I never opened it, and I can prove it to you. It should still have the seal.”

  “Uh . . .” He squirmed. “You can’t. I threw it into the jungle when I found it. I was a little . . . bothered.”

  “So you’ll never believe me.”

  “I don’t have to.” He drew her eyes to his again and kissed her forehead, working his kisses around her face. “Do you have any idea how crazy it’s been driving me that I had you again, and I can’t remember it, again? It’s like Costa Rica all over,” he said before moving his kisses to her mouth. After another long, soft kiss on the lips, he whispered, “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” she breathed.

  She searched his eyes for some clarification of what he meant, but her eyes hooded over as he nodded and skimmed her lips lightly with his tongue, knocking on the door. She opened for him, and he barged right in, deepening their kiss. He firmed his grasp around her waist, partly because he needed the closeness, but also because she’d sagged in his arms and felt like she’d collapse if he didn’t catch her, and then he grinned, pleased to know she’d wilted for him.

  “Mm,” he grunted without breaking their kiss, and then he wilted too.

  Chapter 24

  Rhees walked into the office from the Tunnel. Paul sat alone at his computer, completely still. He stared at the screen so intently he didn’t hear her greeting. She didn’t mean to snoop, but the way it held his absolute attention, without thinking, she read the email from over his shoulder.

  My Dearest Paul,

  I miss you! Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. The more time that passes, the more I regret our parting ways. I shouldn’t have been so hasty to say goodbye.

  Rhees grabbed the counter to keep from falling, her whole body felt so weak, she could buckle any second. She stopped reading, needing to know who’d sent it. Her eyes scanned the email heading and her breath caught—Ginger.

  “No!” Paul bellowed before Rhees could read any more.

  She watched him grow more and more agitated, staring at the screen, literally rocking in his seat. He gasped for air like he couldn’t get enough of it. Rhees flinched, startled, when he suddenly hit the screen with his fist, sending cracks across the monitor before going black. He leaned forward on his hands and rubbed his face. His anguish leeched out in guttural, lamented breaths. He was falling apart before her eyes.

  She moved toward him a step, reached out to him in an attempt to calm him, but she jerked again when he leaped to his feet and threw the broken laptop at Claire’s computer monitor. Rhees covered her ears at the sound of the crash and watched weakly as he attacked the office. He pushed things off of shelves, ripped the phone from the wall, threw everything that had weight enough to throw, rasping and snarling as he did.

  She jumped again with a squeal when the phone went through one of the window panes. He finally turned to meet what had to be anxious, fearful eyes. She slowly backed up a few steps, and stood at the door of the Tunnel. As soon as he saw her, his face twisted into grief, the anger gone, but his red-rimmed eyes filled with tears and grew shiny, but no tears fell. His mouth quivered, and then contorted, not the usual twitches, still heaving breaths and gnashing his teeth until he finally looked down. He looked lost. She’d never seen him look so lost.

  “I—I . . .” He closed his eyes and gulped in a strained breath of air before opening them again. “There’s something I have to do.”

  His mouth went wild, trembling, licking his lips, the muscle in his jaw twitched, violently. His eyes flitted around the room, looking everywhere but at her.

  She took a step toward him but stopped herself—he was so wound up. All she wanted to do was let him know that everything would be okay, but she really didn’t know if it would be. He had a history with Ginger, and Rhees didn’t know what the rest of the email said. Her insecurities got the best of her.

  “Okay.” It took her a moment to answer, and it came out nervously, airy. She cleared her throat. “I’ll, um . . .” She looked around the room. “I’ll start cleaning up here.”

  He made a few more agonized faces, and then was out the door in a blur, leaving her standing in a daze, waiting for her brain to catch up to what just happened.

  oOo

  Rhees set her pen and journal, the Whine List, at her side and pulled Paul’s pillow over her face. She breathed in deeply . . . again. The scent, his scent, was faint. He hadn’t slept on his own pillow in months. The T-shirt he’d worn the previous day still smelled like him, so she put it on before climbing into his bed. She’d never slept in his bed before. He’d told her he didn’t want to sully her by mixing her in with the memories it held for him, memories he wasn’t proud of.

  Still in a blur, without thinking it through, she’d started putting the office back together after he ran out. It took her nearly fifteen minutes to realize how stupid it was to worry about unorganized paperwork when Paul had fallen apart before her eyes.

  She went in search of him, but knew she was too late the second she stepped into his apartment. His backpack no longer hung on the peg next to the door, his personal safe lay open, his passport, emergency cash, and credit cards missing. His closet looked like he’d torn through it, grabbing what he needed, as evidenced by the empty hangers that lay scattered across the floor.

  She’d heard the plane, just after flagging Ignacio down, who’d confirmed he had taken Paul to the airport. She’d watched powerlessly as it—he—climbed higher and higher, into the blue sky. The small plane whisking him off to . . . she didn’t know where, except that he was on his way back to Ginger.

  She’d heard the name mentioned too many times. Even Shelly had felt threatened by Ginger. Like a zombie, she’d made her way back to his apartment, thrown herself on his bed, and finally
let go of the misery. She’d held it in, needing to be alone and out of sight of anyone who would try to comfort her. She didn’t want to be comforted. She was sure she would never be comforted again.

  By morning, after a long, sleepless night, she made up her mind to stop crying, at least until the day was over. He’d said he had something he needed to do. She told herself that he’d be on the three o’clock plane. He’d come back after he took care of what it was he’d left to do. She told herself that if he wasn’t, then and only then, would she feel justified in falling apart again, and crying—for the rest of her life.

  She cleaned up as best as she could, splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would help her bloodshot, swollen eyes, and then hurried across the street to set up for the day. She didn’t want anyone to know Paul had run out on her—yet. They’d figure it out soon enough. As far as anyone was concerned, he’d taken an unexpected business trip, though too many people had seen the disaster in the office the day before.

  “We’re reorganizing,” she told the few who dared to ask. Her snappy tone must have conveyed the message she really wanted to give, ‘it’s none of your business’.

  oOo

  Rhees put Dobbs and Mitch in charge of the dives that day, but tagged along, hoping a couple of dives would make her feel better. There weren’t too many things that gave her peace the way diving did.

  While in her own little, scared-to-death world, she’d missed the name of their second destination, and it shocked her when they pulled up, and moored at The Shelf, the same dive site where she dove, or sunk, her first time, the time she almost died. Her inclination was to start hyperventilating, and she had to work not to. At that moment, she understood that Paul had probably made sure the shop never went back there when she was along. Today, he wasn’t there to tell Dobbs, or Mitch, or Randy to pick another site. He wasn’t there to protect her. He wouldn’t be there to save her again.

  She turned to tell Mitch she was calling her dive—that she couldn’t do it—but she caught herself. She had to do this. There were going to be many things she’d have to learn to face on her own. She said a quick prayer and sat down to gear up.

  oOo

  The group reached the shelf, sixty feet down, and she still struggled to keep her breathing normal. She checked her gauges. Sure enough, she was blowing through her air faster than normal. At the rate she was going, she’d have to surface in twenty minutes, like a newbie—like a stressed out, scared to death, on the verge of panic, newbie.

  Just diving the site wasn’t enough, she decided. She needed to face the other part of her fear. She kicked over to the edge of the shelf and tried to look over into the abyss without leaving the safety of the sand below her. The memory of being sucked down the wall came back to her as though it happened yesterday.

  Her heart started pounding again when she realized what she had to do. She finned out a little farther, over the edge, and then a little farther again. Neutral buoyancy was a skill that took practice to get right, and she’d mastered it months ago, but now, her eyes remained riveted to her depth gauge while she performed a fin pivot, an exercise divers use to check their buoyancy.

  An eternal two minutes later, she allowed herself to breathe relief, finally convinced she wasn’t going anywhere, that the down current wasn’t going to suck her into the deep again.

  She forced a smile at herself for her brave attempt, and hoped it was only her first triumph at facing the rest of her life, facing it without the parent’s who’d coddled and protected her, excusing her from having to try anything that might upset her. They’d never known why their little girl was so afraid of the world. She’d tell them now, if they were still here, now that she knew how much better she felt having that burden off her shoulders.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Paul—her breath faltered when it hit her. Her self-satisfaction vanished as the recent events flooded her mind once again, and the possibility of having to face her future challenges without the love of her life cheering her on, the man who’d made her feel so safe, for so long.

  She set a new goal. She determined she’d learn to make herself feel safe. It was a scary goal, but this little exercise gave her courage, and hope, hanging over the abyss at the very wall that had almost killed her—it was her first victory in a long list of things she knew would come.

  She jerked at the feel of a hand on her arm. She hadn’t noticed Dobbs swim to her. He asked if she was okay by giving her the hand signal. She returned it but had to take her regulator out of her mouth to show him a fake smile because he didn’t appear convinced. He finally nodded and gestured that they should join up with the group again, and that’s what they did.

  oOo

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” Claire asked, later that day.

  Rhees didn’t answer, or look up. She just shook her head. The computer debris had been disposed of, the books were back on their shelves—the shelves that weren’t broken anyway. The only thing left was the stack of loose papers to go through. It would take a while to figure out which folder to put each one. Claire sighed. Just thinking about it made her tired.

  “I didn’t ask sooner,” Claire tiptoed around the obvious. “I figured you were too upset to talk about it, but you’re still . . . too quiet.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it—still—ever.”

  “Rhees. The office looked like a hurricane hit. We’re dead in the water here without a phone and computers.”

  “I’m sorry. We’ll have to manage until tomorrow. He’ll be back. He’ll take care of everything.” Her voice quieted. “He always does. He takes care of everything.”

  “Why are you apologizing?” Claire had reached her tolerance level. She could no longer hide the anger with herself for ever giving Paul any credit. He hadn’t changed. “You didn’t do this. What is his problem?”

  “Nothing.” Claire stopped working to stare at Rhees. “Sweet, I knew something was wrong when you got back from your honey—” She kicked herself. The poor girl’s honeymoon had been a nightmare. “After everyth—I ignored it, gave you two space, time to work it out. I know it had to be rough on both of you, but I thought you’d work it out.” She glanced around the office. “I can’t believe he trashed the office. Does he blame you for what happened—”

  Again Claire had stumbled onto a conversation she was sure she shouldn’t have. “I’ve always known about his violent tendencies, but I never thought—I’m afraid for you.”

  Rhees’ gaze shot to her, the shocked look couldn’t have been more pronounced.

  “Paul would never put his hands on me. And no, this has nothing to with that.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up. It must be hard—”

  “Stop,” Rhees groaned. “I was sexually assaulted as a child. There I said it. I’m never going to hide from it again. I wish I’d faced it sooner. I feel so much better now that I can think about it, evaluate it, and talk about it—but Paul didn’t do this,” –she waved her hand around the room— “because of—it had nothing to do with my . . . assault.”

  Rhees almost chuckled at herself, a reaction that baffled Claire.

  “I’ve never called it that before.” She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was assaulted. It wasn’t my fault.”

  Claire tried to smile, but the current situation still troubled her.

  “So tell me then, tell me why he did do this.” She waved her hands around the room.

  It didn’t make sense to Claire. Paul loved his shop. She’d never seen him love anything more, until Rhees. Something had to be terribly wrong, and her imagination got the better of her. In spite of Rhees’ protests, she couldn’t stop worrying about her friend.

  “No.”

  “Rhees,” Claire pleaded.

  “I’m not sharing my marital woes with you,
or anyone. I’m fine . . .” Rhees’ lip started to quiver and the next words came out in a squeak. “At least until the three o’clock plane.”

  “Oh, Rhees.” Claire pulled a shuddering Rhees into her arms when she broke into sobs, and Claire held her, telling her over and over, that it would all be okay, but she didn’t really believe it.

  oOo

  Rhees snorkeled all afternoon. She’d borrowed one of Paul’s dive watches so she could watch the time. At two forty-five, she climbed up the ladder, dried off, and put her clothes on. She’d asked Ignacio if she could tag along to the airport. He always went to the airport to meet the three o’clock plane.

  She helped him load the bags of the three people who had just come to the island, because doing something productive helped her to keep her mind occupied. As long as her mind was occupied, she wouldn’t break out into another crying episode. Paul wasn’t on the plane.

  She tried to sound pleasant on the trip back to town, answering the new travelers’ questions about restaurants and the best dive sites, but as soon as they reached the main street, she hopped out of the van at the first chance she could. She yelled a thank you for the ride, and ran back to Paul’s apartment to break down in private.

  She tossed and turned in his bed all night. She’d forced down a few potato chips Paul had in the cupboard, remembering how upset he’d been that she didn’t eat the night he went to the mainland, but they’d tasted stale. Again, evidence of how little time he’d spent there. She’d written in her Whine List again, and eventually, she’d cried herself out, and to sleep.

  The next morning, the little hope she’d had that he could be on the ferry the night before, was dashed when she awoke, alone.

  “Rhees?” Claire knocked on the door just before eight o’ clock. Rhees didn’t answer and Claire knocked again.