by Dale, Lindy
He rubs his thumb over my knuckles. A tingle begins in my hand and shoots up my arm before slippery-dipping into my belly. “Okay. You win. But next time, it’s my treat.” Quickly, he tugs the cheque from beneath my fingers and pockets it with a grin.
Damn. He completely out-foxed me. He knew the effect his fingers would have and he played me.
“Who says there’s going to be a next time?” It’s my turn to quirk an eyebrow.
He leans close, staring right into my eyes. It’s unnerving and sexy and my lungs forget how to breathe. I’m out of my depth in this game but I’m not going to let him know.
“Me,” he says. “What do you intend to do about it?”
Um. Nothing?
“I could ignore you.”
“But you don’t want to. And I don’t want you to.”
He’s got me pegged.
Nicholas stands. He fishes the bill and a hundred dollar note from his pocket and places them on the table. “So how about tomorrow morning. I’ll see you on the jetty around seven. I’m taking the Constance for a spin.”
“I—”
“Don’t like water?”
“No.”
“Married?”
I tilt my head at him. I’m way too young to be married.
“Can’t swim?”
Oh, this is ridiculous.
“Thought so. No plausible excuse,” he chuckles. “See you bright and early then. Don’t forget a hat and sunscreen.”
And he’s gone.
*****
I walk home alone along the beach. It’s a full moon and the beach is as brightly lit as if it was day. Crystals of quartz are glittering in the sand like tiny diamonds in the night. I feel good. Comfortable. Not exactly happy but content.
My mind turns to Nicholas. Should I think it odd he said he lived in this direction and yet he didn’t offer to walk me home? Maybe he was lying? Maybe he’s the one who’s married and he’s trying to conceal the truth. Maybe he won’t turn up in the morning because he realises how much baggage I carry and he’s not prepared for that type of commitment. That’s why he didn’t want me to see his house. If I don’t know where he’s staying, I can’t drop in now, can I?
I hear my voice going round and round in my head and I know how silly I sound, how lacking in confidence. Nicholas is a nice guy. He was concerned enough to stop on the beach earlier, so what motive would he have for lying? I need to stop overthinking and just breathe.
At last, I reach the door of the cottage. The light from the lamp is shining through the window and I put my key in the door, dump my stuff, flip off my shoes and head to the bathroom. It’s then, as I’m looking at my reflection in the mirror while cleaning my teeth, that I realise I haven’t thought about Mum in about five hours. In fact, now I am thinking about her, I’m not crying. I’m smiling. If nothing else happens between us, I have Nicholas to thank for that.
Chapter 2
The next morning is swelteringly hot. The sun is a huge melon coloured orb in the sky. As I walk along the side of the road towards the dock I see the heat rising from the footpath and a rippling haze over the bay. It’s going to be a scorcher. Along the end of the timber jetty I see Nicholas, as he promised. He’s on the deck of a small ketch, fiddling with a rope. He’s wearing cream shorts and a pale blue linen shirt that’s crinkled at the back from where he’s been sitting. A pair of aviator sunglasses perch on his nose. His hair is mussed like he just got out of bed, which he probably did and he looks boyish and charming. My heart skips in excitement as I approach. I’m not sure if this is a good sign. I haven’t been romantic with anyone for a while and the anticipation is making me feel quite immature and giddy. Not like me.
I stop near a collection of boats bobbing gently on the water.
“Morning!” I call, and give him a tentative wave. No matter how attracted I feel to Nicholas, I’m wary. It could be that I don’t know him well enough or maybe it’s that he’s different. I’ve never met a man like him before, let alone been with one. He’s so — well — confident, like he knows where he stands in the world and deserves that place. It’s not about his looks; it’s the aura he puts out. I think if I let him, he’d have the ability to swallow me whole, lead me in a direction that could be termed ‘astray’. In a good way, of course. Nothing illegal.
Nicholas looks up. He ties a hasty knot in the rope he’s holding and grins at me. It’s a broad smile and I find myself returning it.
“Nice boat.”
“She’s a yacht. A ketch if we’re being specific.”
Ooh, I knew that, I knew that. I am not a complete maritime moron.
He motions for me to board. “Hop on.”
I am not sure how I am meant to do this. Crazy as it sounds I’ve never been on a yacht before. My life has been led with my feet safely on terra firma. I’d never even been on a plane before I turned eighteen. It wasn’t by choice though. I always wanted to do stuff, try new things but Mum wasn’t keen. She liked to stay in our local neighbourhood, figuring that if nothing ever changed she couldn’t get any nasty surprises. Mum spent entire weeks in the garden and I loved to help but sometimes I longed for the adrenalin rush brought about by a surprise. Since she’s been gone, I haven’t had to worry about upsetting her with my decisions. My choices and mistakes are my own. Not that I’ve done anything outrageous but I kinda like the idea that I can if I want to and nobody will tell me off. Except my conscience.
I scan the side of the yacht for a gate or something. “How?”
“I gather you’re a boating novice.”
“You gather correctly.”
“Jump. You’ll be fine. Here.” He holds out his hand.
I toss my holdall onto the deck and take the proffered hand. I step in the direction of the deck, aiming to look dainty and alluring and as I do the boat lurches and moves a metre or so away from the dock. I am thrown — or maybe yanked — against Nicholas’ hard chest. Again. This is becoming something of a habit.
His arms are instantly around me, holding me tight. It’s not the worst place to be. I gaze up into his eyes and try not to laugh at the cliché-ness of the situation.
“Phew,” he says, “You nearly went in the drink then.” His grip tightens as he steadies me. My heart beats a little faster.
Okay, I’m lying. It’s pounding like I’m front row at a Daft Punk concert and the vibrations from the bass speakers have invaded my entire body.
“You did that on purpose.”
“I may be good at saving damsels in distress, but I don’t fancy myself as controller of the weather. It was the tide shifting.”
“Hmm.”
He releases me and walks along the other end of the deck and as he goes I hear him snickering to himself. He, so, did that on purpose. He’s probably seduced a hundred women with that very technique, damn him. I’m going to have to watch myself or I might become number one hundred and one. I pick up my bag and follow along behind.
At the stern of the yacht there is a small well with seating and a steering wheel. Honey-coloured timber trim delineates the space and a door leads below, to what I gather is a cabin area. I know it probably has some technical yachting name but that’s what I’m calling it. For now.
“Welcome to the Constance.”
“It’s a pleasure to be aboard. She really is a beautiful thing.”
“I inherited her from my grandfather. I used to sail with him a lot. It caused something of a family feud when I got her and the shack. My father hasn’t spoken to me since and my uncles wanted to take me to court because the inheritance was worth a chunk of money. But they never had any interest. They wouldn’t know the difference between a mainsail and a spinnaker.”
I regard him blankly.
“Guess you don’t either?”
I shake my head.
“I’ll have to teach you.” Nicholas takes my bag and stows it under the seat at my feet. “Did you sleep okay after our big night? You vented a lot.”
“I had a l
ot to get off my chest but yes. I slept better than I have in weeks. Didn’t wake once.”
When I finally got to sleep.
The first two hours of bedtime were filled with images of Nicholas. Like a schoolgirl, I stared at the ceiling, replaying every minute of our time together in my head. Conversations were dissected and analysed until I was positive the vibe I was getting was the one I was getting. It’s a dangerous preoccupation, I know, to become so attached to a person so quickly, but I feel drawn to Nicholas. Inexplicably so.
“So you dreamt of me then?” he jokes.
“I think the quality of my sleep had more to do with the fresh night air and the copious amounts of alcohol,” I quip. “And no, I didn’t dream of you.”
Not for the entire night.
“Way to crush a guy’s ego.”
I toss him a disbelieving look. “I think that’d be unlikely. You seem fairly sure of yourself, Nicholas.” I pull my bag out from its hiding place and take out a bottle of sunscreen. I squirt some on my arms and face. I put on my hat. I’m ready for this adventure. I’m hyped by the whole idea of it. “So what’s the plan?”
“I have to be back by lunchtime, so it’s just a quick trip. And introduction to sailing, if you like.”
“Cool. Will we go fast?”
Geez, I sound like a five year old. In my defence I have seen yachts scooting across the river on my way home from class. It looked like fun but I never dreamed I’d be on the water myself.
Nicholas chuckles at my enthusiasm. “Sorry. There’s not enough breeze to raise the sails so we’ll be motoring. I hope that’s okay. At least it’ll be calm. Wouldn’t want you getting sea sick on your maiden voyage and ruining the experience.”
It doesn’t take me much to imagine that embarrassment. Once I threw up out the window of a taxi because I had no other choice. I tried to convince the driver it was food poisoning but I don’t think he believed me. Not when I was spewing creamy cocktails down the side of his car.
Nicholas hands me a life jacket and shrugs into one of his own. It’s a hideous shade of safety yellow and rather bulky but he doesn’t look any less gorgeous. I’m crushing on this man and I’m scared that I am. I’m usually so sensible. He makes me want to be anything but. His eyes only have to land in my general direction and I feel like jelly. Very excited, fizzy jelly. If there’s such a thing.
“Problem?” He’s facing me again, a quizzical look on his face, noting I haven’t put my vest on yet. I must seem like a halfwit, standing here looking at the life jacket like it has five armholes and not knowing where to start. He doesn’t seem to care though. He’s being very diplomatic about my ineptness.
He steps closer. “Allow me. The average life jacket is not designed for ease of wearing.” He helps me into each arm and I breathe a relieved sigh that he’s being so nice, when this would be the perfect opportunity to tease.
Nicholas slides the zipper slowly toward my neck; his smoky blue eyes are trained on mine. It’s like he’s having sex with me with his eyes. Having reached the top, his fingers linger for a moment at my throat. He must be able to feel the way my pulse has increased. He must. I swallow and try to ignore the throbbing that’s started somewhere in my underwear and the burning sensation of his fingers on the tender skin of my neck.
“There,” he says. “Gorgeous.”
My thoughts exactly.
“If looking like a human life raft can be considered gorgeous.” I titter, suddenly wishing I hadn’t.
And the moment is gone.
“Right, let’s get this show on the road.” Turning away, Nicholas switches on the motor and directs me to untie the ropes nearest the jetty that he calls the spring lines. The ropes are awkward and heavy. I’m proud of myself for handling them as he tells me, especially after making such a fool of myself over the jacket. As we motor into the bay, he instructs me to take the helm. “Just keep her pointed in the same direction while I go and secure the lines. It’s as simple as driving a car. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Easy for him to say. I’m pretty sure he didn’t fail his driving test three times. I take the wheel.
Having made sure the ropes are where they should be and everything is ship-shape, Nicholas leaps into the cockpit behind me. I shuffle aside for him to take control of the wheel but he declines. “You’re doing great. A little to starboard.” He grins and leans across, adjusting the wheel slightly to the left. His body presses gently against mine. Fissures of electricity race up my spine.
Why is he teasing me like this? It feels sooo good, too good. I glance out the corner of my eye to see if he’s as affected as I am but he’s simply humming and gazing at the horizon like he has girls on his yacht every day and this is standard practise. If this is the case, I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing how on fire he makes me feel. I will keep my grin firmly under wraps. He can suffer too.
“Are you all right? You’re trembling,” he says.
“You make me tremble.”
Where did that come from? Now my mouth is losing control.
“In a good way I hope.”
God, I want to kiss him, I really do.
As we motor quietly along, Nicholas’ hands come to rest on mine. His chest is leaning into me. His cheek is nestled against the side of my head and I feel his rhythmical breaths close to my ear. He smells of soap and fabric softener or the way fresh towels do after they’ve come off the clothesline. It’s homely yet there’s nothing homely about him. He’s way too manly for that.
The yacht glides across the bay and around the tip of land towards a small island in the distance. I relax against Nicholas’ body, enjoying the feeling of closeness. Then, and I’m not positive — I may be hallucinating again — but I think I feel his lips on the side of my jaw, just below my ear. It’s only a peck and one I’m not even sure occurred for when I turn my head to him, he’s staring at the horizon, zoned out. I know I said I wanted the adrenalin rush of new experiences but this is something else. I’m not sure I’m up for this… this seduction. At least I think it’s a seduction.
Is it a seduction?
“So, tell me about your mother,” Nicholas whispers against my hair. He doesn’t move or look at me. He simply talks. “I know, after my Mum passed away, I found it helpful to talk. Despite what they say about guys not being great talkers.”
I told him stuff last night, but this one sentence is like the catalyst for unleashing every emotion and thought of the past year. As we watch the clouds moving across the sky, I tell him how it happened, how I feel about it. I share my feelings of loneliness and guilt that — even though I know I shouldn’t have any guilt — I was out having fun while my mother was dying. I even tell him of my thoughts of suicide; my brush with the pill bottle and how I wish people would stop treating me with kid gloves.
“I’m not a kid,” I say, moving to brush a stray hair away from my face.
“Far from it.” Nicholas moves closer. His lips are against my ear. His breath is hot on my neck. I quiver again as his fingers rest on mine and he tucks the hair behind my ear. “That’s the worst part, isn’t it?” he adds.
“What?”
“Everyone thinking you’ll fall apart, so you do because that’s what’s easier. You can wallow in your own shit because people expect you to do that. They almost want you to sink as low as possible so they can say how they were the one to talk you out of a funk. I didn’t shave for a month after Mum went. I sat in my own filth and punched walls and drank tequila. I wasn’t a good person to be around. At least that’s what they tell me.”
I wonder briefly who ‘they’ might be and whether they’re male or female. It’s absurd that such a thing makes me feel a twinge of jealousy. It’s a conversation. He’s not telling me about his long lost love or anything.
“When did your Mum die?”
“Three years ago. A rare strain of breast cancer. Things were just starting to come together with the company and I was working insane hours. I thought she’d be ok
ay, especially when she seemed to have beaten it. I mean, who dies of breast cancer these days when it’s caught early? But then, she found a lump in her neck and within two months she was gone. I wasn’t there for her enough. I felt like a shit son for a long time after that. The guilt was enormous.”
“What pulled you out of it?”
“Funnily enough it was this kid I saw sitting in the street one day. I’d seen him a few times on the train with his dad. He looked sad and he was dirty and skinny, really unkempt and unloved. His dad was ignoring him, talking on the phone to someone. Then later in the day, I saw them both outside my building. The kid was begging for money and the dad was just sitting there, letting him do it. Every time someone walked past without putting money in the hat the dad hit the kid around the head to make him cry. That was when I realised that everyone has one life and, sure, my Mum was gone, but I had to live the life I was given. There’s heaps of people who have it worse than me.”
“And now?”
“I’m cool. About a year after Mum died, I found a letter she’d written me. She told me how proud she was of everything I’d achieved and how I wasn’t to feel bad or guilty. Even if I hadn’t been in the hospital every second, she knew I loved her and thought about her. She knew I was trying to build a future for myself that had to endure after she’d gone. She didn’t blame me or feel sad. In fact, she said I’d been there when she needed me most. Which was the exact opposite of the way I’d seen the situation. That helped a lot, knowing her view of the events and mine weren’t in sync and she didn’t feel alone or abandoned.”
“I wish I’d had some sort of closure. It makes me sad every day that I didn’t get to see Mum at the end.”
“That’ll pass. You won’t forget but you’ll learn to live with it and remember your mother with fondness.”
“I hope so,” I say, wondering at how Nicholas knew the exact moment when I’d be relaxed enough to talk without weeping? How can he know that? It’s like the hole in me that I always thought was missing has been filled.