Life on the Edge

by Jennifer Comeaux

  “I love this place.” Marley moved next to Chris for a clear view of the harbor. “It’s like a perfect postcard.”

  “Hey, I was thinking we could all go to the cliffs tomorrow morning to see the sunrise,” I said.

  “What are the cliffs?” Sergei asked.

  “On the far end of the island, there are these cliffs that look like they were sculpted with different colors of clay, and at sunrise the colors are the brightest. I try to go out there every time I visit.”

  Aubrey threaded her fingers through her wind-swept hair. “I think I’ll sleep in this time.”

  “I’ll go,” Marley said. “It sounds amazing.”

  Chris barely let Marley finish before he replied, “Count me in.”

  “Sunday’s my day to sleep,” Trevor said. “I’ll pass.”

  Sergei leaned back against the rail and smiled. “What’s another day of waking up early? Count me in, too.”

  A swell of excitement rolled through me, and I faced the water, trying to shake off the sensation. I’d failed miserably in distancing myself from Sergei. After skipping two afternoons at the coffee shop, I’d slipped back into the routine, unable to fight temptation.

  The ferry horn blasted, so we made our way to our parked vehicles on the lower deck–girls in my car and guys in Sergei’s. Once we docked, Sergei followed me down tree-lined Edgartown Road to the island’s ice arena across from the high school.

  Inside the rink, a cluster of children, ranging in age from toddlers to tweens, were lacing up skates and filling the air with chatter and laughter. The six of us put on our skates while the club’s director corralled the kids and organized them into small groups on the ice. Chris was assigned the tween girls, who blushed and giggled when he introduced himself. I skated over to my group of six and seven-year-olds and clapped my hands.

  “Who’s ready to have some fun?”

  Hands shot up and squeaky voices cried out with enthusiasm. For the next two hours, I taught the kids easy stroking and spinning. Near the end of the session, Sergei’s group started to blend into mine, so he and I teamed up to hold their attention.

  “What does it feel like when you do a lift?” one of my girls asked.

  I opened my arms wide. “It feels like flying.”

  Sergei crouched to the girl’s level. “Do you want to try it?”

  She couldn’t nod her tiny head fast enough.

  Sergei explained to her what they were going to do while she stared wide-eyed at him. A minute later, he flipped her up above his shoulder. She squealed with laughter as Sergei held her up and skated circles around our groups.

  A throng of little girls jostled to be next in line. Sergei gave each one of them a trip around the ice, making sure no one was left out. After the last ride, he chuckled as he flexed his neck and shoulders.

  “I can skip weight-lifting this week.”

  I smiled. “I think you gave them the thrill of their lives.”

  Once we herded everyone off the ice, the director guided us to two long tables for an autograph session. We signed skates, sweatshirts, scraps of paper–anything and everything the kids slid along the table.

  Setting off from the rink, we traveled west toward Chilmark on the narrow two-lane road, where we got glimpses of cranberry bogs and lonesome summer cottages. In West Tisbury, I pulled off the road to Alley’s General Store, an island landmark.

  The old-fashioned country store offered everything an islander might need–groceries, hardware supplies, toys, gifts, even a post office. We loaded our baskets with freshly-made sandwiches, chips, and soda for dinner, and fruit, cereal, and milk for breakfast.

  When we arrived at Aunt Debbie and Uncle Joe’s, I led everyone to the kitchen to unload the groceries. It amazed me how I always smelled my aunt’s honeysuckle perfume in the house, even if she hadn’t been there for weeks.

  Through the wall of windows facing the back patio, the last rays of sunlight beamed on us as we emptied our paper sacks onto the granite countertop. The open kitchen flowed to the bright living room, where Sergei drifted to the tall bookshelves packed with well-worn novels.

  I walked up beside him. “If you think that’s a lot of books, you should see my uncle’s library in their house in Boston.”

  Sergei scanned the spines. “I see some Russian authors here.”

  “Borrow anything you’d like.”

  A framed photo on the edge of the bookcase grabbed Sergei’s eye. He pointed to the small girl on the left of the picture. “Is this you?”

  I laughed at the image–my three cousins and I riding the antique carousel in Oak Bluffs. I was seven years old, and in true Eighties’ fashion, wearing a big pink bow in my hair and a colorful air brushed T-shirt with the words “Skater Girl.”

  “Did the obnoxious, tacky shirt give it away?”

  “Yes, but also the fact you still have the same smile.” He grinned, and I touched my mouth as I dipped my head.

  “Em,” Aubrey called from the staircase. “Are you and I bunking in the master bedroom?”

  “Um . . . yeah. Mar, you can have the guest room. Chris, you and Trev can share the room with the twin beds.” I turned to Sergei. “You can take my cousin Trey’s room. Just look for the Red Sox shrine.”

  After stowing our overnight bags and cleaning up, we gathered around the rustic oak table in the kitchen and devoured our dinner. When we later trickled into the living room, Chris spied the stack of board games on the bookshelf and sorted through the boxes.

  “I haven’t played this in years.” He held up Pictionary.

  “I love that game,” Aubrey said. “Let’s play.”

  I opened the gray box and set the miniature hourglass on the coffee table. “Two teams of three?”

  Trevor flopped onto one of the two green-striped couches. “I don’t wanna be on yours or Aubrey’s team.”

  “That’s not very nice,” I said.

  “You get way too intense. I don’t wanna get yelled at every time I make a wrong guess.”

  Aubrey planted her hands on her hips. “We don’t yell.”

  Chris snorted. “Have you forgotten the last time we played spades? Em had a meltdown when I put down the wrong card.”

  “Well, if you can’t take the heat, we don’t want you on our team.” I stuck out my tongue at him.

  “I’ll be on your team.” Sergei sat next to me on the couch. “I can handle the pressure.”

  “Have you played this game before?”

  “I have. And I only know how to win.”

  I matched his confident grin. “Then you’ll fit right in with us.”

  Standing behind Sergei, Aubrey furrowed her brow. I ignored her and went to the foyer closet for the big sketch pad I remembered using with my family during summer game nights.

  Each team claimed a sofa, drawing the battle lines. In a physical game, we would’ve been horribly mismatched. Chris and Trevor, built like typical jocks, both stood almost six feet. Even with diminutive Marley on their side, they would’ve had a distinct advantage. But brawn wasn’t needed in the game; only brains and the ability to draw.

  With a strong start, my team took a big lead, but our opponent made a furious comeback. Chris and Trevor’s chest bumping and fist pumping had my blood pressure rising. Sergei saw the scowl on my face and patted my denim-clad knee.

  “Game’s not over yet.”

  His hand lingered on my leg and I gulped. The sounds of Marley’s tinkly laughter and the marker squeaking against the paper faded into the background. Sergei’s touch lasted a fleeting moment but long enough to shorten my breath.

  I regained focus as Chris and Trevor hopped up, shouting out guesses for Marley’s sketch.

  “Horse!”

  “Dog!”

  “Dead dog?”

  Time ran out, and Marley drooped onto the sofa. Chris apologized for not guessing Bambi and offered to refill her soda. He’s got it so bad. I squirmed in my seat. And you know how that feels.

  A few su
ccessful turns later, my team landed on the last spot on the game board. One more correct answer and we’d win. Sergei passed me the pile of game cards, and I read the item I needed to draw–Romeo and Juliet. Tragic love story . . . hopefully, not an omen.

  With the sands in the hourglass falling rapidly, I hurried to draw the balcony scene. My eyes flashed back and forth to my teammates as I sketched stick figures. Neither Sergei nor Aubrey was having any luck interpreting my rushed artwork. Thinking quickly, I drew a big heart above Romeo’s head and locked my eyes on Sergei.

  He stood and shouted, “Romeo and Juliet!”

  “Yes!” I threw my arms in the air and jumped a foot off the shiny wood floor.

  Aubrey joined me in a victory jig. After I finished dancing, Sergei put his hands up toward me for a double high-five. I slapped them, and he clasped my fingers.

  “Told you we had it.” He smiled broadly.

  He touched my hands every day during our lessons but not like this. With our fingers intertwined, I felt an intimacy and the undeniable electricity between us. Afraid Sergei could feel my palms sweating, I slid my hands out of his grasp and laughed.

  “I don’t know how you figured out my scribble scratch.”

  “That was a fine balcony you drew. Shakespeare would be proud.”

  Aubrey observed us with a watchful eye. I left Sergei and helped Marley pick up the mess of crumpled paper on the floor. As the group headed for the stairs, I reminded Sergei, Chris, and Marley to set their alarms for pre-dawn. Aubrey and I retreated to the spacious master bedroom, and I programmed five o’clock into the clock radio.

  Tying her hair up in a knot, Aubrey said, “The flirting would’ve been cute if Sergei wasn’t your coach.”

  I threw back the heavy beige comforter and avoided her stare. “We weren’t flirting.”

  “It may have been subtle, but it was definitely flirting.” She came around to my side of the king-sized bed. “Em, you can’t encourage him. You don’t know what kind of game he’s playing.”

  “He’s not playing any game. Can’t we have fun together without it being an issue?” I stormed into the bathroom and shut the door. Why does this situation have to be so complicated?

  ****

  Classical music woke me from my deep sleep. Aubrey made a noise next to me and pulled the comforter over her head. Shutting off the alarm and crawling out of bed, I fumbled in the dark for my jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. After quickly dressing and making myself presentable, I tiptoed into the hallway. Marley’s door was closed, so I knocked softly and opened it. She was buried under the covers, her long brunette tresses fanned across the pillow. I gave her shoulder a gentle shake as I spoke her name.

  Her eyes opened just enough for me to see a sliver of brown. “I’ll go next time, Em.”

  “Oh, come on, you’ve still got time to get dressed.”

  “I’m sorry, I need sleep,” she mumbled.

  “Okay. Next time.”

  I closed the door and pulled a tube of ChapStick from my pocket. As I applied the balm to my lips, Chris emerged from the room across the hall.

  “Where’s Marley?”

  “She wants to sleep.”

  “Then I’m going back to bed.”

  He disappeared before I could comment. My stomach danced with anxiety of both the good and bad kind. Now it was just Sergei and me.

  I walked downstairs, blinking my contact lenses into place. Sergei entered from the kitchen, and if I wasn’t fully awake before, I certainly was now. His black, long-sleeved knit shirt clung to all the right places, and his slightly faded jeans did the same. Even his sleepy eyes had an alluring quality. How can he look so good at the crack of dawn?

  “Morning.” He snapped me out of my thoughts.

  “Morning. Marley and Chris bailed, so it’s just us.”

  I couldn’t be sure, but I thought his eyes perked up.

  He tugged his fleece jacket over his head. “I guess we’d better get going.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t wake up this early just to miss it.”

  I grabbed my purse and keys from the coffee table, and we walked across the yard to my car. Not surprisingly, no other vehicles traveled the dark, twisting highway to the cliffs. I rolled down the windows to let in the crisp morning air.

  After turning onto a small side road, I drove a short distance uphill and parked. Only pale light from the awakening sky lit the area. I popped open the trunk to retrieve the jacket I thought was in there and soon discovered wasn’t. The air I’d found refreshing during the drive was now downright chilly. I shivered, and Sergei slipped off his fleece, handing it to me.

  “Here, take my jacket.”

  “Then you’ll be cold,” I protested.

  He smiled. “I’ll survive.”

  As I passed the soft fleece over my head, the jacket enveloped me with Sergei’s body heat. It was like experiencing our hug on my terrace all over again. The garment swallowed my petite frame but somehow felt as if it fit perfectly.

  I guided us through the brush until we reached a familiar patch of grass and sand high on a bluff.

  “Here’s the spot.” I sat down on the cool grass. Straight ahead, the dark outline of the cliffs rose above Vineyard Sound.

  Sergei sat beside me, stretching out his long legs. I was keenly aware of every move he made. Squinting at my watch in the darkness, I said, “It shouldn’t be too long from now.”

  I’d never realized how quiet the area was. Waves swishing onto the beach below provided the only sound. My usual trips to the cliffs included various members of my family cracking jokes over their thermoses of coffee and turning the outing into a party.

  This was no family party.

  Sergei pressed a button on his camera, and it came alive with a beep. “I forgot to take a picture of all of us with the kids yesterday.”

  “They were so much fun.” I tucked one leg under me. “I loved being back at that rink. I used to train there whenever I came here for vacation.”

  “Training while on vacation–that’s dedication.”

  “It usually wasn’t hard-core training. I just hate being off the ice for more than a day. It’s like I need that rush . . . that feeling of gliding and total freedom.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. It’s how I knew I had to coach. I have to be on the ice every day or I feel lost.”

  “Yes!” I shifted slightly to face Sergei. “People ask me how I can stand to be in a cold rink most of the day, but they don’t understand it’s home to me and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  Sergei observed me with the tiniest hint of a smile. One lonely bird chirped in the distance as a faint glow of light peeked over the eastern horizon.

  “That’s why you’re so good,” he said. “You have that passion that can’t be taught.”

  The way ‘passion’ rolled off his tongue gave me goose bumps. I didn’t stop to think before I said, “You have it, too.”

  Sergei’s camera beeped and shut off, pulling his eyes from me. He turned it on and stared at the sky. “Looks like the sun’s starting to come up.”

  I plucked a blade of grass and twisted it around my finger, wishing I could wind it around my heart and squeeze out the maddening feelings. Turning my attention to the sky, I watched the streaks of orange become brighter, reflecting in the water and illuminating the rocky cliffs. With each new beam of light, the touches of red, orange, and yellow in the clay grew more visible.

  Sergei concentrated on shooting picture after picture of the scenery. We remained silent until Sergei put his camera down and shook his head.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

  He peered at the small LCD screen on the back of his camera and scrolled through the photos. “These came out great. Look at this one.”

  He angled the camera, and I scooted closer to him. Reaching over his arm, I pointed to the cliffs on the screen. “The clay is so red there.”
/>   “It’s really beautiful.” He looked up at me.

  The sun continued its spectacular rise, but our eyes didn’t move from one another. In the dawning light, I saw the longing in Sergei’s gaze. No one had ever looked at me that way. I was as still as the morning around me, but inside my heart raced.

  Sergei’s eyes flickered down to my mouth and then met mine again. Slowly, the narrow space between us disappeared. Sergei bent his head, and our lips brushed, seeking each other tentatively. I wanted more, needed more.

  Sergei answered, sealing his mouth to mine with a soft intensity. Every nerve ending in my body hummed. I parted my lips, tasting the minty sweetness of Sergei’s warm breath.

  Kissing him was more intoxicating than I could’ve dreamed. I never wanted this feeling to end. Never wanted–

  Sergei broke away, his breathing ragged. “We can’t . . . I shouldn’t have . . .”

  My head reeled, and I stared at Sergei, unable to speak. He pushed his hand through his hair, tousling the short brown locks.

  “Em, we can’t do this.” He rose to his feet.

  The exhilaration I’d felt moments before was quickly replaced by a heavy awareness. It sat on my chest, threatening to smother me. Taking a deep breath, I stood up but couldn’t bring myself to face Sergei. I looked toward the cliffs, their colorful beauty now a haze.

  “I know,” I croaked.

  “I’m so sorry. I really screwed up,” he said, his voice weighed down with regret.

  My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard. “It wasn’t just you.”

  He stayed quiet and motionless for a few moments before turning toward the road. “We should go.”

  I kept my head down until we reached the car, and I glued my eyes to the highway. Sergei and I didn’t speak a word the entire drive. I went swiftly ahead of him into the house, and halfway up the stairs realized I was still wearing his jacket. I jerked it over my head, freeing myself from his scent, and draped it over the banister.

  I crept through the dark bedroom and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as I could. The tears I’d been holding in escaped my eyes, and I sank onto the floor beside the tub. Burying my face against my knees, I cried harder than I ever had.