Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  Without picking him up off the ground, they grabbed him by the shoulders, ignoring his pleas. The room was so quiet that Lori could hear him begging while they dragged him out. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Lori turned to confront the stone-faced captain.

  “He’s caused four fights already. Lori, we’re both adults. You tell me what you want, and I’ll respect it. It might hurt, but not like it will if you make me wonder.”

  She took a breath, searching his face for some sign of anger, but it wasn’t there. He was quiet, eyes roaming the room, as the band did its best to bring the passenger’s away from the stare off. “There’s no pretense. I know you. You won’t.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I want to know why. You’re acting like it’s been a couple months. It’s been a lifetime.”

  He reached out, his arm wrapped around her back, and he took her hand. There was a moment, where she felt like the air had suddenly been sucked out of her, only to be replaced by helium. When he moved, she was floating, supported by his solid frame.

  Her head found its place in the divide between two mountains; her cheek pressed against his chest, and they swayed, oblivious to the smiling faces and whispers around them. “I don’t have to tell you why. You’re shivering.”

  Entranced, she pulled away to look at her hands. There were shaking and cold. She could feel herself sliding, careening through a cloud of emotions and sensations—a force, like gravity, and just as impossible to fight. “I want to be careful,” she whispered, her head, back in its place.

  “You can’t fall in love that way.”

  “Love hurts,” she whispered. “It hurts a lot.”

  “That’s not love.”

  “I’ve never felt anything else.”

  He laughed, a bitter, almost imperceptible sound. “You don’t remember.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to.”

  “That’s heartening,” he whispered.

  “Loving you hurt. It hurt so much. You were always—why didn’t you tell me about the bar? You could’ve.”

  “I didn’t think I could face having to tell our child that I paid for their crib with booze money.”

  “They wouldn’t have...I mean, that’s nothing.”

  “Everyday, I saw people getting into fights, handing me their rent, their electric, their food. I felt like I was taking advantage of them.”

  Lori kept her voice low, while they rocked to the music. “It’s hard for me to believe that you’re really this good.”

  “I’m just me, and uncompromisingly so.”

  “I don’t know if I can believe you,” Lori said, examining the familiar shapes of his lips—then his nose, and into his eyes.

  “I married you,” his voice trembled in the air between them—a wave of static, quivering against her chest. “Why would I lie? Why would I enter into something like that if I didn’t mean it? If there’s one thing I think we both know to be true, I’m stubborn, even more so than you are.”

  “We’re titans, both of us. We can outlast each other,” she kidded.

  “No, you put up a good fight, but I know you. I know what you want, what you need. I’ve seen your true self, and you’ve seen mine. How could you doubt that? Really?”

  His tone was skeptical. He didn’t want to really believe that she had written him off, but she had. Still, she couldn’t forget the fire they shared, their summers, their evenings—days dragging into night.

  They were safe in their little blanket fort. In those moments, they were just two souls, meeting with one another, two faces. They could delve into all of the eccentricities and myriad instincts that made them individuals.

  Lori was certain that no too people had ever been closer, and that’s why it hurt so much, like being stabbed and bled. When she realized, or—she had to admit it was possible—assumed that he was cheating, she felt like she’d been dowsed in lava.

  She fell to her knees, shrieked, pounded the floor, and scratched at the carpet. She was pregnant, jobless and frightened. She thought if he did cheat—if he really had the gall, he would go with the woman he loved, not her.

  She couldn’t even look at him. Her image of him changed, and suddenly he was dead to her. She was a widow, waking up to bloody sheets and pain, so ghastly she screamed until her voice had faded, and animal wailing sounds came grating through. It was like having a drill bit shoved into her gut.

  When she opened her eyes to that, she didn’t think she could live. “I went through a lot, and it’s fresh; it will always be fresh, to be honest with you, and it would get in the way.”

  “You’re not as stubborn as you think,” Cade told her. He had a palm on the small of her back supporting her, and she was glad that he did, because she was finding it hard to breathe when he stared her, giving her the same look he used to give her underneath their blanket fort. It reminded her of a jungle man, virile and wild—the way his hair used to stand up on one end, when they were sheltered beneath their quilt. He’d twist his mouth to the side when he spoke casually about the life he was going to have—treks and climbs, deep sea fishing, nights camped out in some strange forest, or riding through dunes in the Sahara.

  She convinced herself that he was imbalanced and ranting, but she used to believe that he could do anything. He’d choose his future, pluck a star out of the sky, as easily as picking fruit off of a tree. That’s what he used to say.

  Now he was the captain of a cruise ship. He commanded men. He saw the world—and a part of the world that most people never saw.

  Now that she thought about it, and really took a second to think consider what he’d actually done with himself, it wasn’t easy to step back, let her hands fall, and look him in the eye, knowing how much it hurt him—just that loss of contact was enough to give him a look like he wanted to reach out and touch her, but he knew he couldn’t. The man she thought she knew would’ve been heartbroken by that. “Will you just give me some time?”

  “Of course,” he stepped back respectfully, “and I’m sorry. You’re being put under too much pressure.”

  “I understand,” she said, “and I-I want to talk to you, but I feel like I’m being bombarded, and not just because of this. It’s Tim...I just lost somebody; he betrayed me, and all around me there are people, living out their love and the drama. It’s like I have a million voices in my head and to add in...this...this is a lot.”

  He lit up, and she shook her head before going on.

  “This constant wonder about what I’m going to do, who I’m going to be with—I have to be free of that, just for...I don’t know. I want to think, and I know you’re worried that if I think too much I’ll...”

  He snatched on her pause. “It’s not something you think through. It’s something you feel, and admit it, you do feel something.”

  “I need to relieve this pressure and relax. I hope you really do understand, and...” she added before he could reply, “...I can’t have you trying anything. When I say back away, that means no—no servants, no gifts, just a few days to myself.”

  “OK,” he nodded, “and I do understand. I’ve been thinking about this for years, and I guess...I thought you’d understand that it was all a mistake—that you’d just need a little urging, but things are more complex.”

  “They are, and I don’t know what I’m going to do, Cade. I really don’t, so I have to cut this moment short. I need to draw it out, to give myself time to think about the future.”

  “I’ll give you that. You can still have anything aboard the ship, no matter what it is. Everything here is at your disposal, and there will be no pressure, no games. I promise.”

  “Thank you,” she said. There was the need to pull closer. He met her yes, his arms resting at his side, curved, as though he wanted to embrace her. She was leaning forward, ready to do the same, as though that old life had never ended. An awkward realization passed between them, and Lori turned to leave the hall and go back to her room.

  22

 
Walking back to her suite, Lori caught a glimpse of the water flowing past the ship. It was, by that time, well after midnight, and most of the passengers were sleeping. The silence and salt infused breeze were soothing against her skin. It was odd, being so afraid of the edge, though the scene was relaxing.

  There was only so long she could hug the wall, her back and palms pressed against it, like she was being cornered by a sea beast. She had to get used to it. There were worse things to deal with than the water; a decision needed to be made.

  She didn’t want to have to make it. She didn’t ask him to hold on, and she didn’t want to feel this way, but she did; she thought she was going to die, taking her first step closer to the water.

  “It’s OK,” she whispered. “It’s nothing.”

  She told herself that she was being cautious, but she didn’t take a moment to think about what was behind that caution—what she was running from: fear. She hated being afraid. She could feel her skin tightening, hr muscles clenched; something rose up in her stomach, and she was gripped by a vision of herself, dangling over the edge.

  It felt like one wrong move, one slip—if her ankle twisted, or she jolted just a bit, she’d fall into the water. And she tried; she tried to convince herself that it was illogical. She couldn’t feel the ship moving. There was no turbulence. Even if she did fall overboard, there were alarms, and people ready to jump in and pull her out.

  Cade would probably find a way to catch her before she even got wet. She slung herself forward with a gasp and gripped the rails. Her head fell, and she was forced to look at the water moving below. That was what scared her—the water itself.

  She remembered the choppy seas that Cade would sail into. Back then, he only had a small boat he called Louie. That thing was so fragile, one good wave could’ve ground it to dust. Cade was aware of it, and they talked about the risk; eventually, they fought about it. She’d beg him to get another job, and he’d refuse.

  She never felt like he understood what it was he was doing to her. She used to sit on the couch, the front window to her back and watch TV, while she listened for the sound of the car out front.

  He had a schedule, but sometimes he’d have to stay out and wait through storms before he could come back inland. Other times, he went on wild trips, hunting for the best fishing spots.

  Their house was next to the beach, so she’d hear the water, and sit and watch reports about the storms—two hurricanes, waves hundreds of feet high—while she tried to convince herself that he wasn’t dead. The ocean became a monster, ready to rear up and take him away.

  That’s why she didn’t like to get close to the edge of the ship. It brought her back to that tiny, dark place in her history—a single box television, as wide as her foot was long—her mother’s old couch, a shoebox kitchenette. The living room wasn’t much bigger than a walk-in closet.

  She’d keep the lights off, huddled in the eerie blue glare of the flickering TV. She’d sleep in there when the waters were really rough. She’d wake up and part the curtains, hoping to find his truck outside; instead, she found a clear view of the open air past the sea cliffs.

  She felt like those nights had conditioned her to want him. It also made her think about how long he waited, how he said he looked, that he was still looking for her—actively—when he saw her name on the boarding list.

  And George—he said that Cade told him about Lori, that he had been thinking about her this whole time. That wasn’t the behavior of a man that wanted a cruise-long dalliance. They spoke about her long before she showed on this ship.

  He wouldn’t have been so emotional, either. He had dignity. This was real, palpable pain and a need, a need they both had. Something sparked. It flared in the center of her throat, like a thirst—and not just any thirst. It was the fire of true necessity—like she’d been wandering through the dunes, and she’d just come upon an oasis.

  Her body knew it was coming—sweet nectar, breaking through dried lips, reminding her of an addiction she forgot. It was just as powerful. She couldn’t have stopped herself from pulling out her golden key any sooner than an alcoholic could put down a drink.

  In her head, she was screaming, begging herself to stop, but she couldn’t. That force took over. It was warping her mind. She actually convinced herself, while she rode in the elevator, that this was the right thing to do.

  If he could make her feel like this, he deserved this moment, at least—just a moment, she told herself, but all pretense was gone when she found herself looking into a basic seating area—casually stylish, a simple black sectional, a blanket and pillow crumpled up at the end, a fireplace, and a TV. This was Cade’s space—all square and angles, basic plaster, no decorations, white walls. She could feel him, and there was a smell, fresh and gentle—nothing she could put to words. It reminded her of bare bodies, twisted together, experiencing the same gentle moments they had under their blanket fort.

  She steeled herself, fought off her unwelcome memories, and took a moment before she approached the balcony across the room. He was standing out there, staring out into a dancing seascape. His jacket was hanging on a hook near the door, covered in medals and pins. He seemed vulnerable without the starched fabric, wearing only a white t-shirt, sticking out of his slacks in back.

  She could see the contour, where the shirt hugged his arms and shoulders—things she’d rather not notice, but he was beautiful, and she wasn’t sure—she just wasn’t. He could’ve been telling the truth. She had to know, simply because she couldn’t ignore this feeling.

  That’s what had her striding across the room with confidence, interrupted by the sound the door made when she opened it. She expected him to face her, but he didn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. It was his way of being respectful.

  It did seem like a strain. He was too still, like a gun cocked and ready to fire. She had to say something. She couldn’t just stand behind him. “Are you lying?” she asked, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.

  “No,” he didn’t turn, but there was something broken and painful in the way he spoke. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to see him suffer, and she could see it, he was suffering—and she was responsible for it; she kept him dangling and took everything, killing all of his dreams—his source of happiness, his love.

  A man in love—really in love—shouldn’t have to go through that. There was a delicacy to what they had, something tender and soft. A mean word or a harsh tone was an unnatural affront, tantamount to murder. It would have hurt, a lot.

  “If there’s any chance that this could go badly,” Lori said. “I don’t think I could survive it.”

  He laughed to himself. “I feel the same way.”

  “I don’t want my heart broken.”

  “Lori, look at me,” he told her. “I already lost you. It was horrific. I would never break your heart.”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “You’re an immovable force, exactly like the day I met you,” he said. “What happened during this time, whatever your life has become, you’re still you, and I love you. Time can’t change that.”

  “A lot has happened,” she said, coming up beside him. He was warm, and the cold was making her nose and elbows burn. She felt ridiculous in her green gown, taking up most of the on the balcony. “You’ve never been with...?”

  “Nothing significant, and whatever happened, you were always in the shadows. It never lasted more than a week or two. When I say there’s never been anyone else...”

  “I’m always the other woman,” she blurted out, “and not even the one that they want to be with. The pattern started with you, or at least...,” she sighed, “...at least I thought it did.”

  “I would never,” he trembled.

  “I don’t know that. I keep getting into this situation over and over, and I know it has something to do with me, and myself. How could I possibly believe—I mean, you’re my first, the most intense. You don’t start out right then dev
elop bad instincts. That’s not the way this works. It’s something you’re supposed to learn to grow out of.”

  “You had a wonderful childhood—good grades, and you never took a single drug. You’re not flawed.”

  “Then why do I keep having to go through this? Fifteen years, Cade.”

  “Fifteen years without me, without your husband, your home, the things you dreamed about, fifteen years since... since things ended, for the three of us.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You’re not the kind of woman that hops onto the back of a motorcycle. A part of you has chosen to stay away from love.”

  “I’ve sought it out this whole time.”

  “But you’re careful,” he said, “you’re bruised, and I think you’re probably lost.”

  “That doesn’t mean...I have been lost. I’ve been waiting tables, working lines, bagging burgers, and it’s been fucking hell. I never recovered. I never progressed.”

  “You never settled. You’re scared,” he said, and she was when he turned to face her. “You know that you’re still as in love with me now as you were the day you met me. You know I am perfect for you, that we could even have a chance at reuniting, and that if we did, you would settle.”

  “After what happened when I did...” she murmured, unwilling to silence herself, but still uncertain, seeing the way he was looking at her.

  “What happened? You worked yourself up until you were traumatized, so you stayed away from love. That has nothing to do with me. Stop punishing me.”

  “What are you going to do if I walk away?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied. But I don’t think you are, either.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said. “I haven’t felt whole since I left, but I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t promise that I can jump in or that things will be the way they were.”

  He gave a solemn nod and reached over. She let him interlace his fingers in her own, simply because she wasn’t sure she could stoke this fire, and she needed to feel something. She thought it would be a relief, but it was like throwing a log on top.