The Same Deep Water

by Swallow, Lisa

  “I like to switch my mind off sometimes. Especially when people mention death.”

  Guy’s expression freezes me in the moment; and with that, I let go of my anger, guilt worming its way in instead. “Oh. Crap. Sorry. I didn’t think the conversation might upset you too.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I apologise for triggering whatever I did in you.” Guy opens a cupboard and drags out a packet of rice. “What do you have that will go with this?” When I don’t respond, he opens the fridge and pokes around inside as if he’s a resident. “Is this all your food?”

  “A lot is. Jen’s spending more time with Cam recently.”

  “Cute,” he remarks. “Poor guy.”

  “That’s bitchy.”

  He shrugs and sets a tub of sour cream on the counter. “I don’t like most people. They make my head hurt.”

  “But you have friends, I’ve met them. Not many or often, but they exist.”

  “Acquaintances. I prefer not to become attached to people.” He pulls out a kitchen chair. “Sit.”

  Confused further, I do as he says and place the still packaged bouquet on the wooden table in front of me. Is he saying in a roundabout way he doesn’t want to become attached to me? One of our silences follows as I lose myself in those thoughts and he chops up vegetables.

  “Most people,” he says after a few minutes, not turning.

  “You’re confusing,” I say.

  “I confuse myself on a daily basis.” Guy pulls another chair out and sits. “I don’t talk about myself and you don’t either. That’s why I didn’t respond earlier. I thought we were the same, that you didn’t want me to pry.”

  “Do you want me to ask you questions?”

  “Sometimes, but usually no. As I always say, I want to live for now and not dwell on the future. You need to do the same, but not dwell on the past.”

  “You worry about the past too, Guy.”

  He taps the table. “Too much. I like my present. Life’s been pretty cool since I met this girl on the edge of her life.”

  “So we drop the serious?” I ask.

  “Unless you want to talk about your family?”

  “No.”

  “No worries, so about the surfing...”

  I stare. For a man who can be intuitive, he still holds the ability to surprise me with his crass disregard for my feelings. “Really, Guy?”

  “If we’re not going to look backwards, let’s look forward. You have a fear of water. I want to help you face that. Come on, I jumped out of a plane and I’m terrified of heights!”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  Guy shrugs and returns to the steaming pan. “What’s the point in a bucket list filled with easy things? You’re challenging yourself in everything you have written.”

  He’s looking at the list, re-pinned to the fridge by a magnet, partially obscured by flyers for the local pizza place.

  “Not quite everything.”

  “Hmm.”

  The meal is joined by relaxed chatting about a new movie we want to see and I push him to tell me more about his experience skydiving. At the time, I never considered Guy could be frightened; there was no hint of nerves when he walked away from me across the field that afternoon.

  We cuddle on the sofa, as I lie against Guy’s chest and he plays with my hair. Lost in a TV drama for half an hour, Guy surprises me when he speaks.

  “This has changed. Us. We’re not just physical anymore.”

  I look up at him. “Is that worrying you?”

  “A little.” He touches my lips, and I spot the intense Guy returning. “Please don’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Fall in love with me.”

  I swallow, stomach tightening at his words. “I’m not. Won’t.”

  “I care about you too much to let that happen. I don’t want to ruin us. I mean, I probably will anyway, but don’t help me.”

  I take Guy’s hand. “Don’t do this.” Don’t spoil this. “Let’s make the most of our time.”

  I shuffle around and place my hands on his chest, eager to quieten him with a kiss. “So we had an argument and that pushes us into the ‘normal couple’ realm; but we’re not, and I don’t expect us to be. Okay?”

  “Okay.” The veil of seriousness drops from his eyes, a relief in his expression that unintentionally hurts.

  I don’t expect us to be a normal couple, but the desire to edges in more each day. I wipe the thought from my mind with a kiss, throwing the inner fears and frustration into a fierce embrace until the thoughts are wiped and replaced by the physical lust I have for him. Denial is easier if the emotion is twisted into a different direction.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mullaloo Beach is a short drive from my place and Guy picks me up from the house with two surfboards strapped to the roof. We arrive in the car park near the limestone-bricked surf club, and I catch a glimpse of the sparkling Indian Ocean beyond the trees. I grip my hands together as Guy hops out, bashing around as he unstraps the board from the roof. He opens my door. “Ready?”

  “No. But let’s go.”

  “We’ll take things easy, I promise.”

  We’re not the only surfers on the beach, mid-morning and already a few are pausing for a break; the serious surfers with their wetsuits peeled to their waists sit, drinking and eating. Nearby a group of people line up on boards with an instructor, five boards in a row.

  “Hey, man.” A man around Guy’s age with cropped brown hair nods at Guy as we approach.

  “Hey. How’s the surf today?” Guy props the worn surfboard in front of him.

  “Yeah. Fine. Too busy though.” He points at the nearby pupils, a row of people on the sand learning how to stand on a surfboard. A second group is in the ocean, the instructor calling directions at them as they paddle around. “You should’ve come down early.”

  “Waited for Phe.” I give a small wave to the man sitting on the sand. “Phe, this is Gordy.”

  Gordy holds his damp hand out and I take hold. His grip is hard as he shakes. “Good to meet you. This your girl, Guy?”

  “I guess she is.” He slips an arm around my waist. “We were travelling companions.”

  “You been away?”

  “Nah. Soon though.”

  “Cool.”

  I shift from foot to foot, gauging the strength of the waves, relieved that closer to shore the break is low. Guy chats to Gordy and I switch off, unable to follow their conversation filled with surf jargon. Before he drags me onto a surfboard and pushes me out to sea, I need to acquaint myself with the water.

  I approach the edge of the beach where the warm ocean laps the shore, staring at the foam. The water trails across my sandals and I slip them off, allowing the warm water to touch my feet. The closest I’ve come to swimming since the accident is ankle deep in water. I had a freak out at school swimming lessons two years after the deaths and have avoided the pool and beach ever since. An Aussie girl scared of the surf; I definitely don’t fit the image Guy does.

  I look back over to where he chats to a friend, butterflies swarming behind my navel. His appearance is the same as the second time we met, defined muscular legs in blue board shorts and a loose t-shirt across his broad back. His hair is still shorter, a reminder of the other Guy, the one who holds himself at a distance.

  As if aware of my inspection, he turns and flashes me a smile before leaving the board and wandering over. “You might have to go a bit deeper than that.”

  I shove my hands in my shorts pockets. “I know. Is it okay if I just paddle first?”

  “Sure. We have all day.”

  I thrust my bag at him and peel off my shorts and t-shirt, revealing a blue bikini I bought several weeks ago, in a move to tell myself I was going to do this. Guy stares as I unzip the bag and shove my clothes in.

  “Jesus, Phe,” he says eyes zoning in on my chest.

  “What?”

  “Good thing I’m holding this bag because I’m thinking about the o
ther evening and the thoughts aren’t very clean.”

  “Well, stop. I’m sure you’re used to seeing girls in bikinis.”

  “Oh, yeah, but you’re different.”

  “I was going to kiss you, but I’m not now,” I retort.

  “Aww, go on.” He puckers his lips.

  With a small sigh, I place a hand on his chest and rest my lips briefly on his. “Go put the bag down and stay with me while I’m in the water please.”

  “Sure thing.”

  A shirtless Guy returns and takes my hand in his. We wade into the shallows where the waves break against my knees. I can do this, but the idea of the water dragging me under churns fear in my stomach. As we reach the point the water reaches my waist, the movement of the waves threatens to pull my feet from the sand. I grip Guy’s arm with both hands.

  “Ouch. Watch those nails.”

  Red marks appear on his arm and I smooth them, with an apology.

  A larger wave splashes further up to my chest, and a panicked sound escapes my mouth, as I grasp at Guy again.

  “Hey, Phe, Don’t worry. Look out at the ocean, the water’s calm.”

  “Then where did that wave come from?”

  He smirks. “That wasn’t a wave!”

  “And that’s what bothers me.” Every cell in my body screams at me to turn and wade out of the water, but I can’t move, swaying in the push and pull of the tide, hanging onto Guy.

  “You want to keep going?”

  I shake my head, hair flying around my face because words aren’t possible. I gasp as my chest tightens.

  “Phe, take deep breaths. You’re fine.”

  “I’m not,” I manage to squeak out. “Take me back.”

  “Stay here. Just for a few minutes.”

  “I can’t move and they’re coming. Guy, please.”

  “What’s coming? The waves?”

  “The memories. I can’t do this. I can’t let them in.” Tears push into my eyes, head aching with the attempt to control them and my voice rises in pitch.

  “I’ve got you.” Guy lets go of my hand and wraps me to him. “When was the last time you went in the water?”

  “Eight years ago.” I shake away the blackness coming in, the breathlessness as the water took me. “Don’t. Please. Take me back.”

  “We’re close to shore. Turn round. We can walk back.”

  “I can’t! I can’t move!” I suck in a breath, heart skipping out of time and magnifying the anxiety. “Guy!”

  “Phe, shh. I’ll take you back.”

  “The sand’s sucking me down!”

  Guy chews on his mouth and doesn’t respond. I’m not surprised; he’s in three feet of water with a hysterical woman. In a swift move, he picks me up, arms beneath my damp legs and I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face into his shoulder. His skin is warm from the sun, scented with the ocean and sunscreen, soothing. I focus on him, on pushing away the memories. How stupid, thinking I could do this all at once.

  “I don’t think I can surf today,” I say into his shoulder.

  “You think?” he says with a laugh.

  “This isn’t funny.” We reach the ankle deep water and I become aware of curious onlookers. “God, I’m so embarrassed. Get me out of here.”

  I struggle against Guy, he drops me to my feet, and I stride back to where he’d left the surfboard and my bag. He catches up as I stumble, on one leg attempting to pull my shorts on.

  “Phe…” Guy envelops me in his arms. “You’re shaking. I’m so sorry.”

  I fight to control my breathing, which isn’t helped by the fact Guy’s gripping me so tightly I can hardly breathe. “I need to get away from here.” My voice is muffled against his chest.

  “No worries.” He delves back into the bag and hands me his car keys. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  The ocean mocks me as I watch from the safety of Guy’s Jeep, my clothes damp and uncomfortable from where I pulled them over my wet bikini. Calm, blue, and beautiful, the Indian Ocean is part of a paradise other people long to visit, and to me all the place brought was the blackness I avoid.

  I’m angry with myself.

  Guy appears with the board and his bag, walking barefoot across the car park with sandy feet. I chew a nail, waiting for his teasing, not ready to deal if he’s unable to appreciate my situation.

  Placing a striped blue and white towel on the seat, Guy climbs in, and looks at me. “You’ve some colour back in your face.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Okay now?”

  “I will be.”

  He closes a hand around mine, the comfort and his understanding soothing. “I overestimated what you could do. Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. Without you, I wouldn’t have got this far.”

  “I know you feel terrible right now, but what you did was a good thing. Fear. You’re feeling.” He kisses my forehead; holding his lips on the spot between my eyebrows.

  “Feeling? I’ve felt for a long time.”

  “But bad feelings. You’re dealing with them; that’s good. I’m surprised you didn’t have a total meltdown.” Guy strokes my cheek.

  “Being carried back to shore by you wasn’t a total meltdown? You have no idea how embarrassed I am by that.”

  “Not really. I’ve seen you worse.” He looks ahead as he pushes the keys into the ignition.

  “I think you like rescuing me,” I say.

  “Rescuing you? No, you’re rescuing yourself. I’m just watching.”

  “And you. Who’s rescuing you?”

  “I don’t need rescuing.”

  “I haven’t forgotten what you told me a few weeks ago, Guy. You need help with your fears, too.”

  “I’m not scared of anything apart from hurting you.” He doesn’t look at me, glancing over his shoulder as he reverses. “We should have lunch. Celebrate what you just did because you’re bloody awesome.”

  As we drive away, my panic recedes the further we move from the beach. I don’t believe him – about his fears or about my supposed awesomeness.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  10 Fall In Love

  My body aches after dealing with the panic and I’m tired, I want to go home and hide; but instead, we head back to Guy’s place.

  I like Guy’s house – who wouldn’t want this level of luxury – but there’s an air of sterility to the place. The living areas don’t look lived in, everywhere neat and clean. I’m keen on a tidy house; but sharing a place means no possibility of having a home exactly as I’d like, so I don’t worry.

  “Want to watch some movies this evening?” he asks as he pours himself some water. “Or go out somewhere?”

  “How about more planning?” I ask. “Something to take my mind off this morning’s disaster.”

  Guy breaks into a huge grin. “Awesome! Wait until you see what I have.”

  He disappears and returns with a manila folder. We sit side by side at the counter and Guy pulls out pictures of places he wants to visit. Gradually, he draws me away from the incident on the beach as I look at pictures of London and English landmarks. Perhaps, now it’s time to focus on items outside of the ocean-surrounded country I live in.

  I scrawl notes as he flicks through printed research he’s completed on hotels and flights, items highlighted in fluorescent colours. “This is thorough, Guy!”

  “Truthfully, I’ve planned this for years. I have folders full of plans starting from when I was a teen.”

  “You should’ve done the backpacking thing – Aussie rite of passage, work in a bar in London.”

  He flicks through the pictures. “I considered going, but there wasn’t anybody to take with me.”

  “I’m sure you’re the sort of person who could meet up and make friends pretty easily.”

  “Sometimes.” He spreads photos of green English landscapes and contrasting cityscapes of grey buildings across the counter. “England would be best in the summer.”

  “I agree.”

&nb
sp; He side glances me. “I was waiting for the right person to go with.”

  “And going is on your bucket list,” I remind him.

  “Yeah, and that.” He hops down from the stool and returns with a packet of chips. “I’ve noticed something strange, Phe.”

  “Stranger than us?” I take a chip and bite in half.

  “About our lists. I was thinking about this again the other day. We can complete nearly all of the items in Australia.”

  “Because we live in an awesome country?” I reach for another chip.

  “Do you think we’re avoiding the rest of the world?”

  “I just thought your list was deliberately local. I was surprised to see you’re going overseas.”

  “Why?”

  “The planning and... the time you have left.”

  “Oh, right.” He rubs his head. “But you have no excuse. There must be other countries you want to visit.”

  “There are.”

  “Then why aren’t they on your list?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I could do those later.”

  Guy stiffens and for a few minutes falls silent. “So yours isn’t really a bucket list, is it?”

  “Yes!”

  He shuffles the papers into a pile and pushes them back into the folder. “Did you write a list you thought we could do together and leave some items off that you want to do?”

  “No. I’m just not brave enough to go far I guess.” I sigh. “Don’t start analysing things again, Guy. One minute you’re teaching me to live in the moment and the next you’re pulling things apart.”

  “Do you think we should change our lists?” he asks.

  “Change them? You mean add things?”

  “Put something challenging on the list, impossible to complete.” The old intense Guy is back, a swing away from the carefree surfer at the beach. Strange that I’m more attracted to this Guy; that the energy he radiates at this time pulls me closer. I recognise the deep thoughts in his eyes, the emotion he submerges pushing upward. He’s more of myself at times like this, and I consciously have to pull away.

  “I think you’ll find you have that on your list already, ghost hunting.”

  Guy raises a brow. “Don’t you believe in an after-life, Ophelia?”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.”