by Eden Bradley
We pack up and everyone helps to carry everything back to the main house, leaving the blankets and the wicker hamper in the sitting area off the kitchen.
“I’ll put this away later,” Viviane says. “By the way, Jack, the red cottage is yours.”
“Thanks, Viv. I’ll grab my stuff from my car. I could use a nap.”
He flashes her a smile that would melt ice. Pure white teeth. He has a dimple in his left cheek, just like Audrey. I’m not sure why this bothers me so much.
Maybe because they really are so perfectly matched.
Jack goes out through the back door, and as I rinse the morning’s coffee mugs and load them into the dishwasher, I can’t even pretend not to watch out the kitchen window as Jack opens the door of a big, black truck. Audrey is right behind him. The door hides most of their bodies, but I can see from the position of their feet, their heads through the dusty car window, as she sinks into him. I can tell they are body to body as he leans in and kisses her. A mug slips from my hands, crashes into the bottom of the steel sink, chipping.
“Damn it.”
“Don’t worry, doll,” Viviane comforts. “I have more.”
I turn and give her what I’m sure is a washed-out smile.
“Hey.” She takes my chin in gentle fingers. “Why so sad?”
“I’m not sad.” I try to turn away, but she holds me firmly.
“Everyone’s gone to nap. You can tell me.”
“I don’t…I honestly don’t know. I mean…God, that’s a lie. I do know.” I bite my lip. “It’s Audrey.”
“Ah.” Viviane drops her hand. “Honey, there is something you should understand about Audrey. She’s full of passion and brilliance, and is more lovable than she knows. Oh, she throws herself at everyone, it’s in her nature. And we all bask in her blazing light while she’s focused on us. Then she finds someone else to dazzle. Don’t take it personally. I know that feeling. She makes you her best friend and then she disappears. Jack is a bit the same, that dazzle. And Jack always distracts her.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“But…it’s complicated.”
“Ah.”
I look up at her. “What do you mean, ‘ah’?”
“It’s none of my business.” Viviane picks up a dish towel and begins to dry a mug, but her gaze is still on me.
I fidget, my fingers twisting together. I don’t know what to say. This is not something I’d planned to talk about. Hell, I haven’t even had time to really think about it myself. But if I can’t tell Viviane, who has been so good to me, I can’t tell anyone.
“Viviane.” I pause, waiting for her to put the cup down and really look at me. “Something has happened, with Audrey.”
She nods, her shoulder-length black hair swinging. The sunlight makes the purple streaks blaze like fire. “Okay.”
“That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”
“You’re both big girls. I’ve been with other women before. I’m hardly going to judge you.”
“No, I never thought…I didn’t think you would. I just don’t know how to talk about it yet. I don’t know how to even think about it.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Tina. I shouldn’t have pressed you. I’m sorry, babe. I’m just concerned for you, that’s all. I don’t want to see you hurting. But you do your thing. No one has to report in around here. Okay?”
“Okay. Okay.”
“We’re all a little tired today. Too much sun, maybe. Why don’t you lie down for a while.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
She drops the towel and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “Dinner is at seven. Skip lunch, if you like. Or come up and help yourself whenever. There’s plenty of sandwich stuff. I’m going to let everyone do their own thing this afternoon.”
I nod and watch her walk out of the kitchen, then turn and do the same, heading through the front door, then making my way over the short gravel path to my cottage. The sound of laughter stops me short, and I stand for a moment, listening to Jack and Audrey in his cottage.
I do not want to hear this.
I move past, swing the blue door to my cottage open, and retreat inside. I strip my sandy clothes off and lie down on top of the crisp blue-and-white quilt, and let the ocean drown out the sounds of Audrey and Jack together. But my heart is beating in my chest in an uneven rhythm, as though something inside me has chipped, just like the cup I dropped into the sink. Only I am not so easily replaced. And I hope, not so easily forgotten.
I feel more invisible than ever.
I was certain I would lie awake in my bed, straining to hear Audrey with Jack. Or Jack with Audrey. I’m still not clear on which scenario bothers me more. Ridiculous. But I must have fallen right to sleep feeling sorry for myself; I don’t remember. Now I’m awake and stiff from having slept in a bad position, facedown in the pillows, on top of the covers. The room is growing dark, and it’s chilly and damp. I’m still wearing the same clothes I put on this morning. The cuffs of my pants are crusted with sand and salt. I roll over onto my side and stretch, yawning, my eyes focusing on a few grains of sand scattered over the quilt, barely visible in the fading light, but if I narrow my eyes I can see that some are dark in color, some nearly clear, like tiny bits of crystal.
I am still trying not to listen, but I do, anyway. All I catch is the usual dull roar of the surf and the thoughts racing through my head: What is the nature of Jack and Audrey’s relationship? What does it mean for me? Was I nothing more than a few hours of pleasure for her, if even that? Is this something she does all the time? Maybe they have an agreement about her sleeping with women?
Why do I care so damn much?
Part of it, I think, is that being with her was ultimately as much about connecting with her on some deeper level as it was about the chemistry. Which was, undeniably, intense. It still is.
Maybe I just need to be happy with this experience and move on.
Right. Because all my years in therapy have shown me how great I am at moving on.
I sigh, roll into a sitting position. I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like going up to the house, seeing anyone. I don’t want to see Audrey and Jack there, happy together. I don’t want to not see them there and imagine them still together in his cottage. In his bed.
I am all fucked up.
Maybe I should leave, just go home, back to my old, uncomplicated life. But I don’t really want to leave this place. I want to stay here and get over these feelings.
I just want to stay here.
Moving into the bathroom, I strip down and step under the spray of steaming water. It makes me feel a little better, initially. A hot shower always does. The heat and the water are soothing, safe, somehow. I’ve had a number of dreams over the years of being in a big shower, always beautifully tiled in brown and green, filled with steam and fragrant soap and the hot water coming down on my skin. I have no idea what it means, except that I’m always calm, serene.
It’s also one of my favorite places to masturbate. I could take the shower sprayer in my hand and aim it right at my clit. It works every time, makes me go off like a rocket, just as I’ve done in this very place with Audrey, over and over. But I’m too tired, too something, and for once I don’t even want to get myself off.
Masturbation is a great pastime for a lonely hermit like me. Like I have been, anyway. I came here so I would learn not to be such a hermit. I have no idea if it’s working, or if I’ll go back to being myself once I’m home. Or maybe the group is simply small enough that I can be okay here.
Except that I am no longer okay.
I shut the water off and get out, simmering with resentment, suddenly. This trip had a purpose! And it was not to sleep with Audrey, to fall for her. To be undeniably, exquisitely, painfully attracted to her goddamn boyfriend.
I pull drawers open, find my skin creams, my dental floss, my lip balm, slam the drawers shut. I have no right to be so furious. I know that. But it doesn’t matter.
Terry would say that even though my feelings are valid, my response is not necessarily appropriate to the situation. But Terry isn’t here and I have to handle things on my own, like a big girl. And my stomach is rumbling now; there is no way I can avoid going up to the house.
Fuck.
I get dressed, pulling on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, comb my hair out and go.
The house is bright with lights, and I can see through the windows everyone gathered in the kitchen. I feel a terrible sense of isolation for several moments, as though standing there looking in on the warm, friendly scene from the outside is symbolic in some way. But I have to get over this stuff.
Moving inside, I force myself to walk into the kitchen. There’s an old Janis Joplin song playing on the radio and Viviane is singing to it, really belting it out, her voice strong and raspy. Really awesome singing voice. I looked up some of her old songs online as soon as I found out who she was: Viviane Shaw of Crush. But hearing her sing in person is something else. It’s too bad she gave it up, but I understand her reasons: the lifestyle, the drugs that eventually killed Malcolm, her husband and guitarist. But she’s so into it, her body moving, her throat working, even as she stands at the center island chopping vegetables with Patrice, who has a small smile on her face, her birdlike eyes sparkling.
Leo is dancing a little to the song in uncoordinated, jerky motions, a huge smile on his face. He’s wearing an apron and looking faintly ridiculous as he mixes something in a big bowl, and Kenneth is snoring in one of the leather chairs in front of the fireplace, Sid laid out at his feet, snoring in time with him. Everyone nods at me as I enter the kitchen, as though it’s assumed I belong there. I suppose I do.
A nice thought, and it warms me a little.
“Can I help with dinner?” I ask.
Viviane nods her head in time to the music and hands me a knife and, with a small push, guides me to a wood chopping block on the island. A bunch of the gorgeous tomatoes she brought home from the farmer’s market is laid out there. Viviane is still singing, and I smile as I begin to cut up the tomatoes, the knife biting through the plump, red flesh. They smell fresh and slightly acidic, and my hand stings where I have a small paper cut, but I don’t mind.
Leo has joined in now, his voice surprisingly good, if a little high-pitched. He has a huge grin on his face. Viviane sidles up next to him, and they sing the rest of the song together, their voices harmonizing nicely. Patrice and I applaud when the song is over, and our applause is joined by more from the back door as Audrey and Jack come in.
They look fresh and beautiful and the slightest bit ruffled, as though the evening breeze has caught their hair. Or as though they’ve just gotten out of bed, rumpled from sex.
Stop it.
But it’s hard. Their eyes are shining a little too brightly, their cheeks a bit too flushed, and I know that expression. I have it myself after sleeping with Audrey.
My body goes warm, remembering. And just looking at them, Audrey’s bohemian beauty, Jack’s grace, the power of his long, lean muscles, makes me sort of melt all over. Longing is like honey in my veins, making me feel soft and weak. I don’t like it. Except that I do.
Unexpectedly, Audrey comes up behind me, draws my hair aside and kisses my cheek. But before I can even look up, she’s moved on, hugging Viviane from behind, her arms wrapped around Viv’s tall figure as they sway together with the music, and I have no idea if the kiss actually meant anything.
Jack is hanging back, a smile on his face, and God, his mouth is beautiful. I have never wanted to kiss a man more than I want to kiss Jack Curran. And I’m still having a hard time separating out my crush on Audrey from my attraction to him. Is it all tied in? Or is it that I simply don’t trust my feelings about anything? How can I trust them when I’ve been half-numb most of my life, and suddenly I’m feeling…all of this?
Emotion and chemistry and sexual yearning that’s nearly painful.
My stomach is in knots. I try to swallow the anger, the confusion, and simply accept things the way they are. But how are they? I still don’t know. I turn back to my tomatoes and give them a good hard chop.
“Whoa, easy there, girl,” Jack says. And before I can respond he is standing behind me, one arm around my body as he covers my right hand, helping me grip the knife. His skin is hot, even hotter than Audrey’s. “You’ll add your fingers to the salad if you’re not careful,” he warns.
“Gross,” Leo says, laughing.
I am frozen. Jack’s body is so damn solid behind me. He smells like fresh laundry, which is suddenly utterly sensual to me. I hope I’m not visibly shaking, but my insides are trembling. On fire. He steps away and I can breathe again. I can breathe enough to realize in some logical way what an intrusion of my personal space that was, from a man I hardly know.
Yet I want him to do it again. Want him to press up against me, want to know every plane and curve of muscle in his body, instead of this teasing little taste.
I want him. Want him!
I suppress a small groan and, more carefully this time, go at the tomatoes once more.
Somehow I get through the rest of dinner preparation, and we sit at the big indoor dining table. The lights are low, and a fire burns in the big fireplace, the acrid, ashy fragrance mixing with the scents of the food. We’re having a Tuscan pasta dish along with the big salad and baskets of crusty Italian bread, and wine, of course. A beautifully simple meal that we eat leisurely. I love these long meals. They feel luxurious, eating and talking, lingering over the wine. Viviane serves bowls of sliced melon with crisp almond biscotti for dessert, and I watch from the corner of my eye as Audrey feeds Jack bits of the succulent melon with her fingers. I can’t help myself. Her fingers disappear between his lush lips, then slide back out, and it looks sexual to me, like fucking, all wet, pink flesh.
I need to calm down, but it’s not happening, is it? And worse yet, Jack talks through the meal, and he is smart and funny and kind, and utterly charming.
“Kenneth, how is Gracie doing? And the girls?”
“They’re all fine. Diana is off to college in the fall and they’re all after me to get her a car. Since when does an eighteen-year-old girl need a car?” But he’s smiling as he says it. Kenneth adores his wife and daughters.
“I had a car at eighteen,” Audrey breaks in. “It was a beat-up old Honda Prelude.” She tears a piece of bread, bites into it, chews. “That car ran forever. Had a million miles on it.”
“Yeah, at eighteen I was on my fifth car. A ’79 Camaro. Powder blue.” Jack’s eyes are dark in the firelight, gleaming. “I loved that car. But there was always another one I had to have. I sold it for a classic El Camino with dual exhaust. That baby had flames on it.”
“Awesome,” Leo says.
Leo sort of fan-worships Jack, I can tell already. Which is maybe why he doesn’t seem to resent Audrey paying attention to Jack the way he did when she was focused on me.
“How’s the horror novel coming, Leo?” Jack asks.
“It’s coming. It’s really different from doing comics. The story is still there, but I have to keep reminding myself to execute it on the page, that I don’t have any images to tell the story.”
“It’ll come to you, don’t worry. Your stuff is good. Solid. But talk to me if you need any help.”
“Sure. Thanks, man. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow?”
“Yeah, let’s do that.”
Jack smiles at Leo, and it’s warm and sincere, and I want to hate them both. All of them and their easy conversation with this man who is more kind than I want him to be. And all the while Audrey fawns over him, looking at him adoringly.
She looked at me that way in bed.
Fuck.
I stand and begin to clear the dishes, carrying them into the kitchen. I am annoyed to find Jack joining me.
“Want some help?”
I don’t, but it would seem stupidly ungracious to say so.
“Sure.”
&nb
sp; He disappears, returns with another armful of dishes, Sid trotting at his heels. The dog finds his bed near the fireplace and is immediately snoring again.
“You want to wash or dry?” he asks, setting a pile of plates on the counter next to me.
“Wash, I guess.”
“You’re not much of a talker, are you, Bettina?”
I blow out a long breath. “No, I’m not.”
He reaches around me and I step to one side as he pulls the garbage can out from beneath the sink and begins to scrape the plates into it. I run the hot water, filling up the sink and adding dish soap, watch as the bubbles rise, reminding me of the foam that crests the ocean waves.
“But you talk to everyone else,” Jack says quietly.
“I…” But I don’t know what to say. It’s true.
“Bettina, I know I just got here, but have I done something to offend you? Maybe said something online?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Because I can be a self-centered son of a bitch sometimes, I know that.”
I look up, and his expression is teasing, a small smile on his lush mouth.
I want to kiss him.
Fuck.
“Bettina, look…” He moves right up next to me, and I can feel the heat of his body again. His eyes are a deep mossy-green now, his lashes thick and as black as his hair. “You should know that Audrey told me what happened.”
“What?” My cheeks go hot. “She…told you? What did she tell you?”
“She told me about the two of you being together this last week. That you’ve slept together.”
“And you’re so calm about it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He looks truly puzzled, and I don’t understand.
“Because she’s your girlfriend! You don’t mind if your girlfriend sleeps with other people?”
“First of all, Audrey is not anyone’s girlfriend, and in particular, she isn’t mine. Second, if she’s going to sleep with other people, I kind of like that it was you.”
I’m so flustered all I can do for several moments is stare at him.
“Wh-what does that mean?”
He smiles, all too-good-looking charm, his mouth wide and soft. He has the most incredible bone structure, his dark stubble outlining his strong jaw. Despite myself, my confusion, my small bit of outrage, I am melting again.