The Sea Horse Door

by Gina Rossi

  I’m warm, comfortable, safe, wanted—wanted, Lucas wanted me to come, and being wanted is a brilliant feeling, so surely he… No, I’m leaving next week…in a couple of days, going back to London. No way can Lucas…and me.

  Asleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Everything’s back to normal. Lucas is happy, Alice is happy, and I…

  My work’s done. Time to go. My flight’s booked, my bags packed and loaded in the Jeep. Lucas insists on driving me to the airport while Alice stays with a babysitter.

  Saying goodbye to Alice is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. We sit on the bench outside the sea horse door, her on my lap, and hug each other.

  “Be a good girl. Look after Daddy, see?”

  “And Buster.”

  “Buster too.”

  “You come back.”

  “I’m going home now, sweetheart.”

  “I miss you. You come back.”

  I swallow. “I’d like that.”

  She presses her face to mine. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, darling.”

  I unwind her arms from my neck and hand her to the sitter, and then navigate toward Lucas and the Jeep by staring at my feet, one in front of the other, through blurry eyes. He opens the passenger door, guides me in with a hand on my shoulder, pulls out the seatbelt and shuts me in. He gets in the drivers’ side and off we go, me waving and Alice waving back.

  “You come back!” She waves. We blow kisses. I can’t see her any more. We’re through the gates and on the road. I clamp a hand over my mouth, but it’s an inadequate floodgate. By the time we pass Jay’s Automotive at the bottom of the road, my heart’s broken, and I’m howling.

  Lucas doesn’t say a word. I’m in a bubble of grief, worlds away from him. Although, there is one sad connection—this is how he must feel every time he says goodbye to Alice. How can he bear it? Why does he do it? Whatever, it’s none of my concern now. That last fact inspires me to cry more and harder. I cry and Lucas drives, and this is how we eventually get to the airport.

  “Thanks,” I manage, when we approach the terminal buildings. “Please, drop me off—” Oh. He’s in the parking garage already, swinging the Jeep into one of the few available spaces.

  I release the seatbelt and reach for the door, but he puts out a hand to stop me. “Just a minute.”

  The interior of the car is quiet, but for the panic-attack intensity of my heartbeat. I glance at Lucas, who’s taken something out of his pocket.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Alice.” He hands over a small carrier bag printed all over with turquoise and silver wavelets. I peep inside. There’s a small, flat box, a little bigger than a matchbox, wrapped in the same paper, tied with a silver chiffon bow.

  “You’ve been incredibly generous to me as it is, Lucas. You really don’t have to—”

  “Open it.”

  “Now?”

  “You have time.”

  I do as he says.

  Oh!

  Two small diamond sea horses. Those ones. The earrings I lust after each time I pass Jewels of the Sea.

  Open-mouthed, I turn in my seat to face him. “How did you know?”

  “Alice took me straight there. The day we washed the Mustache.”

  “But Lucas, I-I can’t accept these.” I thrust the box back into the bag and hold it out. “They’re diamonds, and…and…”

  “And what?”

  “Um, they’re expensive.”

  “You’d have preferred moose-shaped ones, wouldn’t you?”

  I have to smile, though I’m awash in tears. “Or maybe lobsters.”

  He smiles too, closes a hand over mine and pushes the bag back to me. “I want, Alice wants, you to have these.”

  “They’re too expens—”

  He shuts me up by leaning close and touching my cheek. “You deserve them. At the very least.”

  “No, Lucas, I—”

  “You were, are, the best. You earned them. Does that sound better?”

  “No. You paid me for what I did. You over-paid me. They’re too much.” I give them back. If he thinks diamonds will dry my tears, he’s very wrong. With fingertips pressed to my eyes and tears leaking everywhere, I crouch in the seat, utterly baffled by my despair and confusion. Quite apart from anything else, I’m an idiot for being so out of control of my emotions. It’s embarrassing. Lucas must be dying to get rid of me.

  He drops his hand and moves back, holding the pretty little box loosely on his thigh. His chest heaves, up and down, in a mighty, silent sigh. “I can only do it this way, don’t you see?” Silence again for a heavy quarter of a minute, then he goes on. “I have,” he says, carefully, “money. And, most important of all, I have Alice. That is what I have. Everything else is…” He looks down at his hand, holding the box.

  Is what?

  “Is lost. Broken. Do you understand?”

  The seconds tick away. It’s not appropriate to look at my watch, so I don’t. Another thing: right now, I don’t care if I miss my plane.

  “I’m…I’m not sure I do, really.”

  After a while he says, “It’s all to do with Bonny. Her death. All that.

  We sit for a bit until I say, “I have to go.”

  He doesn’t stop me. Is he relieved? He takes my hand, puts the box in it and closes my fingers around it, his hand covering mine. I look at the thin scars running across all four knuckles. “Either way,” I say, “yours is a pretty dangerous job for fingers.” He laughs, a brave attempt at normalcy. Our eyes meet, hold for a moment, and then we both move to get out of the car.

  He gets my luggage from the boot and gives me a big ol’ hug, like he’s hugging his best mate. We exchange overly smackish cheek kisses.

  I pick up my cabin bag, extend the handle of my case, and make ready to wheel it off. “Thanks for everything, Lucas, and—” swallow hard—“goodbye. Look after Alice, whatever you do.”

  “Of course.” He nods, stands still and watches me walk away.

  Before I get to the lifts, I turn around. “Remember,” I call, “if it’s lost, you can find it.”

  “You suppose?”

  “I guess.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Keep looking.”

  “I do.” He raises a hand in farewell. “Enjoy your time back on the mothership.”

  The lift arrives, the doors open, I get in, turn around and see him, standing there, staring after me, eyes dark. The doors close on my jolly little wave and that’s that. Seconds later the lift lurches upward and spews me out in the departure hall. I go straight to the ladies loo, to the basin at the very end of the long washroom and take the earrings out of my bag. I cry some more and put them away. I can’t wear them now. It’s all too much. Besides—and I don’t have to look in the mirror to confirm swollen eyes and red nose—my face is not worthy of diamonds.

  I’m not sure life with Lucas would, or wouldn’t, have worked out. Either way, I’d like to have known, and now I never will. Whatever happens, I will never forget this man.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The queue is long and wide. I lose myself in the forest of trolleys, mountains of luggage, and gabbled snatch of words from every language in the world. At last, at long last, it’s my turn at the front. I’ve been called forward because my connection to London is already boarding.

  “Well, if it isn’t your lucky day, ma’am,” Miss American Airlines exclaims, bright as a sunbeam.

  I heave my case onto the scale. It’s way overweight but there’s no reaction from Miss AA. Perhaps she won’t notice. Maybe it is my lucky day. I hand over my passport and wait.

  “You,” she says, tapping her keyboard, “have been upgraded to First—” she looks up with a movie-star smile—“by Mr. Lucas Dalton. Isn’t that the best idea?”

  “I have a better one.” There’s a deep voice in my right ear. Someone’s standing very close, a hand on my suitcase, lifting it off the scale. Have I breached securi
ty? Am I being robbed?

  I look to the side. “Excuse me! What are you—”

  Lucas.

  “What are you doing?” The simple sight of him brings tears to the surface.

  He grips my upper arm, turns me to face him. “Let’s go home.”

  “I am. I am going home.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I, er, there are things I need to talk to you about.”

  “What, now?” I look at Miss AA, whose eyes are ready to launch from their sockets, and then back at Lucas. “The flight’s boarding. I’m late already.”

  “To hell with that.” He steps up to the counter. “This passenger, Miss Lara Fairmont, will not be travelling today.”

  I pull him back. “No, Lucas. I am travelling. I’m going home.”

  Miss AA looks from me to him to me, wild-eyed, smile fixed.

  Lucas smiles back. “Miss Fairmont won’t be travelling.”

  “Lucas, stop it!” I push in front of him. I want to agree with him, but I must be careful. I have so much to lose.

  “Listen to me,” he says, blocking access to the counter. “This is not right. You leaving. Me letting you go. How can we be sure—” he waves a hand about, mixing air—“if we’re apart?”

  It’s all too much. “Why are you telling me now?”

  “Because I didn’t realize until you walked away.” Hands in pockets, eyes sharp with hope, willing me to agree, he looks right at me, holding my glare.

  “Realize what?”

  A voice pipes up behind me, sarcastic and loud, so everyone can benefit from her wisdom. “Wouldn’t it be kinda nice if folks could settle their disputes outta the queue so we could all get where we wanna go?”

  Miss AA’s smile slips. She catches the eye of a man standing near the front of the neighbouring queue, and gives a little nod. He strolls over and hovers. I glance at his name badge: Kyle Smith, Security.

  “Realize exactly what?” I hiss, when I want to shout. I don’t mean to snap, but I’m not getting my hopes up for nothing. Also, I don’t want to get arrested by Kyle under the Loud And Aggressive At The Airport Act. Kyle Smith, Security, takes the hint, and arranges for another counter to open up.

  “Excuse me?” Miss AA peeps around Lucas. “Miss Fairmont? Would you be able to confirm without further delay whether you will be trav—”

  “That I like you,” Lucas says, straightforward and sure, like he’s telling me the time.

  I hesitate. Is this enough to go on? I take the plunge. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  I stare at him, watch the rare smile start in his eyes, though his mouth hasn’t moved yet. “Oh,” I say, because I haven’t got anything else.

  Miss AA waves Kyle over. He ropes us off from the rest while she and Lucas deal with the admin, giving me far too much time to reflect on what I’ve done. Am I making a massive mistake?

  I like you.

  Like is important. More important than love, many would say. I like Lucas, too. I do. I like him back.

  ****

  On the way back to Blue Rocks—on the way “home”—Lucas asks a pile of questions about me. He’s unstoppable. Why now? I field the barrage and wonder if this intense cross-questioning is something that should have happened before I did the airport turnaround. He remembers each and every detail on my CV and asks questions around those, and manipulates the conversation so it’s impossible to hold anything back. I tell him everything about my childhood, my education, my business, my business disaster, my parents, Julie, and even touch on my sad dating history, briefly, because I’m not a victim, or a loser. I’m living life to the best of my ability, aren’t I? And that’s what I’d like him to think, because that’s what I believe.

  Lucas pulls over at a petrol station at Ellsworth. While he’s filling the car—and I’m wondering if I’ve been astonishingly weak for being so easily persuaded to return to Blue Rocks—a woman leans out of a car alongside and asks if she and her husband, fresh in from Chicago, are heading in the right direction for Lobster Cove. Lucas assures her she’s on the right track and asks where she’s staying.

  “Sea Crest Inn, close to the spot we honeymooned thirty years ago. Bob and I met at a beach party near there when we were teenagers.” She lowers her voice. “I wanted to surprise Bob with a romantic sunset picnic on the beach tomorrow. Sea Crest Inn doesn’t fix picnics, though. Someone told me Mariner’s Fish Fry does bag lunches, but I want something more special than that. D’you by any chance know someone who’ll do something real special for us?”

  “Sure do.” Lucas makes a note of her name—Beryl Streep, no kidding—on his phone, tells her it’ll cost one hundred and fifty dollars, and asks what time she’d like the picnic delivered.

  “I’ll meet you in the car park at five p.m.,” she whispers, glancing though the windscreen, furtive, because Bob, presumably, is ambling back to the car. She and Lucas exchange phone numbers and conspiratorial smiles. “Shall I pay you now?”

  “Tomorrow. Safe journey now.” He waves them off.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, when he’s paid for his fuel and is back in the car.

  “Giving you a reason, maybe, to stay in Lobster Cove.”

  Clever. I like that.

  We get to the outskirts of town and drive on through to Blue Rocks. “What now?” I ask, as we turn between the gateposts.

  “Right now? We go inside the house, fix a drink and go sit on the sea porch, on that swing seat, together, and wait on the moon.”

  But we don’t. The sitter greets us at the door, anxious. Alice has been restless and fractious all evening. We go upstairs to find her temperature has spiked to one hundred and five, and spend the rest of the night with her, in the emergency room at the Lobster Cove Hospital.

  Home in the small hours, Alice cool and hydrated after a rogue twenty-four hour virus “doing the rounds” we all fall into bed and sleep. I set my alarm for seven, for I have a picnic to worry about. Moving like a zombie, I make lists and drive to town as soon as the shops open for a basket, napkins, food, ribbons, card, and a million other things to make Bob and Beryl’s picnic special. I totally blow the budget, but who cares? This is an investment in my future, maybe, and I’ll damn well give it everything.

  In the Blue Rocks’ kitchen, I scrub up like a surgeon and pull on latex gloves. Yuk, but God double-forbid that I transfer one molecule of rogue virus to Bob and Beryl on their thirtieth wedding anniversary. I disinfect the kitchen countertops and the disposable containers I’ve bought, even the champagne glasses and bottle. I’m taking no health and safety risks; who knows if what I’m doing is even legal in the state of Maine.

  And I’m nervous. It’s only a picnic, for God’s sake, but my confidence is lower than zero. Am I hiding from reality behind the high walls of Blue Rocks, behind that sea horse door?

  Alice sleeps most of the day. She comes into the kitchen when I get back from the Sea Crest Inn stunned, basking in Beryl’s effusive gratitude, though a little rattled to come across Agat walking on the road. I slowed down, to offer her a lift, but she marched on, eyes forward and unblinking, ignoring me. I drove on, rebuffed, a little shiver tickling my spine. Could Agat have had something to do with Alice’s sudden fever?

  No. No, that’s impossible.

  “How did it go?” Lucas asks. Alice stands next to him, an arm around his leg.

  “She was deeply impressed.”

  “Of course.”

  “I feel amazing.”

  He grins, one hand stroking Alice’s hair. “Great.”

  “Thanks, Lucas.”

  “Daddy?” Alice says, looking up at him.

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Lara back, Daddy? Lara come back.”

  “She did, yes. I brought her back.”

  “Why?”

  He looks down at her. “She was leaking. I had to bring her home to fix her.”

  Alice runs to me and we hug. “Yay,” she cries. “Yay!”r />
  I couldn’t express it better myself.

  Chapter Twenty

  So, if I dated Lucas—say I met him on a dating site, through work, or via one of my friends—would I want to take it further as the saying goes? Do I know him well enough not to scare him off?

  Why did he ask me to stay? Why did I? Because I was hopeful? Now, I’m puzzled.

  This morning, I scanned one of the English newspapers online, coming across an article on human attraction. Recent studies were undertaken at the University of York, around first impressions. Apparently, deciding someone’s character takes only one tenth of a second. Eyes indicate attractiveness, while mouth shape is linked to approachability. Masculinity divulges itself via structural features—made me laugh!—or attractive skin, e.g., tanned.

  Who knew, huh?

  In conclusion, your brain requires a glimpse of one hundred milliseconds, or less, to warn you the pheromones are limbering up. The article went on to quote other studies that proved women seemed attracted to the strongest, and not necessarily the best-looking, males in a random group. Imagine doing research for a job like that? Watching line-up after line-up of strong, handsome men and pondering their attractiveness with regard to procreation. Are bespoke picnics the way forward for mankind, I ask myself? Man-studying seems mighty beneficial to the planet, although I do recycle as much picnic packaging as possible, without being disgusting.

  What I’m getting at, the long way around, is: nothing’s happened. I’m living a type of hi-honey-I’m-home life, without the sex. Alice is better, the school term has started, and Lucas is away, seeing a Saudi Arabian client in Dharan about a new rig in the Safaniya oil field. Julie is still sniffy about my non-return to London in her time of need; I need to remember she is the first woman in the world to have a baby, but since she extracted a promise from me to be there or die no later than the end of the first week of December, she’s let up a little. My parents are coming home too, from the Antarctic freeze to the tropical climes of a London winter, already predicted to be one of the coldest since records began as the newsreaders are so fond of saying.