Still Waters

by Rebecca Addison

  I should tell him that I need time to think about what he’s told me. I should tell him that my life is complicated at the moment, and I need some space. I should probably share some secrets of my own since there are things I’m holding back from him, and he’s just laid himself bare. But for once in my life I just want to listen to my heart instead of my brain. So I close my eyes again and touch my lips to his.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Crew

  Despite how tired I am, I wake up at 6 am just like clockwork. When I open my eyes, I know immediately that I’m not in my bed, and for a few sickening seconds I think I’ve gone back to my old ways. I frantically search my brain for clues that will tell me where I am. Did I drink last night? Did I have sex with someone? I reach under the blankets and sigh in relief when my hand touches the waistband of my jeans. Next to me I hear a small sigh and when I look over I see a pile of reddish-brown curls spread out across the pillow. Hartley.

  She’s still wearing her glasses, so I lean over and gently take them off. Her nose twitches a bit, but she doesn’t wake up. God, she’s beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed from sleep, and there’s a light spray of freckles across her nose. If this was another time, and I was still that guy, I would wake her up by kissing them one by one. Instead, I clench my hand into a fist to stop myself from touching her. She parts her lips and takes a deep breath in and out of her mouth. Her lips are pink and perfect. Different from Jessie’s. As soon as her name enters my mind an unexpected mix of adrenaline and relief rushes through my body. It’s been a long time since I could think of Jessie so easily and without feeling like someone was ripping my guts out. I decide to push a little further, to see if I can. I conjure up an image of her and hold it there, hovering in my mind. She’s 15. She’s walking next to me down to the beach with a surfboard under one arm. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail, and she’s tanned. It must be summer. She’s wearing a wetsuit, but it’s open and hanging off her hips so that I can see her black bikini top underneath. She has a mole on her shoulder and a scar on her belly from when she got her appendix out when she was nine. Her belly button is pierced, but she hasn’t told her parents yet, so we have to keep it a secret. She’s looking up at me as we walk. I think I’m telling her something. She’s laughing. She had the best laugh in the world. I go deeper, dredging up memories of her from the corners of my mind that I’ve kept locked safely away, until now. Jessie was born to be in the ocean. She was a tomboy, determined, stubborn, and tougher than most boys. When we were kids, long before we fell in love, she used to beat me up if I let her win at anything. She would rather surf or hike than get her nails done. She hated carrots. She wanted to be a sports physician. She made this happy little humming sound when I kissed her. The first time we made love she cried afterwards, and when I panicked, she laughed and said her tears were because she was so happy. She was full of life and laughter and just on the cusp of new beginnings. She was fiercely protective of the people she loved. Especially of me.

  Next to me Hartley yawns and rolls onto her side but stays asleep. The bottom of her t-shirt has ridden up so that I can see the smooth white skin of her hips and stomach. Sometime in the night she must have turned the fire off, and the room is cold. I pull the blanket up over her, and she sighs in contentment. She’s so different from Jessie. She’s pale and petite. Delicate. I could wrap my whole hand around her arm. And even if she won’t admit it, she’s crazy-messy. Jessie was a total nightmare when it came to everything being in its place. If she was mad at you, you would know about it. She told me everything she was thinking or feeling, whether I wanted to hear about it or not. Hartley has secrets, and I suspect there are a lot of them. I don’t know if she’ll ever trust me enough to share them.

  “Morning,” she mumbles and props herself up onto her elbow. She doesn’t look surprised to see me, like she was expecting I would stay the night all along.

  “I don’t remember falling asleep,” I say and lean down to kiss her quickly on the mouth. Her lips turn up in a smile under my kiss.

  “Well, I remember when you fell asleep,” she laughs as she sits up and wraps the blanket tightly around her shoulders. “I was in the middle of kissing you.”

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” I mutter, but as I’m saying it, I’m trying to remember the moment when we said goodnight to each other and went to sleep. But I can’t.

  “At first I was a little offended,” she teases, “but then you looked so sweet and angelic, I couldn’t stay mad for long.”

  “Oh God,” I stammer and realize that she’s right. The last thing I remember is her lips lightly touching mine.

  “Don’t look so horrified, Crew. You needed to sleep. And,” she winks, “you can make it up to me later.”

  And I intend to.

  “So breakfast then unpacking?”

  I walk over to the fire and hit the button. It sparks to life, and warm air starts to seep out into the room.

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

  Her face is full of dread. Now I really want to know what’s in all of those boxes in the kitchen.

  “Sorry, I never forget anything. Especially not something as exciting as seeing what’s in all of that stuff you’ve got piled up out there.”

  She flops back on the bed and pulls the blanket over her face.

  “What are you trying to hide anyway?”

  “You’ll see,” she groans. “We may as well get started.”

  While I assemble a little tepee of kindling and newspaper inside the ancient woodstove in the kitchen, Hartley pulls out some bacon and eggs from her refrigerator and tries to locate a frying pan. The storm has moved on but it’s bitterly cold, and the wind is rattling the windowpanes. It’s too cold to go out.

  “Is it ok if I take a shower?” I ask her when I see that she’s got breakfast under control. She looks up from the egg she’s cracking into the pan and winces a bit.

  “Well, the thing is, the shower doesn’t exactly work.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s never worked. I don’t mind; it’s a good excuse to use the bath. I love that thing.”

  I look at her and raise my eyebrows. The Property Manager I’m paying to take care of this place is getting a phone call this morning.

  “Your landlord is useless.”

  She laughs and shrugs her shoulders.

  “I guess you’ll have to take a bath in my nice pink claw-foot tub. Ooooh, I’ll run you a special bubble bath! I’ve got these amazing French bath salts and this lavender bubble bath that smells so nice..”

  She stops talking when she sees my face.

  “What? Come on. Men always say they don’t like bubble baths, but it’s a total lie. You’re going to love it.”

  The fire in the woodstove is heating up the house, and soon we’re warm enough to take off our jumpers. Hartley puts the bacon and eggs onto the plates, and I attempt to make her a cup of tea. She laughs when I forget to use the strainer and the leaves pour into the cup with the water. I see that she’s made some attempt at clearing up the papers and books since I was last here, and there’s even a straggly looking plant in a vase.

  “Yum,” she sighs when she’s swallowed her last mouthful. “Thanks for the tea.”

  I take the plates to the kitchen and am starting to rinse them under the tap when I feel her come up behind me and wrap her arms around my waist.

  “Thanks for telling me about Jessie,” she murmurs into my back. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk about her with me. I’m here to listen, whenever you want to talk.”

  My hand freezes where I’m scrubbing egg off the plate, and I turn the tap off. I want to tell her that I’m already feeling things for her that I’m not sure I ever felt with Jessie. But it feels like a betrayal to even think it and for the first time since last night at The Sea Shack, the darkness starts to come back.

  “Bubble bath time!” she cheers behind me, saving me from answering her and chasing away the blackness
with the lightness in her voice. “Give me ten minutes. And don’t peek.”

  She skips off down the hallway and shuts the bathroom door. I can hear the water running, and a minute later steam starts to leak out from under the door. While I wait, I do the dishes and try to create some order out of the papers and plastic bags full of kitchen utensils that she’s got all over her kitchen island. It seems crazy that someone who does such a methodical job for a living could live in such a mess at home.

  “It’s ready!” she calls and when I look down the hallway she’s leaning around the doorway with pink cheeks and hair that reminds me of an orange clown wig I once wore to a Halloween party. I try to hide my smile, but she catches me and immediately lifts her hands up to her hair to try to smooth it down.

  “It’s the steam!”

  She narrows her eyes at me, pretending to be cross, and when I reach her, I can’t stop myself from placing my hands on either side of her face and kissing her.

  “I love your hair,” I say against her mouth.

  “I don’t. It’s wild and messy. And it has a mind of its own.”

  “Then it suits its owner perfectly,” I smile.

  She scowls and pushes me into the bathroom.

  “Do you like it?” she says excitedly, looking up into my face. She’s put candles along the windowsill and her iPod sits on the chair in the corner, playing music softly. The room smells sweet and floral. It smells like my Grandma Nell. There is indeed a claw foot bath, and it’s definitely pink. It’s overflowing with bubbles, and I can already tell that it was never intended for men who are six foot two. I turn around and smile sweetly at her, and she rolls her eyes.

  “You’re going to thank me later, Crew. Trust me. This is going to be the most relaxing bath of your life.”

  She stands by the door expectantly and after a few seconds I shrug and pull my t-shirt up over my head. When I meet her eyes again, she’s even pinker. She puts her hands over her face and groans.

  “Sorry! I promise I wasn’t going to just stand there the whole time. Umm, ok, well, I’ll just be in the bedroom. No, the living room. Well, I’ll see you later.”

  I laugh at her as she shuts the door quickly behind her.

  “Call me if you need anything!” she yells from the hallway.

  I wait for a few seconds then climb into the bath. As I thought, it’s far too small. But the heat feels good, and I can already feel the ache easing in my bad leg.

  “I know you’re still out there,” I call out and then burst out laughing when I hear her gasp.

  “I just wanted to make sure you liked it.”

  “I love it. You can hop in too if you like.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and for a second I think she’s actually considering it.

  “Relax, kid. I was just joking. But you can come in and talk to me if you like. And don’t worry, the bubbles cover everything.”

  I look over at the door and will it to open. She’s quiet, but I know she’s still standing there. I can feel her thinking all the way from here.

  The floorboards in the hall creak a little as if she’s turning to leave, and my heart sinks. But then I hear a noise. And the doorknob turns.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hartley

  Oh my God. I’m such a dork. I can’t believe I just stood there like I was expecting him to get naked and climb into the bath right in front of me. Shit. ShitShitShit. I shut the door quickly and rest my forehead against it while I try to think of something clever and witty to say, to make it seem like I did that on purpose. Nothing is coming to mind. Through the door, I can hear him taking off his clothes and dropping them onto the floor. He’s getting into the water, and I must have filled it up too much because I can hear it spilling over the side.

  “I know you’re still out there,” he calls out and there’s laughter in his voice.

  I make a sound and jump away from the door like it’s on fire. Now my humiliation is complete. I can hear him laughing from the other side.

  I screw my eyes shut tight and say something completely lame about him liking the stupid bubble bath. An image of him standing in front of me, shirtless, with that cocky little smile on his face pops into my head. If I’d had some warning that I was about to see him with his top off I would have tried to play it cool. Now he’s going to think I’m a complete idiot.

  “You can hop in too if you like,” he teases, and although I’m almost certain that he’s joking, part of me wants to call his bluff. I consider it briefly then shake my head at myself. There’s no way that bath is big enough for two. I’m about to walk away and bury my shame under the covers of my bed when he asks if I want to come in and talk while he’s in the bath. Yes, the bubbles will hide everything. But he’s naked in there. And I know he’s naked. If I turn the knob and go in, something is telling me there’s no going back. I open the door.

  Crew is lying back with his arms resting on either side of the bath. I’m relieved to see that I wasn’t stingy with the bubbles, and they do in fact cover everything. His legs are far too long, so he’s bent one at the knee, and the other leg is out straight with his foot propped up on the end. When he sees me, he smiles and pushes his hair off his face with his hands. It looks longer now that it’s wet; the back of it almost touches his shoulders.

  “Hi,” he says, reaching up to scratch his cheek where the beginnings of a beard are starting to show. “I think this was built for you, not me.”

  As he picks up his foot and puts it back under the bubbles, I catch a glimpse of a long thick scar running up the side of his leg. I sit down on the chair next to the bath and look down at him. I’m aware that I should be feeling really uncomfortable right now. But I don’t. This feels like the most normal thing in the world.

  “Is that scar from the accident?” I ask, and he looks down to the end of the bath where his leg lies under the water.

  “Yeah. It was a bad break, but it’s healed up pretty well. I only feel it when it’s cold.”

  He sits up straighter, sending a wave of water and bubbles up and down the bath. I avert my eyes just in case and when I look back, he’s grinning right at me.

  “So, have I converted you yet?”

  He looks down at the bubbles, then across to the candles.

  “You love it. Admit it.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me, then sighs dramatically and leans back so that his head is resting on the end of the bath.

  “Ok Hartley. I love it. I really, really love it. I love bubble baths so much that I’m going to get an enormous pink heart-shaped tub installed in my bathroom, and I’ll never use my shower again.”

  “Good,” I smile and cross my arms. “I look forward to seeing this heart-shaped bath. It sounds amazing.”

  He smiles to himself and closes his eyes. I take a second to look at him, unobserved. He has a beautiful face. His hair and eyebrows are almost black, and his skin is dark and golden like caramel, hinting at the Latin blood flowing through his veins. His nose is long and straight, and he has a dimple in his cheek when he smiles. I wonder if he got those from his mother. He looks even bigger in the bath than he does when he’s out of it. His shoulders are broader than the width of it so that he has to rest his arms on the sides to prop himself up.

  “Can I ask you something?” he says as he opens his eyes and smiles when he catches me looking at his arms.

  “What kind of something?”

  “What’s your game plan?”

  “I don’t have one yet.”

  “Uh uh,” he shakes his head. “I don’t buy it, kid. You have to have some idea of what your life is going to look like here. I’m assuming you don’t have unlimited resources. Sooner or later you’re going to have to find a job.”

  I squirm a little on the chair and look out the window above his head. He’s right. Thanks to my trust fund I have enough money to keep me going for a while. But I can’t avoid the fact that eventually I will have to figure out what I’m going to do.

  “H
ey,” he says and reaches out to grab my hand. His fingers have started to go pruney, and it makes me smile. “I know I promised not to push you for information, but you’ve got to give me something. You told me you’ve run away from something at your old job, but you won’t tell me what it is. You have an ex-boyfriend who sounds like a total douche bag. And I have my suspicions that you’re even smarter than you’re letting on. But that’s just about all you’ve told me since we met.”

  He’s right. And I know he’s right. I feel like a total jerk for silently listening as he told me his most painful memories without offering him anything in return.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, and he sighs and drops my hand.

  “Crew, I do want to tell you. But I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do yet and until I do there isn’t much to say.”

  He looks over at me then pulls himself up with his hands so that the water level plummets to his waist. He leans forward slightly and rests his arms on his knees. I stand up and walk behind him to the head of the bath. His back is out of the water, long and muscular and each vertebra a knot the size of my knuckle. He’s steaming slightly in the cold room. I reach out my hand and trace the tattoo in the middle of his shoulder blades. It’s slightly raised under my fingertips, and he shivers under my touch. There are five faces in a circle, joined at their shoulders and each with an intricate looking headpiece on its head.

  “It’s a Yant. It was done in Thailand by some monks in a Buddhist temple I visited. It’s meant to be magic.”

  “What does it mean?”

  He shifts slightly under my touch.

  “They’re the five deva faces. It’s meant to ward off illness and danger.”

  “Has it worked?”