Someone Else's Ocean

by Kate Stewart

“Maybe it’s the Minnesota in you. It sounds more like you’re saying caulk.”

  “Cock,” she repeated, shaking her head again as I buried my head between my hands and pressed my forehead to my desk. Her voice was low as she spoke it again. “Cock.” She practiced again and I banged my head on my desk. “Cock,” she repeated until… “Nope, it’s penis.”

  AFTER WORK, BECAUSE IT HAD been a decent day and I felt I had the strength to handle it, I answered my phone as I was stripping down for a shower.

  “Hi, Mom.” I unbuttoned my shorts and slid them off before I laid on my bed in a sweaty heap.

  “Koti, Troy Emerick wants to meet with you!” I ignored her attempt at getting straight down to business without greeting pleasantries and went on a spiel of my own.

  “I’m fine. The weather is great. I think we may get some rain, which we need. Work is good. We’re gaining clients daily.”

  “Koti.” Her voice held that sharpness I’d grown used to but had also become immune to.

  “This is Troy Emerick, you know he’s one of the best agents in New York. He’s agreed to meet with you as a favor to me.”

  “Thank you, but I’m happy here. I wish you hadn’t called in that favor on my account.”

  “What you’re doing with your life is not sustainable forever.”

  “I disagree,” I said, turning to study my body in the full-length mirror. It was a far cry from the stick thin skeleton frame it was a year ago. The circles under my eyes had disappeared. I’d gained the twenty pounds I needed to resemble healthy. I wondered if for one second my mother would forget her ambitions for me and notice the difference if she saw the new state I was in, or if it would even matter. “Mom, I’m in my underwear ready for a shower, can I call you back?”

  “No, because you won’t.” I gritted my teeth but held in my impatient sigh as she continued. “He can get you back in. You might have to—”

  “Mother, I already sold my soul. New York has it, okay? I’m never going back.” I took a deep breath in an attempt to ignore the stirring tension in my limbs.

  “Okay, Koti, it’s been long enough. I’ve talked to your father and we need you to come back to discuss your future.” And there it was. I was sure it took a good amount of her strength to be a concerned parent first and put expectant on the back burner. Apparently, a year was her limit.

  But she hadn’t been there, not in the way I needed her. And though my father tried, he couldn’t understand just how that day had changed me. I had a hard enough time coming to grips with it myself.

  At that moment, I remembered running through endless faces in the freezing cold with a box full of my belongings in six-hundred-dollar heels, my face pouring defeat, my heart pounding out of my chest, passing stranger after stranger, the words ‘help me’ on my lips and not a single soul around who gave a shit. After wandering aimlessly around New York for hours without a future, I tossed the box that held my degree in the garbage and sat in front of it in the cold until my limbs went numb.

  “Mom, I’m a little old for this talk of my future. If you’re going to threaten to take away the house, I’m prepared for that, so go ahead and do it. I’m too old to map out my life, instead, I’m living it. Here in St. Thomas. This is my future. Whatever issues you have with my failure, you’re just going to have to deal with it, like I have.”

  “Deal with it!? You ran away!” Her breathing was erratic. She had totally planned to play the house card. But how much of a threat would it be anyway if the stipulation was to return to New York?

  “Are you taking the house away?” I pressed on, unafraid of what she would say. There was nothing she could do to me that the world hadn’t done already.

  “Of course not, Koti,” she feigned offense.

  I heard my father ask to speak to me. That card I wasn’t ready for. He was still disappointed I lied to him with my promise to come home for Christmas.

  “I have to go, Mom. I have a renter calling.”

  “Koti! We haven’t seen you in a year! You’re breaking your father’s heart.”

  “I know, Mom, and I’m sorry. I’ve already apologized for that. I’m not ready.

  “Koti.” My father’s voice was a mix of concern and growing impatience for both of us, I was sure.

  “Dad, I’m sorry I can’t talk now.”

  “Listen to me, you either get on a plane or we will.”

  “Dad, I have to work,” I said weakly, his deep voice piercing my heart. “I can’t just leave; my boss depends on me.”

  “No more excuses on either side.” I knew his stern words were also meant for my mother, who I was sure was the reason my father hadn’t already shown up in St. Thomas. I knew she was sure I would come running back for financial help, guidance, or both. Another disappointment for her.

  “I need to see my little girl.”

  His words struck hard and I did my best not to let him hear it. “Soon, Dad, I promise. I love you both. I’ve got to go.”

  “Koti—”

  “Dad, I’ll call you back. I love you.” I hung up as my heartbeat sped up and my face flamed.

  I lay back in bed panting, a tear rolling down my cheek. In and out. Breathe. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong. You’re okay. You’re okay.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

  Five. Ten. Fifteen minutes passed before I lifted my newly drained bones off the bed and submerged them in a shower. Twenty minutes and half a Xanax later, I was dead to the world.

  Disco barked as I turned on my side and looked out the window toward the Kemp house before glancing at the clock.

  2 a.m.

  Unable to handle her yapping, I ripped myself away from the bed and slid on my flip-flops.

  I could feel the tension behind the door before I knocked. Seconds later, a T-shirt clad Ian answered with wide, helpless eyes.

  “Have you picked her up?” I pushed past him to see Disco in her box in the middle of the living room. “Ian, she can’t see that you’re here and that’s why she’s freaking out!”

  “Well, she pisses and shats everywhere!”

  “She’s a puppy,” I said, pulling her from her prison. “You have to take her outside every hour or so and reward her when she pees or poops.”

  “I’m well aware,” he snapped. “So, you take her.”

  “I can’t, I’m allergic,” I said with a mock cough. He crossed his arms as I held the dog toward him. Disco whimpered and scrambled in my grip before she leaped at him. He was forced to catch her and when he did, I could see the delight cover his face. He was reluctantly smitten. He looked over at me with narrowed eyes. “You are conniving.”

  “Thank you, I do my best. This is a puppy we are talking about here,” I said, looking at the dog with longing. “Puppy breath, puppy love. Seriously, don’t miss out on this.”

  He raised a thick brow and looked down at my camisole top before he averted his eyes without a single tell. Had I gone over there in my skimpiest camisole on purpose?

  Absolutely… not.

  But my breasts were the elephant that now sat on the puppy at hand.

  Disco lay quietly in his grip.

  “See, she just needed some love,” I said, feathering her soft fur through my fingers. I leaned down and kissed her forehead before I looked up at a surprisingly close Ian. “Disco needs you, crocky.”

  He rolled his eyes as I spotted a large dry erase board behind him.

  “What’s this?”

  Ian cradled Disco in his arm and stepped in front of me to obstruct my view of the board. “Just something I’m working on.”

  I tilted my head. “Why so secretive? I’ve already seen you at war, Marine.”

  His lips twitched in amusement. “That was years ago.” His eyes strayed down to his stomach. I saw his disappointment and felt my heart rip slightly at the degrading evaluation he gave himself. So he’d gained a few pounds since his service. No big deal. He’d already lost quite a b
it of it in the month he’d been on the island. And I found it admirable that he served at all. Little love handles aside, the man was drop-dead gorgeous. He had to know that. But I wasn’t going to leave it unsaid, I’d been a victim of self-image awareness my whole life. So, what did I do to make sure he knew he still had it?

  “Ouch! What in the hell are you doing, woman?”

  My hand burned as I lifted my reddened palm away from his firm ass and presented it to him, “Still got it, eh?”

  Not my best move, but when Ian Kemp threw his head back and laughed, a wave of pure bliss washed over me.

  Ignoring the urge to kiss his prominent Adam’s apple, I shrugged as if I went around slapping men’s asses on a daily basis. I sidestepped him as he kept Disco snug in his arms and looked at the board. There was a list of lecture topics and keynotes.

  I nodded toward it in question.

  “It’s a course shcedule. I teach.”

  “Shcedule?” I grinned, and he grinned back.

  “Right, you always had a thing for my accent.”

  “Doesn’t every red-blooded American woman? I bet you cleaned up with the ladies very well in Texas.” I gave him a wink and his answering grin didn’t deny it.

  My whole body tensed at the sight of his smile. Angry with my horny self, I moved to the defensive. “And your accent has faded a little, what a pity.” He gave me that all-knowing stare again. The one that told me he knew my next words before I spoke them. I walked over to the board and felt his eyes on me.

  “I blame Texas.”

  “South Africa to Dallas, what in the world made your parents make that move?”

  “We went there initially to wait for my brother, the birth mother lived there.”

  “Your parents told me a little about him last summer, I forgot his name…?”

  “Adam. He’s adopted. My parents and I waited in Dallas for the length of the pregnancy. They got acclimated. I hated it, but we stayed.”

  “Too hot?”

  “I can handle hot,” he said, looking over the list on the board before he took a step forward with Disco cradled in his free arm and erased one of the notes. “The academics were lacking. I was several levels ahead, and it was all very boring.”

  “I remember you griping about not being able to safari on the weekend. No chance of lions invading Dallas then?” He threw his head back at my shitty attempt at his accent. I felt like I was batting a thousand every time I heard that sweet rumble erupt from his chest.

  “No, there wasn’t much adventure for me in the concrete jungle.”

  “I could say different about where I came from. I suffered from overstimulation. What do you teach?”

  “Linguistics and American Sign Language and sometimes I dabble in creative writing.”

  “Professor Kemp?” I mused, unable to picture him instructing a classroom. “You went from the Marines to teach?”

  “Actually, it was my wife’s doing. My ex-wife, Tara. When we discovered our daughter was deaf, I dabbled in speech, speech pathology, audiology, and linguistics. She pushed me in the direction of teaching. I used to write letters to her when I was stationed overseas. She thought I had a knack for it.”

  “So, you started it mostly for your daughter?”

  He nodded. “I taught some classes at her school for a few years when she began attending.”

  “Sign language is fascinating.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and let Disco free. She ran straight toward me and jumped through my feet attacking my flip-flops.

  “I agree. I spent years studying the language and the culture. And with Ella’s disability, it seemed a natural progression,” he shrugged.

  “None of this is impressive at all,” I said sarcastically.

  “Tara was more in tune with the Marine, I think. Her pursuit for me career-wise actually backfired.”

  “Did you see yourself in this career?”

  “I didn’t see myself as anything. I joined the Marines to buy time to figure it out.”

  “And just so happened to finish some of the hardest military training in the world?”

  Ian shrugged. “It was either that or go to college for a useless degree.”

  “Touché.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I agree with you. I am a proud owner of one of those useless degrees.”

  He winced. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not. I’m glad I’m not wasting any more time.” I nodded toward his full erase board. “So, teach me something, professor.”

  “This doesn’t interest you.”

  “Everything interests me.” I scooped up Disco and took a seat on the corner of his couch. “Were you practicing in here?”

  He scrunched his nose as if he smelled something bad. “Practicing? I don’t need practice. This is a list of lectures.”

  “Where do you teach now?”

  “Nowhere at the moment. I’m hoping for a position at my daughter’s new school.”

  “So, teach me, here, in St. Thomas.”

  Ian bit his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know what you’re doing. Did my mother put you up to this?”

  “Yes, your mother prodded Disco to whine all night and forced me over here to snoop at your dry erase board. My education awaits, Professor Kemp.”

  “And what was your major?”

  “I got a master’s in business, got my real estate license, joined a firm and blew a $2 billion deal because I had a panic attack. I should have joined the Marines, it might have made a better woman out of me. Now, teach me something.”

  Ian looked down at me skeptically. “It’s late.”

  “I’m wide awake,” I said, eyeing the collection of books stacked on the TV stand. “If you won’t teach me anything, how about we start a book club?”

  “What do you read?”

  “Everything. Lots of historical romance lately.”

  “Really?” His demeanor changed and his shoulders relaxed. He was no longer on the defensive.

  “Yes, historical romance. What’s wrong with that? You learn something and the boy gets the girl, but not before the wide-spread panic, famine, cannibalism, cholera, the Nazis, and of course, the hurdled forty or fifty life-threatening situations.”

  Ian tilted his head back again. The rumble of his laughter my new driving force.

  “So, will you teach me how to sign?”

  “Maybe,” he said as he playfully squared his shoulders, “it depends, Mrs. Vaughn…”

  “Miss.” I pressed my lips together wondering if he remembered his remark the day we met.

  Ian’s lips twitched. He did. But he had enough tact not to stare at my miss tits.

  We shared another smile, this one was far more intimate. Awareness of the unwanted distance between us began to creep into my thoughts.

  Was I crushing on Ian Kemp? If so, I was developing a crush on the mid-life professor. And that wasn’t healthy for either of us.

  “I should go. Thank you for the lesson.”

  “I taught you nothing.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Professor Kemp.”

  “Koti.” His voice was glum, to say the least. I paused my feet at the door and glanced his way. “If we are going to engage in any sort of conversation, for future reference, I want honesty over everything. That’s important to me, all right?”

  I stared at my toes. “All right.” A beat passed before I could brave another a look at him. I’d become acutely aware of my body’s response to his smile, his laugh, his voice. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” He took a step forward closing the space between us and my breathing picked up. I studied the sprinkle of hair on his navel that trailed down past the button on his shorts while I savored his smell—new leather and soap—and wished for a few moments we were back in that hammock so I would be surrounded in it, in him. I blinked the thought away and cleared my throat.

  Ian seemed eager as he studied my face. “What do you want to ask me
?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I braved a look and what I saw wasn’t the scorn or the ever-present bitterness he carried, it was genuine curiosity. And for the first time since Ian landed on my island, I felt like I had his undivided attention.

  “Why are you concerned about me?”

  I could have told him I was paid to be worried about him. But that really wasn’t the truth. I was paid to keep an eye on him, but that was the extent of it. My concern stemmed from somewhere else. A place I recognized, a place I felt like Ian was drowning in.

  The lump I tried to speak around kept me quiet for a few moments. And then I gave him exactly what he asked for—honesty.

  “Before I came here, I had a really shitty thing happen, the kind of thing that breaks people. I think you’re familiar with that.” He slowly nodded. “Well, I was alone—alone in a way no human should ever be—and I needed just one person to ask me that question. I was surrounded by thousands of people, but I just needed one. And I decided I wanted to be that person for you. Because I do want to know. Because I am worried for you and about you. Because you deserve to have that question asked. So, Ian, are you okay?”

  He didn’t hesitate a second. “No.”

  Tense moments passed as we stared at each other. “And what will you do with that answer, Koti?”

  “I’ll keep it in confidence. I’ll respect your need for privacy and I’ll ask you until you say you are, or you could be, or you might be someday.”

  Lost in his eyes, in the hurt they held, in the clench of his jaw, and the answer to his pain on his un-telling lips, he whispered to me. “I can’t say those things.”

  “Then I won’t stop asking you.”

  He hung his head and let out an audible breath. “It’s not your job to care about me.”

  “See, this is where I disagree.” I reached over and gripped his hand and gently squeezed it. He tensed slightly. “What made you lay next to me in that hammock?”

  “I don’t know.” He bit his lip as he browsed through his thoughts. “You were in pain. You were crying. It was the most agonizing sound I’d ever heard.”

  “Okay, well what I saw in those eyes of yours the day you got here is the worst pain I’ve ever witnessed, Ian Kemp. And it’s everybody’s job, isn’t it?”