9781618857613SacredWaterMichaels

by Lydia Michaels

  He turned and walked to his room, the soft but final click of his door closing behind him filling her with ominous regret and shame.

  Chapter Six

  The lake was peaceful. It was different than a Jersey shore beach. The sand was coarser, the water browner, and the atmosphere lighter. Although it was private property and only the McCulloughs and close friends were there, there were enough of them that it reminded Sam of a 50’s styled resort. If she looked hard enough she could probably find a log bridging over a creek to dance on.

  The warm sun caressed her skin, countering the cooler breeze as it danced across the land coming off the lake. It was a great body of water that curved and wrapped around pine trees and mountains in the distance. Although she couldn’t see Braydon and the others at the moment, she could hear the boat speeding and chopping through the surface.

  There were no waves like in the ocean. Although the lake had a gradual incline from the coast, it was calm enough to spot ripples when a beetle landed on the surface.

  In the distance about fifty feet out from the coast was a small square dock. Tristan had swum out there earlier and had been napping there ever since. Sam knew from watching him go that after about twenty feet the lake floor became untouchable. There’d be no going in the water for her.

  Sheilagh lay on her belly across a bright orange beach towel facing Patrick as they played Gin Rummy. A small radio broke the silence and Sam softly tapped her foot in the coarse yellow sand to the beat.

  “Gin!” Sheilagh declared.

  “Finally! Come on, I’m sweating. Let’s go in the water,” Pat said as he stood and stretched.

  “Race you to the dock?”

  “Yeah, because that’s not obvious,” Patrick teased and Sheilagh shoved him as she darted into the water.

  She seemed to have no issue with running around in nothing but Lycra strings and patches. “Wanna come, Sam?”

  She stood and shaded the top of her sunglasses and looked up at Patrick. He was a sweet kid and Sam really appreciated the way he always included her in whatever else the others were doing.

  “No thanks. I think I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Okay, suit yourself. You may wanna put on some more sun block though. Your nose is getting red.”

  He ran off and Sam took his advice and rubbed in a bit more sunscreen. It wasn’t long before she was peacefully lounging in one of the abandoned chairs on the cusp of sleep, basking in the warmth of the sun.

  A while later as the distant voices and splashing from the water faded into white noise, the chill of a shadow passed over her as if the clouds were momentarily blocking the sun. The thud of something hitting the sand made her realize it wasn’t the clouds blocking the sun, but a person casting shadows.

  She opened her eyes and stilled at the sight of Colin. Grateful for the veil her dark glasses provided she watched him unfold a beach chair and remove his shirt. Knowing her voyeurism was wrong, she covertly kept her lashes lowered in case he looked her way and saw through her lenses.

  She wasn’t prepared when he paused before seating himself to boldly stare at her. Suddenly very aware of her body, his gaze a caress upon her sun kissed thighs, she fought the urge to fidget. Her fingers, although completely still, felt as if they were slightly twitching along with her toes.

  What was he looking at? His gaze roamed over her knees and down to her ankles.

  “You better put sun block on your feet. They’re burning.”

  She tensed.

  Should she quit her campaign to feign sleep and admit she was watching him too, or continue on with her see-through ruse for self-preservation’s sake?

  Damn it! She was such a crappy liar. She lifted her glasses and smiled. “Thanks.” Reaching into her bag she pulled out her sun block.

  “How’s the water?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t been in.”

  She avoided looking at him by taking an extra-long time rubbing the milky sunscreen into her arches and making sure to get deep between her toes where sun would likely never touch.

  Sheilagh’s laughter traveled to them from far out by the dock. Patrick was wading in the water close by as Tristan tickled her. Sam wondered if she had somehow misinterpreted his sexual orientation the evening before. What he was doing with Luke’s sister was unmistakably flirting.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She turned to Colin and again was reminded of how devastatingly handsome he was. “What?”

  “You’re frowning. Is something wrong?”

  “Oh. No, I was just watching them.”

  Colin looked to the dock and sighed. “I should worry that a man seven years older than my baby sister is touching her that way, but Sheilagh’s a force to be reckoned with. She won’t let him take things too far.”

  While that may be true, Samantha disagreed. She could already tell that if Tristan were open to more intimate matters with Sheilagh, all he would need to do is say so and the girl would be agreeable to anything he wanted.

  They watched the two play a moment longer when suddenly Sheilagh lost her footing and stumbled off the dock, arms pin- wheeling as she fell.

  Sam gasped and sat upright, alarming Colin in the process. When Sheilagh finally surfaced Sam gave a sigh of relief and sat back again, but her shoulders were uncomfortably knotted with tension.

  “You don’t like water do you, Sammy?”

  She turned sharply to Colin, prepared to deny such a silly fear, but when she saw nothing but compassion in his gaze she relaxed her defenses.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  She looked at him, knowing it was a normal question, but still resenting the breach of privacy. “I just don’t.”

  “Did something happen to you?”

  Fuck you, she wanted to say, but knew that was cruel and unjustified and definitely not the way one spoke to a priest. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Don’t like to or don’t?”

  “Don’t.”

  He nodded with understanding. “Fair enough.”

  Colin leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. Samantha continued to watch him a few moments longer before doing the same.

  Normally okay with silence, Sam was uncharacteristically at odds with the quiet. Unable to tolerate it a moment longer she said, “I thought you had other things to do.”

  The moment the somewhat snarky comment left her mouth she regretted it. Not only because it could be taken as rude, but because she also realized she might’ve disturbed him from taking a rest.

  “Sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry,” he said sitting up and draping his tanned arms over his knees.

  How did a priest get so many muscles? He removed his glasses to look at her and Sam found the action unnerving. “I know I should’ve done what I intended, but the draw of sitting in the sun with friends and family was all too tempting.” His voice was so deep and soft at the same time.

  “What did you have to do?”

  He pressed his lips together as if he didn’t want to answer. After hesitating a moment longer he said, “I needed to get over myself, basically. Sometimes it’s confusing, approaching a change you’ve been preparing for practically your entire life. I guess you may be going through a bit of the same thing with graduating this summer and finally becoming a teacher.”

  She could understand that. “It is a bit surreal.”

  He nodded. “Surreal, yes, that’s a good word for it. I suppose it’s natural to feel suddenly insecure about something you spent years convincing yourself you were certain of. Did you ever want to be something besides a teacher?”

  “A figure skater,” she whispered as the sense of a ghost passing through her sent chills up her arms. Why had she just admitted that?

  “Really? That’s different. I used to want to be a firefighter, but my mother would’ve shot me first. Why did you change your mind?”

  “I grew up.”

  He frowned as if not understanding
her answer. She wished he’d stop giving her that analyzing look. “Skating isn’t a fantasy job. There are plenty of adults that do it and make a living of it. Would you have wanted to compete in choreographed skating or in more of an athletic capacity?”

  She snorted. “You’ve seen my athletic skills. Definitely not someone who excels in agility or grace. It was just something I dreamt of when I was a girl. Nothing more than a daydream.”

  “Why dismiss something you’re passionate about?”

  “Because I’m not. I was, but not anymore. Like I said, I grew up.” She sounded defensive, but she really wanted him to drop it.

  “What made you grow up, Sammy?”

  Her heart started to pound and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Why was he being so persistent? Her forehead beaded with perspiration that had nothing to do with the heat of the sun. He seemed to notice a change and began to look around for something. What, she didn’t know.

  He reached to the opposite side of his chair and faced her again with a water bottle. He handed it to her. “Here, have a sip of water.”

  She took it from him and wanted to scream when she saw how badly her hands were shaking. Fuck! Her fingers reached to unscrew the lid and accidentally dropped the cool bottle into the sand, the grains immediately gluing to the condensation.

  “Goddamn it,” she hissed and then realized her mistake. She looked at him apologetically, but the moment she opened her mouth to say sorry her lungs took it upon themselves to gulp down a much needed breath of air. Her chest tightened painfully as her heart raced like she’d just sprinted a mile. Her eyes blinked rapidly as dizziness threatened to make her faint.

  Damn it, she was having an anxiety attack. She hadn’t had one in almost ten months. She really thought she was over them.

  “Shit,” Colin muttered and quickly got out of his chair and knelt in front of her. He turned her face toward him and instructed calmly, “Sammy, look at me. It’s okay, just breathe.”

  He reached for her fisted hand and unclenched her fingers, placing her open palm on his chest directly over his strong heartbeat. His skin was smooth and warm. “Breathe with me.”

  She looked into his blue-green eyes. They were so close he only managed to take her breath away once more. She watched him inhale and the warmth of his breath caressed her cheek as he slowly exhaled. Unbelievably, calm washed over her and her panic receded as her breathing slowed.

  Never seeming to blink or break eye contact, he nodded and slowly smiled. “That a girl. You got it. Just breathe with me.”

  His hand somehow managed to find the back of her neck. His thumb drew careful circles over the fine baby hair that never quite made it into her ponytail. When her breathing returned to normal he still didn’t let her go.

  Realizing their proximity, Samantha knew she should extricate herself from his hold before someone approached and misinterpreted their position. It was crucial that she avoid having to explain what just happened. But something held her there, something stronger than Colin’s touch.

  Similar to the shift in the air she felt earlier when Braydon was about to kiss her, the air shifted again, only this time the shift was something more, something potent as if creating a vortex that would swallow her whole if she allowed it to touch her.

  Was he going to kiss her?

  They looked at one and other, their faces so close she could actually see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises.

  “That’s it, Sammy,” he whispered. “Breathe.”

  She wondered if he realized she was fine now. If he was only pretending she still needed him so that he didn’t have to let her go. They each leaned closer and she suddenly didn’t care about who might be watching. She wanted him to kiss her more than she wanted her next breath. Her lashes slowly lowered and his palm slid to the side of her neck, his thumb caressing that soft spot below her earlobe and her jaw. She leaned into the caress. His hand cupped her face, but didn’t stop her. As a matter of fact he seemed to follow the movement by sifting his fingers gently through her hair.

  A whispered sigh passed her lips that somehow carried the weight of a siren.

  Colin’s hand was immediately withdrawn and he was on his feet. Jarred by the sudden movement, she looked up at him. He seemed to be the one having trouble breathing.

  She shook her head as if to tell him nothing would have happened, but they both seemed to know that was a lie not worth being uttered.

  Apparently desperate for an escape, Colin did the safest thing to assure she didn’t follow him. He turned without a word and didn’t stop moving until he dove into the safety of the water.

  Chapter Seven

  The following day was peaceful. It was Monday so many of the McCulloughs were at work. Even Braydon decided to pick up some extra money and help out his family as they worked logging in the nearby woods. Sam was enjoying the day with Maureen and Mary, who insisted she call her Morai, which was pronounced Morree.

  She hadn’t seen or spoken to Colin since their encounter on the beach. He considerately avoided her by swimming to the dock and remaining there until she and Sheilagh left the beach. She wasn’t sure if he was even in the house.

  Sam woke up early in the morning to the sound of the shower running, and once she realized he was naked on the other side of the door it became impossible to go back to sleep. Tossing and turning until sounds of the rest of the family awaking broke the silence of the house and she finally showered and dressed.

  There had been something so peculiarly intimate about showering in the same place he had recently been standing, both naked, water from her body mixing with the water that had sloshed off his skin…that was the pathetic route her thoughts had taken the entire day.

  After she’d dressed, she ventured to other parts of the house and found Maureen working on something in the kitchen. Needing the distraction from her thoughts, she offered to help. They were making up a basket for a woman in town named Francine who had recently fallen down the church steps and broken her foot.

  Maureen was one of those impressively talented chefs that knew recipes for anything by heart and could measure accurately with nothing more than her fingers or palms. She directed Sam without overtures or requests. Her directions could offend some, but Sam was not insulted. She found it flattering that Maureen had enough faith and confidence in her skills to simply assume she could do any task well. Her high standards only made Samantha want to please her more.

  As she plugged apples into a hand cranked peeler bolted to the counter she continued to wind the mechanism as long strands of green apple peels spiraled into a brown bag resting on the floor. Maureen filled the silence with chatter from everything about the town gossip to stories of her children’s youth. It seemed the woman knew there was no future for Samantha and Braydon, yet still spoke to her as if she was meant to stay.

  This confused Samantha, the way Maureen invested in sharing with her personal antidotes that were a prerequisite to becoming a member of the McCullough clan, but she was enjoying herself too much to ask Braydon’s mother why she bothered.

  Around four o’clock Colleen, Maureen’s older sister, came in looking flustered, but still in good spirits. Samantha understood her mood the moment a little old woman followed her into the kitchen rapidly speaking in…Italian?

  Colleen rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, somebody hand me a drink or a shotgun. This has been going on for over an hour.”

  As if this were a common occurrence, Maureen finished washing her hands at the sink and reached to the cabinet below, just beside the window cleaner and dish detergent, and pulled out a bottle of Irish whiskey.

  Colleen found a cup quickly and filled the glass with two fingers then threw it down the hatch. “Christ that’s good.”

  “Hello, Mary. How are you today?” Maureen shouted at the small Italian woman.

  The little woman, whose hair was blacker than onyx turned to her sharply and said, “Do you believe the doctor still cannot find a d
amn thing wrong with me?” She told Maureen, outraged. “I have been through a’fifty-five exams and they cannot find a damn thing.”

  “Be grateful for your health, Mom,” Colleen groaned.

  “Health! What health? I wake up feeling as if I have been dragged by a pack of mules. What healthy woman wakes up a’feeling like a’that?”

  “Yer not ill. Yer old!” Morai snapped, appearing equally as irritated as her daughter Colleen.

  Samantha actually shied away when she saw the look the little Italian shot Morai. “Who are you calling old?”

  “You! You got bollocks in your ears?”

  The other woman shouting a stream of Italian at Morai and Morai, appearing to understand every word of it, puffed up her chest and shouted back, “Sod off! Yer older than me, ye’are. Look at ye, visitin’ every chemist in town tryin’ to ken the antidote for agin’. I’ll tell ye it now, Mary, like I’ve told ye before. It’s grace and ye got about as much in ye as a stone. Quit yer bellyaching and get on with it like the rest of us and stop actin’ like a gobshite!”

  “Oh dear,” Maureen muttered, reaching for the whiskey her sister was still holding.

  “Vaffanculo!” the Italian woman shrilled.

  Samantha wasn’t sure what the word meant, but she knew it was bad.

  Luckily, Colleen stepped forward calmly and said, “That’s enough now. Mum, go back to what you were doin’ and Mary, why don’t you start heating the gravy?”

  Mary the Italian pressed her red lips together and pulled in a tight breath, but reached into the bag Colleen carried in with her and yanked out an old apron, the kind that looked like a smock and buttoned up the shoulders.

  The angry Italian continued to mutter in disgruntled Italian, but pulled a large pot from the cabinet to cook with. She seemed to be playing the martyr, commenting here and there about what a bother it was to cook for a bunch of unsophisticated Irish palates, yet needing to provide her services so there was something decent for everyone to eat.

  Sam stood watching, afraid to move and perhaps be noticed by the angry woman, as she lifted a huge jar of red sauce onto the counter and began spooning it into a large pot.