by Kira Blakely
She was terribly clever, but eventually, the truth would come out. I began to regret having invited all these curiosity seekers. I plied the men with more beer and suggested Elspeth immediately put on a second film. What was intended to be an enjoyable evening in the dead of winter had turned out to be an endurance test with her fighting for survival. I felt, once again, like a heel.
Without anyone asking for it, I ordered the limo to return and notified everyone that it was waiting outside. I signaled the caterer, who dutifully began clearing up the food and handing out coats. The men never noticed; the women did, but said nothing.
We stood at the door to see out our guests. “Y’all come back again.” Elspeth hugged each of the ladies in turn and nodded to the men. I noticed the drawl and it didn’t escape Neenah—I could tell by the quick jerk of her head as James took her arm to walk out the doorway.
When finally, the house was restored to us alone, I looked at Elspeth and asked if she’d had a good time.
“Sure, I suppose,” she hedged.
“Were they too hard on you?”
“They were fine. Can we go to bed now? I didn’t sleep much last night and it’s been a long day.”
“You looked stunning this evening.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you upstairs.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I said, flipping off lights as we went up.
Elspeth went into her room, and I heard the shower running. I headed into my own room, but the carpet was still drying so I went into hers and slid between the covers. She emerged from her bath, saw me, and with a look of startled surprise, slid into a short nightie and joined me in the bed.
I put my arm out to pull her close, and she hesitated and then moved to lie against me. I began kissing her neck, my hand petting her nipples. I wanted to feel her around me, but sensed she was tired and probably wanted to be left alone.
“You okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine, just tired,” she answered.
“I thought so. Come here, give me a kiss and then you rest,” I invited. She did as I asked and then retreated to the far side of the bed and turned her back to me.
I may as well have been in another room, as much as she was avoiding me.
“What is it?” I asked again.
She didn’t answer—her breathing deep and even. I knew she was pretending to be asleep. What I didn’t know was why.
Chapter 24
Elspeth
The debacle that was our first evening with guests haunted me. As soon as I saw the sparkling diamonds and picked up the scent of expensive perfumes, I knew I’d made a mistake in agreeing to it.
These were not my people, and I didn’t need my full memory to know that. From their manicures to their gossipy, self-centered conversations, I knew these women had never worked a day in their lives. It wasn’t their fault, I suppose. Some people were just never given the opportunity to make something of themselves. I felt sorry for them.
One thing was clear, though. I couldn’t be around them. It was obvious they were being kind to me because of Finn and would have handed me their coats to be put away unless he’d put his arm around me to make the distinction. I would have been far more at home with the caterers in the kitchen.
In short—I didn’t belong. It was a smack at my pride and a tug at my heart. I knew the inevitable would eventually raise its ugly head, and Finn would sigh and suddenly want to be rid of me. There was also a little disappointment that he probably wouldn’t see it coming—those were his people and his way of looking at the world. Yes, it was inevitable he would lose interest in me. I would have to guard my heart against that eventuality.
I could tell at breakfast that Finn wanted to discuss the night before. I made blueberry pancakes and bacon while he sipped a coffee and watched me at the stove.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” I pretended not to hear him and turned up the fan in the hood over the stove. He wasn’t fooled. He waited until I sat at the table to repeat his question. This time I had to answer.
“As I said last night when you asked, it was fine.”
“No observations about any of the women? Did you like one more than the others? Anyone you could become friends with?”
“Not likely. Friends mean trouble—you’re better off keeping your business to yourself.” I spread the softened butter over my pancake and reached for the small pitcher of syrup.
I saw his eyebrows raise, but he kept whatever comment he wanted to make to himself. I hoped that meant he agreed, but I suspected it didn’t.
He changed course. “What would you like to do today?”
That one required no thought. “Watch movies.”
He smiled. “I noticed you seemed pretty caught up in what you watched last night. So, you found something you enjoyed, did you?”
I nodded. “I noticed as I was looking through your library of titles that some of them sounded familiar.”
He sat up straight. I had his attention. “Really? Did you feel a preference for one over another?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly, but it felt like I’d seen a few of them before. I’m not sure where or how long ago, but they just seemed familiar.”
I watched him from the corner of my eye and saw that he appeared partially prideful, as though he had accomplished something unbelievable, and at the same time, he looked wistful. I could only imagine how he must feel about my situation. If my memory returned in full, it meant I would go back to my previous life; there would be no reason to stay with him. What I didn’t know was if that was his goal, or his dread.
“Then movies it will be.” He used his fork to break off a large bite of the pancakes and stuffed it into his mouth. “These are really good, by the way.”
I nodded in acceptance of his compliment. I could feel a tension between us, and it didn’t feel good. Maybe it was because we’d started off so intimately. There was nowhere to go but to back off. Our relationship momentum was in reverse. That is, if we had a relationship.
I knew I wanted one. I felt safest when his arms were around me.
We watched movies all afternoon, taking turns picking them out. We compromised on a few as our tastes ran in opposites at times. He was a good sport with Fried Green Tomatoes and I traded the favor with some silly Jim Carrey movie. During one break, I ran upstairs and made us BLTs and chips, which seemed to be exactly what he was hungry for, because he asked me for seconds. It felt like a very family atmosphere, and I began to doubt my instincts. Perhaps we hadn’t grown apart at all.
It seemed that blizzard on the night of the house party had been winter’s last gasp. The temperature climbed steadily over the next few weeks. The ice disappeared from the edges of the great lake, residents began raking away the winter’s debris and the sound of motorcyclists who, Finn told me, rode the shoreline frequently for pleasure, could be heard in the distance. It was as if the world was coming awake.
* * *
Finn and I had fallen into a routine. It wasn’t just a daily schedule of eating three meals and doing the shopping together—it also included not referencing anything to do with what we didn’t know about me. I felt more and more safe with him, trusting him to keep my balance.
On more than one occasion I’d had more dreams, but none with the wide scope of time and sense of being there as I had that first night. They were bits and pieces, impressions and likes or dislikes.
I kept these to myself, not because I didn’t trust Finn, but because I couldn’t trust that the dreams were anything more than just that—dreams. It was an odd collective of awareness I had to contend with. The only certainties had taken place since Finn found me that first night. The rest of what I knew came as conjecture and often, it surprised me to discover some talent or knowledge I hadn’t been aware of. In many ways, I was just as curious as Finn as to where I came from—and in other ways, I felt his same fear.
We’d become very close at night, living like most married people must with some
nights filled with immense and lengthy passion, while others consisted of touching and the sense of being wanted sufficient for our souls. We seemed to be very in tune, and it was rare that we passed when the other reached out. In some ways, I think we feared that should we turn one another’s advances away, the delicate thread that held our world together would be irrevocably severed.
Our shopping trips were conducted like a business. We didn’t leave the house until we had a list in hand and never in the later part of the day when the stores would be crowded. We preferred to slip in and back out quietly and with a minimum of browsing. Clearly, shopping was not our forte.
What we did enjoy, however, were our evenings. Finn taught me to play chess and pretended to lose every so often so I wouldn’t become disenchanted. He explained the concept of strategy—how to plan moves long in advance and lead your opponent down a path that neither revealed your strategy, nor compromised his own. I was fascinated.
Other nights we played a board game or swam for hours, floating in the warm, clear water on our backs and watching the night sky through the high windows that banked the room at the ceiling’s edge.
Gradually, however, I sensed that Finn was becoming restless. I knew he had an active mind and the game of business lay at the base of how he defined himself.
More and more often, I found him at his desk, culling his emails and taking the time to issue orders remotely. He began to discuss details of his businesses with me. I learned that he owned many companies—all of which were like arms in that they supported the same central body but went out independently, therefore more flexibly, to do what each did best.
He mentioned a company, Traxton, frequently and I knew he had wanted to acquire it, but had been beaten to the punch. He mentioned this in conjunction with his friend, Marty, who had died shortly before we’d come up to the lake house. He seemed to think there was some connection between his friend’s death and his attempt to buy that Traxton company. I knew he held some things back from me and suspected it was to keep me from worrying.
The more time that passed since Finn had saved me and the present, the more I realized the blessing I’d truly had. When you have blanked out your past, you also lose the worries and stresses that may have clouded your life. You begin with a clean slate. Finn seemed to appreciate this, and I thought that was why he didn’t want to tarnish my newfound freedom. He was giving me the biggest gift he possibly could.
The day finally came when Finn told me at dinner that he needed to go into the city for a few days on business. We’d discussed that this would eventually come up, but had purposely not made concrete plans so as to sustain the sense of freedom as long as we could.
“I’ll be leaving Monday morning early and probably come back on Friday evening. The weather’s broken and you won’t need the Escalade to get around, so I’ll take that. Unless you think you want to keep it?”
I shook my head. “No, my little red car will be just fine. You know I seldom go anywhere, just a quick trip to town for fresh groceries and then I come back. I’ve been thinking—I need a hobby… something to keep me busy.”
“I think that’s a great idea!” He was enthusiastic in his support. “Any idea what you’d like to do?”
“I was thinking something simple and portable—perhaps I’ll learn to crochet and make afghans.” The words were no more out of my mouth than I had a flash memory. An older woman was sitting in a rocker in front of me by a fire; her hands held yarn and her project lay in her lap. She was rocking peacefully and humming as she worked. The vision made me feel loved and cherished.
“Something wrong?” Finn asked.
I shook my head. “No, nothing. I just get these little flashes sometimes. Nothing I can piece together. Probably just remnants of dreams.”
Finn looked a bit suspicious but we’d reached a silent agreement to not investigate my past any more than necessary. We were both content with the way things were and to dig might mean uncovering something better left buried.
The night before he left, we made love with a fresh ferocity. We had become one another’s entire world—isolated by choice and free to be whomever we wished without inspection from the outside. We’d never felt trapped, but the idea that he would be gone for a week was stabbing me with insecurities. I couldn’t ask him not to go—nor would I ask to go along. I needed to stand on my own two feet. Finn could not always be there to scoop me up and hold me until my fears faded.
We had gone downstairs and climbed naked into the hot tub. Normally, we sipped wine or champagne and listened to music—a time of reverie and inner thoughts. That night, however, it was the stage for our parting.
Finn was leaning back against the side jets and he pulled me toward him, turned me around, and snugged my back against his groin and chest. His arms wrapped me from behind, and his fingers were softly circling my nipples. They answered and burst fully outward, sensitive and yearning to feel his chest against me. Finn didn’t give in readily, though… He drew out the longing until it could no longer be ignored.
I could feel his penis, hammer hard against my ass. I let the power of the water from the jets push me away from him, forcing him to hold me, hard, to keep me in his grasp. His hands moved downward, and one large palm covered my pussy. His index finger probed me as I rocked gently backward. The rhythmic gentle penetration and the warm water combined to make me crazy with need for him. He sensed this and I suspect, felt likewise.
Pushing me forward, he seized my hips from behind and lifted my ass until I was floating at a level with his mouth. He slid his tongue slowly, torturously, up and down the length of my crack, darting in and out as he went. At the same time, his index finger was deeply seated in my pussy. I was being double fucked, and the weightlessness of floating only intensified the sensation of our body parts being targeted and deliciously abused.
I reached downward and back and found purchase with my hand on his engorged cock. As he pulled my ass against his mouth, I bent at the waist, lifting my hips, and dove shallowly until my mouth found his shaft. I took him deeply into my throat, holding my breath as long as I could before surfacing for a gasp and returning to my dive.
Finn turned me around to face him, with my head toward the bottom of the whirlpool. He wrapped his hand around the bulk of my hair to keep it from getting caught in the drain, but forced my legs wide. We became an inverted sixty-nine, interrupted by regular surfacing on my part for air, at which point he spun us and he was below the surface, his mouth buried in my pussy. As the spasms began in my belly, there was a delightful dizziness as we took turns being upside down.
The swirling water… the vertical revolutions… the growing orgasm and the restricted breathing drove our blood hard. When at last the release came, it was the most intense sensation we’d ever had with one another. I knew by the look on his face and the gentle cursing as the crescendo burst over him. It left us panting and lying back against the wall of the tub. I was trying to orient the hot, wet, floating afterglow with a memory of what we’d done so we could do it again in the future.
“That was awesome… unbelievable,” he said and I heard the voice of the young man who’d just lost a different kind of virginity. “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever known, always willing to try something new, to push the boundaries…” His voice trailed off as a residual spasm must have been conjured by the memories of what had just happened.
I had no one to compare to—no one, but Finn. Strangely, that didn’t bother me. Not anymore.
I felt his lips on mine in the dim early light. He was leaving, and I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I wound my arms around his neck and pulled his mouth back down to mine.
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered and he repeated the same back to me. I closed my eyes and turned onto my side, unwilling to witness his departure. I heard the door close downstairs. It was an awful sound.
Chapter 25
Finn
I left the lake house early that morning with the sound of birds
stirring. Spring had arrived, and the world seemed ready to celebrate.
I, on the other hand, was torn. I didn’t want to leave Elspeth or the quasi life we’d assembled with one another. Yet I knew if I lost track of my business, I would regret it and possibly even blame it on her. That wouldn’t be fair to her—she’d only done as I’d asked her.
There were several issues at the office that simply couldn’t be ignored any longer. I’d left Jerry and Leigh in charge and god knew, they needed a break. It was likely they’d been patching holes in the boat, awaiting my return.
I took my time driving downtown—the traffic made sure I never even approached the speed limit. I tapped my steering wheel to make a phone call and had two dozen red roses sent to the lake house. I knew she’d rather have me in person, and I’d have to give some thought as to how we could be together and me still keep my hand in the business.
That’s when I realized that in my mind, it was no longer a question of if but how. I couldn’t imagine Elspeth not being in my life. It would suck the air out of me and no doubt, I’d lose any interest in life alone. A shiver ran down my spine as I gave the thought of her being gone a moment’s thought. I forced it quickly out of my head and popped in a CD we’d listened to on the way up north earlier in the winter.
I hadn’t let anyone at the office know I was coming. I wanted to see how they ran business as usual compared to my version. Elspeth seemed so much happier out of the city. I knew I could never ask her to return and live in a world of glass and views while the grass and flowers were artistically arranged to enhance a landscaper’s design. No, it had become abundantly clear that I would have to set up a satellite office where I could both maintain control and yet keep her isolated. She seemed to thrive by the water.