Still Waters (20 page)

“No, Crew. You listen to me.”

I can feel softness against my ear and arms tight
like elastic bands around my shoulders.

“Remember the way my hair felt this morning when
you ran your fingers through it? And the way we swam away from each other in
the sea so that we could look at each other from a distance? Remember the feeling
of my skin against yours, warm and smooth and slippery like a fish?”

She calls me back, her voice urgent in my ear and
her arms gripping me like she’s trying to stop me from being pulled away by a
current.

“No,” she says urgently into my ear, and I think
she might be crying. “Remember the feeling of my lips on your skin in the
bathtub and the way you held me and loved me so softly?”

I’m floating somewhere between awake and asleep.
The ocean of blood beckons me. If I let it, it will take me under. But then her
voice breaks through clearly, and I can feel her breath against my ear. Her
words chase the nightmare into the darkness. I grip them tightly as I feel it
go.

Hartley

As the night changes to dusky light and the sun
begins to filter through the trees, I keep my hand steady on his chest and
wait. He lies still as a log, his death-like slumber the only sign that he
spent a good part of the night fighting whatever enemies still live inside his
brain. He looks as though he needs to sleep for a hundred years. When Evita
comes with breakfast at seven, I take it from her quietly and slip back into
bed. I’ve watched over him since his first cry woke me, keeping vigil in case
the nightmares return. If they do, I want to be ready. I’m going to fight for
him with everything I’ve got. Underneath my hand, I feel him stir, and I sit up
quickly, looking down into his face for any signs of distress. But he’s
sleeping soundly, his breath coming and going in a slow, steady rhythm.
Outside, the birds notice the sunrise and begin their morning racket. I look at
him anxiously, I don’t want him to wake up, but thankfully he seems oblivious
to everything and anything this morning. This sleep, I hope it heals.

At
nine, he yawns and rubs a hand across his face and I take it as a sign that
he’s ready to rejoin the world. I scoot over as close to him as I can get and
spread my hair across his chest in the way that he likes. My arms ache from
holding onto him all night, but I hold him anyway. I never want to let him go.

“Morning,”
he says, his voice husky and strange from sleep. “What time is it? It looks
late.”

I
start to pull away from him so I can check the clock, but he makes a little cry
of protest and pulls me back.

“Never
mind. I don’t want to know.”

“You
had a nightmare,” I say, and underneath my cheek he sighs.

“But
you pulled me back.”

“Yes.”

He
strokes the hair away from my face and pulls me closer.

“We’ll
do that again. Every night until they stop.”

 
“Babe, I’m not your problem to fix.”

I
pull away and sit up next to him. He looks up at me in surprise.

“I
can’t see you in pain like that, Crew,” I say quietly, trying desperately to
keep the emotion in my voice under control. “It breaks my heart.”

He
looks over my face slowly and then down to meet my eyes.

“I’m
sorry. But this is it. It won’t change. I wish things were different, if only
so I didn’t have to see that look on your face ever again.”

I
reach down and find his hand, threading my fingers through his and pressing it
against my heart.

“No.
No more apologizing. I’m going to fight for you since you won’t do it
yourself.”

I
shake my head and force the words out in short, ragged gasps as tears slide
down my cheeks. “You’ve given up.”

I’d
practiced the words I wanted to say to him, of course. The long dark hours
watching over him had given me time to think about the man I clung to so
tightly, as if letting him go would mean surrender. He lives his life barely
containing the pain that lurks just beneath the surface. He fools people with
his charm and his looks and for most that’s more than enough. But I can see it.
I see it every time I look at him when he doesn’t know I’m watching. I thought
a lot about Jessie as I lay next to him last night, both of us shaking and
slick with sweat after the nightmare finally faded. I thought about the woman
she would have become. I thought about the baby girl she held safe in her
belly, not knowing that she’d never have the chance to meet her and watch her
grow. But mostly, I thought about how much she loved Crew. Sometime before the
sun came up the air in the room suddenly grew warm and thick, and the moon cast
a silver beam across the floor. I felt a whisper in my soul, no more than a
flutter of an eyelash or the delicate touch of a fingertip. It told me to take
care of him, to love him for the man he is now, with all of his brokenness and
all of his pain. But more than that, it told me to fight for him. To love him
enough to bring him back.

“Hey,”
he says softly, as he looks desperately into my eyes and tries to pull me
closer. “I’m going to be ok. Sssshhh.”

I
let him pull me downwards until I’m lying against his side and when he brushes
the tears off my cheeks I don’t stop him. But I won’t be quiet. I promised.

“No,
Crew. This has to stop. You can’t live like this, suffering through battles
like that in your sleep every night and then walking around all day poisoning
yourself with guilt. No. If you won’t fight, I will.”

He
rolls over and pulls me back against his chest, threading an arm around and
across my ribs.

“I
love that you want to try and help me.”

“But?”

He
sighs and tightens his hold on me, pulling me back so that there is no air
between us.

“Some
people can’t be saved.”

I
pick up his hand and squeeze it tightly, shaking my head slowly against him and
gritting my teeth.

“You
know what Crew?” I whisper as I press his hand to my chest. “I’m going to prove
you wrong.”

Hartley

Over the next few days, we fall into a
comfortable routine. After breakfast in bed, we go for long walks along the
beach, walking slowly, my hand in his and our bare feet kicking through the
surf. It’s not a time for talking. Crew wakes up late, battle weary and his
head full of thoughts. We walk silently for half an hour or more while he sifts
through them, one by one. When we reach the rocks at the end of the bay, we
take off our clothes and wade into the water until it’s up to our waists. Crew
dives under and swims out past the breaking waves until his head is just a dot
bobbing above the surface. He swims powerfully, in strong rhythmical strokes
parallel to the beach. By the time he makes his way back to me, he’s reborn.
Every morning it’s the same, the ocean washing away what clings from the night
before. By the time he’s holding me to him in water that’s warm and shallow,
our feet buried in the soft sand, I know that he’s ready to talk again.

“Hey,
kid,” he smiles down at me, on our fourth morning swim together.

“Hey.”

He
bends his head to mine, and we kiss slowly. I taste the salt on his lips.

“Last
night was better,” he says against my mouth, and I pull him to me, closer.

“You
only screamed once.”

“There
was no blood.”

I
kiss the hard valley between the muscles on his chest, a plate of armor
protecting his heart.

“You’re
a miracle worker,” he says, lifting the hair off my neck so that he can kiss me
under my ear.

“No,”
I say, hugging him to me tightly. “You’re the one doing the work.”

Just
like every morning we swim until our legs feel leaden, and the salt starts to
dry on our faces. We stagger up onto the sand laughing like children and
cleansed of the night, the water reconnecting us to each other and the day. We
dry our bodies in the sun, dress slowly, and walk back down the beach. But
unlike earlier, on this walk we talk about everything. Crew tells me stories
about the trouble he got Jake into as a boy, and I talk about the things I was
working on in the lab. For the half an hour it takes to reach the opposite end
of the bay, Crew is open and uncensored. He tells me about his father, the way
he was before he drank. He speaks of his mother fondly, tells me how beautiful
she was, that she was funny and clever and loved to read. He tells me how she
introduced him to Virginia Woolf when he was a teenager, telling him that she
was the only writer who ever understood her. On our return journey, we walk
high on the beach where the forest meets the sand. He laughs often, and even
when he talks about the past his voice is light. He clasps my hand gently,
swinging it between us as we pad slowly along the sand.

When
we reach the cabana, we arrange the cushions on the platform and have a picnic
brunch. Evita leaves a basket of fruit, bread, cheese and cakes and we eat them
greedily with the hunger that comes from spending a long time in the water.
Then we lie back together and read or sleep or make love. This is my favorite
part of the day. In our cabana cubby house time doesn't exist.

 
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Crew says as he
moves the picnic basket off the mattress onto the floor.

“What
is it?”

“Close
your eyes.”

“Hmm,”
I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Is this like the first time you told me to
‘close my eyes’?”

He
shakes his head, his eyes not leaving my face.

“If
it was, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Just
close them,” he smiles mischievously. “And don’t peek.”

I
do as I’m told, waiting patiently as he climbs off the platform and drags
something out from underneath. I feel his weight behind me, and then he places
his hands over my eyes.

“I
hope you like it,” he whispers into my ear, and then his hands are gone.

When
I open my eyes, there’s a cardboard box in front of me with tape along the top.
“Open it up!”

I
look over at him and have to laugh when I see the excited grin on his face. The
tape comes off in one long strip and when I open the flaps I can’t believe what
I’m looking at. The box is full of science magazines and journals; there are at
least thirty of them, and in lots of different languages. Some of them are old
and others I’ve never heard of before. I pull them out, gasping with delight at
each new discovery and spread them over the mattress.

“I
thought it was only fair that you had something to read, too,” he says,
laughing when he sees my face. “I wasn’t sure which ones to get, so I bought
them all.”

“Are
you kidding?” I cry, as I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his
neck. “Some of these are collectible. This one is still in its plastic!”

“It’s
not jewelry or anything,” he says into my hair, “but I’m happy you like it.”

I
place a hand on either side of his face and kiss him softly.

“It’s
perfect.”

I
think about the Cartier watch my parents bought me for my birthday and the set
of Louis Vuitton luggage David gave me for Christmas. Crew already understands
me better than any of them ever did. I collect up the magazines and put them
safely back into the box, keeping one out to read. Crew settles back against
the cushions with his copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls. Venezuela, according to
him, is a Hemingway sort of place. I lie across the mattress and prop my head
up on his stomach, and together we spend a quiet hour reading, stopping only to
look out at the ocean every now and again.

In
the early afternoon, we share lunch on the terrace. This is not Crew’s favorite
part of the day because it’s the time we’ve agreed to talk about Jessie. When I
came up with the idea the morning after his first nightmare, he agreed to it
only if we set a timer and stuck to it. So every day we sit and eat our salad
with Crew’s phone placed next to his cutlery, the timer ticking down from 60
minutes to 0. Each day he tells me something new. Sometimes it’s a memory of
when they were children. Other times it’s a glimpse of the future they had
planned together. Always, it’s difficult for him to begin. I don’t say anything
during our lunches. I limit myself to a smile or a nod of encouragement for him
to keep talking. Today, the words fall easily from his mouth. He’s telling me
how he convinced Jessie to see him as a boyfriend, rather than a surrogate big
brother. I lean back in my chair and watch him talk. He smiles now and then as
he tells the story, his eyes soft and flooded with memory. With each word he
speaks, I feel a quieting in my soul. I imagine that every happy memory he
shares is like a seam of glue filling a crack in his broken heart. When the
timer goes off, he meets my eyes and sighs in relief. It’s time to go to the
bar and have a drink. That was another one of Crew’s conditions. And then he
walks me back to my treehouse.

We
walk slowly, not really wanting to get there, and when we finally make it he
pushes me back against the trunk of my tree and kisses me slowly, his hands in
my hair and his skin smelling like sunshine. Everyday it’s a struggle to leave
each other. He wants to follow me up, I tell him to go and do some work, but
then I kiss him and try to make him stay. Eventually we sigh and take our hands
off each other, and I make my way up the winding staircase, his eyes on me
until I get to the top. When I reach the door I lean over the side and wave
goodbye, and he turns reluctantly, walking through the trees in the direction
of his office. While he works, I write emails to Eleanor about the beach, the
wildlife, the weather, the people in the village. Anything other than my
parents or the water samples. She writes back to me in furious bullet points.

Where are you exactly?

When are you coming home?

I don’t care about the stupid capuchin monkeys!!

What am I meant to tell your parents??

In
the afternoons, I work on my report for the Environmental Protection Agency on
a laptop I borrowed from Crew. I told him I needed to finish some reports
leftover from my old job, and it feels just truthful enough for me to be able
to sleep at night. Tomorrow afternoon we leave for Ondas. I’m going to send the
report before we go.

At
six o’clock every evening Crew knocks on my door. The anticipation of seeing
each other after a few hours apart makes me jumpy. I spend an hour getting
ready, fussing with my hair and then giving up and tying it into a ponytail.
Every day I wish I had something prettier to wear and then forget about it
completely as soon as I see him. He looks at me in the same white cotton dress
I wore yesterday and the day before, and his eyes are bright.

“You
look beautiful,” he says, “I love that on you.”

I
follow him down the staircase, and we walk hand in hand towards the Main Lodge
and the terrace. Only tonight, he’s leading me in another direction.

“Where
are we going?” I ask, but he just smiles mysteriously and keeps walking.

“You’ll
see. I thought we’d do something different for our last night.”

We
walk past the main building and his office to the track that leads to the
beach. The night is mild after what was the hottest day yet, and the sand is
still warm on my feet.

“I
thought we could eat in the cabana,” he says as we head towards the jetty. It’s
lit up like a Christmas tree with candles along the dock and pink paper
lanterns hanging from each of the four sides of the cabana.

“Ice
cream?” I laugh when I pull the netting aside and see a large icebox at the end
of the platform full of tubs of Ben & Jerry's.

“Surprise.”

“Wait,
are we eating ice cream for dinner?”

“You
are eating ice cream for dinner. I ate earlier.”

We
climb onto the platform and Crew lowers the blinds so that we’re tucked up
inside.
 
The lanterns sway in the breeze
sending shadows dancing across the fabric walls. Suddenly I’m a child again,
playing shadow puppets with my sister Marta and a flashlight behind the living
room sofa.

“So,
Ondas tomorrow,” he says, lying back on the cushions as he watches me lift the
spoon to my mouth. I look down at him and smile when I see how relaxed he is. I
hope Ondas will be good for him.

“It’s
Jessie’s place,” I say softly, as I put my bowl on the floor and move up next
to him. “How do you feel about going there?”

He
runs a hand up and down my arm, down my side, over my hip.

“Good,
I think.” His eyes widen as though he’s surprised himself. “Really good.”

He
puts his hand around the back of my head and pulls me to him. I try to kiss him
softly, but he presses my mouth hard against his and opens his lips.

“Stop
being gentle with me,” he groans. “I’m not going to break.”

He
flips me over roughly and pulls my legs around his waist.

“I’m
sorry,” I whisper into his mouth, “you’re barely sleeping, I can see how tired
you are - ”

“Babe,
I’m not tired, see? Wide awake.”

He
kisses me harder.

“It’s
hard not to treat you like a patient when you have so much healing to do,” I
gasp into his neck, and he growls in response.

“Hartley,
I swear to God - ”

He
gathers my wrists in one of his hands and pins them above my head. I turn my
face and bite his neck in reply.

“I
don’t want to talk about that now,” he says, pulling up my dress with his other
hand. “I just want you.”

I
tug my wrists in his hand, and he lets them go immediately, lowering his mouth
to my throat. My pulse thuds against his lips.

His
hands are on my dress, pulling the straps off my shoulders and tugging
impatiently on the zipper. I peel the fabric off quickly and move back
underneath him, the warm skin of his chest pressed against mine and my stomach
tight and hollow with wanting.

“I
can’t be gentle,” he says, hesitating. I think he’s asking my permission.

“So
don’t be.”

“Love
your skin,” he gasps into my mouth. “Love everything.”

I
reach my hands around and pull him to me and he bites my lip.

“Wider,
move your legs up.”

My
hands are on the muscles of his back, long and lean from his morning swims. I
dig my nails into his skin as he puts an arm underneath, lifting me to him and
arching his back as he buries his face in my hair. It’s too much, and not enough.

I
close my eyes and give way to sensation, finally able to leave my thoughts far
behind. It’s as if my body knows the thinking has stopped, the need in me
rushing forward to fill the space. Crew feels it, tightening his grip on my
waist and moving his lips to my mouth.

“Hartley,”
he moans, but I don’t hear anything else. There is no more sound, only a burst
of heat and light as I cry out and cling to him tightly. We hold each other for
a long time, breathing hard and laughing softly into each other’s skin. I don’t
remember the walk back to my room.