Authors: Faith Sullivan
After five days of glorious solitude, I’m beginning to feel like I’ve lived in the cabin all my life. I like setting my own hours and doing whatever I want. I like hiking in the woods, but I bring a bottle of red nail polish to mark the trees in order to facilitate my return. The last thing I need is to get lost and not be able to find my way back, because no one’s going to come looking for me. But I like the thrill, living on the cusp of danger.
I feel empowered fending for myself. Cooking hot dogs over an open flame. Unclogging the drain when the toilet wouldn’t flush. Dragging Miguel’s heavy canoe to the dock and floundering with the heavy oars on the water. It’s a rush being so self-sufficient, like I can conquer anything.
Too bad I can’t settle my heart.
Connor’s called at least a dozen times since I hung up on him, but I refuse to answer his calls. They go right to voice mail, and I’m afraid to listen to his messages. But I’m okay with knowing that he didn’t succumb to his emotions. He’s still functioning on some level. He didn’t completely shut down like after Danny died.
But today, he didn’t call. And now I’m starting to get nervous.
Wrapped in an oversize sweatshirt, I stretch it over my bent knees covering my bare legs. Tomorrow’s the Fourth of July, and I’m sitting on the front porch watching a fireworks display that must be a good ten miles away. The reds and yellows and blues burst into the night sky without a sound. Only the croaking of frogs can be heard from the water’s edge.
Giving into my fears, I begin playing Connor’s messages one by one.
“Michelle, it’s me. Please call me back. We didn’t get to have breakfast this morning, and there’s so much I need to say to you. I’m begging you, call me back.”
Beep.
“Michelle, you need time away from me. I get it. I didn’t mean to scare you by forcing you to go back to school. We can still work this out. Please call me, no matter what time it is. I swear I’ll pick up.”
Beep.
“It’s me again. You must be really sick of me by now, but I called your parents this morning and they don’t know where you are either. Michelle, we’re all worried about you. If you’re over me, I’ll handle it, but don’t put your parents through this. Let them know where you are at least, okay?”
Beep.
“I’m starting to feel like a stalker, but I’m not giving up on you, Michelle. If I have to call you every day from now until the end of time, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back in my life.”
Beep.
“It is Monday, our day off. But you’re not here, and we still have more museums to see. I thought our goal was to visit them all? You can’t back out on me now. I have a MetroCard here with your name on it.”
Beep.
“Remember that thing I wanted to talk to you about? Well, I’m moving forward with it. I’ll tell you all about when I see you. If I see you…”
Beep.
Hearing his voice is like stumbling across an oasis after crossing a barren desert. It soothes the ache surrounding my heart, but only temporarily. It’s not enough. I want him, all of him, not just his voice.
My mind is on fire running through all the possibilities of his last message. What is he up to? What plan is he going ahead with? It doesn’t sound like he intends to harm himself. But can I be sure? No. Especially when I didn’t hear from him today.
I hold my thumb over the redial button.
Looking up at the stars, I pray for guidance. For some sign that he’s all right.
There’s a thud on the overturned canoe. I peer into the darkness, but my only source of light comes from inside the cabin. There’s something on top of the boat, but all I can see is a shadowed figure. Gathering my courage, I step off the porch. Getting closer, I squint trying to make out what it is, but it’s frightened by my approach. It takes off thumping wildly across the length of the canoe before running for the protection of the woods.
Laughing at the antics of whatever critter it was, I raise my eyes as the grand finale of fireworks begins. The light reflecting off the metal surface of the boat draws my attention to the name painted on its hull. Rosada.
There’s my answer.
Skipping over the dew-covered grass, I leap onto the porch and through the front door. Digging through my purse, I tip it over, emptying its contents. And there it is—the napkin. Scanning it quickly, I find Miguel’s phone number penciled on the bottom. It’s after ten o’clock. He should still be at the bar. I dial.
“Hello?” He’s cranky, not knowing who is calling him. I can hear the noise of a crowd in the background and a TV blaring nearby. Hopefully, he is where I think he is.
“Miguel? It’s Michelle.” I speak loudly so he can hear me above the commotion. “Can you talk?”
“Yeah, he’s busy with a customer. He can’t hear me.” I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength. He gets what I’m saying without any explanation.
“How’s he doing?” My heart pounds in anticipation of his response.
“The bar’s still open, so that’s saying a lot.” He chuckles into the receiver.
“Oh, thank God.” I settle onto the arm of the couch.
“But there’s something you should know.” His tone is wary.
“Yeah?” If it’s bad, I just want to know, no fooling around.
“There’s a ‘for sale’ sign in the window.”
“What?”
“Connor is selling Donnelly’s Pub.”
I’m groggy from tossing and turning all night as I fold the bed frame back into the couch the next morning. My head is fuzzy and my eyes are burning. I can’t think straight. Wandering up to the refrigerator, I pop open a can of Mountain Dew even though the sun is just peering over the horizon. I don’t care. I need something to bring clarity to my jumbled thoughts. I’m counting on a carbonated breakfast to wake me up.
Why is Connor selling the pub? Why now? Especially after his parents just bailed him out. It doesn’t make any sense. Is he doing it to get back at me for leaving him? Is it a ploy to get me to return? I have to admit, it’s working. I know I didn’t leave him with any sense of closure. Maybe if we talk things out face to face he’ll accept the fact that he needs to sort himself out before there’s any way we can be together.
I twist my hair into a haphazard knot on top of my head. It’s going to be a hot one. I can already feel the humidity rising as dawn breaks through the white fluffy clouds. It’s sure to be a beautiful day for the Fourth of July. Too bad I’m not in the mood to kick back and celebrate like everyone else. I may have demonstrated my independence, but I certainly didn’t escape my problems.
Connor’s latest move is really another threat, albeit in a different form. Return to him, or he’ll wreck his life. He’s willing to give up his one source of stability to lure me back. His message is clear. But why is he taking such a risk? The stakes are too high. If he thinks he can win me back by pressuring me, he’s wrong. I never respond well when I’m backed into a corner.
And how did he think I’d find out? Obviously, my parents know and he’s counting on them to spill the beans. Or he’s planning on leaving me another voice mail to drop the bomb himself. I hate playing right into his hands, but it appears I don’t have much choice. I can’t stand back and let him sell the bar. I’d never forgive myself, or him.
I guzzle the remainder of the soda before heading into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I stare at my reflection through the cracked glass of the mirror, it’s like I’m fighting a battle with myself. My feelings are so divided. I haven’t even been gone a week, and he’s already figured out a way to draw me out of my hiding place. I’m such a fool. I can’t stay away from him. It’s pointless.
Spitting into the sink, I wipe the remaining toothpaste from my mouth with the back of my hand. It’s a showdown, me versus him, and it looks like he’s going to win. It’s time to come to terms with one another, even if I have to back down and enroll in NYU. I can face my demons, even if he can’t face his.
After drawing back the yellowed shower curtain, I feel the harsh spray of water pound my scalp. It’s lukewarm at best, and I hurriedly envelop my body in what little suds I can manufacture from what remains of the sliver of soap. It’s up to me now. I’m going to have to call him back and find out what’s going on. I have to put a stop to his childish behavior before he goes too far and loses everything.
I wring out my sopping hair with a ratty towel and step into a fresh pair of panties. It’s too damn hot for a bra. Wiggling into a white tank and khaki shorts, I slide a pair of flip-flops on my feet. With determination, I stride across the room and grab my phone. But to my surprise, there’s a voice mail…from Maria.
Holding my breath, I play the message.
“Hi Michelle. It’s Maria from the support group. Listen, I have the day off so I went to check on Connor, but there’s a realtor’s sign in the window and a note on the door that says, ‘Closed until further notice.’ I tried calling his parents, but no one’s picking up.” Stopping, she seems flustered, upset even. “I didn’t know who else to call, so I thought I’d try you. I hate to ask you this, but do you think you can try to reach out to him? I don’t mean to alarm you, but after what you’ve told me, I’m concerned. Let me know how you make out.”
My heart is stuck in my throat. He’s closed the pub. My worst fear has come true. My mind races through a myriad of bleak scenarios. He’s upstairs, unconscious. He’s left town. He’s in a hospital somewhere clinging to life. He’s intoxicated, slumped on a street corner. He’s done something that he can never take back.
“Stop it!” I scream out loud. I’m riding the crest of a panic attack. I can’t let it take me under. I need to keep my wits about me and hold onto my last shred of sanity with all I’ve got. I have to maintain focus, if only for him.
Hitting his name on my speed dial, I feel myself slipping as a wave of dizziness causes my knees to buckle. And even with a damp head, I feel like I’m burning up as my vision becomes blurry. Multiple rings echo in my ear, but he doesn’t answer. His voice mail doesn’t even click on. The connection drops, and I’m left with nothing.
In frustration, I throw the phone across the room. It hits the wall and breaks in two. Realizing the enormity of what I just did, I crouch down in horror, but it’s beyond repair. I have effectively severed my connection with the outside world. There’s no way Connor can reach me, even if he wanted to.
Oh God, what if he tries calling and can’t get through? What if he does something rash in response? What if he harms himself? And I could have prevented it.
There’s no time to waste. I have to get to him.
Shoving random items into one of my bags, I half zipper it and wrap the strap of my purse around my body. Leaving half my stuff behind, I don’t even lock the front door. Trying to run down the gravel driveway in flip-flops, I lose my balance and crash, skinning my knees in the process. The wind is knocked out of me as I lay on the ground, stricken with grief. Reeling from the brush burn on my arms to the blood flowing from my legs, I let out an anguished scream.
There’s nothing I can do. The enormity of the choice I made when I decided to come here begins to sink in. I doomed Connor to this end when I ran away from him. I set these events in motion. He wouldn’t have acted out on his own.
Sitting at the edge of the dock, I’m paralyzed with regret. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I haven’t moved in hours. The sun is slowly setting in a gorgeous array of colors that I don’t even bother to notice. I wasn’t able to locate any bandages in the cabin, so my knees are wrapped with a combination of toilet paper and duct tape. I’m a mess, both inside and out.
My face hurts when a yawn breaks forth, the dried tears cracking my skin. My uncombed tangle of hair floats around my head in an unkempt halo. And drops of blood stain the front of my once pristine white tank. But none of these details penetrate my skull. I’m lost in an abyss, transported back to those solitary days in my Greenwich Village apartment. The trauma of not knowing Connor’s whereabouts has triggered something inside of me. The uncertainty, the fear, and the helplessness all come flooding back. And I’m powerless to stop it. I succumb, falling to the depths, not caring about what happens to me.
Through the haze, I hear a car door slam. I don’t even bother to turn around. If it’s someone who means to harm me, so be it. I’m alone and defenseless, but most of all, I’m sick of running. Especially when there’s nowhere to run. I’m out of options.
I strain my ears and the whoosh of someone walking through the tall grass behind the cabin becomes audible. I’m caught in a trap with the predator closing in. My pulse rockets in response. It’s too late to flee, and I don’t have it in me to fight.
Then the vibration of heavy footsteps reaches me through the wooden planks of the dock. I hesitate. I can still make a break for it by diving into the water. But how far will I get with two injured knees? Not to mention, the lake is a half-mile wide. Can I even make it across?
Whoever it is halts directly behind me. I dare not turn around. The silence is deafening. The anticipation is agonizing.
I have one play, and I’m going to use it. Stretching back, I reach for the person’s leg. My hands wrap around a man’s calf and I pull with all my might. Not expecting my defensive assault, he loses his balance and tumbles off the dock into the lake. With a terrific splash, he belly flops clumsily into the water.
Rising to my feet, I intend to make a hasty retreat when his voice freezes me in my tracks.
“Michelle, stop! Wait!”
Bending my sore knees, I pivot around to see Connor spluttering, waist deep in the water.
My nerves are so strained that instead of laughing, as I intend, I start balling like a baby. I collapse onto the unforgiving wood, reopening my wounds in the process.
Panic-stricken, Connor sloshes across the murky surface through a patch of reeds at the lake’s edge. Hoisting himself back onto the dock, he drips across the boards before kneeling at my side. He envelopes me in his arms, and his embrace soaks me to the skin. Beads of water fall from his hair and down my face as he presses my body against his. Gently, he rocks back and forth, shushing me while stroking the side of my leg.
It’s almost too much to comprehend. The unexpected nature of his sudden reappearance has thrown me for a loop. I can’t quite fathom it. How in the world did he find me?
But first things first, he deserves a piece of my mind.
Breaking the tenderness of our reunion, I glare up at him. “Why the hell did you sneak up on me like that?”
“I wanted to surprise you.” His expression is petulant.
“By scaring me half to death?” I swat his waterlogged arm.
“You’re not the one who got thrown in a lake,” he reprimands, playfully tugging my earlobe.
“I might as well have. I’m as wet as you are.” I attempt to squeeze the excess water out of my shirt, but his arms refuse to release me from their protective hold.
“I surely hope so.” Sensing me squirm, he lifts me up and proceeds toward the open door of the cabin. “It’s time we got out of these clothes,” he whispers in my ear.
Pausing, he scans the room, turning first to the left then to the right. “Michelle, where’s the bed?”
“It’s in the couch.”
Grunting, I can tell he doesn’t want to take his hands off me. And I don’t want him to either. Twisting my fingers through his dripping hair, I pull his face closer to mine. “We’ll make do on the floor.”
Without further provocation, his lips devour mine. I cling to his biceps as he lowers me beneath him. But the plywood is harder than I expect. Rolling him off me, I tear myself away from him. He moans in frustration, grasping my leg, refusing to let me go. I point to the folded blanket I have stashed on top of the refrigerator, and only then does he release his grip on me. I pull it down before spreading it out before him. I yank the wet shirt outlining the muscles of his chest, and he complies helping me slip it over his head. Brazen, I don’t stop there. Unbuckling his belt, I unfasten the top button and release the zipper on his shorts. Propping his weight on his elbows, he allows me to slide them off, removing his shoes in the process. Now all that stands in my way are his boxer briefs.
But he’s not going to let me get that far. Rising to his knees, he encircles my waist, lifting me off my feet and onto his lap. I can feel his bulge meeting me in just the right place between my legs. The sensation of being so close is driving me wild. But he slows things down as he examines my makeshift bandages. His hazel eyes darken as he runs his fingers across my rudimentary handiwork.
The last thing I want to break the mood is having a wad of duct tape being ripped from my skin. Grasping his stubbled chin with my hand, I tilt up his face. “Leave it,” I implore.
Heeding my command, he slowly positions me so that my legs are wrapped around him. He looks deep into my eyes before raising my arms above my head. His ribcage brushes against my breasts as he removes my tank. Surprised, he asks in a low voice, “Where’s my favorite bra?” as my nipples respond to the pressure exerted by his thumbs.
I’m barely cognizant as I arch my back when his mouth descends upon my right breast. “I didn’t know you were coming,” I manage to respond, panting as his hand fondles me between my thighs.
I’m on the tipping point. “Look at me,” I command. Reluctantly, he pauses in his ministrations and trails his tongue up my neck before nibbling across my jaw line. Desperate for friction, I rub myself against his fingertips. I’m on the verge of losing it. Sinking my nails into his back, I force him to look at me. “I want you. Right here, right now.”
Pushing him to the floor, I stand and kick off my shorts and panties in seconds. I hover over him, and his eyes devour my complete and utter nakedness. Leaning down, I grab the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. I can’t get them off fast enough. I take him in. His arousal. It’s for me. It’s all for me.
Straddling him, I slowly lower myself onto him. He feels so good. “Fuck,” he cries as his hips start thrusting in and out of me. We establish a rhythm as his hands on my waist guide me where we have to go. He picks up the pace, diving into me faster and harder. I ride him, so close to the precipice. He sits up as we move together. The motion pushes him even deeper inside of me, and I disintegrate into a million pieces. He shouts my name before draping me across his body, falling back to the floor.
With my head on his chest and him still inside me, I know it doesn’t get much better than this.