At the Water's Edge (7 page)

“He loved West Waters. It made him happy and, in the end, it’s a comforting thought. Neither one of my parents grew to be old, but at least they were fiercely happy for most of their lives. They had each other, this place, and me. Even my mother, who was quite different, much more pragmatic and realistic—not that much of a romantic dreamer—used to tell me that.” She raises her glass. “To Mabel and Patrick Brody.”

With an unsteady hand, I clink my glass to hers. “You must miss them a lot.”

“I do.” With a quick flick of her thumb, Kay prevents a tear from dropping out of the corner of her eye. “But, I guess, what stings the most is that I obviously haven’t found the love that Dad used to refer to. The kind that lasts a lifetime.” She huffs out a breathy chuckle. “Sometimes, I wonder if he was completely sane, you know? If he experienced emotions that weren’t humanly possible. But still, it’s a good dream to have, something to aspire to.” She clears her throat. “Which is also why, in the end, I couldn’t hold a grudge against Jeff for leaving me. He found that kind of love, or something close to it. And the fact that him leaving me didn’t kill me, is proof that, perhaps, he wasn’t the one I would love forever, anyway.” Out of nowhere, she cracks a smile. “It’s good to be philosophical about certain things. Better than letting them destroy you.”

Of all the things I expected to find here—helpful nostalgia, a connection to a happy time in my life, peace and quiet for my ever-churning brain—life lessons from Kay Brody were the last thing on my list. And I do feel a connection, not to the time when I was a child, but to the here and now, to her.

“There’s only one activity that can appropriately end a night like this.” Kay swallows the last of her wine and firmly deposits her glass on the table.

Expectantly, I arch up my eyebrows.

“Enough babbling, Ella. We need to get naked.” She flashes me a wide smile, her white teeth glinting in the feeble night lights on the lodge’s deck.

“We need to what?” Fear and a tingle of something alien, but exciting, mingle in my blood.

Kay points at the lake. “Time for skinny-dipping.” She fixes her gaze on me. “This is no time to be a prude either, Little Ella. But, seeing as you probably will be, I’ll go first and I won’t look when you jump in.” There’s that wink again.

I watch Kay as she heads toward the water’s edge, already pulling her t-shirt over her head. Carelessly, she tosses it to the ground. Her bra soon follows, as do her shorts and underwear. The lake is only a few yards from the deck, but unlit at this time of the evening, and from where I’m sitting—still flabbergasted—Kay’s naked body is just a silhouette getting ready to dive in. She does so with an elegant splash, barely ruffling the water’s surface and, as promised, she doesn’t turn around.

How did we go from talking about deceased parents to night swimming?
As usual, my brain is coming up with a million reasons a minute to not strip and jump in after Kay—second nature, really. But I feel the pull of the water, I sense its allure. It’s stronger than the doubts quickly accumulating in my brain—and the wine helps.

Almost like an out-of-body experience, I hoist my top over my head, leave my shorts on the deck and, barefoot, saunter toward the lake. I stand there for a few seconds, only clad in my underwear. Kay’s swimming toward the middle of the lake, giving me the privacy I need. I scan my surroundings. Is there really no one around?

But the only sound is the water splashing around Kay in the distance, a light rustle in the leaves because of the evening breeze, and my breath, which comes quickly and ragged.

I fold my arms around my back and unhook my bra, yanking down my panties when I let it slip off my body, leaving my underwear in a puddle of cotton fabric by the lake. I stand naked in front of the water, ready to jump in and swim after Kay. And I feel a warm fuzz of contentment wrap itself around my heart.
 

Freed, I dive in. The water glides along my body, cleansing me in an exhilarating, midnight-swim way. There’s nothing like moving through water completely naked, without the confines of tight swim gear. No barriers. Just nature surrounding me. In the deafening silence of the night, I make my way toward Kay. She has reached the western edge of the lake, where we watched the sun dip behind the trees earlier, treading water.

“There’s nothing like it, is there?” She’s just a shadow in the darkness, but her voice, already so familiar, soothes me.

“It’s amazing.” I let my head fall back, my ears underwater, my nipples momentarily peeking out over the surface, but I don’t care. The breeze rushes over them and I feel it shoot through my entire body. For the first time in a long while, I feel alive—and incredibly aroused. Tears stream down my cheeks when I tilt my body upward again. But it’s dark and we’re in the lake, surrounded by water anyway. I can see my cabin from here. The place I came to heal. And I know I have a lot of work to do, but right now, it doesn’t matter. Right now, I just feel. The possibilities of life. A glimmer of happiness. What I would have missed.

 
I dive under briefly, erasing my tears, before swimming to the other end and back. When I let myself drift on my back, the stars above me, the water underneath, and Kay close by, I know I’m ready to talk.

CHAPTER NINE

Kay has brought out the whiskey and we sit, wrapped in soft bathrobes, on her deck again. I take a sip, and another.

“Good stuff, huh?” She eyes me quizzically. “There’s something different about you. You seem more at ease after that swim.” A smile slides along her lips. “Are you catholic? Was it like being baptized all over again?”

Silently, I shake my head and wait until she relaxes back into her seat, twirling her glass between her fingers. “What you asked me earlier. About what happened to me?”

“Yes.” Kay nods.

“I gave up. On life. On everything.” The soft, steady voice with which I proclaim the words surprises me. “Mainly on myself, because I was so sick of making the same mistakes over and over again, of repeating the endless cycle of a short peak of happiness—usually brought on by a delusional love affair, but not always—followed by an ever-growing darkness. So sick of putting on that mask every single day, of putting on that front. Of pretending that life was peachy.” I pause to take another sip. The heat of the booze burns inside of me, marking the moment. It also allows me to continue to speak these words I’ve only—stutteringly, engulfed by bottomless shame and guilt—ever uttered in Dr. Hakim’s office.

“To keep up that front takes everything you’ve got. After all, I was made professor long before my time was due. I had a house in Back Bay. The respect of my peers. Never short of attention from attractive women. I had every reason to be happy. When I looked at my life objectively, like an outsider, I could almost see it. But I never, ever felt it. Not longer than five minutes anyway—which was, quite possibly, the cruelest aspect of it. These fleeting glimpses of how it could be. Of how other people must go through life. Able to face adversity because of normal levels of self-esteem. Always ready to battle the downs because of this unstoppable zest for life. While I, with my PhD and promising career, wallowed in misery.”

Kay leans forward in her chair, placing her elbows on the table, her hands close to mine.

“I didn’t understand, so I studied it. Because that’s what I do. I read dozens of books, some of which delivered the aha-moment I was so desperately looking for, lifting me out of my depression for short bursts of enlightenment, but all the knowledge in the world can’t change your brain chemistry.” I pause to let my gaze wander over the water, the effect it had on me, predictably, already wearing off.
 

“Unfortunately, I possess a very dramatic, hopeless streak. One that doesn’t allow me to shrug things off and move on. I’m not resilient.” A familiar pressure in my chest. “I’m weak.” I try to take a deep breath. “And I went to great lengths to prove it.” The way I burst into tears is how my forehead can burst out into a sudden sweat when running, instantly drenching, all of it raining down my skin at once. “Oh fuck.” Pushing my palms against my eyes doesn’t help.

“Hey, hey.” In a flash, Kay is by my side. One hand inside the robe, on my knee, the other stroking my arm. “You’re not weak. You’re brave.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know the half of it.” It comes out as a howl, a cry for help too late to make a difference.

“You’re here. That’s what matters.” Kay’s voice is raw. Low. It sounds sort of undone. Her fingers knead the flesh of my knee.

“I’m sorry.” I straighten my posture a little. “This… shouldn’t be happening. You never asked for this.”

“I did, though. I asked you what happened.” With the sleeve of her robe, she catches a few tears on my cheek. But my emotional confession has left me numbed, and the significance of the moment passes me by. “Why don’t we go inside? You can take a shower. You should stay in my guest room tonight.”

“I haven’t told you everything yet.” For the first time since cracking, I look into her eyes.

“But you’ve told me more than enough.” Endless kindness brims in her eyes.

“I need to tell you now. If I don’t, I may never do it.”

“Okay. Of course.” Kay pushes herself up, leaving one hand on my shoulder while she speaks. “Let me just do some rearranging.” As if it’s made of the lightest plastic, she shoves the wooden table to the back of the deck, grabs her chair and sets it down where the table was, next to mine. She refills both our glasses, hands me mine, and sits, her face so close I can hear her breathe.

She doesn’t ask me if I’m comfortable with her being so near—touching distance—just assumes she’s doing the right thing. I like that about Kay. And I don’t mind that her hand is hovering close to my exposed knee again, the coffee color of her skin contrasting starkly with the white fabric of the robe, even in the dark.

When I start speaking, my voice is small, because it’s the only way it can be to say this. “When I said earlier that I gave up, I—” A sharp intake of breath, because admitting defeat out loud is never easy. Putting the moment I decided to let go into words—the moment I had never planned on recounting to anyone. “I meant that I tried to kill myself.” I stare into my glass, into the dark-golden liquid. “Pills. My housekeeper found me. Maybe because I wanted her to. But, mainly, I just wanted to slip away. Leave unnoticed.” I take a sip to relax my throat.

“When I woke up in the hospital, my friend Trish next to me in tears, all I felt was shame. I was so ashamed, in fact, that I pretended it was all a mistake. That I was fine. You know, employing tactics I learned from a very young age. For a while, I even made myself believe it. Checked myself out of the psych ward after three days with a big smile on my face. I couldn’t feel anything except massive, obliterating shame. It eclipsed everything. Everyone knew better, except me.”

Kay’s hand is on my thigh, on top of the robe. She presses down hard with her fingers, possibly indicating that she understands. But someone who hasn’t been there can never fully understand. The darkness. A despair so great there’s no way out. And all the world sees is a coward who couldn’t take it anymore. Just another someone who has taken the easy way out.

“I hadn’t even really planned it. I’m a doctor of biology, I mean, I should know what can do the trick, right? But I could never bring myself to consciously think too much about it. It happened more in a haze. My brain encased in fluff, my body going through motions.”

My thoughts start to scatter again. My mind jumping from one dazed memory to the next.

“Trish called my parents, of course. Which was not too bad, because in my family we only believe firmly in one thing: ignorance is bliss.” My usual chuckle at what should be emblazoned above my parents’ front door doesn’t happen. “Obviously, I couldn’t keep up the charade. Returning to my house, to where it happened. Everything a blurry reminder, but a reminder nonetheless. My friends didn’t let me get away with it either, so I ended up seeing Dr. Hakim, one of the best psychiatrists in Boston. He made me come up—because that’s what they do, you see—with the idea to return home. And face the music, so to speak. Haven’t heard a lot of music yet.”

By the end of my speech, I feel detached from the words. A calmness runs through me. My breath has returned to normal and my chest feels loose and non-constricted.

“I said you were brave. Coming back here takes courage.” Kay fixes her gaze on me, as if words are not enough. As though I need to see it in her eyes as well.

“I’ve been hiding out here, mostly. Enjoying this beautiful, idyllic place. Trying to forget, once again.”

“You came, that’s what’s important. Take it one step at a time. You’ve just been acclimatizing, that’s all.”

I meet Kay’s eyes. “You’re not shocked or, at least, deeply appalled by my story?”

“No.” There’s a lot of power in the way Kay shakes her head. “Of course not.” She removes her hand from my thigh and holds it open, palm up, inviting me to put my hand in hers. “Seems to me that, out of everyone, you’re the one who’s giving yourself the least credit.” I touch her fingers with mine. “This one thing you did doesn’t define you, Ella. It doesn’t have to set the tone for the rest of your life.”

With both of our defenses down, I see all of Kay’s beauty on full display. “God, you’re so together. So wise.”

“And I didn’t even go to college.” Kay curls her fingers around mine, a small but confident smile on her lips. “Hey, I know you have a lot to deal with, but I’m here if you need me. Every step of the way.”

Despite being touched by her kindness, I have to ask. “Why? You barely know me. You certainly don’t owe me anything. I mean—”

“Does there have to be a reason for everything?” Kay doesn’t let me finish. “I’m your friend now, Ella. It’s what friends do.”

“Just so you know—” I start choking up again. “I’m a bloody lousy friend.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.” Eyes on me, Kay leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead.

CHAPTER TEN

The next morning at breakfast—more of Kay’s deliciously creamy scrambled eggs—I’m wrapped in silence. The whiskey knocked me out in the end, pushing me into a fitful sleep, but I’m still tired. Last night’s conversation has drained all energy from my body.