Phoenix (22 page)

Bending down, he slides his lips along mine, a bare whisper. I nip at him
playfully and he increases the speed of his thrusts. When he finally pours
himself into me I put my mouth on his, taking all of his groans into my body,
not wanting to lose a single one.

Later on I lie on
my stomach on the blanket, my notepad open in front of me. Our wet things are
spread out on the sand to dry under the sun and we are both clothed in only our
underwear. I’m doodling pictures of the sea while Phoenix practices some of his
Kung Fu forms. To me it almost looks like he’s dancing, his movements liquid
smooth. I close one eye and watch him; the moves are all melded into one but I
can imagine separating them until they become single kicks, punches and locks.

One night while we were eating dinner I asked him if practicing fighting
forms is a good idea since he always tells me he wants to leave his past behind
him. He told me that while enslaved he practiced to prepare for a fight, whereas
now he does so for self-development. He said that his mind becomes sharp and
focused when he trains and that it keeps him from sinking into the darkness
that once possessed him.

I’m constantly in awe of him. Before I met him I didn’t think that men
like Phoenix existed. I thought they were the creation of stories. He’s like a
hero from an ancient tale, so very fitting that he should be named after a
myth. But he is very real and this very real man belongs to me. In my head I
wonder if there is such a thing as heaven, if Harriet is looking down on me,
happy to see I have found someone who loves me completely.

The idea that she is makes me feel warm inside.

A little fizz of creativity starts in my chest as I turn over to a clean
page and begin to scribble down words. I haven’t written a new poem for several
months now, but watching Phoenix has inspired me. When it is done I read over
it again, happy with the finished piece. I rip out the page, fold it in half
and walk over to the truck. Phoenix is too engrossed in what he’s doing to
notice me.

I tuck the page deep inside his glove compartment and smile before
returning to my place on the blanket. One day he will find it, perhaps
tomorrow, perhaps a year from now, and hopefully the words I’ve written will
make him feel something that’s good.

We spend the rest of the evening in our little piece of heaven. I love
this spot so much that I plan on coming here at least once a week from now on.
Phoenix has packed enough food to last us the day. We eat cheese sandwiches and
fruit, not wanting to leave until we absolutely have to. It’s dark out by the
time we arrive home and we slip into bed together, making love again.

The Easter break comes to an end and soon it’s time for me to return to
teaching. Phoenix spends most evenings in the work room in his garden shed,
building furniture for his shop. He’s also been fixing things up in my cottage
early each morning, but the more days that pass, the less and less I want to go
back there. I have found a comfort in living with Phoenix and now I don’t want
to leave.

One afternoon his house phone starts ringing while he is out in the shed
and I answer it. What sounds like an elderly man with a quintessential West
Country accent greets me. “Hello there, I’m looking for Phoenix. Is he in, by
any chance?”

“Yes, I’ll just go get him. Who should I say is calling?”

“Tell him it’s Oliver Ripley,” the man replies.

When I go to fetch Phoenix his eyes widen and he seems cagey when I ask
him who the man is. He says he’s just a client who ordered some furniture, but
for some reason I sense that he’s lying.

Three weeks pass by and I’m fully immersed back in teaching. I’m getting
to know my students really well now and I’m becoming fond of a lot of them. Tim
hasn’t made any more advances but he remains polite whenever we bump into one
another.

I’ve been seeing Officer Weston around town a lot and sometimes we make
polite chit chat. He’s also been keeping me updated with what’s been going on
in my brother’s trial. The man he attacked is now out of the hospital and able
to give a full account of what happened. Weston tells me that since the man had
been in a critical condition and beaten so badly that it was thought he might
not pull through, the likelihood of Maxwell receiving a heavy sentence is
strong, that he will be charged with attempted murder as well as rape.

I take hope from his reassurances.

When the day of sentencing finally arrives I receive a call from Weston
while I’m at school during my lunch break. I carry my phone to a quiet corridor
for privacy and then let Weston proceed with the news. He doesn’t drag things
out and instead tells me right away that Maxwell has been sentenced to fifteen
years in prison.

I clutch the phone tightly in my sweaty hand, tears filling my eyes.

Finally, after so many long years I am free of him. He’s going to be
locked away in a place where he can’t touch me any longer. The scars from what
he did to my home are still there. I have not touched a piano in weeks, yet the
fact he is going to be punished for his actions closes the gaping chasm that
had lingered in my chest. I had been strung so tight with tension, worried sick
that he was going to get off scot free, just like he did all through the time
he abused me.

He will be punished for fifteen years for what he did to that poor man,
but in those fifteen years I also see my own salvation. They are punishment for
what he did to me, too, but I am the only one who knows it.

When I hang up with Weston, thanking him profusely for everything, I
slump to the floor, my body drained of all energy. I spend the rest of my lunch
hour crying. I’m not sure whether it is with joy or with sadness, but ten
minutes before it’s time for me to return to my classroom I dry my eyes and
brush on some concealer to hide the puffy redness of my face.

Weeks pass in a peaceful rhythm. I sink further and further into my
idyllic life with Phoenix. A quiet life of good food, passionate sex and deeply
intimate companionship. I feel as though there isn’t a single part of me I
haven’t exposed to him and him to me.

Margaret still comes around every once in a while. She knows that Phoenix
and I are living together now, but she doesn’t make a big deal about it. She is
warily fond of him, I can tell, but she doesn’t let it show. She knows he is
not an average man, yet she can also see how happy we make one another and it
seems that that is good enough.

Deborah and Cathy no longer pester him with their attentions and I can
tell how it is a load lifted off Phoenix’s mind. The fact that he doesn’t have
to fend them off anymore, that everyone in the town now knows we belong to each
other has brought a kind of peace to him that is intangible but it is there.

It is only a fortnight until the summer break when I arrive home to a
seemingly empty cottage. Phoenix should be here as he usually closes up his
shop at five and gets home by half, but I can’t find him anywhere. Having
searched all of the rooms I go back down to the kitchen where I find a note
lying on the counter.

It reads:

Eve,

Come out to the shed. I have a surprise for you.

Yours always,

Phoenix.

I see that the back door has been left open and I make my way outside,
curiosity filling my chest. When I reach the shed and hesitantly push the door
open, I find Phoenix standing beside an elderly grey haired man; both are
wearing the biggest smiles I have ever seen and behind them is some large
object covered with a silky red sheet.

I look between Phoenix and the man questioningly. “What’s going on?”

“I’d like you to meet Oliver Ripley,” says Phoenix gesturing to the man.
“I believe you spoke over the phone a couple of weeks back.” There’s an excited
aspect to his voice. He’s like a child at Christmas. I’ve never seen him this
way before.

“Yes, that’s right,” I say, still not understanding what’s happening and
eyeing the object behind them.

Phoenix steps forward and wraps his arm around my shoulders, ushering me over
to Mr Ripley. We shake hands politely.

“I made contact with Oliver a while ago. He is a very talented Luthier
and Piano Maker and he lives in Newquay. We have been working together for over
two months now.”

“A piano maker?” I ask, my heart stuttering in my chest as my gaze is
again drawn to the large covered object.

“Yes,” says Phoenix. “You haven’t played since what happened…” he trails
off before continuing, “and I know it’s because you miss your old piano. I
hired Oliver to help me salvage what was left of it. He managed to repair the
inner strings that were broken but the frame wasn’t so easily repaired. So, I
built a new one for it and together we’ve done our best to revive your
instrument, darling.”

I stare at him, tears filling my eyes. “Is this it?” I ask shakily,
afraid to remove the covering and I don’t know why.

Nobody has ever done anything this thoughtful for me in my entire life.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Go see.”

On unsure feet I take several steps until I’m standing before it. I sweep
my hand over the silky fabric that conceals the hard surface beneath. I tug it
over slightly to reveal a luscious dark coloured wood. Anticipation takes hold
as I pull it further to uncover it fully and I gasp at the beauty. The wood is
lovingly varnished and as I walk around it, circling it in wonder I see that
there are roses carved into the sides. I run my hands over the top and close my
eyes for a moment, emotion filling me up.

“This is…too much, Phoenix,” I whisper, trying to swallow down the hard
lump in my throat.

Oliver coughs quietly and says, “I think I’ll go now. I hope you enjoy
your piano, Miss Pound.” He nods to both of us and quickly moves to leave the
shed. Before he gets out the door I hurry to him and pull him into a hug. I don’t
even know this man yet I am endlessly grateful to him. He pats me on the
shoulder, gives me a warm smile and then leaves.

I turn to Phoenix to speak but words fail me.

“Play something,” he murmurs.

Wiping at my eyes with the heels of my palms, I go and sit on the pretty
bench he has made for me. It is the same dark wood as the piano, with a
beautiful deep red velvet cushion for the seat. The black and ivory coloured
keys shine as I play a simple scale. Joy rushes through my body at the sound.
It is perfect. It is the same. This instrument may have a brand new body built
by the hands of the man I love, but it is still the same on the inside. I don’t
know how to thank him for the gift he has given me.

The cushion dips as Phoenix comes to sit beside me on the bench. His arm
goes around my waist and he rests his head on my shoulder, watching me
peacefully as I play. His silky hair brushes against my skin. All these weeks
not playing for him has caused me to forget just how much he enjoys listening
to me.

I remember the song “Real Love” recorded by John Lennon on piano. The
tender and emotional tune had touched me so much when I’d first heard it that I’d
gone and learned how to play it myself. Pressing down softly on the keys, I
begin to play it for Phoenix, hearing the lyrics in my head.

All my little plans and schemes

Lost like some forgotten dreams

Seems that all I really was doing

Was waiting for you

His arm holds me tighter as the music washes over both of us and he
kisses me softly beneath my ear. There are no words worthy enough to thank him
for this, so I hope he can hear it through the song.

Don’t need to be alone

No need to be alone

It’s real love, it’s real

There has never been anything more real for me than this beautiful man.
When I finish the song I turn and throw my arms around him, my face sinking
into the hollow of his neck. I’m crying and laughing all at once, thanking him
until I can barely breathe. He has given me my music back. He has given himself
to me.

I feel like neither one of us will ever be lonely again.

Phoenix

Six months
later

Eve has fallen
asleep in the back of my truck again. We spent a long day in our private little
nook at the beach, and she was so exhausted on the way home that she nodded
off. I adjust my overhead mirror so that I can watch her. Her wavy golden brown
hair hangs away from her face, her full lips parted as she breathes in slumber.

Her generous bosom that so obsessed me from the first time I laid eyes on
her rises and falls gently. It was her innocent green eyes though, the ones
that are hidden from me now, that made me fall, made me want to give up my
years of celibacy and lose myself in a woman again.

I have parked in the driveway of my home. Over the road I see our new
neighbour, Vincent, mowing his lawn. About three months ago, Eve finally sold
her house to a family of four and moved in with me permanently. It was the
happiest day of my life. I never wanted her to go back to living over there.

I never want to let her go.

I have my rose in my grasp now.

Searching for my house keys, not remembering where I stashed them, I
rummage through the glove compartment and a folded piece of paper falls out. I
recognise the handwriting as Eve’s immediately and open it up.

Phoenix Anastos

Man who has my heart

There were flames

And then there were embers

Our darkness is now gone

The ashes float into the air

And a new day unfolds

You are the mighty bird

That carried me to freedom

Your wings covered me

And drove away the fear

Your strength seeped into me

And pushed out my weakness

My timidity touched you

And made you open up

My shyness whispered to you

And showed you how to love

The cracks inside our differences

Made us, two unfinished pieces, a whole.

My breath catches in my throat as I read her poem a second time. This
heavenly creature whom I still don’t feel worthy of has written such beautiful
words just for me. I turn back to look at her again sleeping soundly in the
back seat. Reaching out, I run my fingers over her soft cheek. I re-fold the
poem and tuck it safely in my pocket before getting out of the truck and walking
around to the side. Careful not to wake her, I lift Eve up into my arms. She
murmurs something cutely into my ear but it’s incomprehensible.

I close the truck door gently, not letting her slip from my hold and
carry her into the once lonely house, a house her presence has transformed into
a home.

END