Still Waters (13 page)

Crew

I hang up the phone to Jake just as Hartley
opens the car door.

“Everything
ok?”

“Yeah,
just letting Jake know that I need to head off for a while. I was meant to
visit his mom in the hospital this week.”

“Is
she going to be alright?”

I
look down into her whiskey-colored eyes, all wide and beautiful and full of
compassion.

“No.
She’s not going to be all right. But she’s doing better, and they’re letting
her go home tonight.”

She
nods sadly and bites her lip. She’s trying to keep her eyes on me, but I keep
catching her looking up at Eleanor’s front door.

“Hey,”
I say as I reach over to hold her hand. “If you’ve changed your mind, it’s ok.
There’s no pressure.”

I
try to say it casually, but the underlying panic in my voice is obvious. She
looks up at me and smiles.

“I
want to go. Things are just a bit weird with Eleanor; that’s all.”

Now
it’s her turn to try and sound casual like she doesn’t care at all that I’ve
walked into her life and caused a rift between her and her best friend.

“It’s
because of me,” I say, and she gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before
letting go.

“She
doesn’t know you.”

I
reach my hand across and place it on the back of her head, bringing her face
close. She rubs her nose on mine for a second, and it makes me laugh, and then
she tilts her head to the side and kisses me slowly. She smells like lavender,
and I realize that she must have hopped in the bath after me. Maybe it’s
picturing her naked, or perhaps it’s the thought of sharing a bath with her,
but something suddenly makes me want to do things to her that I probably
shouldn’t, considering there’s a middle aged balding guy sitting two feet
away.
 

“Are
we ready to leave Mr. Sullivan?” Frank says from the front. Ever the
professional, he keeps his eyes straight ahead.

Hartley
pulls away from me, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment or desire, and I hope
to God it’s the second one.

“Let’s
go to Venezuela,” I smile, and her eyes light up with excitement.

It’s normally a grueling eleven hour flight to
Caracas, but this time the trip has never felt so fast. Hartley surprises me by
being quite at home on board a luxury plane as if she’s been on trips like this
one many times before. If she has, there’s probably more to her family story
than what she’s told me so far.
 
We spend
some time eating and watching movies, but mostly we just talk. I don’t think
I’ve talked this much in the last five years put together. But it feels good.
As each hour passes the words loosen up in my mouth. I find myself talking for
longer, revealing more about myself. I don't feel the urge anymore to fill the
silences with jokes.

“Wait,”
she laughs, sometime around midnight. “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“That’s
pretty young for a first kiss.”

I
smile and pull her closer to me under the blanket.

“How
old were you?”

“Oh
no,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not telling you now.”

“Why
not?”

“Because
it’s embarrassing.”

“Let
me guess then. Thirteen?”

She
pulls the edge of the blanket up so that it hides her burning face.

“Fifteen?
Older than fifteen? Weren’t you almost finished with college by then?”

She
peeks out from under the blanket and elbows me in the ribs.

“Sixteen.
I was sixteen.”

“So
you were at college, away from your parents, and you didn’t even kiss anyone
until you were about to graduate?”

“I
was a very serious student,” she huffs. “Plus, I think you need to take a look
inside an advanced chem lab at one of those schools. The guys in them don’t
typically look like you, Crew.”

“Like
me?” I tease and lift the bottom of her shirt under the blanket so I can rub my
hand across her stomach. My fingers curl around her waist just above the belt
threaded through her jeans.

She
sucks in her breath when I touch her, but still manages to scowl at me anyway.

“Yes.
And don’t be silly about it. I’m sure you’ve looked in a mirror before.”

“Are
you always this pragmatic?”

She
nods.

“It’s
terrifying.”

 
“Tell me about where we’re going,” she says
sometime later, moving closer so that I can feel her leg along the length of
mine. I brush the hair off her face and move my other hand under her shirt so
that my palm is flat against her lower back.

“It’s
a large piece of land on the coast. It looks like a postcard when you’re down
on the sand, but everywhere else is steep and access is a total pain in the
ass.”

“How
long have you owned it for?”

“I
only bought it a year ago. I went to look at it, not planning on making an
offer, but then there was this dickhead viewing it, and he assumed it was
already his.”

“You
bought it because someone else wanted it?” she says, and her frown is playing
tug of war with the laughter in her eyes.

“No.
I bought it because he was very open about the fact that he was going to
bulldoze the mountainside and build timeshare apartments.”

She
leans into my side and tucks her shoulder under my armpit.

“Right.
So what’s happening with it now?”

“I’m
building some eco-cabins. They’re a bit like the ones at Ondas, but smaller,
and most of them are up in the treetops. I’m trying to keep the forest as
undisturbed as I can. That’s why we’re on our way there. One of the contractors
cut down a section of the forest without my permission.”

“It
sounds amazing,” she sighs into my chest. “I’m kind of jealous listening to you
talk about your work. I miss that.”

I’ve
already asked her what her plan for the future is, and I’m not going to go
there again. I think she already knows that there isn’t a future for someone
like her in Twin Heads. Maybe she’s ignoring it, or maybe she’s in denial.
Either way, I’m determined not to push her because the last thing I want is to
push her away.

“When
the project is under control again I was thinking of taking you to Ondas,” I
say quietly into her hair. She pulls away from me, sliding across the seat so
that my hand is pulled away from her back. I reach for the blanket, soft and
still warm from our body heat, and tuck it back around her.

“Costa
Rica?” she says, pushing her hair off her face and looking away. I wish she’d
tell me what she’s thinking. I’ve spent the last eight years of my life
defensive and locked in a prison of secrets. I can recognize a fellow inmate
anywhere.

“Is
that a problem?”

She
looks up, her eyes wide with concern and something else, too. She looks
conflicted, like she’s wrestling with something.

“No.
It’s just that I didn’t think I’d be down here for long. I’d love to see it,
it’s just that..”

“It’s
just that what?” I can hear the edge creeping into my voice, and I make an
effort to pull it back under control. “I'm not sure how long I need to be down
there. I think I told you before that I don't plan too far in advance. But,” I
say, softening my tone, “I did say that you could go back whenever you felt
like it. If you don’t want to come with me to Ondas, I’ll buy you a ticket
home.”

She
tucks her legs up and scoots over a little, but she still won’t meet my eyes.

“I
want to go with you. Of course I do. There’s just this one thing I have to take
care of at home, and I’m worried about leaving it too long.”

Her
skin is paler than usual all of a sudden. Her freckles look like they’ve been
drawn on with a marker. When she finally looks up at me, her eyes are full of
tears.

“Hey,”
I say, putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her to me. “What’s
happening? Are you ok?”

She
moves back, creating distance between us, and shakes her head.

“Everything
is so fucked up.”

And
that surprises me because I thought everything was just beginning to be pretty
damn perfect.

“I
can’t help you, kid, if you won’t tell me what’s going on,” I say helplessly.

She
starts breathing in short, sharp bursts.

“I
want to tell you, but I can’t,” she gasps and places her hand on her chest. She
looks white against the camel colored seats, and her fingers are fluttering
over her heart. “I didn’t plan for any of this to happen.”

Her
eyes are wide and frightened; she’s an animal caught in a trap. Fortunately, I
recognize the signs of a panic attack when I see one, having become an expert
in them myself over the years.

“Hartley,”
I say clearly as I climb out of my seat and kneel down in front of her so that
we’re face to face. “You need to take a deep breath. Follow me.” I breathe in
and out slowly, and she tries to copy me. “Look at me, that’s it, you’re doing
great. Another breath in… and out. That’s good babe, try again.”

She
draws the breath in raggedly, her shoulders shaking with the strain, and then
blows it out through her mouth. When she can speak again, she’s mumbling
something to herself but I can’t make out the words over the hum of the engine.

“You’re
ok,” I whisper and pull her into my chest. She rests her head on my shoulder
and takes another deep breath through her mouth.

I
hold her tightly while in my head I ask all of the questions I’m not brave
enough to say out loud.

Do
you still love David?

Do
you think you can ever love me?

And
then there’s the other question, the one that’s loud and persistent in my
brain.

Hartley,
what are you hiding?

Hartley

After a fairly disastrous shopping trip in
Caracas, Crew and I are bumping along in the back of an SUV on an unsealed
mountain road. We’re on our way to his newest eco-village, and Crew has been
checking his emails for the last hour, lost in thought.

I'd
been in Venezuela for about two seconds before I realized that I had just
arrived in the world of Miss Universe women. They were everywhere, walking past
me in the airport lounge, touching up their makeup next to me in the bathroom
mirror, throwing back their pretty heads and laughing with their beautiful
mouths. The girl who sold me a Snickers bar looked like she belonged on the
cover of Vogue. They were universally tall and long-limbed, their hair a glossy
black wave down their backs and their skin kissed by the sun. So when we
visited some high-end boutiques in Centro Comercial Paseo Las Mercedes to look for
some summer clothes, it was fairly inevitable that everything would go wrong.
The dresses were not made for women my size and the fabric puddled at my feet.
Tops gaped open accusingly, because when I’m in Venezuela I apparently lack a
serious amount of bosom. The shop assistants sighed and laughed as they pulled
out dress after dress, after dress for me to try on until eventually even they
despaired of me, rattling off a string of sentences in Spanish that were too
fast for me to get but made Crew’s mouth twitch in amusement. And of course,
they were both tall, confident and effortlessly sexy. I couldn’t help but
notice that they were both wearing tops that didn’t gape thanks to their very
ample and very exposed cleavage. The more frustrating the whole situation
became; the funnier Crew found it. Thankfully he ignored the blatant attempts
of the shop assistants to get his attention, which must have been difficult,
let's be honest. After yet another flowing resort print number that looked more
like a tent on me than a dress, I gave up. I ended up buying some singlet tops
and a couple of plain white cotton dresses from a store aimed at Tweens, and at
the last minute I grabbed the smallest bikini I could find from a rack in a
surf shop.

We
haven’t talked much on the ride to the village, and I’m wondering if it’s
because of what happened on the plane. I get the feeling that he’s deliberately
not talking about the way I panicked when he asked me to fly to Costa Rica with
him, but I know that we can’t avoid it for long. Ever since I left Jefferson, I
seem to be making one impulsive decision after another. I should be back in
Twin Heads right now, preparing a report to the Environmental Protection Agency
about the samples from Bridal Falls. But instead I’m in another country,
sitting next to a man I suspect is a little more damaged inside than he’s
letting on.

“This
is it,” Crew yawns as we climb the last bend in the road and a low wooden
building comes into view. It’s almost hidden by the trees that climb up each side
and bend over the roof.

“The
cabins are up in the hills behind the lodge. I’ll take you up after I find
Evita. She’s the Manager.”

He
shuts the door behind him, and I lean back against the seat. I’m bone tired,
desperate for a shower, and there’s still an undercurrent of panic sitting
somewhere just under my ribs. Crew opens my door and puts his arm on the roof,
leaning in.

“Come
on beautiful, just a few more steps and then you can take a nap.”

I
look up at him and sigh. He looks like he stepped off a runway somewhere, he’s
all tousled and tanned and sexy looking.

“Is
it that obvious?”

He
winks and pulls me out of the car by the hand.

“You’ll
feel better after you get some sleep.”

“Why
don’t you look like you need to take a nap?” I scowl.

He
looks down at me and smiles.

“I’m
used to it. Come on, I’ll show you where your room is.”

We
walk into a large open reception area with a beautiful pitched wooden ceiling
and no walls. Tall wooden posts on all sides hold up a thatched roof, and here
and there someone has lowered a blind to keep out the sun. A small, tough
looking woman is standing behind a desk, talking rapidly into a phone. Her eyes
light up when she sees us walk into the room, and she hangs up.

“Crew!
My darling!” she cries in Spanish and throws her arms around him. He has to
stoop to hug her.

“Evita,
this is Hartley, you can speak to her in Spanish,” he says, and the woman looks
at me. Her eyes widen with surprise for a split second, but she recovers
nicely, and suddenly I’m being whisked away to a small dining area and Evita is
pouring me a drink.

“It’s
nice to see you again,” calls out a deep voice in English and when I turn to
look, the driver from Twin Heads is smiling at me from the bar and wiping a
handkerchief across his forehead.

“What’s
Frank doing here?” I gasp, and Crew laughs.

“He’s
in charge of my security,” he says, flicking the top off a bottle of beer. “He
usually travels with me when I’m working.”

I
look over at the man who must be in his late fifties. He has a belly that hangs
over his pants and his shirt is already drenched with sweat. Crew sees the look
on my face and whispers into my ear.

“He’s
the brains. Those two over there are the muscles.”

I
look over in the direction of his gaze and see two men I hadn’t noticed. They’re
sitting down the back, facing the room.

“I
don’t need security all the time,” he says reassuringly and then raises his
voice so that Frank looks up. “A lot of the year I just pay them to be on
vacation, waiting for my call. That’s pretty much how it goes, right?”

Frank
raises his glass in a salute and down the back the two men laugh.

“But
you need security now?” I say quietly so that only he can hear. He puts his arm
around my shoulder and pulls me close to him.

“Part
of my job is taking land away from people who planned on making a lot of money
from it. Sometimes that doesn’t win me any friends.”

He
looks happy and relaxed as he takes a drink from his beer and speaks in perfect
Spanish to Evita and a couple of girls who appeared like magic as soon as Crew
entered the room. But I’m not feeling that well. The drink Evita made me seems
to have bypassed my empty stomach and gone straight to my head. I desperately
need to lie down.

“Crew?”
I say quietly, “do you think you could show me where my room is now?”

He
looks down at me suddenly, and his demeanor completely changes.

“Sorry
kid. I should have taken you straight up. Let’s go.”

We
walk out past the two security guys through a doorway at the back of the room
and along a covered walkway. Crew leads me up some stairs that have been cut
into the rock and along a path that’s been covered in pebbles. Above me in the
trees are small, simple wooden houses on stilts. Some of them have openings in
the walls, but no glass, others are larger and look more like little houses
floating up amongst the leaves.

“This
is your one,” he says when we reach the base of an enormous tree. The staircase
has been made to fit the trunk so that as we walk up, we’re winding around and
around until we reach the top. When he pushes the door open, I can’t stop
myself from making a little squealing sound. It’s every treehouse I ever
dreamed of as a child. It’s every bride’s honeymoon fantasy. It’s full of
dappled light and frothy mosquito netting and in the center of the room is the
most beautiful four-poster bed I think I’ve ever seen.

“You
like it?” Crew says shyly, and I realize that I haven’t actually said anything
yet.

“I
love it.”

He
comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.

“Good.”

“Where
is your room?” I say, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how
suggestive that sounds.

“Right
over there,” he murmurs into my ear and points out through the open window to a
smaller treehouse with openings instead of windows.

“Wait,
why is yours so much smaller? Shouldn’t you have the best one, since you own
the place?”

He
laughs into my hair and squeezes me tighter.

“I
like to keep things simple,” he says. “I’m happier with just a mattress on the
floor and fresh air coming in. I like listening to the forest and the sea at
night.”

“Mmmmmm,”
I sigh and close my eyes. The room is swaying a little, and I want to ask him
if it’s because we’re up so high, but I don’t in case it’s the alcohol.

“I’ll
let you get some sleep,” he says softly. “I’ve got some work to do. When I’m
done, I’ll come up and see if you’re awake and in the mood for dinner.”

He
pulls his arms away from my waist and kisses me lightly on the cheek before
walking to the door. I can hear him making his way down the staircase, humming
as he goes.

After
Crew leaves, I take a proper look around the room. The bed takes up most of it,
but there’s a small table with an information package on the top and under the
big window at the front there’s a deep stone bath. I turn the tap and a second
later water gushes into it from a hole in the ceiling. As the bath fills up, I
flick through the information booklet and take note of the Wi-Fi password. I
didn’t have time to buy a new phone before we left, but I did remember to grab
my iPad so that I could let Eleanor know where I am. The booklet tells a little
bit about the history of the land and what the plans are for the eco-village in
the future. I’m both surprised and impressed to read that one hundred percent
of the profits are used for conservation projects and initiatives for the local
community.

After
washing my hair and trying out all of the little soaps and body washes I find
in a basket on the floor, I reluctantly climb out. At home, I could spend a
couple of hours in the bath but right now all I can think of is sleep. I wrap
myself in a towel and pull back the mosquito netting on the bed. Every cell in
my body is screaming for sleep, but before I can close my eyes, there’s one
thing that I know I have to do. I pull my iPad out of my bag and go to my
emails.

To: Dad; David

From: Hartley

3.42pm

I want to tell you both that I’ve finally
made some decisions, and not just about the samples, about a lot of things.

I’ve spent the majority of my life trying
to make someone else happy. Daddy, all throughout my childhood I allowed you
and Mom to show me off like I was some kind of party trick. I went to the
schools you liked, and I studied the program you chose for me because you
wanted me to work in your laboratory after I graduated. Worst of all, I let you
choose a man to be my partner, even though I knew that David and I could never
be truly happy together.

Daddy, please don’t misunderstand me. I am
so thankful for all of the opportunities and all of the blessings that being
part of the Preston family has given me. I know that you’re reading this
thinking about how ungrateful I am. But please, believe me, it’s just the
opposite. I have been so grateful, so very thankful for everything that I have that
I’ve spent my life trying to deserve it. It’s so easy to sound arrogant when
you’re smart. It’s so easy to sound spoiled when you have money. So I’ve kept
my opinion to myself, even when I knew in my soul that the decisions people
were making for me weren’t right. But Daddy, I should never have allowed you to
take away my voice. I own that. And it’s time for me to make some changes.

I’m writing to tell you that I’m not going
to let that happen anymore. I have the samples, and I’m giving you one week to
do the right thing. If you don’t send me proof that the findings have been
reported, then you’re leaving me no choice but to make the report myself. I
don’t want to do it, but I will.

And as for you, David, I want you to stop
sending me threatening messages. You don’t scare me. You can’t bully me any
longer. And if you’re really honest with yourself, you will realize that you
don’t want me anyway. I’m too wild for you. I leave my things in a mess, and I
forget to brush my hair. I’m always late to those benefit concerts you make me
go to and I’m terrible at that polite, witty banter that seems to be the code
people in your world use to figure out the pecking order. Go and find yourself
some well-bred, obedient society girl. I hear Lisa from marketing is quite
nice.

Daddy, I hope to hear from you soon with
some good news. For the last time, please do the right thing.

From,

Hartley.