The Choice Not Taken (16 page)

The aggravation remained, however, over the loss of my past. Recalling that time with Philip had been surprisingly wonderful, and I desperately wanted it back.

Forcing myself to erase the present, I instead centered every thought to that sandbar. I readily sought out the putrid smell of dead fish, stinging cuts upon my hands and knees, pitch-black air, and puckering taste of chardonnay in my mouth. But more importantly, I wanted to hear his voice again...

***

“Courtney? Where are you?” his voice concealed worry.

Philip.

“Courtney?” he called again.

Hidden by trees, I fought the natural urge to cry to him.

“Courtney!” he was fraught now. “We’ve got help!”

Registering his words, I exhaled and stole a moment to regain my composure before emerging into view.

“There you are!” Philip said with obvious relief. “What were you doing?”

“Um. Needed to go to the bathroom,” I lied.

“The Lake Patrol is here, and they’re going to give us a tow back to the house,” he explained, waving his hand toward two men.

I suspiciously eyed them up and down before peering over Philip’s shoulder and spying a boat emblazoned with a shining star on its side. “Great. That’s great,” I breathed.

After escorting me into their boat and making sure the tow-rope was secure, the officers drove us back. The ride was mercifully quick, and I blindly walked the unlit path toward the warm house while Philip gave his information and thank yous to the men.

Once inside, I still couldn’t get warm so he expertly lit the fireplace. My elation over being safe rather than stranded on a cold sandbar soon turned to dread, however.

It was far too late to venture home, yet in no way had I remotely imagined our first overnight would occur
here
in this cottage where
she
was everywhere. All I saw-from wall to wall-were photos of her kids, books upon her shelves, and curtains on her windows. Philip hadn’t made time to change anything nor did he try because of his children.

My change in expression prompted him to pull me by his side. “I’m sorry our three-hour tour almost turned us into castaways,” he joked, misunderstanding my angst.

“It’s okay. Kind of fun,” I halfheartedly smiled.

“Are you okay staying here?”

“Sure. Just wiped out is all.”

“I’ll make you another bed!” he said with over-enthusiasm and left the room.

I knew he hoped I’d love this place as much as he did. And I
did
appreciate it: for the unmatched craftsmanship, glorious location, and historical connection to Philip. The land had been in his family for decades. Yet, as a woman, I couldn’t help but see her feminine stamp on everything.

His wife had already been given the privilege of playing house here before I ever possibly could. And her presence would remain-in many ways-forever.

Philip returned carrying a pile of downy comforters, cozy blankets, and goose-down pillows. And after skillfully moving the coffee table and pushing the sofa back a few inches, he handily made a luxuriously soft bed.

“Ta Da!” he proudly displayed his masterpiece.

“Looks great. Thank you!” His efforts to make me happy erased any attempts at self-pity. “Um. Where are you going to sleep?”

“In my room,” he quickly replied.

I excused myself to use the bathroom. Upon closer scrutiny in the mirror, I only now noticed my disheveled hair and sunburned skin. Using a small pump of hand-soap, I washed my face and combed fingertips through knotted strands until satisfied. I changed into the extra tank-top and shorts I’d packed, deciding they’d make better pajamas than my sandy clothes.

When I returned to the living room, Philip wasn’t there. I heard running water, hidden somewhere down the hall, and guessed he was taking a shower. Stealing these rare moments to better explore the house, I peered closely at things I intentionally glazed over before.

I dragged fingertips along the marble kitchen counter-top and peeked into pine cupboards. Surprised to see them organized, I immediately wondered if he kept them that way or just never cooked. In the refrigerator, I found fresh fruit and the traditional condiments. Grabbing an open wine bottle from the side door, I searched upper shelves for stemware. Finding some, I poured a glass to its rim.

Amidst sips, I strolled down a hall toward the sound of the shower. Mustering my courage, I drank most of the glass before entering what appeared to be the master bedroom. It was dark and shapes of furniture blended into shadows cast from a sliver of light beneath the bathroom door. Through it, I heard Philip gleefully whistling some 70s rock song.

I wondered where his joy came from.

Before I could determine its source, however, the water stopped. Fearing I’d be caught snooping, I ran quietly from the room. And when Philip finally joined me, I was perched on the couch, staring into the fire as if I’d been there the entire time.

“Hey! Wine! What a great idea!” He sauntered to the kitchen and poured one.

“I hope you don’t mind I helped myself,” I apologized.

“Not at all. In fact, I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to do so.” He raised his own glass in the air. “To daring rescues! Prost!”

He downed most of his drink in one long thirsty gulp, then settled by my side. As was his custom, he waited for me to move toward him when ready, patiently twisting his fingers into my hair.

“It’s a mess thanks to the lake wind,” I explained.

He buried his nose, inhaling deeply.

“You smell like the water now,” he whispered. “It’s one of my favorite things.” He took my glass and placed it on the table next to his before coming back to me. Stifling a yawn, he tenderly grabbed my hand.

“You’re tired,” I stated, suppressing my own yawn.

“You are, too,” he quietly chuckled. “Why don’t you get comfortable? I’ll stay with you a bit and make sure the fire goes out.”

I looked at the flames, noticing they still raged inside and showed no signs of subsiding.

After I sat upon the downy floor, he joined me. Ever careful not to get too close or cross imaginary boundaries, he propped a pillow against the couch and rested. I laid my head against his shoulder, and with an absence of words or movement, the room became engulfed in unbroken silence and restless bodies. Trying to dissuade what I truly felt, I allowed my mind to stray onto more harmless, yet significant, paths.

Without the agony of life, we could never appreciate the ecstasy. This I knew.
However
, I mused,
what was a person supposed to do when pain tainted everything and essentially hid any potential beauty
?

Just then Philip began to snore, softly, and I subtly moved from his embrace. Gazing at his features in the heated glow, I noticed his dark hair was still wet from the shower, and the tendrils naturally curled in response to the drying warmth of the fire.

Though my skin burned from the sun, his turned a deeper shade of golden brown and now radiated in the flickering light. The grooves forming along his eyes and forehead became smooth with sleep, and I impulsively traced the fine-spun layers.

Without opening his eyes, he reached blindly into the air. I obediently settled into his arms and prayed he didn’t wake up.

“Love you,” he murmured in the dark.

Against the heat of the fire, my body froze. His speech was garbled, yet I swore I’d heard him say those two words.
But
, my now awake mind fretted,
did he mean them for me...or for someone else
?

proof

“Ma’am?”

A coffee shop server hovered over me. Looking no more than eighteen, his use of such a word reminded me I was actually in my forties rather than my twenties.

“Ma’am? Would you like another?” He pointed to my empty cup.

Terribly self-conscious I’d been staring at nothing for a very long time and possibly freaking other customers out with my embarrassing trance, I told him no and made a hasty retreat.

I checked my cell phone and decided it was close enough to lunch so I popped into a run-down deli and purchased a towering turkey club to eat at the inn.

Upon my return, I made a beeline for the backyard garden I spied earlier from my tiny balcony. The narrow stone path wove through carefully manicured plants and flowers, and though many weren’t yet in bloom, I could tell it transformed into a magnificent place in the height of growing season. Relieved to find it free of any other guests, I happily settled into a battered chair situated strategically within a patch of sunshine.

Relishing my sandwich, I felt a budding internal excitement over my memories of the morning and struggled to continue where I left off. Instead all thoughts were of Alex and the kids.

Spasms racked my heart at the very idea of being away from them, and I considered packing up and going home. I was feeling much better, and it would likely be for the best. After all, my appointment with Dr. Benson tomorrow would help clear up any loose ends.

But the awful truth was I didn’t want to go home. For while I missed my family, I didn’t want to
deal
with them. At least not right now. Not yet.

And I seriously hoped this time alone would change all that–somehow bring me back to where I could deal with everything again.

A full stomach and sunshine made me drowsy, and I leaned back in contentment, closed my eyes, and basked in the heat. This time, without even trying, Philip re-appeared.

***

Philip’s declaration caused my body and mind to stall.

Not truly wanting to wake him, I secretly hoped he’d talk in his sleep again. When he didn’t, I sucked in pockets of wood-smoked air, held my breath, and nudged my arm-ever so slightly–against his.

He remained motionless.

On hands and knees now, I bent over and brought my face so close to his own peaceful one that I could feel his warm breath on my nose.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Out of shock, I inadvertently flinched. And before I could move back to my original position, he half-opened his eyes.

“I love you, Courtney.” Philip sat straight up and, without touching me, waited silently for a response.

I was unable to react. I’d never heard those words from anyone other than a family member. And though schoolgirl fantasies lifted them into some overly-romantic, unattainable dream, this first time...they somehow became nothing–and everything–I’d ever hoped for.

Still leaning into him, I moved closer, impulsively straddling his lap. With arms wound tightly around his neck, my eyes searched Philip’s face. So close I was that I began to believe I could see his soul from within the depths of his equally penetrating gaze.

“Thank you,” I said, simply placing my lips upon his upturned mouth.

And in that moment, I not only thanked him for loving me but also for demonstrating how glorious a man could be. For in the years after the rape, I could only remember the pain a man could bring to a woman. I’d been robbed of many obvious things, but I also felt cheated for never having the chance to love someone before it happened–and find proof it did indeed exist.

Now I believed it was possible, and I willingly forgave Philip for being a man and thanked him for acknowledging me as a woman.

He made me feel known.

When his lips left mine to search for my neck, I pressed into him. Here–against a blazing fire-I
wanted
him to know me. Trembling, I ran nails along the rolling muscles of his back while he wandered stray kisses along my jaw and into creases of my collarbone.

I grabbed the sides of his face to bring him back to my mouth, but he stopped abruptly.

“Wh-what’s the matter?” I asked breathlessly.

The change in Philip’s expression was readily apparent against the backdrop of now dwindling flames, and my already nervous stomach became even more so as the possibility of rejection surged closer to reality.

“Are you sure this is okay with you?” His arms remained around me, but his hands stiffened while he waited for a reply.

“I’m okay,” I bravely answered. “Are
you
okay?” A sultry smirk crossed his face, and I became more focused on his lips than his answer.

“I’ve never been more okay,” he confirmed.

Pressing strong palms into the small of my spine, he effortlessly lifted me onto his lap, and I twisted shaking fingers into his soft hair to bring our heads together. When I shifted my hips to get more comfortable, a low moan escaped his mouth, causing my stomach to flip in a manner so powerfully unexpected, I softly whimpered.

In one swift movement my shirt came off, and he gently cupped my now bare breasts. Lifting one to his mouth, he lingered there before repeating the motion with the other.