The Same Deep Water (11 page)

Chapter Fifteen

I sit on the kitchen counter and watch as Guy turns last night’s leftovers into a meal, throwing in sauces and spices he finds in a cupboard. The water bubbles as he adds the pasta and my stomach growls.

“You okay?” he asks, rubbing a hand on my leg.

“I know we’re living in the now, but I worry.”

He frowns. “Don’t worry. Why worry?”

“About you.”

“When I’m with you, I forget about life. Isn’t it the same for you?”

Our step into a sexual relationship doesn’t mean we need to share everything about ourselves, but the closeness demands I know more. “Yes, but even if you don’t want to tell me the whole story, I need to know what’s happening to you. I feel like I only know half of you.”

“What do you want to know?” He studies the contents of the pan and stirs.

“What do you think?”

“I dunno. Could be anything.”

Is he being deliberately evasive here? I take a deep breath. I’ve felt the strength of this man, but I’ve also seen the Guy whose pain surfaced briefly last night.

“Do you think you’re at the stage you can tell me yet?” I ask.

“About what?”

I swallow. “About what’s killing you.”

Guy carefully places the spoon on the kitchen counter. “I thought I could get away with that.” He looks up with a small smile. “But I understand you want to know.”

“And I understand that you don’t want to talk about your illness, but I’m asking as your friend –”

“And lover.”

“As somebody who cares.”

He regards me for a few moments and I worry that I’ve pushed things too far. “Fine, but will you tell me what happened to you? The full story about your family?”

It’s my turn to look away. An exchange of secrets, of things we attempt to hold outside of the place we’ve created together. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Brain tumour.”

The words spring from nowhere and I snap my head up. “Oh.” I’ve rehearsed a reaction for the day Guy inevitably told me and that pathetic response wasn’t my plan. How can he expect me to react reasonably, when he throws the words out like this then continues to cook as if he asked me to pass him the salt? “Sorry.”

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand across his short hair. “Of the inoperable variety. Well, they did years ago. Tried to take out what was in there and thought they had. Came back.” As he speaks, Guy looks directly at me but his face is impassive. How anybody could come to terms with the fact they’re facing death and act nonchalantly I don’t know. When I looked death in the face, I was in a haze and welcomed the idea. Is his choice to ignore because he can’t fight?

“Are you in pain?”

“Sometimes.”

“You said your illness didn’t affect you physically. I thought brain tumours did that.”

“Everybody’s different, Ophelia.”

I tense at him using the name, a warning to stop asking more. “Right.”

“Which is why I’m planning everything quickly. I need to organise my trip to the UK.”

Brain tumour.
I picture him unable to walk, talk… “But in a few months will you be able to?”

“Yes, but the sooner the better. July?”

“I guess. I’ll ask for leave and see how things go.”

“Cool.”

At this moment, all I want is to hold Guy, the tears threatening to spill, but I don’t think sympathy is what he wants. The sadness I have for him mingles with relief he’s finally told me, that he trusts me. I understand now why he never wanted to vocalise the truth.

“Your turn,” he says. “Tell me about your family.”

I can’t be as laid back on the surface as Guy can; the memories too close. I have a condensed version of the story, one I use on the rare occasions I’m forced to tell. Passed from psych to doctor to counsellor in a merry go round as a teen, I have honed my version of the story. Factual. Short. Quick.

“My dad drugged my family and drove the car into a river. Everybody died. Apart from me. Obviously. They think he put sedatives in something we ate or drank that afternoon and my mum and brother passed out on the journey. In the car, between when we left home and he drove into the water, I vomited. My dad was angry with me, really angry, and now I know why. I vomited up the drugs. I knew what he was doing when the car hit the water.”

Guy watches silently; and for once, he’s unable to respond. “When the car submerged, I tried to help my little brother, but I barely had time to save myself. I was lucky. Even though it was late at night and we were somewhere quiet, another car passing saw the accident happen. A man I’ve never seen since saved my life.” I wipe at my eyes, annoyed a tear has found its way out. “At least my mum and brother didn’t know because they were... asleep. My dad must’ve been conscious before he drowned because there were no drugs in his system. Some days I’m glad he suffered.”

“And you feel guilty,” says Guy softly.

“Yes. Always. I should’ve died when I was eleven, shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are,” he whispers. “Strong, beautiful, and capable of more than you realise. Live the life you’ve been given, that’s what your mum would’ve wanted.”

“That’s the problem, I am, and I hate it. When I was growing up, before she died, she would talk about how smart I was, how I’d achieve so much. Now I have to, because success is my legacy to her.”

Guy shakes his head and takes both of my hands in his, returning me from the edge of my memories to him. “No. You’re wrong. Your mum would’ve wanted you to live a life of colour, not still drowning in the darkness after all these years.”

“But I want to. I want to be successful, to be somebody.”

“You are somebody. Whatever you choose to do, you will be amazing.” Guy takes my face in his hands and looks me straight in the eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

I place my hands over Guy’s, ignoring the growing anxiety. One moment we say we’ll be no-strings and the next we tighten the thread that connects us. A tragedy in the past and the threat of death, the guilt that follows.

“I’m going to teach you how to be Ophelia,” he says. “You can’t be Lia again, but you don’t have to be Phe.”

“And I’m going to teach you that you don’t have to go through things on your own.”

He kisses my forehead. “I know, because I have my travelling companion.”

He turns back to the pan, stirring with the spoon in one hand and holding my hand in his other. Relaxed, natural, average couple when we’re anything but. Secrets revealed, bodies shared, is there any way we can prevent ourselves becoming enmeshed?

Chapter Sixteen

When I arrived home from Dunsborough, Jen was cagey, and after a couple of days she confronted me – once she’d had a couple of glasses of wine. When I told Jen what Guy had told me about his mother, she shut up. The topic hasn’t been mentioned since. Jen’s disapproval over Guy pisses me off because I never tagged her as a judgmental person and she has no understanding of our situation.

I spend less time at my share house and tread the waters of a relationship with Guy. Back in Perth, a flurry of texts from Guy descend in the daytime and we catch up in the evening every other day at least. Already we’ve edged from bucket list ‘meetings’ to what normal people would term as dates. Within two weeks, I’m free falling into Guy faster than he did through the Australian sky.

Tonight we meet at Guy’s place with the pretence we’ll discuss the lists and fool ourselves this is the main connection between us. We sit at Guy’s table in his shining kitchen with large glasses of wine and his laptop.

“This weekend, I thought we’d tackle one of your bucket list items,” says Guy.

“Do I get to choose?”
Not surfing.

He shrugs. “Sure. I’ve been researching everything. I’ve even taken a leaf out of your supremely organised book and begun to plan a timetable of what we can do when.”

“Then we probably need to discuss what you’re planning.” I am not going back to people organising my life for me.

“Sure. I meant I’ve found places and opening times, no point pinning down further than that before talking to you.” He drinks, looking at me over the top of his wine glass. “Apart from the overseas trip.”

“Right.”

Guy pulls up bookmarked websites on his laptop and talks me through his research. The old enthusiasm is back; the man on the beach who reached out to me has been submerged again.

He clicks to the next page, a tourist page for a town between the sea and the desert. “One of yours. Sleep beneath the stars.”

“I hope you don’t mean literally sleep under the stars.”

Guy laughs. “I’ll take a tent, don’t panic.” He clicks around the site, opening a new page. “Here. To prove there’s a real-life campsite we can stay at.”

“Okay.” I stand and hold out my hand for his wine glass; when he passes me it, his fingers touch mine. Since the sex, the way Guy looks at me is different. I expected him to switch back to casual but respectful, as if we’d done nothing but kiss, but something has shifted. This difference isn’t only the line we crossed physically a couple of weekends ago, but a deeper understanding from revealing more than each other’s skin.

The sex hasn’t been repeated despite catching up for what we deny are dates, but the gathering need between us intensifies with each look or touch. Brushing fingers with Guy immediately triggers a shockwave of arousal inconsistent with such an innocent gesture. He curls his hand around mine and rubs the back for a moment, his shift in expression a nodded understanding he shares my need.

“When do you want to camp?” I ask as I pour the wine.

“Soon? You know I don’t want to waste time.”

“Sounds fun.”

He takes the glass I offer and looks up at me. “Your face doesn’t say that.”

“I’ve never been camping, that’s all.”

Guy wraps his arm around my legs and rests his head against my hip, surprising me with his relaxed intimacy. “You’ll have fun!

“Sure…” I stroke his hair. “Where do you want to go to subject me to this?”

“North.” He pulls open a bookmarked page with photographs of a star-filled sky above monolithic rocks in the desert. “Pinnacles.”

“That isn’t too far, is it?”

“A few hours drive. We’ll take a weekend off.” Again the look. The unsaid: remember what we did on our last weekend?

“In a tent?”

“In a tent.” He shifts his hand and rubs my ass. “Don’t underestimate the fun you can have in a tent.”

I widen my eyes in response to the words and the sudden vision of climbing on top of Guy and asking him not to demonstrate what he’s suggesting, but he isn’t looking at me anymore.

“Weird.” He points at the laptop screen.

“What’s weird?”

“Ever since I started researching, I keep finding pictures and ads on other sites I visit, for exactly the thing I looked at. Like this. Dolphin cruises.”

“Oh! Dolphins. How about that instead of the camping?” I peer at the screen. “That’s normal. Everything you search is likely to reappear as ads.”

“How?”

“I guess the internet just stalks us.” I laugh but Guy doesn’t. “Besides, sometimes the ads are helpful.”

“How do they stalk us?”

“I’m not sure. I guess your search history is communicated to advertising sites. Cookies or something.”

He closes the lid. “I don’t think I like that. Can I stop it happening?”

“Not sure. There might be something on your browser you can use, I don’t know.”

“So some random company can see everything I look for on the internet?”

“Why? Something to hide?” I tease.

Guy shakes his head, but his face is concerned. “Nothing at all. I don’t like being watched, that’s all.”

“Nobody’s watching you.”

He wheels his chair back and pulls me onto his lap. “I saw something on TV about how the government wants ISPs to give up people’s search history details. Is that what’s happening? Bloody weird.”

“That’s crime related. I don’t think we’re quite at the Big Brother point in history yet.”

“But still.”

I wrap my arms around Guy’s head, pulling him close, aware that by doing this his face is close to my breasts, and the top I’m wearing is cut low enough to see the swell. He turns his head and places his lips gently on the skin at the top of my breasts, then rubs my back. This physical contact we’ve avoided isn’t helping the arousal that begins instantly with him.

He looks up at me. “Are you going home soon?”

“Why? Do you want me to?”

“No, but you always start watching the clock around 10pm and run home before I think the evening’s finished. Are you sure you’re not Cinderella?”

I kiss his forehead, knowing if this conversation continues I won’t be going home. “I have to wake up early for work.”

He sighs and shifts so I have to stand. “One day, I’ll make you let go of everything and lose yourself. The world still functions without your control, you know.”

I wrinkle my nose at his typical honesty. “Yeah, I get it. I’m a control freak. I’m working on that thanks to the fact you point out I am on a regular basis.”

“So stay.” He reaches out and takes my hand.

“I haven’t planned to.”

“You can borrow my toothbrush.”

I shake my head at him, tempted. “I don’t know.”

He drags me back down onto his lap and holds my waist. “Let’s stop this, Phe.”

“Stop what?”

“Since the night in Dunsborough, I’ve obsessed about you. You’ve stolen every rational thought from my head and replaced them with dreams of you. And I’m confused because I’m not sure what you want.” He nuzzles my neck. “I think you want more, but you’re guarded and I can’t tell.”

My heart skips a beat in my chest. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Seriously, Phe? Do you think I’d say no, if you told me you wanted more?”

“But this is confusing; we’ve moved from friends to potential lovers and –”

He breaks into one of his grins. “
Potential
? I think we’ve gone beyond that.”

“I mean potentially lovers, not a one night thing.” I frown at his teasing.

“Oh, no way is one night enough. Not with you.” Guy edges his hands beneath my shirt, stroking my belly with soft fingers triggering the aching heat between my legs. “I have day-long visions of you naked. I need to check those visions are accurate.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, so if you could take your clothes off and get into my bed that would be helpful.” I make a mock-gasp and grab his hand. He tugs his brow together. “Or did I put you off last time? Is that what’s wrong?”

Memories of his hands and mouth on my skin, and switching off the world for one of our own, edge me closer to giving in to him. He places soft kisses along my neck, hands sliding along my side and pushing up my t-shirt.

“No, you didn’t put me off. Why would you think that?”

“You’re a closed book. Stay,” he says, mouth moving against the sensitive hollow of my neck.

I shiver.
Sensible, Phe. Work.
“I can’t.”

“Wrong answer.” Guy pushes my top higher and I grab his hand, but he pushes my fingers away. “Come on. Stay. I can’t promise you’ll sleep much though.”

“That’s the problem!” I protest but allow him to remove my shirt.

Guy moistens his lips as he looks at me. I’m unable to pull back from the physical us, the crackle of the energy arcing between and drawing us together. Since the weekend at Dunsborough, when we’re together, we touch constantly: lacing fingers, stroking skin, anything to keep a grip on what we have.

“Okay, Prince Charming,” I whisper and rest my head on his.

Guy stands, keeping hold of me and I wrap my legs around his waist. “Shush. I told you, no princes.” He kisses me leisurely, his lips soft and teasing against mine. “Go for the Big Bad Wolf instead.”

I nip his bottom lip, wishing he wouldn’t stop. “Big Bad Wolf?”

“Oh, yeah.” He heads toward the stairs, still gripping me to him. “He sees you better, hears you better, and eats...”

“Ohmigod!” I laugh and put my hand over his mouth.

Guy’s eyes shine and he twists his head away from my hand. “You’re staying. End of story.”