Across The Pond, page 6
The look on her face is delightful as she tears the paper off the box. An avid collector of fake accessories, she recognizes the genuine item, and it's hers. The hug she gives me feels incredible, and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve been touched by anyone, save for the occasional handshake.
“Listen,” she gasps as she makes her way out the door. “Here’s my number. If you wanna just hang out, or anything, call, alright!? Thank you so much!” and off she runs to her gray Toyota, shaking her bag at me as she drives off.
“What was that about?” and I jump, not hearing Rob walk up to me. “Sorry. I walk with a light tread.”
I tell him about the gift I gave Amy, thenand then ask his opinion about the garden.
“I could ask around,” he says. “Wish I could do it for you, but I’m afraid I might screw it up. It also depends on how much you’re willing to pay for it. Your grandparents did a great job with it, and it seems that the watering you’ve been doing lately has done it a lot of good.”
“It has, hasn’t it? Thank you,” I reply smugly, which gets a delicious chuckle out of him.
“Since you’ll be leaving anyway, I don’t suggest you go overboard, though. I mean, what if you get people who aren’t into gardening? Considering this neighborhood, they might even hire one, instead.”
“Good point. I think I’ll just leave it as is, then.”
“I’ll miss you, by the way.”
“Really!?” I gulp.
“Yeah. You’re a great client. Without you, my men and I would never know what English tea was all about.”
Oh.
“I’ll miss you, too. You guys have been great… so far,” I admonish. “I wish I could afford to take you all with me back to London when I find a place of my own.”
“Place of your own?”
“Recently divorced, I’m afraid. Spent the last couple of months with my best friend who was also my divorce lawyer.”
“Oh right. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s alright. Happens, I guess. How long have you been married?” I ask, looking pointedly at his ring.
He falls silent, and I begin backtracking, apologizing for getting personal, but he just shakes his head.
“Rosaria and I were married for more than six years. We have a daughter. Catalina.”
“Divorced?”
“Widowed.”
“Oh dear. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s alright, Danny. I’ve made my peace with it. You get by as best as you can. Catalina and I, we live well. At least, we have a house, right?”
His smile is upsetting me once more. It is kind and gentle, despite what is obviously an old pain.
“And you’ve never thought of remarrying?” I ask.
“Haven’t met the right person, yet. Not that I’ve had the time to. I’m a single parent running my own business. Catalina is my priority. You never had children? Not that you have to answer…”
“No, it’s alright. I wanted children, but Damien… he, felt the time wasn’t right. In retrospect, I’m glad we didn’t go there. It made the divorce easier.”
“I’m sorry about that, Danny. I know it ain’t easy. Just hang in there. All I can add to that is that you just take it one day at a time.”
He is so sincere and kind, that I melt. The past two weeks have been hectic, not allowing me to wallow in either self-pity or anything else. Despite the warmth of the late afternoon, I can still feel the heat of him so close beside me. Standing next to him in the riotous garden that had been neglected for some time, I can almost believe we are in the countryside, far away from the city.
He speaks, but I cannot make out the words, doing my best to hold back the tears that have begun welling up of their own accord. His arms around me feel so natural, so comforting, and as I lay my face against the hard planes of his chest, a sense of peace comes over me.
I do not even know what it is I am crying about. My failed marriage? My dead parents? My dead grandparents? The fact that, except for Angie, I really have no one else in the world?
That’s a frightening thought. Damien so consumed my life, that, over the years, I gradually distanced myself from all of my old friends, save for Angie, who was not intimidated by the Collingsworth clan. Angie held onto me, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that.
So Wwhen the distance between Damien and I began to grow, the divorce was more of a relief than a burden. So what the hell am I crying about? I don’t know, but it feels so good being held by this man. Despite the slight smell of sweat on him, it is a clean scent, an honest one.
He is still talking, but the words do not matter. They reverberate throughout his body, making their way into mine. The sheer hardness of him is breathtaking, and my breathing calms as it moves in sync with his own.
It takes me a while to realize that it is not just his body that is hard, nor just his arms. It is also his manhood, pressing against my lower stomach, considering his height.
I am breathing hard, no longer holding onto him for mere comfort, unable to let go. His breathing changes, becoming more rapid, and his arms around me tighten. His hands around my back have changed from being merely comforting, to one of possessiveness.
My mind is awhirl, while my senses are assaulted by the sheer masculinity of him, and I am wet with need. My hands begin moving from his chest to his sides, amazed at the hardness of him, remembering the pelt of dark hair that coats his torso.
I turn my head up to look at him, knowing that if our eyes meet, we will kiss. And then? This is madness, yet I cannot break away. I not only want him, I need him, and the firmness of his manhood on my stomach tells me he feels the same way about me.
“Oi! ‘berto!? ‘berto!? ¿Dónde estás!?” a voice calls out from inside the house.
We break away, and he walks quickly into the house, while I move deeper into the garden.
CHAPTER 4
~ Daniela
“I don’t understand why this is making you freak out,” says Angie over the phone, clearly suppressing a chuckle. “I think it’s wonderful. And about time, too!”
“Oh don’t be daft! Clearly this is just the result of the bounce effect.”
“The bounce effect?” she asks.
“You know,” I persist. “You get your heart broken by someone, so you latch onto the first person who comes along.”
“Look, Danny. Your relationship with Damien ended years ago. As I recall, you even did the Victorian thing and slept in separate bedrooms for the last two years.”
“We did that on the advice of our…”
“Your therapist, that hack. Probably about the only good piece of advice she gave.”
“She wasn’t a hack!”
“Who chose her!?”
“Damien’s mum,” I reply in a small voice.
“My point exactly. She’s a hack! Look,” she relents with a sigh. “Your relationship with Damien ended a long time ago. He has moved on. His family has moved on. Only you have not. It’s time to stop being a zombie and get on with your life! So tell me more about this Latino hunk!”
“I just don’t think it’s fair to him.”
“To whom!?” she replies dangerously.
“To Rob! Who else!?”
“Oh, thank God! If you said ‘to Damien,’ I’d have flown over there and slapped you to bits. See!? You’re no longer thinking about Damien! That’s a relief.”
Hmmm… she has a point there. Come to think of it, I haven’t actually thought about Damien in a while. How very strange.
“Angie, I haven’t actually thought about Damien in a while. Which is a good thing. But at this point, I still feel… adrift? I like Rob, in an admittedly visceral way, but I’m not in love with him.”
“Good!”
“But I do respect him, so I don’t want to use him.”
“Why!? What’d you do?!? Point a gun to his head and order him to embrace you!? Did you at least have the decency to order him to kiss you before you threatened to pull the trigger!?”
“Of course not.”
“Danny,. I love you. I swear to God, I do. But you can be so slow! When was the last time you got some action from Damien!?”
“You know the answer to that one, Angie.”
“I want to hear it from you!”
“Christmas of 2010.”
“And that was because ‘cuz I got him drunk. It’s 2013 now, Danny girl. At the rate you’re going, your vagina will seal itself shut! Technically, you’ve returned to a state of virginity! Did you know that in some cases, women actually re-grow their hymens?!”
“They do not!”
“Perhaps not. But in your case, it could!”
We choke the line with our laughter. Angie’s way is to just jump in, and if it turns out to be a mistake, then oh well, . Aat least you know. That’s not my way, however, and never has been.
“You’re too calculating,” she accuses. “Look, if it turns out to have been a mistake, you’re coming back here anyway, right? You’ll never have to face him again from here. So I say go for it. If you don’t, I’ll go there and try him out myself.”
“Be my guest,” I tease. “I miss you, luv. Jersey’s nowhere near as bad as they make it out to be in the American films they show back home.”
“Ooh, I miss you too, pet. But I’m up to my eyeballs in work as it is. How’s the house going, then?”
I relax as I tell her about the progress made so far. It does not surprise me, however, when barely five minutes into it, someone starts talking to her and she gives me a quick goodbye and hangs up on me.
No worries. With the five-hour difference, it’s 11 am back home, so her day’s already in full swing. While I’ve adapted to the local time zone somewhat, I still get up at 4, something I can’t seem to break out of.
Rob’s men will be here in three more hours, though he won’t show up ‘till one to oversee them. He’s juggling two projects, apparently. I have no idea what to tell him when he does show up. I’m willing to pretend that it never happened.
What did happen, anyway? He comforted me and we hugged. Nothing to it… it’s even possible that wasn’t an erection I felt. I do have a tendency to imagine things, as Damien often pointed out.
Maybe Angie should come over and slap me silly. Who the bloody hell cares what that mama’s boy thinks!? Mama’s boy. Ooh. Isn’t that pathetic? I don’t know why, but all of a sudden, I start giggling.
As I look back over the times he bowed to his mother’s will, and I bowed to his as a result, I start laughing harder ‘till I can no longer hold back. I crumble to the floor, laughing so hard it hurts. Laughing so hard, I can no longer distinguish the mirth from the tears that fall from my eyes.
A dim part of me wants to close the windows so my neighbors can’t hear the hysterical English woman laughing her guts out, but the laughter is a geyser, a flood, an ocean, coming from somewhere deep inside me, blasting out in loud guffaws.
There is a vast pit inside me, filled with so many things I have so long denied, suppressed, and forgotten. I have covered it, dumped stuff upon it, thenand then sat on it for a long time.
Having gotten a peek at the light, they surge through me, and I curl up on the floor in pain as laughter and tears burst forth from me uncontrollably. A part of me is worried at this madness, but every fiber of my being rejoices at this catharsis, exhausted at the strain of having kept this vast ocean at bay.
I do not know how long I've been lying on the warm, wooden floor of my kitchen. My kitchen. The words elicit another burst of hysterical laughter from me, and I am finally spent. I lay here, gasping and heaving, desperately trying to catch my breath as the early morning light becomes brighter and brighter, a reflection of how I am starting to feel.
It has been far too long since I’ve laughed with such abandon. My stomach hurts from the pummeling I subjected it to, and while I am exhausted, I also feel good. It’s been a while since I’ve felt anything.
As I continue to lay with my cheek on the floor, I revel in the complex patterns of the wood grain upon my face, beneath my hand, feeling an immense sense of ownership. This floor, this house, this property,: it is mine. All mine.
It belongs to no one else. Not to Damien, not to his mother, not to the Collingsworths. It belongs to me, and only me. A new thought sneaks its way into my head:
Aren’t you glad you divorced him before you got the house? Now you don’t need to share.
New giggles burst forth from me, followed by yet another paroxysm of hysterical laughter. I try to stop it, as my stomach hurts too much, and my throat is too sore. But it will not be stopped, and the stomach- belching guffaws begin anew.
As I struggle for air, a moment of panic seizes me and I wonder if it is indeed possible to die of laughter. It is my last thought as I pass out.
When I come to, I notice a change in the atmosphere around me. My first thought is surprise that I actually fainted. My second one is relief, as the wall clock tells me I’ve only been out for a few seconds. My last one is fear. I cannot put a finger to it, but I realize that I am not alone.
“Hello?” I call out uncertainly as I get up. “Who’s there!?” I yell out more aggressively, remembering that this is my property, and trying to mask my growing sense of panic.
I rummage through my utensil drawer, and take out a large steak knife, as I walk out the kitchen and begin exploring the rest of the ground floor. I want to call the police, but have no proof that anyone besides myself is here. Other than what my gut is telling me, that is.
The doorbell surprises me into nearly dropping the knife, so I run to the door, throwing it wide open and scaring poor Mrs. Abramovitz.
“Goodness!” she squeaks as she backs up, nearly falling off my landing and onto the steps behind her. “If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” she manages to gasp as she looks at my hand.
I realize I’m still holding the knife in a death grip, so I relax, “Sorry about that,” I begin shakily. “Ermm… may I help you?” I continue, hoping I sound calm.
“I just wanted to give you these biscuits I made,” she replies, handing out a wicker basket covered in a red and white checkered cloth.
I stare at it as if I’d never seen the like before, and melt at the newly baked smell coming out of it.
“My dear,” she prompts. “Are you alright? You look white as a sheet!”
“I’m sorry,” I gasp out, unable to take my eyes off the basket she’s still holding out to me. “You’ll probably think I’m going mad, but I think there’s someone in my house.”
Her eyes widen in shock. Then with a determined look, she gives a ‘hmpf,’ and marches forward, forcing me aside. Over the next couple of minutes, we search the house wordlessly, opening closets, looking behind furniture, even searching the garden.
“I’m so sorry about this,” I gasp out at last as we stand in the attic together. “I’m so embarrassed. It’s just that I got this feeling…”
She comes forward and gives me a hug, before leading me back down to the kitchen on the ground floor.
“It’s the curse of women to always be afraid, dear. Your generation may have come a lot further than mine, but some things will never change.”
