40. Burning
Summer
It was like we were existing on two levels. All of me tingling with the awareness of Roman beside me, of the warmth and strength of his hand around mine, and also walking back without Delilah, because she didn’t want to leave the beach, and she was nearly nineteen and about to start college, which meant I had to learn to let go, as terrifying as the idea was. Dropping Roman’s hand at the door to the house and taking a shower in the private ensuite of my bedroom, which had a pretty stunning view of the sea, washing off the salt and sand and knowing that he was doing the same thing on the floor above. Coming out in my robe—which I totally could have worn to the beach—with my hair carefully blow-dried, to put Roman’s shirt and my bikini and towel in the washing machine, then heading upstairs to get his and see if Delilah was back.
It”s hard to let yourself get carried away when you have to remember the laundry. And your cousin. Not to mention your resolution.
Roman was on the deck, which I could have predicted—Kiwis, I’d already noticed, would always choose sitting outside over sitting inside, like there wasn’t enough time in the world to soak up those ridiculous levels of natural beauty—typing away on his laptop. His own hair was still damp, but he’d shaved again, because surely his skin was smoother than it had been when I’d been holding onto him in the water. I’d already noticed that he had a heavy beard, as if the testosterone just couldn’t be denied. I’d bet Hemi Te Mana did, too. Those were some brothers.
When I sank down beside him, he looked up, his hands still on the keyboard, and said, “Bottle of wine on the kitchen bench. Sauvignon Blanc again, because nothing goes with the beach like a good Sauv Blanc. Some strawberries in there, too.”
“Mm.” I lay back in the chair, put my feet up on another one, and crossed my ankles. “I could be too lazy, especially if we’re going to have wine with dinner. I feel like I could fall asleep right now.”
“Go on and do it, then,” he said. “We’ve got time. Booking’s for seven.”
I tried to raise an eyebrow the way he did, but my eyebrows insisted on working together. “You made a booking?”
“I did. For two. Delilah can take that card I gave you and order whatever she wants, but I’ve been waiting for our first date a long time, and I intend to have it.”
“Hey,” I said, with the final remnants of my brainpower. “We’ve had dates. Two walks and a swim date. That waterfall thing you mentioned on your card, with kissing and everything. Also lunch at a café.”
“It’s not a date when you practically run out on me,” he said. “It’s a date when you tell me you want romance and I give it to you.”
“Did I tell you that?” The tingles were right back again, just like that. I was still sleepy. I was also melting. Something about the way he said it, so strong and so sure.
“Seemed like it to me,” he said. “If not, tell me now, because otherwise? That’s where I’m going.”
“Am I just supposed to succumb, then?” I asked. “Let you lead the way?” I’d meant it to come out combative, possibly. At least assertive. Somehow, though, the words didn’t leave my mouth the way they’d formed in my brain.
His smile started slow. It was lopsided, and it was devastating. “Yeh,” he said. “That works for me.”
Oh, man. I was sliding fast, and I was almost out of rope. Which was the moment when the door banged and Delilah called out, “Hi, honey, I’m home!” Which caused Roman to close his eyes and swear under his breath. The word was dirty, and even that worked for me.
“Hey,” I called out, not getting up. “We’re out here.”
“Well, duh,” Delilah said, coming out to join us. “I saw you from the street. Didn’t you see me?”
“Uh … no.” I tried not to blush.
“Huh.” She looked me over. Naked under my silky robe, with my feet bare and no makeup. I’d been too lazy. “There’s a bottle of wine in an ice bucket in the kitchen,” she said. “I’m getting a glass. Want one?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “Roman and I are going out to dinner soon.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m not coming, not that you’ve asked me, so take a deep breath, Roman, because you’re saved. I’m meeting some people for pizza and possible video games. Let me guess: I’m not welcome to bring them back here, even though this place is just made for hanging out.”
“No,” Roman said. “You’re not. Probably something about parties in the contract, for one thing.”
“Uh-huh,” Delilah said. “And that’s the only reason. All right, I can tell when I’m not wanted. It’s something about the way you’re not jumping up, Summer, and giving me a whole quiz about who these people are and where we’re going. It’s girls and boys, OK? It’s hanging out. Should I announce that if a guy gets fresh with me—that’s the word from back when you were young, right, Roman? Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth?—you’ll give him a beatdown?”
Roman said, “In too good a mood to be baited, sorry, but if anybody crosses the line, feel free to mention my name. And to ring me. If you do, I’ll be there, no worries.”
“Does everybody actually know who you are?” Delilah said. “Enough to be scared of what you’d do?”
“It’s a very small country,” he said.
“Huh,” Delilah said. “OK, then. I’m going to take a shower and get out of here, then. I’ll be back when I’m back.” Pushing, possibly, but what could I reasonably say?
I settled on, “Throw your suit and towel in the wash before you go.” Whoops, somehow I’d forgotten that. “You should do that too, Roman, and I’ll start the machine. I need to get your shirt dried and ironed before we leave here.” Not that I wanted to worry about even so small a task as that, or about Delilah, either. I wanted to be what I’d never been, except, weirdly, possibly on that survival show. Free.
“No, you don’t,” Roman said. “You don’t need to think about any of that tonight. If it needs cleaning before I’m back in Dunedin, Esther will send it out.”
“Must be nice,” Delilah said.
“It is,” Roman said. “Thought you were going.” He glanced at his watch.
“All right,” Delilah said.“I can take a hint.”
“Maybe if somebody hits you over the head with it,” Roman said, and I laughed and stood up.
“I’ll go get ready myself,” I said. “Otherwise, I may fall asleep right here. Do I have half an hour?”
“You have a good forty-five minutes,” Roman said. “Take your time.”
Roman
The forty-five minutes went by, and I focused on my solar-power research and didn’t think about tonight. After that, ten more minutes went by during which I didn’t focus nearly as well. Finally, I headed down the stairs. Summer was nothing if not punctual.
Nothing down here but bedrooms and baths. Four doors, three of them closed. I called out, “Summer?” Hearing nothing, I looked in the open door first, and found a bedroom whose windows faced the sea. Clothes tossed higgledy-piggledy across the bed, a towel on the floor. Delilah’s, because if Summer was ever messy, I’d be more than surprised. “Control” was pretty much Summer’s middle name.
Three more doors. I knocked at the one closest to Delilah’s, even though it wouldn’t have a sea view. Silence, so I cracked the door a bit and peered in. Empty bedroom.
The second door, then. Again, not facing the sea. Also empty.
One more. I listened outside the closed door and heard nothing, then rapped quietly and called, “Summer”? Listened hard. No answer. No sound anywhere, in fact, but the muted hum of a heat pump and the faint swoosh of a washing machine.
Half of me thought, She’s changed her mind. Feels backed into a corner, and gone out the back to get some space. I was so sure that had to be the answer—Summer wasn’t exactly an uncomplicated person, or an unconflicted one—that I checked my phone for a text, even as I was also telling myself, Find somebody who wants you, mate. You know there are enough of them out there. And felt no desire to do it.
No text. I turned the handle—unlocked—and opened the door.
She was sprawled across the bed in the dim light of drawn shades, face-down, still in her dressing gown, her hair across the one cheek I could see, her body still as death.
I wasn’t even aware of moving. I was on my knees on the bed, my hand on her shoulder, shaking her, calling out.
One gray eye, opening. Her palms on the bed as she tried to sit up and couldn’t—because I was over her—and her knees shifting under her.
“Oh. Sorry.” I sat back. “You were asleep.” I tried to laugh.
“What are you doing?” Sitting up, her hands at her hair, then down to check her dressing gown, which, yes, was open a bit—nothing under there but that body—and yanking it shut.
“Thought you were unconscious,” I said. “Possibly dead.” And didn’t look down her dressing gown.
“You thought I was dead?” She was staring at me as if she couldn’t believe her ears. I could hardly blame her. “Does that happen to you often?”
“I called out,” I said. “Twice. I knocked, too. Got no answer.”
“Because I was asleep. Extremely asleep, apparently.”She was still holding the dressing gown closed, pale hair tumbled around her kitten’s face, big gray eyes blinking. “I was lying down for fifteen minutes, that’s all. I set an alarm! What, you instantly had to rush down here?”
“You set an alarm fifty-five minutes ago.” I checked my watch. “Sixty now.”
“I can’t have,” she said. “I just fell asleep.”
I held out my arm, and she grabbed it and blinked some more at the watch. “Oh. Sorry. I can’t believe I did that. Did I miss dinner?”
“I can rebook.”
“Oh.” She pushed her hair back some more. “Half of me wants to stay here and eat something from a takeaway carton, preferably while watching TV and possibly while falling asleep on your shoulder, and half of me wants to …” She trailed off.
“Tell me what the other half wants,” I said. “And then tell me which half wins.”
“And you’ll be OK with that. You know, I’ve noticed that you can be a pretty forceful man. One who expects things to go his way.”
“Yeh,” I said. “I can. I am. But have I been that way with you?”
“Well, let’s see. I shouldn’t collect my belongings from your hillside, even though I obviously needed to do exactly that? I shouldn’t leave your house, even though you had no kind of responsibility for me? I should take this mystery ute you sold me for way too little money, even though—I can’t even come up with anything here, that one was so far beyond the bounds of reason. I should move in with you?”
“You said no most of those times,” I said. “I can hear no. So tell me. What does the other half want?”
She sighed, and then she did the thing that destroyed me. She leaned against my shoulder and let me put my arm around her. “I know it’s probably backsliding, but the biggest part of me seems to want to get beautiful and go out with you and feel … the way I don’t trust feeling. For an evening. No worries, I know that ‘to love and to cherish’ isn’t real.” At which point she sat up and laughed. “And stop with the horrified start of surprise. It was a metaphor.”
I wanted to ask, “What’s your current position on casual sex?” But I wasn’t a fool. I also wasn’t convinced this was casual, because casual was exactly how I didn’t feel. I asked instead, “What is it, then? Go out or stay in?” I was good with either one, especially if she stayed in that dressing gown. On the couch in that thing, and no Delilah? My hand sliding up her bare leg and my mouth at her neck? Oh, yeh, I was good with that.
Which was why, of course, she said, “Let’s go out.” She pulled back, slid off the bed, put her hands on my thighs, smiled into my eyes, kissed me softly on the mouth, and said, “Give me fifteen minutes. I won’t knock your socks off, because you’ve already seen the dress.”
“No worries,” I said. “You’ll still knock my socks off.”