Page 56 of Torn
I pushed him away and rolled into the water.
I dove deep, to the bottom of the pool’s ten-foot depths. The surface underwater looked like river rocks, small ones, dredged up especially to line this very pool. And for all I knew, that may have very well been the case.
Walt had lain too close in the late-afternoon sun and heat, and it made me feel suffocated. I wanted to be away from him.
I swam around underwater until I felt my lungs would burst and then surfaced, treading water far from the little island.
Walt was watching me and smiling as I glanced at him. He gave a little wave.
Like an otter, I dove back under. It felt safe there, like an escape.
When I finally pulled myself up on the island, out of breath and hungry, I told Walt. “Mind if I take a little stroll? How far is it to that general store?”
Walt eyed me. I think he was suspicious, even if he wasn’t sure what to be suspicious of. “You want me to go with you?” He sat up.
I waved him away. “That’s okay. Just need a little me time.” I smiled but couldn’t help feeling as though I was behaving like an ungrateful ass.
He nodded slowly. “All right. Yeah, just walk down the road. It’s a mile or two at the most. It’s pretty. Maybe you can bring back some dessert? They have a lovely apple cobbler. A local woman bakes it fresh every day.”
“Sounds good. I’ll bring us back some.”
I dropped back into the water.
Walt called after me. “You okay?”
I wasn’t. Not at all. This wasn’t the trip I’d expected. This wasn’t what I’d been looking for at all. Back before I’d met Tom, I thought this little jaunt to the East Coast would be magical, a fairy tale in which I would, after kissing way too many frogs, at last find my prince.
As I swam, I looked back over my shoulder at Walt. He was a black silhouette against the sun, so I couldn’t discern his expression.
I called out, “I’m okay. No worries!”
When I reached the edge of the pool, I heaved myself out, not bothering with the ladder.
I walked toward the pool house, where we’d left our clothes.
When I headed out for my “me time,” I didn’t look back at Walt. I was beginning now to feel sorry for him. Yes, a person can feel sorry for someone even when he himself is the cause of that sorrow.
Things were starting to become clear for me about where my heart was.
AT THEgeneral store, I bought the last two pieces of apple crisp, a Bartles & Jaymes wine cooler (their liquor department sucked), and a pack of Marlboro Lights. I went outside where there was a little bench and lit up. I opened the wine cooler, took a long swig, and made a face. I probably hadn’t had one of these since I was in college and it was way too sweet. I’d finish it anyway, because it would bring me a little oblivion.
The cigarette, though, was another story. Smoking brought with it an almost heavenly release, like I was scratching my deepest itch. I knew I wouldn’t be able to smoke around Walt. When he saw me light a cigarette for the first time back in Bath, you would have thought I’d lit my face on fire. I worried that he’d have a stroke, both from shock and from secondhand smoke.
In short, he’d beenhorrified. “You’re a smoker?” he asked, voice rising with indignation on the word “smoker.”
I’d exhaled, careful to blow the smoke away from him. I felt like a pariah. “You say that like I’m a serial killer, or worse, a Republican.” I tried to laugh, but I’d been on the receiving end of abuse like this before, although not from someone I thought I was falling in love with.
“Well, itiskilling—yourself.” He shook his head and walked away from me. The cigarette had no longer tasted good; the nicotine buzz went up in smoke, so to speak.
I managed not to smoke around him in England, but how long could I pull off that trick here? I knew I should quit, but dammit, I wasn’t ready.
There were many, many good reasons not to smoke, but doing it for someone else was not one of them. Ultimately, to kick any bad habit or addiction, the abstinence had to be primarily for the benefit of the person doing the work.
I finished the cigarette and the sugary wine cooler, trying to shut out any thought or internal debate. It was very quiet, save for the background hum of insects in the trees and birdsong. The sunlight lay in dappled patches on the dusty road and sidewalk. No cars passed by. Because of the humidity, there was a heaviness to the late summer air, but there was also an undercurrent of chill I couldn’t ignore. I imagined a New England winter was biding its time just around the corner.
This was only my first day here, and I was already deathly afraid I’d made a mistake in coming. Boutros, always the wiser of the two of us, whispered in my ear. “You’re always thinking with your heart, or worse, another organ farther south, instead of using your brain.” It was true. My hormones and my heart pretty much ruled when it came to seeking out sex, even companionship and love.
Was I really so different from everyone else?
