Authors: Julie Blair
“Best birthday ever?” Hannah stretched her arm around the car seat and tickled Liz’s calf.
No, her best birthday was the year Teri gave her—“Yes, it is.” No more sadness. Kerri was taking them to what she guaranteed was the best beach on the island. Secluded beach, Hannah had added, rubbing her palms together in that annoying way. Oh, heck, she was tired of being irritated at Hannah.
“It’s certainly been my best birthday,” Jac said, and everyone laughed. She was in high spirits after the zip line. “For my next adventure I’m skydiving.”
“Awesome! I want to go with you,” Hannah said.
“We’re here.” Kerri pulled off the highway onto a tiny dirt parking area.
“I don’t see a beach,” Liz said. More like a wall of jungle.
“That’s why it’s secluded.” Hannah pulled Kerri into a kiss. “Last day in paradise,” she said, popping out of the car.
It was, and Liz planned to make the most of it. Whatever that weirdness was with Jac, it was gone. She’d learned how changeable grief could be—a tornado one moment and vanished the next. Apparently attraction worked the same way. Hormones. A foolish moment.
Hannah and Kerri pulled beach bags and an ice chest from the car.
“I’ll race you to the sand,” Liz said, standing next to Jac.
“You don’t know where it is.”
“Neither do you.”
Jac pointed to her right.
“I know better than to argue with your radar.” Jac’s fingers wrapped around her elbow, and they followed Kerri and Hannah along a trail so narrow they had to walk practically on top of each other. “Careful,” she said, holding back branches so they didn’t slap Jac’s face.
Jac stopped. “Close your eyes.”
She did, breathing deeply, opening her senses beyond the conversation between Hannah and Kerri that was fading as they moved ahead. She’d started this game, wanting to know what Jac’s world was like. Well, as much as possible considering that she could open her eyes and see. Blindness was both disorienting and freeing. Sight was so dominant that it filtered out much of her sensory experience. She liked how its absence amplified other senses.
“I feel cocooned,” Liz said. The warm, humid air was delicious against her skin, like a delicate piece of clothing. “I hear a bird trilling behind me. Branches moving overhead. A car driving by on the road. Something rattling the bushes. I hope it’s not a snake.” She peeked. “And the ocean, faint, and right where you said it would be.”
“Smell?”
“Earthy soil smell. You. Me.” The cocoon tightened around her. Jac smelled like ginger and musk, a new perfume.
“Good,” Jac said, her hand tightening on Liz’s arm, her pulse palpable in her fingertips.
Liz heard the in and out of Jac’s breathing. The sweat-sticky skin of their arms touched. If she turned just a bit, their breasts—She popped her eyes open. Her heart accelerated like a sprinter off the blocks. The cocoon of heat was claustrophobic. “Come on.” She hurried them along the path, their bodies as close as when they’d danced.
Jac stumbled and grabbed her waist. Their knees bumped and their breasts grazed for an instant as she righted herself.
“Sorry.” Liz took forced, deep breaths as she slowed her pace.
When the trail finally widened, Jac stopped. “I don’t know how to thank you for…everything.” She seemed fragile in the midst of this jungle she couldn’t see.
The poignancy of the moment touched Liz’s heart, and the mood changed. She loved Jac’s courage and strength, her willingness to trust and take risks, her thoughtfulness. She hugged her.
“This is the best vacation I’ve ever had,” Jac said.
“You’re teasing.”
“I’m not. Liz, I…I…” She shook her head.
“What about when you were in Greece?” When Jac frowned, she said, “The day we went to the tide-pools, I asked what your favorite beach was. You were there with Maria, weren’t you?”
Jac nodded, looking sad. What must it be like for her to live with memories of what her life had been—fame, excitement, exotic places?
“Come on, let’s make our last afternoon special.” She wanted Jac to be happy.
Jac smiled and everything was right again. Best friends.
“Wow.” The trail ended abruptly at the most beautiful beach she’d ever seen. “Pristine. White—”
“Don’t say any more.” Jac tilted her head as if she was forming a picture of the gently sloping half circle of white sand. The forest that framed it extended down almost to the water on both sides. Secluded was right. The water was shades of turquoise and green, so clear it was like looking through glass.
“Does Kerri know how to throw a beach party or what?” Hannah asked as she and Kerri unrolled a large straw mat under a shade canopy. Hannah wriggled out of her shorts. “Last one in the water gets dunked.” She picked up two sets of fins and a snorkel mask. “You’re my date, Jax.” Winking at Liz she took Jac’s hand and led her to the water.
“Jac’s beautiful,” Kerri said, as they followed them.
“Um, yeah.” Liz didn’t realize she’d been staring at Jac’s legs, specifically at where they disappeared into the swimsuit. She raced past Jac and plunged into the water. When it was up to her shoulders, she put the fins on, falling over only once as she worked her feet into them. After adjusting the snorkel straps, she swam over to join the others in a splash fight. Best birthday ever. Half an hour later she and Jac walked up the beach, jostling each other like kids.
“Water?” Jac asked when they were sitting on beach towels partially shaded by the canopy.
Liz pulled two from the cooler. Champagne and sushi for dinner, courtesy of Kerri.
Jac guzzled water, and chunks of ice slid off the bottle and onto her chest. They slid down between her—
Jerking her eyes away from the two peaks forming in Jac’s suit, Liz was met with the sight of Hannah and Kerri waist deep in the water. Hannah’s hand on Kerri’s breast…Kerri’s head thrown back. They wouldn’t, would they? Right in front of her? She rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes.
*
“Lizzie’s legs are in the sun,” Hannah said. “Put sunscreen on so she doesn’t burn?” Hannah pressed a tube against Jac’s hand.
“You should do it.”
“We’re going for a walk.” This wasn’t the first time, and it was no mystery what they were doing. It irritated Liz, but Jac envied them.
Liz had been asleep for almost an hour, but she’d stayed awake, too keyed up to nap. On the walk from the car, in the quiet with Liz, their bodies touching, she’d almost blurted out…Thank God she hadn’t. Telling Liz she was in love with her was foolish and pointless. Even though Liz hadn’t talked about Teri since the first day, it was obvious that she was still so much a part of her life.
Hannah and Kerri’s voices faded, and then it was quiet except for the wind moving through the palm trees and the irregular rhythm of the waves. Alone with Liz, she let her mind wander to all the places she wanted to touch her. She should wake her up…Squeezing sunscreen onto her palms, she rubbed them together, trying to get up the courage to touch her. Finally, she laid her palms on Liz’s ankles and lightly, so as not to wake her, spread the sunscreen up her calves. Liz’s skin was hot and the lotion seemed to melt into her. Bits of sand moved under her hands as they traveled up, up…smooth skin, firm muscles, knees, then more muscle and soft skin, soft skin, soft—
“What—that tickles,” Liz said, turning over, slipping out from under Jac’s hands.
“Hannah said your legs were in the sun.” She dropped the container and jumped up. She pushed her feet hard into the sand as she hurried toward the water, hoping there wasn’t a visible wet spot on her crotch. She waded out until her waist was underwater, and then deeper to cover her hard nipples. She dug her feet into the sand and swayed with the current. She wanted Liz so much it hurt.
“Do you want to swim again?” Liz asked.
Jac hadn’t heard her approach. “Just enjoying the water.” The end of the vacation was closing in, and her chest felt tight with impending loneliness.
Squeals and laughter came from the far side of the beach.
“Geez. I wish they’d be more discreet,” Liz said.
“They’re fine.” She forced herself not to reach for Liz, not to pull their bodies together and kiss her.
“Will you think about going out with Cassie? I’ve known her a long time. I wouldn’t trust you to just anyone.”
“I don’t want a relationship.”
“Oh.” Liz was quiet for a while. “Why not?”
Because of you. She held the words captive in her heart. “I like my life the way it is.”
Stop asking me questions or I’m going to blurt out the truth and make a fool of myself over another woman I can’t have.
She walked back to the beach through the pull of receding waves. Where was the mat? Liz caught up to her and led her to it. She dropped facedown on her towel. Her back would hurt tomorrow and it was rude to ignore Liz, but she needed time to collect herself.
Liz sat at the upright piano in Jac’s parents’ living room, waiting for Jac to get her trumpet. Her skin was hot from too much sun and sticky from the residue of sunscreen she’d had on all day. Her eyes stung from the salt water. Jac’s parents wanted to hear “Carmel Sketches” one last time. Fine by her. It would relax her. She was exhausted physically from the long day, but keyed up and confused over feelings for Jac that wouldn’t hold still. One minute everything was the way it had been between them. Friends. The next, her heart would skip a beat or she’d catch herself staring at Jac’s body in a way she shouldn’t.
Jac slid the mouthpiece onto her trumpet and walked toward the piano. Her skin was sunburned, and she was wearing the fuchsia blouse.
Liz started the song, wondering which improvisation Jac would practice tonight. Ah, that one. A newer one. She was watching her hands, thinking how amazing it was that her left hand felt normal, when Jac’s playing changed. A subtle shift to more vibrato, then long notes as if she was pulling them from some place deep inside. Mournful. Beautiful. She quieted the piano to let Jac have her solo. She was making it up on the spot. Good.
It happened quickly, like a car accident you don’t see coming. Rough, angry notes barked from the trumpet. Liz looked over her shoulder. Jac’s expression was intense, almost a scowl, as if something dark was forcing its way up and out her horn. Liz fumbled a few bars. Jac had changed to a different key, a minor key. She was playing fast and powerful, like a train roaring down the tracks looking for something to run over. Something in her said this wasn’t good, but she could only try to keep up. Jac had never improvised like this—raw and wild and risky, and she didn’t want to embarrass her by stopping.
Jac was almost growling through the trumpet now, low notes that went right to Liz’s clit. No, no, no. Her nerve endings felt scorched, and sweat broke out on her throat. She forgot what she was playing. Then thought ceased, and they were playing something that was “Carmel Sketches.” And not “Carmel Sketches.” It was intense and physical, and they were all tangled up with each other as if having sex. Cheeks hot, breathing fast, sweat dripping down her back, Liz pounded the keys. Her sex pulsed as if responding to Jac’s trumpet. No, no, no. Minutes felt like days and like no time. Her mind collapsed into the music. This was exhilarating. This was dangerous.
And then as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. As if she were waking from a fever, Jac’s playing slowed and became moody. Liz looked over her shoulder again as she adjusted to the new tempo. Jac looked sad, almost broken, and her expression tore at Liz’s heart. So much complexity. So much sensitivity. So much she didn’t know about Jac.
Minutes later, Jac brought the song to a close with feather-light notes, and they were left with the remnant of what had happened, like confetti falling around them. Liz turned around on the bench. Jac’s parents clapped, broad smiles on their faces. Sweat rolled down Jac’s face, down her throat, inside her blouse. She really should fasten another button. She held the trumpet between her breasts as her chest rose and fell. She was smiling, a satisfied, relaxed smile, as if she’d—
Liz sat in the agony of skin too hot, and pressure pulsing in her center, and arousal draped over her like a thick sweater. She gripped the edge of the bench, bouncing her leg, fighting an overwhelming urge to put her hand between her legs. They were not playing that version at Monterey. They were never playing that version again. Never. “I need some water.” She hurried to the kitchen and splashed water on her face, then gulped ice water.
When she returned to the living room, Jac was cleaning her trumpet, chatting with her parents like nothing had happened. Hadn’t something happened?
“I’m going to turn in,” she said after talking with them for a polite amount of time. She needed to be away from Jac with her wild playing and sleeveless blouses. She wanted her concealed in wool trousers and buttoned-down shirts. She wanted the old Jac. The Jac who played elegantly. The Jac who didn’t make her feel things she didn’t want to feel.
“Sleep well.” Jac stepped toward her.
For an instant, Liz wanted to be swept into her arms. She walked past Jac. She couldn’t hug her. Not tonight. She took a cold shower and then lay on the bed, arms and legs spread. A warm breeze teased over her skin. No, she was not going to touch herself. The urge would fade if she ignored it.
Long after the voices stopped and bedroom doors shut, she lay awake, her mind exhausted from trying to force reason onto a body that burned for what it wanted. Jac. Angry tears stinging her eyes, she thrust her hand inside the tight confines of her shorts. She needed release so bad. She wanted it in Jac’s arms. She was attracted to Jac. Crazy bad attracted to her. No, no, no. She yanked her hand out and scrambled off the bed, wound tight by frustration and confusion. A walk would clear her head. Tomorrow she’d be home. This would fade.
She was out the front door and half a block away before she realized how dark it was. Houses were mere shadows and, without streetlights, she was afraid she’d get lost.
Back in the house, she went to the kitchen. She took a glass of ice water to the deck and closed the slider behind her. She felt fragile, like delicate glass that could shatter with the slightest touch, grasping at a past that time was turning into the brittleness of memories. The stream of days and years with Teri was fragmenting into disjointed images infiltrated with an overlay of new memories that didn’t include Teri. Music that didn’t include Teri. A dream vacation that didn’t include Teri.