Miracle Man (2 page)

Once the rafters were
cleared of dust webs and the floorboards were back to their weathered best, she
went out to the car and retrieved two large boxes which took some effort from
her small frame to haul inside. She dumped them side by side on the big soft couch
before the fireplace, and opened them up. One was full with books, the other
with DVD cases and old VHS video cassettes. "This is your new home
guys," she said aloud, as if addressing the contents of the boxes.
"Hope you like it."

She turned to look at the
wall around the fireplace. It was almost completely dominated by bookshelves,
overflowing with books. Old books, new books, big books, small books, fiction
and non-fiction. Along the wall to the right, beside the large television on
the wall, the books gave way to videotapes, mostly VHS, though quite a few were
professional U-matic tapes. Every tape was clearly labelled and numbered. Lahra
scanned the wall, hands on hips, and quickly came to an obvious conclusion.
"Well, it
will
be your new home as soon as I build you some shelf
space."

Seeing the books again
brought on a sudden melahcholy. She ran her fingers along their spines, picked
one out at random and brought it up to her nose. It was her father who first
introduced her to the smell of books. "Books are like people," he
used to say. "They each have their own personality, their own story to
tell. They're alive, just like you or me. They even have their own individual
smell. At first you might think they all smell the same, just as you might
think all people are pretty much the same. But get to know them, draw them
close to you, and it doesn't take long to appreciate that every book is
different—unique."

A bright, colourful book
caught Lahra's eye, and she reached for it. It was a children's book called
Harriet
the Hamster
. She opened it to the title page and read the words scrawled
there in red crayon; 'This book belongs to Rebecca Brook age 6'. She lifted the
book to her face and smiled, taking in its scent. It had been two years since
she'd seen her sister.

Lahra gave the wall of books
a loving gaze, sighed deeply and retreated to the kitchen. Enough of the past.
It was the first day of a month of relaxation for her, and she had people to
see and things to do.

She grabbed the phone by the
kitchen's bay window and dialled, simultaneously running herself a glass of
water from the tap. Wally wouldn't be expecting her for another day. It would
be great to surprise him like this. She loved the way he'd always try so hard
to remain cool and unaffected whenever they spoke on the phone or got together.
In the sixteen years she'd known him, he could never quite hide the
little-boy-excitement that dwelled within.

The phone rang on. He must
have been out. It was too early for him to be at the cinema yet, so she made a
mental note to call again before dinner, and hung up.

Which was when a movement
outside caught her eye.

The Ulonga-Bora River was a
good forty metres from the house, and much of its bank was obscured by trees
and shrubs. On the opposite bank, like a reflection of her family's property,
was a rising green hill and a big, colonial house that had belonged to the
Taylors. But it was none of this that was out of the ordinary. It was as it had
been for decades. It was the naked man swimming in the river that had stopped
Lahra in her tracks.

For an absurd moment Lahra
thought she might remove and clean her glasses just to make sure she wasn't
seeing things. She sipped from the glass resting on her lip, staring at the
white, muscular form that glistened in the sun. The man appeared to be swimming
against the flow of the river, his slow, strong stroke timed so that he made no
forward progress. The only ground he made was that which the river conceded.
Old Mr Taylor would have seized up after the first three strokes had it been
him in the water, such was his distaste for physical activity. And Lahra
couldn't remember there being anyone else from the Taylor family in the way of
friends or relatives who might be there doing battle with the river now. This
demanded closer inspection.

She slipped out onto the
verandah. The air outside was chill, winter paying its last respects for the
year, and she considered going back in for a jacket. But she didn't dare turn
her back on the stranger ahead. Jeans and T-shirt would have to do.

She moved quickly and
quietly down the hill, the grass whipping the denim across her shins, careful
to keep an eye on the swimmer below. She went left, staying behind him, and
arrived close to the bank where she and Janie had had their adventures so many
years ago. The twisted gum trees and squat bushes provided ample cover for most
of the way along the bank, and she crept forward, now aware of the noise of the
swimmer splashing over the pleasant sound of the river's progress. Every moment
or two she caught glimpses of flesh stretching in the water, until finally she
came to a perfect vantage point, not too close, but close enough to assure her
that there was indeed nothing wrong with her glasses.

A shiver ran through her as
she set her eyes on the man not fifteen metres from her. The water must have
been freezing. The mountains on the horizon to her right were still capped with
Spring snow, and the run-off would be what was causing the river to run so deep
and strong. But if it was cold, the swimmer showed no sign of it. He swam as
strongly as before, and he breathed on opposite sides every third stroke. It
was an odd spectacle to see such a powerful man remaining in virtually the same
place for all of his effort.

He had dark hair and wore
goggles, which was the only thing Lahra could distinguish about his looks. But
she found it hard to concentrate for too long on what he looked like. His back
and shoulders rippled with energy, clearly defined beneath the water that
glanced over them. The curve of his lower back accentuated the white, round
buttocks that bobbed left and right in time to his slow kick. He looked long
and hard and lean, cutting through the icy water like he had been made to do
so. Lahra suddenly felt embarrassed. What was she doing, crouching in the
bushes spying on a naked man? Yes, she was curious to see who it was swimming
in the river beside her house, but this seemed quite the wrong way to go about
it. Her heart was beating hard for the second time that day. She had better get
out of here and back to the house before the man stopped swimming.

She took a step and that was
as far as she got. The swimmer stopped, and let the current help him closer to
the opposite bank. He stood, breathing heavily, looking at the sports watch on
his thick wrist. Lahra held her breath, and stood motionless, sure that he
would turn around at any moment and see her hiding there in the trees. As it
was, he stood with his broad shoulders and dripping back to her, waist deep in
the river, lifting the goggles up onto his forehead. She prayed he would simply
climb out and walk away without looking back. But another part of her wanted
the stranger to turn, just to see his face. Just to see if it really was the
man she imagined it to be, despite all reason pointing to the likelihood that
it couldn’t be him, and despite her refusal to entertain it begin him as a real
possibility.

A second later and she had
her answer. The wet man bobbed down in the water and turned in Lahra's
direction. As he stood, she wasn't at all aware of his nakedness. The thing
that held her immediate attention were the bright green eyes that sparkled with
gold. The eyes of Marcus Dean.

Lahra gasped, and the
adrenaline that burst through her chest told her to run. Instead, she tried to
push herself further under cover, the fear of being seen now double, triple
what it had been. But the edge of the river bank at her feet was soft and
unsure, and it took just a split second for her to lose her footing altogether.
She clutched desperately at the tree beside her as the water came up to meet
her. She screamed.

Everything was wet and
grassy and muddy, and Lahra flailed her arms and kicked her legs against the
sudden ice-coldness that enveloped her. She swallowed mouthfuls of water as her
fingernails scratched into the earth of the bank, and what little oxygen she
could find wasn’t enough. She gasped and choked as her feet vainly tried to
take hold on the river bed. Her glasses were gone, her vision made worse by
water that seemed alive, intent on dragging her below. Inside she was
screaming, but no sounds came out. Her heart pounded on the inside of her
ribcage as if it were trying to escape the icy waters on its own.

Then, air. Solid, dry ground
beneath her. Her knees found room to push the rest of her upwards and out of
the water. She coughed and gasped, gratefully sucking in great lung-loads. She
was dimly aware of hands on her thighs, lifting her and pushing her away from
the river, but she was too exhausted to care much. She slumped onto her back
and just breathed, her chest heaving quickly with each intake. Slowly she
relaxed, and her breathing became less desperate. She opened her eyes once
again and looked around. Crouching beside her was a very scared looking Marcus
Dean.

"Lahra? Are you okay?"

No, she wanted to say. She
wasn't really all that okay. But speech wasn't high on her list of priorities
as she grappled with the problems of breathing normally and embarrassing
herself so completely like this.

"It looked like you
were in trouble. The bank's steep on this side. You frightened the hell out of
me screaming like that. What were you doing in there, anyway? Are you
okay?"

Lahra coughed once again,
and her vision, along with her mind, cleared a little. There was only one thing
she could think and say. "You've got no clothes on." She sniffed and
averted her gaze. She could sense Marcus’s hesitation, then he slipped back
down into the water. It just reached his chest.

He smiled. "Well the
eyes are still okay, anyway. Is the rest of you alright?"

"Yes, fine," Lahra
said, sitting up. She was beginning to feel in control again—as much in control
as circumstances would allow. "Thanks. I don't know what happened."

"Why are you skulking
along the river?"

"I wasn't skulking! I
live here. Or at least-" she coughed "-my family used to live here.
It's mine now. I come here once or twice a year. I just arrived today-"
her mind raced searching for a way to explain herself "-and saw a stranger
in the river."

"So you thought you'd
come down and spy a little." By the look on his face Lahra could tell that
he was thoroughly amused by her embarrassment.

Lahra felt herself blushing
and took her time sweeping her hair back off her face. "I just thought I'd
come down to see who it was, and I slipped. God, I feel so stupid." She
hung her head between her knees. Perhaps she'd better turn the conversation
around to avoid feeling any more embarrassed than she already did. "And
what are you doing here? Marcus, isn't it?"

"Well, it's not Cary
Grant," he quipped, flashing his teeth for the first time. "Yes, it's
Marcus. I live here, too. Up there. Or at least, I own the place. I bought it
when the Taylors moved out six months ago. I wanted a weekend retreat, I guess
you'd call it. It's absolutely perfect."

"I didn't know they'd
moved." Lahra found it difficult to be angry at Marcus for his arrogance
that morning. He'd virtually saved her life. A fresh shiver gripped her as the
cool air hit her wet clothes. She noticed goosebumps on his chest as he ran his
fingers back through his hair. Even half-submerged he had the same confident
gait. She felt her nipples tighten beneath her t-shirt, and she was aware of
his gaze shifting across her body. She pulled her knees up and coughed a little
more.

"You must be
freezing," he offered. "Sure you're okay?"

"I'll dry out. You
don't look so hot… I mean, warm yourself."

"Actually I love it.
The river was one of the main reasons for buying this place. I swim every day.
It used to be the most important thing in my life..." Lahra watched the
green-gold eyes cloud over with memories for an instant. Sad memories, she
thought. But in an another instant they were gone. "...but these days it
really relaxes me, helps me get away from work."

Lahra considered explaining
that she didn't, or rather couldn't swim. But when her darkest memories
threatened to come alive she thought better of it.

"Hang on, what have we
here?"

Marcus reached into a bush
which hung over the water, and brought out Lahra's glasses. He walked to the
very edge of the bank to give them to her, and Lahra's breath caught in her
throat when the water level plunged below his navel. She took the glasses from
his hand and put them back on. She thanked him as her focus became sharp again,
trying to avert her gaze from the clear water. He slid back again, his
swimmer's shoulders sending large ripples back into the river.

Lahra wanted to get up and
go, but her jeans and t-shirt clung to her like plastic wrap. If he weren't so
smug and confident looking she wouldn't have felt so vulnerable. Perhaps she
could get him defensive by reminding him of the Valley Bridge incident and make
a swift exit. "So you got to your Skype okay, then?"

Marcus laughed. "The
little diversion you provided didn't hold things up too much. Still managed to
close the deal." He considered things for a moment. "And that makes
it twice I've rescued you today."