The Possession (13 page)

I couldn’t look at him, but I couldn’t not look at him. Heat rushed up and down, up and down me, from head to foot.

He jumped down from the fence but leaned there, his eyes dark pools of restless ocean water. “Don’t be . . . I told him we didn’t do anything, Daph. The whole thing was just—we didn’t do anything.”

“What did he say?” I mumbled through my hands.

“That we were damn lucky and we should damn well think next time and damn, we should discuss it first if we think of doing it because if we’re old enough to do it, then we’re damn well old enough to talk about it and the damn consequences.” He heaved a sigh. “He’s been real fond of the word damn.”

Silence dropped over us. The moon rose, painting the sky dusky and romantic. My arms slid down to hug my waist as I dropped my gaze to the ground.

“Daphne?”

My heart banged a ponderous beat, like trying to run in a dream. He had moved, standing before me now.

“Have you ever thought about, you know . . . doing it?”

Without looking up, I felt my face relax, if not the rest of me. I could answer that safely. Didn’t just about everyone my age think about it at some point?

“With me.”

My eyes locked on his. My lips parted, tongue flicking out to wet them, and my arms dropped to my sides out of protect mode. Fingers gripped the tower wall, but I straightened, swaying away from the stone at my back.

Unintentional messaging as old as time, he moved closer, honed in on my willingness.

It was so hard to breathe. I kept thinking I should run, but his intense attention kept me glued in place. His hands skimmed my arms, shoulder to elbow and back again. Twice, then he stopped, but his eyes continued to roam over me. The effect rippled across me, blocking reason. My body gelled; my limbs weakened and surged with strength at the same time.

“I wouldn’t . . . ,” I started, looking away, trying to save myself, and he leaned in.

“But have you thought about it?”

I lifted my eyes to his. “Yes.”

His face softened, tension leaving it though the air was still tight between us. “Me, too.”

Zach dropped his arms to his sides, but he didn’t step back.

I reached out and rubbed his elbow. His hands found my waist then settled on my hips, their weight an unspoken signal. Almost on their own, my palms went to his chest, my heart pounding as I slid them past his open, white button-down shirt, to rest on the muscle t-shirt beneath. The heat of his skin through the cloth warmed my fingertips to a fine tingle.

His hands slid back up to my waist, bunching my shirt as they went.

I pressed back against the wall, panicked and excited when his thumbs brushed the skin of my stomach and shot the tingle right up my arms. I gripped his shoulders to steady myself.

Zach pushed closer and his hands moved higher. Chills skittered up ahead of them. His lips came down on mine.

He consumed me—I can’t think of any other way to describe it. Though our bodies barely touched, electricity pulsed back and forth like some storm experiment gone haywire. I vibrated in places I didn’t believe I could and all my senses seemed to scramble up.

I flung my arms around his neck and he crushed me close. Our bodies were a perfect fit.

We spun away from each other as though burned. I backed to the fence, gripping the nearest post for balance. Zach planted one hand against the lighthouse, the other on his hip, and stared at the ground. His breath seemed to come as sharp and shallow as my own.

“I’m sorry, Daph. I shouldn’t have . . .”

It would be so easy to let him take all the blame. After all, aren’t guys just walking hormones waiting to pounce on the first unsuspecting female?

But I knew in my heart I was as much at fault. I had called him to me, as anxious to explore this realm as he was—and as scared.

“
We
shouldn’t have, Zach,” I managed at last, finding breath to power my words. “But I’m not sorry.”

A sea breeze washed over me, chilling, as his gaze flashed me with fire. Goosebumps speckled my flesh and my knees teetered. Zach straightened and held out his hand. “Let’s go sit at the table.”

“Opposite sides.” I smiled and slid my palm to his. His hand clenched with mine seeped strength back into me.

We settled at the table, across from each other. Zach hadn’t let my hand go yet.

“Any luck with the journal hunt?” he asked, tracing my fingers against his palm.

“No. And I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. I was so sure Ro would’ve kept one.”

“Maybe it isn’t in the library. Maybe she would have hidden it somewhere else. Someplace private.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

He shrugged but his smirk said
I rule
.

I stuck my tongue out at him. The truck rumbled up the drive. Zach and I blew out the torches and went into the house.

For grownups they’d done a pretty good job. They picked up the latest comedy send-up of horror movies, which Zach and I had talked about just yesterday. We made popcorn and split it into two bowls. Aunt and Mr. Philbrook took the couch, and Zach and I tossed the four floor pillows into a pile and leaned on those.

Mr. Philbrook started to say something, and Aunt stuffed popcorn into his mouth. He scowled at her but didn’t look mad.

Aunt pinned me with ‘the look’. It always made me feel grown up. I knew it meant something, but I’d never been sure quite what.

Until today.

As though the words were printed on her eyeballs, I read it clearly.

I trust you.

I would prove myself worthy.

The movie lived up to its hype, scary and funny. I think we laughed more at Aunt’s aversion to gelatinous drippings, though, than the actual scenes they occurred in. We started a contest to see who could name the movie being spoofed first. Mr. P. and I were tied until the spiders showed up.

Did I mention I hate spiders?

Every time their creepy, sneaky, hairy selves showed up on the screen, I hid. First behind my hands, then behind Zach’s shoulder, and finally behind the right side of his shirt.

Zach threw his arm around me and pulled me close. I huddled to his side, yanking the shirt in clenched fists to my eyes.

Zach’s dad grumbled, “Spiders are good, Daphne. They eat lots of bad bugs that would ruin garden plants.”

“Shh,” Aunt shushed him. “I don’t care how useful they are. Daphne’s right. They’re sneaky and creepy. At least she’s getting some sympathy.”

“Awww. Poor baby,” he said, and pulled her near.

And so the rest of the night passed. When the movie ended, they rose to leave. I walked Zach to the truck while Aunt and Mr. P. spoke on the porch.

At the back of the truck Zach dropped the gate and we both hopped up. He moved close. When we swung our legs, it seemed we were hinged together at the knee.

“I could probably get to the town library tomorrow, Daphne, and look for, I don’t know, diaries I guess, in the Maine room.”

“That’s so sweet, Zach, but I really don’t think we’ll find anything there. Thanks anyway, though.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “And thanks for letting me wrinkle your shirt to death.”

He ran two fingers along the edge of my hair and tucked it behind my ear. “My pleasure.”

I ducked my head, embarrassed and pleased. He placed his hand over mine and we twined our fingers together. Our legs stilled.

“You know, Zach, there is something you can do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Next rainy day when I go up to search the attic, you can come along and slay spiders.”

“What if there’s lightning?” He brushed his lips across my temple.

My eyes drifted closed with the sensation. “Then I guess I’ll be wrinkling another shirt.”

I peeked open one eye. He was right there, so close, that one-sided grin so adorable.

I pressed my mouth quickly to his then jumped down from the truck and started toward the porch.

“Hey!” he called, “where are you going?”

I turned and threw my arms up. “To watch the weather channel!”

His laugh followed me up the porch steps, past Aunt and his dad, and warmed me all the way to bed.

I cannot grasp the unkindness of a world that spurned our beautiful Sarah. If the townfolk wish to claim victory with her passing, as though a curse from God, may God forgive them. Ignorance, I have discovered, cannot be reasoned with.

Ah, Vincent . . . how I miss you and Sarah and the life we could have lived. Oft’ times I know not how I bear such despair, nor how I do not run from it.

Still, my love, I would not quit this place as well you know, for I will not be driven from all I hold dear.

I do remember your words on that glorious afternoon when first we kissed. Who would have guessed such life could spring forth amongst the headstones? I did not understand the need for caution then, but now take your warning to heart that small towns have long memories.

I pray to my last breath this is so. If it is curse and legend they crave, I will gladly oblige. Let my words be found a curse, and legend rise from it: A Wentworth woman will forever tend this light; able of body, proud of heart—an authority that cannot be shunned or ignored. She will have a Philbrook by her side, be they friend or lover. Yes, my love. Your family—your people—will always be welcomed here.

Alas the night calls. I will see to the lights, a beacon to guide other lonely souls, and then I shall retire. Perhaps, in slumber, we will meet again.

Ro snapped the green velvet cover closed, and I awoke. Flat on my back, the white ceiling reflected the nothingness, the emptiness inside me, and hot tracks of tears began to flow down the sides of my face and into my ears.

I couldn’t move. I did not want to move. I wanted to close my eyes and return to unknowing, the blank state of deep sleep.

My alarm clock sounded and I had to rise. The tears shifted direction, salting my lips with their despair. I slapped the off button and got up, walking to the window. To the sea.

Once I stood before the open window and the sea air rushed my face, I calmed. I needed to shower, to wash away the dregs of sleep and dreams, and then I could get on with my day.

Wrong. Halfway through breakfast, I pushed my food aside and pinned Aunt with my most pleading look.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?”

“I don’t know. I’m not feeling that great today. Can I skip out?”

“Do you have a stomach ache? A fever?”

“No. Just, you know, PMS I guess.”

I hated lying to Aunt, but she couldn’t possibly understand how deep under my skin Ro could get. I needed a break from the lighthouse and the cemetery and the bicentennial—anything to do with this whole situation.

“What do you mean by skip out?”

“I thought I’d just go clamming down at the beach for a bit.”

“You’re going to leave Zach to do the work himself?”

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the table.

“You are PMSing,” she agreed. “Okay, go ahead. But be back by lunch.”

I put my dishes in the dishwasher and kissed the top of Aunt’s head as I passed. “Thanks.”

She nodded with an understanding smile as I left the kitchen.

I changed into my bathing suit and picked up the metal clamming bucket on my way past the shed. Ditching Zach wasn’t the nicest move I’ve ever made, but I needed some alone time to shake this black cloud.

The deserted beach stretched away from the path, the sheer rock walls making it the only escape from the sea. I crossed to the wet sand of the tide line, steps slow so I could scan for air bubbles, the telltale sign of mollusks catching their breath. The dig wasn’t always successful, but I didn’t care. Though it’d be nice to bring enough home for dinner, I wasn’t really here for clams and quahogs. I wanted serenity and escape.

The sun climbed the sky and the air warmed. I threw off my sun cover, an old white cotton shirt of my dad’s, and waded into the surf. I knew I really shouldn’t go swimming alone, but I wasn’t going out far, just enough to get wet.

The quick dip was refreshing and, once back on the beach, I tilted my head back and threw my arms open to the sky. The sun warmed and dried, and began to chase away my sorrow.

“I intrude
.”

I spun toward the deep voice, my arms not wide enough to cover me. The sea dripped into my eyes, stinging, and I blinked my vision clear.

The Indian man, Vincent, stood several feet back from the tide, his legs wide braced for balance on the sand. He held my dress in his hand and his smile at bay.

I would not let him intimidate me. I could swim here if I pleased and I did please.

I flung my hair back over my shoulders, defiant even in the fact that it hung down about my shoulders rather than pinned up as befitted a good churchgoing woman. As steadily as I was able in the sand, I marched forward and snatched the garment from his grasp.

“Yes, sir. You do intrude.”

“Good. We have now put that argument to rest. Shall we start another?”

I would not smile, damn him. Folding the dress over my arms to block his vision of my chemise and my person, I smoothed my expression. “I’ve no desire to quarrel with you, sir.”

He stepped forward and I stepped back. He halted, his gaze flashing to the surf beyond my back. “But I am afraid you will, Ro, when I inform you that you are wasting energy and time if you keep to the shore to dig.”

“My name is Dorothea.”

“I know, Ro.”

I felt my lips quiver and bit them into a hard line. Oh, no. He would not take me off my guard with wordplay.

He pulled the cotton shirt up over his head and tossed it to the sand.

“How dare you,” I sputtered, but he passed me by and walked into the sea, the waves lapping his naked calves. He stood unmoving in the water. But, no. His right leg moved, as though his foot was up to mischief beneath the blue water. Of a sudden he stooped over and plunged his hand into the sea.