The Possession (17 page)

We’d run out of paint for the garage and shed doors, and the hardware store wouldn’t get more in until tomorrow. As it was already well past lunch, Aunt had decided to call it a day. It was hot, and Zach had readily agreed to meet me at the beach for a swim.

I had dressed with care. Even though my bathing suit was one piece, its high cut leg and low scoop back flattered and the deep lime complemented my coloring. Instead of the stupid sarong he’d last seen me in, I wore my new white V-neck chiffon cover-up. The embroidered drapey slit sleeves and sheer material were supposed to be sexy and it sure felt that way.

I’d left my hair down, waving lightly past my shoulders, sure to pick up every red-revealing ray of light thrown at me.

What was happening to me? I stomped down the path. Zach should never have called me his girl. Now it mattered. Now I had to worry. How stupid was that?

He hadn’t gotten to the beach yet, so I dropped my bag, threw down my double-wide towel and walked to the waterline.

If you’ve never been to the ocean, there’s nothing like the salt tang of the air coming off the water. It smells like life. I never gave it a thought, when we learned in science class that the body is almost entirely water, and that life evolved from the sea, but the ocean does exert a pull on you.

The sun warms the air, the offshore breeze cools it. The light, the repetitive lull of surf, the cry of gulls, and the fact that when you look out across the horizon the ocean is all you see has a profound effect. You feel small, but part of such a huge existence, all at the same time.

I bent and picked up a flat, smooth rock. It was difficult to skip stones on the tides, but hey, I’d taken on bigger tasks lately.

The water relatively calm, my stone skipped three times before disappearing beneath the surface.

Again the feeling of being watched nudged me, but this time I knew that Zach had arrived. I took a deep breath, threw out a prayer that he not think me a dork, and turned.

Zach was staring at me. His bag dropped from his hand.

“Hi, Zach.”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His gaze swept me, head to foot, foot to head, and down again. His eyes then fastened on mine but the breeze tossed my hair across my face and I had to sweep it back before I could see him clearly. I started towards him.

He looked stricken, and I had the sudden thought that that was probably how I looked last night when he came downstairs after changing.

Zach was seeing me in a whole new light. But he had liked me before. Just like I had liked him before. My worry slipped away. I dropped onto the blanket and smiled. “You staying?”

That seemed to snap him out of it. “Let’s swim,” he answered. “I think I need the water.”

“Okay.” I stood and pulled the cover-up over my head.

“Ah, shit,” I heard him mutter, and he ran for the ocean without me. Hitting the water, he took four long strides then disappeared beneath the waves.

He was still wearing his tee shirt.

I chased after him, confident.

I dove into the oncoming wave and when I broke the surface, Zach was there.

“You forgot to take your shirt off.”

He smiled and advanced on me. I backed up, laughing, “Afraid you’ll lose another one?”

“I never lost the first one. I know where it is.”

“But will you get it back? And what if I want that one, too?”

He pulled his shirt off over his head. I turned and ran. Slow motion. It’s all you can do in the sea.

Zach tried to catch me, but he fell face first into the surf. I was laughing so hard, I nearly lost my footing, too. Still, I made it to the beach and raced for the blanket. Zach was on my heels. I stopped, spinning to face him before we kicked dirt all over our towels.

His wet shirt limp in his hand, we stared at each other, catching air from our run.

“You won’t forget me, will you, Daph?”

“How could I?”

He tossed his shirt at my bag and we fell onto the towels and onto our backs. Our fingers twined. Silence reigned.

The sun baked us. I draped his cool damp shirt over me, my intent to keep it clear. He watched me through slit eyelids, a smile teasing his lips. I loved his face. The way every bit of it revealed something of him.

“Let’s move to the shade,” he said, “I can’t take it anymore.”

We carried our stuff into the shadow of the rocks. Once settled there, I pulled out two bottles of water and tossed him one. We drank thirstily then recapped the bottles.

“I brought the blueprint,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow. “Something’s not right. I stopped by the cemetery on my way here. It looks like they match, but I keep thinking I’ve seen a sketch somewhere before and it was different.”

Zach drove his bottle into the sand. “Can I see it?”

I dug it out and passed it to him. He opened it carefully. His respect for everything he dealt with impressed me beyond measure. His respect for me and our boundaries appeared an extension of this.

“This is an accurate layout of the current cemetery,” he said, “but I agree with you that it can’t be right.”

“You’ve seen another layout?”

“No, but your ‘missive’, Dorothea’s concern, was that the workers were veering from the plan.”

“I wish we could find her journal.”

“You’re still certain there is one?” He smoothed my hair from my face, his fingers lingering there.

“If we’re so much alike, what do you think?”

“I think I’d feel sorry for Vincent.”

I smacked his hand away and he feigned hurt. “If you’re a handful today, imagine what you would have been back then.”

“What makes you say I’m a handful today?” I demanded.

“Experience,” he replied, and I cuffed him, but he only laughed more. “You know the truth, Daphne.”

“Yeah. That you’re impossible.”

“But you like me anyway, don’t you?”

I stuck my tongue out at him but couldn’t keep a straight face. He returned the sentiment, but his mouth had already covered mine when he did so. His arm wrapped around my bent knees, hand resting on my thigh. I closed my eyes and savored the kiss, the feel of his sun-warmed hair beneath my fingers.

“Get a room.”

My eyes jerked open and Zach spun away, shifting so that he blocked me. Chantal and Gary were almost on our blanket, so close had they come.

Zach motioned down the beach. “Plenty of sand. You don’t need to be on top of us.”

Gary smirked. “What if we want to? Are you going to call your daddy?”

“No, I’m going to call yours,” I said, pulling Zach’s shirt towards me. I didn’t like the way Gary kept trying to see around Zach.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Try it. I’ll—”

“What?” Zach stood and I followed him up. I had never realized he was bigger than Gary. Chantal’s eyes widened, her gaze raking over them. Zach reached back for my hand. I took his readily and he pulled me close, our arms across his waist. “Get lost, or this time I’ll fix it, Gary. And I won’t be as nice as my father.”

Chantal apparently believed him. She turned sideways, posing in profile for Zach’s benefit, and placed a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “C’mon, Gary,” she wrinkled her nose, “let’s go someplace cleaner.”

She sashayed away, Gary in tow. We watched until they were a decent length down the beach. Zach kept me by his side, preferring not to turn his back on them. “You okay?”

I nodded, my eyes slanting toward the gruesome twosome. “Let’s just go.”

“We don’t have to let them chase us off.”

I smiled up at him. “I know. But I’m ready to go, anyway,” and I kissed him. His arms came around me and I wrapped my arms about his neck. “Thanks. For protecting me and all.”

He kissed my ear and let me go. “Okay. They’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”

I went to put his shirt on, then changed my mind. I was not going to let those two dictate my life. I stuffed the shirt into my bag and donned the chiffon cover-up.

“Hey, if you’re going to keep my shirt, you have to wear it,” Zach said, but his eyes were busy admiring.

“I will.” I tried the seductive smile and husky voice Chantal liked to use and, stepping out of their line of vision behind the nearest rock, posed in profile for him. “Later.”

Zach rolled his eyes. “You’re killing me.” But his expression said kill wasn’t really the right word. “Want to get something to eat?”

“Sure.”

We packed up our things, hoisted our bags to our shoulders, and started home.

Zach draped his arm around my shoulders as we closed in on Gary and Chantal, and I slipped mine around his waist. We made sure we stayed at the tide line, a wide berth from their blanket, until we had to cross to the path.

Their eyes burned a hole in our backs all the way.

We stopped at the cemetery, but Zach wouldn’t stay. “Not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“We need to get some clothes on you.”

“So you like the feel of chiffon, do you?”

“I like the feel of you.”

I brought my hands up, palm out in front of me to ward him off. “Okay. Okay. I’ll stop teasing you.”

He nodded with a grin then his eyes narrowed. “But seriously, Daph, can you feel it? It doesn’t seem right today.”

“I thought it felt strange when I stopped on my way to the beach. Like someone was watching me or something. But it stopped when I left the cemetery.”

He mulled this over. “Let’s go to the library.”

“The library? Why? To see if we can find another sketch of the cemetery, or the grounds?”

“No, because Mrs. Rice is working the desk tonight and she’s also with the historical society. She might cut our search time in half.”

“And you’ve known this how long?”

“Handful.” He bumped my shoulder.

“Impossible.” I bumped back.

We left the cemetery and Zach turned toward the lighthouse with me.

“You don’t have to walk me home, Zach. I’ll be okay.”

“I won’t. Not if I don’t see you safely to your door.”

I took his hand. “You’re sweet.”

He lifted his eyebrows at me, but he smiled. We reached the lighthouse lawn and he did indeed walk me all the way to the door.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Dinner and the library?”

I nodded.

“I’ll borrow Kiju’s car.”

“Okay. If you can’t, let me know. I’ll take Aunt’s car.”

He studied me, his expression turned serious. “Don’t leave here or open the door if your aunt isn’t home.”

I frowned.

“For me?”

“Sure.”

He kissed me lightly and strode away.

Someone walked over my grave.

Aunt Dwill snuck up on me. Well, she didn’t really, but I was so engrossed in my vigil at the window that I didn’t hear her until she was in the room and I was caught.

Thankfully, she didn’t laugh. Instead she folded the newspaper I’d left open on the coffee table and asked, “Want me to braid your hair? It’s awful warm out there tonight.”

“Hmmm?” I asked. “Oh, sure. Thanks.” But my eyes remained on the drive.

“Daphne?”

“Yeah?”

“You have to come here and sit if you want me to braid.”

I let the curtain sheer fall closed and turned a sheepish face in her direction. “Sorry.”

Normally, I would just drop to the floor in front of the sofa and Aunt would braid away, but I didn’t want to mess my clothes, so I perched on the ottoman and Aunt took the wingback chair behind me. She admired my outfit.

“I like that top. Wow, funny how all the old clothes are coming back again. That camisole looks like something I would have worn in my day. I love the beading. I’d have to have it.” Her voice held a smile.

“It’s a cami, Aunt,” I explained. “You don’t say camisole. That’s old fashioned. But I know what you mean. That’s how I felt when I saw it in the store the other day.”

To be honest, I saw it, then I saw Zach seeing me in it. That’s what sold me.

The fitted crocheted khaki-colored top had a rawhide tie that ran along the top hem then crisscrossed down the center, tying off at the waist. The tight weave ended just below the breast, giving way to a looser weave though the silk lining ran to the waist. The crocheted part continued on a few inches below. From the base of the spaghetti straps, turquoise and sandstone beads made a circular design along the scoop of the neck.

Aunt actually leaned around the side of my head to see my face. “Since when are you such a clothes hound?”

Ah, crimson had returned. I waited until the heat receded from my face, inconspicuously tucking my feet back against the ottoman. If she saw the heeled sandals peeking out from the flare of my jeans, I’d never hear the end of it. “I like clothes. I just . . .”

Mercifully, she chose to switch the subject.

“Zach’s a good-looking guy.”

I’d prefer to go back to clothes and my lack of affection for it. Too late, though.

“He’s a couple of years older than you, right?”

“Not really. I just turned seventeen and he won’t be eighteen until the fall.”

“Hmmm. The fall. He’ll be going off to college.”

“I’ll be going home before that.”

She tied off the French braid. Her hands rested on my shoulders.

Uh-oh. Wrong answer.

“You know, Daphne, when you’re young, everything feels so big and seems so final.”

I tilted my head just a bit, enough for her to know I was listening but not enough for her to see my face.

She ran her hand over my braid then patted my shoulders. “Look at me, honey.”

Honey. That’s the serious talk name, just like sweetie is for sickness.

I took my time making my swing around to face her, hoping Zach would ring the bell and intervene. No such luck. And she spotted the shoes.

“The first time you really, really connect with someone, Daphne, no matter what your age, it’s . . . well . . . it can be overwhelming. Everything is new and exciting and so . . . urgent. I’m not so old I don’t remember what it can feel like. And sometimes, when feelings hit both of you that strongly, it can take you further than you really want to go.”

“We aren’t sleeping together, Aunt.”

I do believe I made her blush. She was quick to recover. She also looked relieved. “Oh, honey. I’m not saying you are.”