Stuffing a towel under the gap of the bathroom door, I turn on the faucet to our claw-foot tub, the space heater purring in the corner. Glorious water sounds fill the room immediately, giving due chase to a host of prodigious thoughts. I see myself spending a lot of time in here.
Sitting on a small, wicker stool, I have the perfect view of myself in the mirror across from me; naked, I look tired and unequipped. My frizzy hair reminds me of Witch Hazel from Bugs Bunny and unsurprisingly mirrors my emotions. For so long, the hope of healing and moving forward from last year’s events was enough for me. But now, I don’t know. Will this ever end? Will our lives ever be normal? And what the hell is normal? I don’t even know anyone I would call . . . normal.
Leaning forward, I’m unable to see beyond this moment. Staring at my toes on the tiled floor, too many things come to mind: school shootings, serial killers, terrorists blowing up the world. Tears stream down my face, but the fragrance of lavender wafting through the moist air is a train I’m ready to board. As the steam fills the room fogging the mirrors, it’s finally safe for me to stand up.
Slipping into the tub, drawing the shower curtain safely around me, I hear the back door close in the hall and hope it’s Danielle leaving for the day. The last thing I want is more interaction. Pulling the shower curtain around the claw foot tub and placing a damp cloth over my face and chest, I inhale the humid air, clinging to a wonderful, antediluvian inference as my own. The warmth soothes my very existence. Lowering my nose to just above the water line, my worries finally begin to melt away. Going further, ears plunged, the top of my head dipped, I could stay here forever . . .
Visions of our house in Costa Rica last year, come to mind. Its large roof with wooden columns that sat over a concrete floor without walls or doors, was a highway for birds and butterflies, it was rustic but romantic. The bedroom, our only private area, with its jalousie wall facing our bed, was a window to the horizon. From our hillside vantage, whirling pin curl currents, accentuated the banded tones of the sea like a painting.
Remembering the glow of the candles breaking through the absolute darkness of night, brings a sigh to my lips. Life was so simple there. We didn’t even have hot water, but the rainwater we drank was sweet and full of life. Once a week we would go to town and buy supplies and food items. And the fish that was our main staple, was so fresh, I still cannot bear to buy it in New Mexico. The one chicken we bought from our neighbors down the road, was such a treat, that when we smoked it on our makeshift barbeque, an oscillating fan cage propped up by stones in a wheel barrel, the aroma drove me into a primitive craving. I’d never experienced anything like that before; stripped of our first-world burdens and luxuries, our priorly perspective was re-forged. I really believed we were starting over with playful and curious hearts. Snacking on mangoes or whatever nut was in season at the time, we kept work and socializing to a minimum of have to. Remy painted when he wasn’t surfing, he was calm and peaceful, his thoughts unburdened . . . I could have stayed there forever too.
The sounds of birdsong and the diffused light running through the jungle canopy mimicked my state of mind, one foot in reality, the other in sub-conscious, it was sublime. But I also recall other moments, when the perfect balance was wholly corrupted. Dipping the washcloth in the warm tub water, I take a moment before I recollect the powerful gusts of wind that literally shook the house, waking me with the taste of sand in my mouth, and terrifying images from the park.
“It’s just the wind baby.” I remember Remy telling me, “Go back to sleep.” Ever sentinel with a tankard of coffee in his hand; my protector. But like a battening noose my dreams made me vulnerable even in paradise and the harder I try to leave them behind even now, the more flagrant, and evil they become.
“Wait a minute.” Opening my eyes, and yanking the washcloth off my face, the smell of alluring pork confuses me. “I smell ribs!” Pulling the shower curtain open, I find Remy standing at the side of the tub, naked with an easy smile on his face.
“Can I come in?”
“That all depends. Do I smell ribs?”
He whips out a small Chinese to-go bag from behind his back.
My stomach lurches as I gather my legs to my chest, to make room. “Now this is a surprise.
“I’m full of surprises,” he states with a curious smirk, handing me a barbeque rib from the bag as entry fee while he climbs into the tub.
I make yummy sounds for several seconds, before finally discarding the stripped bone back into the bag and grab another. “I’m mad at you,” I mumble with a full mouth.
Tilting his head, he hands me another rib. His long hair now wet and clinging to his shoulders in the soapy water as he watches me devour the second rib in silence.
Throwing the bone to the floor, I’m now prepared for this discussion. But before I can speak, he takes my fingers into his mouth, and slowly begins to lick the barbeque sauce off each of my fingers. My body instantly takes control of my mind, and I’m forsaken by his blue eyes loving me.
Placing my hands in the water, he caresses my arms with the warm wash cloth, his tender pressure kneading my muscles as he works his way to my neck in small circular motions. Dipping the cloth back into the tub, he drips a hotline of water like nectar down the center of my breasts. It tickles as he lathers them, one at a time; deliberately teasing me with flirtatious strokes. Sighing, my sense of touch heightened, I quiver as he works his way down my belly. The pressure of his hands affirming, as they move between my legs. My mouth parts, and Remy moves in meeting my tongue. Laying his body on mine, my legs now thrown over each side of the tub as invitation, his head tucks into my shoulder with an initial thrust that sends a wave of water splashing to the floor. I grasp the edge of the tub with both hands for leverage. Our momentum building quickly, his sweet breath in my ear, the taste of his skin divine. Driving deep inside, we writhe together, pulling and pushing, water splashing everywhere, until our rhythm like a clock, clicks off an eternity. Holding my breath, there is nothing else in this world except our union as a delicious wave rushes through me in a long warm shudder. Remy extends, frozen with release, his nose touching mine.
Neither of us move for a moment while we catch our breath, then I wrap my feet around his back, absorbing him silently. Placing the wash cloth over his shoulder blades, the sound of the space heater works its way back into play. It’s thankfully blowing warm air on us, as there are only a couple of inches of water left in the tub.
Smiling at me and whispers, “Now that, was some take-out.” We both laugh, as he gives me a kiss. Untangling, he steps out of the tub, and makes his way to a towel.
I watch every move he makes, his trim body almost like liquid. “Actually, I really am mad at you.” Looking at him through the sink mirror, I stand up, naked in more ways than one.
“Me? Nah.”
Determined not to be schmoozed, I sit on the rim of the tub, my feet floundering in a puddle on the floor, as I state clearly, “Rem, I know about the other survivors.”
He sits next to me, leaning over his elbows, before responding, “Who told you?”
“Not Danielle.”
Turning his head, he waits for my answer.
“Galax.”
Biting his lip, he nods, narrowing his eyes.
“What else don’t I know?”
“That’s it. I just . . . didn’t want to worry you.”
“I’m already worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Steph . . . you know I won’t let anything happen to you?”
Shaking my head, a multitude of concerns slip by, before I ask, “Is there anything else I should know? I saw your lists upstairs. That’s a lot to keep track of.”
He says nothing.
“I know you were fond of Marcus.”
Remy looks away, like he’s collecting his emotions. “He was just a kid. A silly, awkward kid . . . condemned by his own father, just because he was different.”
Struck by his grief, my eyes tear.
“He was run off the fucking road, Steph.” Standing up, he moves back to the sink.
“I’m so sorry.” I reach out, but he turns away. “Remy, I know you’re struggling. Maybe I can help?”
“Yeah well, you don’t plan a murder out loud, do you?” he quips, wrapping his waist in a vintage Star Wars towel before plastering an unfamiliar smile on his face.
“You don’t what?”
“Actually . . .” He turns back, and hands me a towel suddenly light hearted, “I think you’ll like this surprise.”
“I’d better.”
Laughing, he opens the bathroom door.
“No. I’m serious.”
“Come on, Jersey.” He jokes, leading me into the unheated back hall, now billowing with vapor. Both of us barely wrapped in towels, continue into the living room shivering. He’s bristling with excitement, it’s almost annoying.
“What is that?” I point to a giant covered box in the middle of our living room.
“Not that, who?” He pulls a blanket off the box.
Underneath is a huge dog kennel. Whatever beast is in there, it’s big. “Okay, who is that?” I ask as a rhythmic thud resounds from the box.
“Someone to walk with.”
Kneeling down, I clearly see a young German Shepherd standing in the crate. “Oh, my goodness.”
“His name is Soter.”
Tears flood my eyes knowing Soter is the spirit of protection in Greek mythology. Sitting in front of the crate door, his nose checks me out with enormous warranted sniffs. But his tail continues to wag against the plastic walls of his kennel.
“Geia sou, Soter,” I say in Greek, gently opening the crate door. His brown, intelligent eyes awaiting my next move. “He’s beautiful, Rem.”
The corners of Soter’s eyes are practically painted with black dramatic markings, that match his muzzle and saddle, contrasting his thick, tan fur. “You’re so beautiful. Éla edó glykiá mou.” I tap the floor, and he army crawls out to me, smiling.
“He’s been trained,” Remy adds, sitting on the couch, pleased with himself. “For the last six months he’s slept with your clothes for security. He knows you and will protect you. A dog trainer comes out tomorrow at nine to train you, and once we get back from our trip, he’ll meet with you twice a week, until you’re comfortable.”
Sitting on the ground petting his coat, Soter’s taller than I am sitting and his large almost awkwardly large feet and ears are an obvious indication he will get a lot bigger. “You’re a good boy,” I say, and he lies back down, somehow containing his puppy exhilaration. “Wait a minute, what happens to him when we fly out to California in two days?”
“We’re not flying.”
“What do you mean we’re not flying?"
“We’re taking the train.”
“Since when?”
“Since I rearranged our plans.”
Leveling him, I inquire very clearly, “And this has nothing to do with Arona’s plane crash, right?”
Taken aback he nods over to Soter, “Couldn’t go without the dog.”
Pursing my eyes, I ask, “How did you get him on the train?”
“Oh, he’s been service animal certified; he can go anywhere. And he can do a lot of things.” Remy sits down next to me on the floor with all the answers, giving Soter a rub down.
Not unappreciative, Soter licks both of our hands, content to be in his new home with his new family.
“Wait. We don’t have dog food or a bed . . .”
“I stopped on the way home from the airport and got the essentials.”
"He flew here? Where, did he come from?
“Illinois. A breeder out there specializes in working German Shepherds. That letter you received was his pedigree papers.”
“You mean the letter you intercepted.”
He nods raising his eyebrows.
“Serves me right for not questioning you. But this is so much better than a stranger-danger device. I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed.” I look into Remy’s eyes. “Thank you, my love.” I then add, “But, please . . . no more secrets.”
Dressing quickly, I give Soter water and a treat, then we lay his bed out in the living room. This is new territory for us. In the twelve years we’ve been together, we’ve had fish but not a dog. I feel a shift, a good one. “Come on Soter, let’s go for a walk.” My heart lighter, Soter springs up to my side panting heavily and happily.
Remy leashes him up to a choke chain.
“Is that necessary?”
“I don’t think we’ll need it, but let’s see.”
The three of us head out the door. The day is over, I think to myself, no more phone calls or social interactions. Realizing I’m starting to dread work days, I make a mental note to break things up. Soter will make that easier.
Walking away from the house, a weight lifts. My new friend three inches from my leg, it’s as if he’s done this before. When I stop, he stops, almost anticipating it. Once we reach the arroyo in front of our house, I let him off the lead, and Remy throws a bright yellow ball that’s still decipherable at dusk.
“Wow! Clearly this is his passion.” Remy states, as fetch has a whole new meaning. We watch like proud parents as he gracefully lopes for the ball and then drops it at my feet without any sign of fatigue. For a good ten minutes, we take turns throwing it for him before heading home in the crisp air.
Walking in through the back door, Soter sits while I take off my shoes. Once I remove his tether, he checks out the guest bedroom off the back hall. I follow him out of curiosity and turn on the light, as he visits each corner and crevice before heading up the back stairs. Following him up, I notice he does the same thing to all of our offices. “I guess he’s just checking out his new digs,” I call down to Remy.
“He’s clearing the house.”
I look at my spouse from the top landing like he’s speaking another language.
“He’s making sure no one else is inside that shouldn’t be.”
“That immediately strikes me as cool and frightening at the same time.”
Remy smiles following me upstairs while clarifying, “We have to be very careful about how we introduce him to people; it’s like a code. The trainer, Roland, will go over it with you tomorrow.”
I nod more than a little concerned, and after a complete and thorough inspection of every room, Soter meets me in the kitchen for dinner. Obedient, he waits perfectly still until his bowl is on the ground.
I head to the library room where Remy has already launched into an array of now cold Chinese food containers with chopsticks. “No more secrets, right? No matter how frightening,” I ask, not looking for confrontation. Tucking my feet up under me, the fireplace lighting the small room feels warm and casual. As I’m rolling up a moo shu pork pancake, Remy leans over and kisses my cheek, but Soter runs to the front door.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The knock is so loud, it sends him into a frenzy, his bark ominous. We both jump up shocked that anyone would drop by in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere.
Remy opens the door while Soter is at my leg at full attention.
“Mr. Beroe?” one of two state policemen inquires, his black uniform melding into the nightscape behind him.
“Yes.”
“We’d like to talk to you, about Daryl Hartley.”