Surface Tension - Kling Christine - Страница 23

B.J. stood up and carried the paper over to the futon. He sat down next to me and spread the newsprint across both our laps.

“And look at this,” he said. “ ‘Although he would not reveal any possible motives, Collazo did say the police have several suspects under investigation.’ ” B.J. grinned. “I guess they’re talking about you, huh?”

I leaned back against the flowered futon and closed my eyes. I had to shut some of it out. Too many things were happening at once. Collazo was probably really pissed and even more suspicious since I hadn’t gone to give my statement that day.

The air seemed to swirl with the sweet coconut smell of B.J.’s skin, and I felt the feathery tickle where the hairs on his legs brushed against my thighs. Part of me was wondering what it would feel like to reach out and touch those legs, and then I felt ashamed for thinking about sex when he was telling me that Neal, the last man I had slept with, was possibly dead.

Neal dead? I refused to believe it, but my only proof was the fact that he had robbed me of my life’s savings and then rather viciously trashed my home. If my version of what happened these past couple of days was true, it also looked like he was a killer as well as a thief. What had happened out there? The girl had the gun. Had he killed her in self-defense?

“There wasn’t that much blood on the deck . . . I saw it. I could smell the blood in the wheelhouse. I never knew what blood smelled like before.”

“Seychelle, I think you need some rest.”

“But see, even if it was his blood, he could still be alive, and I don’t know which is worse, thinking that he’s dead, or believing that this guy, this guy I’d really loved . . . could do that to that girl.” I shivered suddenly and saw the hairs on my forearms lifting off the flesh. “Am I that bad a judge of character, B.J., that I was in love with a murderer?” I rubbed my hands hard across the skin on my forearms. “He’s out there, B.J., I know he is. He probably doesn’t know where to turn.... Maybe, if guys like those creeps Ely and I met tonight are after him, he wants to stay ‘dead,’ to disappear. You know, living with Neal had become impossible. God knows, there were a few times I swore I’d like to kill him myself. Don’t tell Collazo that. But even after we’d split up, after it had gotten real ugly between us, I’d always felt he would be there for me if I needed him.” B.J.’s eyes seemed to draw the words out of me. No matter how much I wanted to stop talking and forget, each time I looked at B.J., I began again. “It’s like he’s two people, B.J. On one hand, he’s this gentle, wonderful man who’s funny and fun and a great sailor but sometimes there is this jet of anger that spurts out of him like one of those cheap fireworks. It scared me, but I never stopped caring for him. You can’t just turn that off. It was enough, though, to make me know I had to leave him. That was the hardest thing. I’d hear all the gossip about him and that girl down at the Downtowner. I mean, I was the one who pushed him away, the one who wanted it over, so why did it hurt so damn much to think of him with somebody else?” I asked the question of the walls, afraid to look at B.J., afraid of what was welling up inside. “Now, no matter which way this turns out, I’m afraid I’ve lost him, and living in a world without him in it would hurt even more.”

I tried rolling my eyes up, looking at the ceiling so the tears wouldn’t spill out and give me away, but I had to blink finally and my eyes overflowed.

“Seychelle, you’re tired, you—”

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just . . .” Just what? I didn’t even know myself, only that I was suddenly overcome with such a profound sadness, I couldn’t control my sobs. B.J. wrapped his arms around me, but all I was aware of for what seemed like hours was the wet T-shirt fabric pressing against my face and the gut-wrenching sobs that racked my body. I was snorting and gulping and hiccuping, trying to get air as I released this huge black ball of emotion that I didn’t even know had been inside me.

Finally, I peeled my face off B.J.’s soaked shirt and took a couple of swipes at my eyes. I had felt so warm leaning against his body; as long as I’d known him, he had radiated heat as though he glowed with a perpetual sunburn.

“It’s a good thing I don’t wear any makeup or I would have made a worse mess of that shirt.” I pushed the fabric around a little on his chest. I suddenly felt intensely aware of a familiar achy squeeze between my legs.

He pushed some stray hairs back from my face and just looked at me without saying a word. No wonder every woman goes nuts over this guy, I thought. And I’d always been so convinced I’d never be one of them.

“I guess I’ve looked better huh?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

Oh, thanks, I thought. That’s what I get for being friends, buddies with the guy. Instead of romance, I get honesty. What truly aroused woman wants that?

Then with his fingers he lightly traced the features on my face, his feathery touch gliding over my nose, eyebrows, cheeks, and lips. Our eyes remained locked, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a playful smile. When his touch reached my neck and slid down, then back up to my hairline, I couldn’t suppress the shudder.

And then he kissed me. It was no just-between-buddies kiss on the cheek. It was one of those you-don’t-even-remember-what-planet-you’re-on kisses.

Suddenly, a high-pitched yowl filled my ears and claws dug into the back of my head and neck. I cried out and swatted with my right arm at the thing that was attacking me. My hand struck soft fur, and then claws raked the back of my hand.

“Savai’i,” B.J. said softly, “stop that, you silly cat.” He stood and lifted the animal off my back. She immediately started purring in his arms.

I cradled my right hand. Three long lines oozed red. B.J. stroked the top of the cat’s head.

“Silly cat? That’s it? Aren’t you even going to throw her out of the house or anything?” I held out my hand for him to see. “She attacked me, B.J.”

He laughed softly. “You can’t blame a cat for being a cat. We’d better get some antibiotic cream on that.”

“But she . . .” I knew I was being unreasonable, but it made me mad as hell that he was stroking the cat’s head instead of mine.

B.J. dropped Savai’i to the ground outside the front door, closed and latched the screen door, and turned to me. “Relax, Seychelle, she’s just a cat. You’re tired.” He disappeared into the bathroom, and I could hear him rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. He came out a few moments later with a small white tube.

I knew I was blowing this out of proportion, but a part of me had been afraid. He rubbed the cream into the back of my hand. He was smiling, probably even laughing at me, but I refused to meet his eyes.

He went into the back bedroom and came out with a pile of linens. “Do you want some help pulling out the futon?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Good night.” He disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door. I heard him moving around in there, then he went into the bathroom, and I could hear him brushing his teeth, humming to himself.

I didn’t pull out the futon and make up the bed until it had grown quiet back there. I turned out the light and undressed, wearing only panties as I slipped between the cool sheets. I felt hot and lifted my hair so my neck could press against the smooth pillow. The curtainless window faced north into the little courtyard. Between two Australian pines, I could see a three-quarter moon already angling toward the western sky. I was exhausted, but I felt I’d never fall asleep. Every nerve in my body felt like it had OD’d on No-Doz. The surf sounds pounded and hissed outside the screen door, and I wondered for a while if that was what it sounded like to an unborn child floating in her mother’s womb. Boom. Sshh. Boom. Sshh.