When We Touch

My muscles clench, and I take a deep breath. I’m not ready to talk about this with him. I’m still working out what I’m going to do. It’s why I came here—to do manual labor and sort out my thoughts, decide what needs to happen next.

Still, to answer his question, “I’m not in trouble.”

He’s quiet a beat longer, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether to believe me.

“It’s the end of the season. I can have Claire take the cottage off the market for a while. As long as you need.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I insist. Technically it’s your place anyway. It was left to you in her will. Why do you think I never sold it?”

Because you loved her? The thought enters unbidden in my mind, as if my father has a sentimental bone in his body. I don’t even know if it was ever true. I don’t even believe in love like that anymore.

“Because it’s a good investment property,” I answer.

“Damn right it is.” He exhales loudly. “However, if you’d rather use it as a residence, that can be arranged. I’ve been keeping whatever profits it makes in a separate account. It’s all yours.”

Stepping over to a small closet in the corner of the bedroom, I try the knob. It’s locked. “I’ll stay, but only for a little while. Don’t change your plans because of me.”

Again we’re quiet, and I’m ready to end the call. My father and I are both take-charge individuals. Giving orders and expecting them to be followed is our most comfortable way of relating to the world—not this quiet concern.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

I’m just about to disconnect when he adds, “You’ll find the things you left behind in a small locked closet in the bedroom. I put the key in the hall safe. The combination is the same.”

“Thanks.” I put the receiver back on the plastic cradle and stand for a moment listening to the sound of bugs screeching outside the window.

When this place was just an abandoned shack in the woods, it was my fortress of solitude—at least that’s how I imagined it as a little kid. Later it became something else, a place I could take girls… one girl.

One girl, so many memories.

Tapping in the code, I find more than a key in the hall safe. Several small boxes are also inside, but I’ll save those for later. I’m more curious to see what of my things my father chose to preserve. I hope it’s what I’m looking for.

Back in the bedroom, I unlock the small closet. It’s short and deep, a glorified crawl space with a door. I bend down and pull the string hanging from a bare bulb. At once the space floods with light, and I see them. It looks like they’re all here, leaning against the wall.

Quickly I pull the long canvases out of the stuffy space. It takes a moment or two to arrange them around the room. They’re my paintings—acrylic on canvass.

Some are brilliantly c

olorful: orange skies at twilight, a bridge over black water, a towering oak with small leaves and a labyrinthine root system.

None of them are what I’m looking for. My chest tightens, and I fear it’s gone. Moving away the last box, I see it. I don’t know why it’s separated from the rest, but I’m glad. It isn’t damaged or distressed, and I turn it once to the side so the tall end points up.

Here she is in all her petite, magical glory. Sitting with her legs strategically crossed, her hands in her lap. Her face is turned to the side, showing her profile, her full lips. Her torso faces front, her creamy shoulders straight and her perfectly rounded breasts bare. One lock of glossy brown hair is arranged so that it swoops down, the ends curling around the tip of her dark nipple.

Tightness moves low in my belly… An old familiar tightness of desire registers in my cock. I get a semi just looking at her. I thought I knew what it would mean to be her first. I had no idea. The way she looked at me when I kissed her, her eyes full of so much trust. When she looked at me, I believed I could do anything.

We were so damn young—she was even younger. I’d known her since we were little kids, but that summer everything changed. It was my last summer here…

It was our first summer together.

I can still see her on the beach, long wavy hair whipping in the breeze, dark eyes sparkling with magic and mischief and fun. She’d never been kissed, and she insisted I teach her. It wasn’t long before I’d teach her everything. Then it became impossible to keep our hands off each other, which led to this day.

I remember it so well…

It was raining steadily. We were here in this cottage—only in those days, we didn’t have a fancy bed or elegant furnishings. She’d sat on my T-shirt on the floor.