Part 23 (2/2)
”How was he?”
”Fine. At the moment he's going over the books.”
”What books?”
”The accounting books. For the Sentinel. He asked Henry to bring them over.”
”Why did he want to see the books?”
”He's preparing to go back to work, I suppose.”
I expected her to nod briskly, continue on her way. But she remained in place just long enough for me to recall my last meeting with my brother, the things he'd said about Dora.
”Dora? Do you think we could have a talk?” I asked.
Before she could refuse, I added, ”Billy's quite focused on the Sentinel's financial records at the moment. It's probably better to leave him alone until he gets tired of them.”
I touched her arm, moved her down the walkway, heading now in the opposite direction from my brother's house.
”Billy and I had a talk this afternoon,” I began.
She didn't look at me, but I sensed a subtle tension come over her.
”About his feelings for you,” I added quietly, laying little emphasis, letting my words fall upon Dora like flakes of snow, with no indication of the dark suspension in which I hung.
We walked on a little way, then I stopped and faced her. ”You know what those feelings are, don't you?”
”I do, yes,” Dora said. ”But, Cal, I've never given William any reason to think that I--” She halted. Her eyes glowed in the darkness. ”This is hard.”
I felt a circle tightening around us, drawing us together.
”What should I do, Cal?” she asked. ”He's getting better. I wouldn't want to do anything that might...”
”You don't love him, do you?”
”No.”
A fire blazed in me. ”And never can?”
”Never.”
With a confidence I had never felt in my life, a confidence like my Mother's, swift and sure, I took Dora's arm and led her toward the bay. We said nothing until we reached the water's edge.
”I don't want to hurt him, Cal,” Dora said.
”I know you don't.”
”I don't know what to do.”
”Maybe there's nothing you can do.”
”I didn't mean for William to--”
”You can't help the fact that you don't love him, Dora. You can't choose who you love. Neither can Billy. He can't help it if he fell in love with you.” I faced her squarely, threw the die, and held my breath. ”Neither can I.”
She looked at me as no woman ever had. ”Cal.”
”It's true.”
Her eyes glistened, and I knew.
”Dora,” I whispered.
A wave rushed me forward. I drew her into my arms.
It was a kiss such as I had never known before, and while it lasted I felt our bodies flow seamlessly one into the other, a stillness all around us, perfect and unbroken, with nothing but the sway of the sea gra.s.s and the distant crash of a rus.h.i.+ng wave to suggest that anything at all existed beyond or outside the circle of our arms. And I thought, this is what it must surely have been like, the first kiss that ever was, with nothing fixed in all the spinning world but love, all else a maelstrom and a chaos, our only hope, this utter and complete surrender.
When she spoke, her voice was barely audible above the wind in the reeds, but in its very quietness bore a chilling message.
”William.”
”I know.”
”We can't do this, Cal.”
I held her tightly. ”We can do anything.”
”He's your brother.”
”I don't care.”
”William,” she repeated, this time emphatically. ”William.”
I stopped her with a kiss. We sank down onto the sand, my body pressed against hers, feeling her need as fiercely as my own, a sense of devouring and being devoured at the same time.
Finally, she pushed me away. ”No,” she breathed. ”I can't.” She started to rise, but I grabbed her hand. ”We have to find a way.”
She pulled her hand from my grasp and got to her feet. I expected her to rush off into the night, like all those fevered heroines so beloved by my mother. But she stood motionless, a curious wonder in her eyes that love had come to her by such an unexpected route. ”I never thought that anything like this could...”
I started to rise.
She lifted her hand to stop me. ”Tomorrow,” she said, then turned and strode away.
A high rapture swept over me.
And I thought, She's mine.
<script>