main | table of contents The Reflecting Eye Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 30 Healing The journal was a heavy weight in her arms. The gray clouds from the morning still loomed above in the afternoon. The light seemed to grow even weaker—but was this only from her own perception? But even at noon, she had not felt hungry. She had lost all of her appetite for the day when she awoke realizing that what she had to do. It was cold and she tugged her coat closer to her. She should have never worn the skirt no matter what her intention was. She pressed the doorbell to the lighthouse and heard it buzz from within. In a way, she was grateful for that little device. She didn’t know if she had the strength or the will to knock. The door opened. Gammell stood just beyond the threshold in a brownish plaid shirt with the first couple of buttons undone and a pair of faded jeans. His dark hair was messy as if he had run his hand over it a couple of times rather than combing it. Faint shadows lurked underneath his eyes which widened when he realized that she was at his doorstep. Verity fought from toppling over on her feet from relief and some warm but nervous emotion making her skin bite from other than the cold and her heart beat faster. “Hi.” “Why are you here?” He stepped back allowing her inside. “It’s the holiday.” “I know it’s the holiday.” Verity dropped the journal on top of the pile of books that he had left scattered on his couch. The floor was covered with newspapers again and two different projects seemed to be going on. One was a wooden sculpture of a horse that had been stripped of its coating of grime and was awaiting a brush of protective finish. The other project was a brass candlestick of unusual curving design. The dirt and tarnish was still etched into its crevices; the cleaning phase had not started yet. “I came for another reason.” “Oh?” He took her coat and dropped it at the back of the chair. “It’s a mess in here. Come into the kitchen. I’ll make some hot tea if you’d like any.” “All right.” She followed him into the back, into a room filled with wooden cabinets decorated by old fashioned handles. A modern stove and a refrigerator hugged the corner. A small table with thick sturdy legs occupied the opposite corner. The sink was next to the stove and a small window was above the sink overlooking the sea. The kitchen itself was actually rather small. She leaned against the cabinets watching him fill a shiny metal kettle with water and place it on the stove. Her throat felt closed up. She swallowed. “I want to apologize.” He turned his head, his gaze holding hers. “For what?” “Yesterday. I completely lost it on the phone. You didn’t deserve my verbal abuse.” She waited and for a moment thought that he didn’t accept it, that her apology was even weaker than she thought it was. He raised a hand and cupped her jaw. A thumb roughly brushed her cheek. “I should be the one to say that I’m sorry.” “But…” “I should have explained that I canceled our plans because I was meeting one of my associates who had some information on the Samuel Verne property. And I was using it as an excuse because I was afraid.” “Afraid of what?” “Afraid that when I came to see you again, you’d turn me away.” “Why would I turn you away?” “Because you would have come to your senses and realized that I’m not a sensible man at all.” She laughed weakly. “Senses? What is that? I realized I lost it quite some time ago when I went to the business district by myself without taking any sort of precautions.” “I see you’re still all right.” “You wouldn’t be so blithe about it if you’d actually seen what happened. But that is neither here nor there.” She leaned closer to him. “What matters now is that I’m here.” His hand slid to her shoulder. She reached up to put her fingers in his hair and fitted her mouth against his. He stumbled backwards until he was standing against the edge of the table. She began nibbling his jaw as hands wandered to the hemline of her skirt and pushed the fabric up. Her breathing hitched as his fingers discovered that she had neglected to put on a critical piece of clothing that morning. His breath tickled her earlobe. “How unexpected and naughty of you,” he whispered. “Disappointed?” “Far from it.” His fingers moved and she thought that he was playing music on her soul. She cried her happiness into the side of his neck. Her head felt flooded as her own fingers sought the zipper on his jeans. “It’s not the appropriate time or place,” she managed to say. “But…” She raised her left leg so that her knee was against the table top. He took a quick intake of breath when she slid onto him. “But what?” he said, his voice dark and slightly hoarse. His hands wandered to the bare flesh of her hips underneath her skirt. The pupils of his eyes were dilated, nearly obscuring the brown-green of his irises. “But I don’t care.” And at that moment, neither of them did. * * * Later in the afternoon, they stood against the lighthouse stairs side by side, thighs slightly touching, as they sipped mugs of hot tea. Verity felt as if something had loosened from her chest. It was still there, but it was no longer constricting her. “I have something to tell you,” she said. Gammell didn’t reply. Instead, he just looked at her over his mug. She held out her free hand and turned it so that it was palm up. “The bandages.” “You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” he said. “Yes I do. These aren’t the result of an accident. I did it myself.” “Verity…” “It’s funny how the past can influence you. I hated my past, failed relationships. Or rather lack of involvement in them. When someone lies or obscures what they have done, it takes something inside me away. Have you ever felt so numb that you felt that you might as well be dead?” His free arm wrapped around her waist. “I’m here.” “What is it between us?” she mused, half to herself. “I don’t really want to call it anything. I’m afraid that whatever it is, it might disappear.” “I don’t want it to disappear either.” The phone rang. Gammell reached over to put his cup on the desk and took the phone. “Hello?” Verity put her head on his shoulder. For that one brief moment, she felt her world tilting back on its axis. “Gammell?” boomed a voice out of the receiver. She was close enough to listen in. It sounded like Pelorus. “I need a progress report on that mirror. I have some sources myself that Colbrin is quite close to it.” “He’s close, but he still hasn’t got it,” replied Gammell. “I’m still working on it.” “I could say work faster, but anyway, I was hoping you could drop by later this afternoon. In three hours?” “That’s fine.” “Huh. And your assistant too, or in your foolishness, did you give her the holiday off?” At his end, Gammell smiled wryly. “She refuses to take the holiday off.” “She’s crazy,” exclaimed Pelorus. “Well, maybe I should revise my initial impressions. Perhaps you’re better off with her than a mindless but muscle-bound mover. Muscle is cheap. And you can always hire a moving truck.” “I’ll keep that in mind, Pelorus.”