Mike picks me up at my front door and takes me to the harbor. He walks me down the dock to the yacht. The lights are all on, it looks so beautiful at night and the rain has ceased for the moment. It's supposed to be such a beautiful sunrise in the morning. I don't want to stay up too late and then miss it.
Caleb is waiting on deck, staring into a glass of red wine, looking up in a perfectly timed, practiced look of pleasure and surprise. He comes out to meet me at the end of the ramp and then shakes hands with Mike quickly and wishes him a good night. Mike says Same to you, sir, and then nods to me and says Have a lovely night. He calls me Mrs. C____. I frown at the name but remember my manners long enough to smile in return. The very last thing Caleb is going to do is acknowledge my other life when he is alone with me. He'll just conveniently turn back time and forget everything new. The devil can do all sorts of things like that. That's his job.
He can't make me forget. I shouldn't be here at all, except that when the going gets tough, the tough runs screaming to old familiar. Some habits don't seem to break as easily as one hopes they will. Some faces serve to be a comfort even as they cause you pain.
He has gone all out tonight. Or maybe that's all in? Lobster. Steak. Roast potatoes. Oysters on the half shell and caviar with my favorite crackers. He pours me a glass of wine. Bolgheri. Candles are lit on the table while Glenn Miller tunes play softly over the sound system.
He takes my hand and lifts it up over my head. I spin dutifully and he smiles.
You look beautiful.
I dressed deliberately, carefully for him. The highest heels I can manage. The sparest, palest pink slip dress and a few hundred dollars worth of bespoke lingerie he commissioned to be made for me back in the day when I cared about such things more than I do now. No jewelry. He is pleased and that's better than disappointed, I have learned.
The voice changes to Frank Sinatra and I smile and take a sip of my wine. He takes several moments to establish the whereabouts of the entire household. He asks about both children, never just one, and he steadfastly refuses to talk about anything business-related because he's a gentleman. By this time I have answered all questions placed before me in as much detail as possible, he has led me to the table and pulled out my chair. I sit. I am starving, my shaking fingers giving me away as I fumble with the butter knife. He takes the knife from me and butters the whole roll for me, breaking off a piece and holding it up to my lips. I take a small bite. His blue eyes twinkle in the candle flames.
Flames.
I stand up abruptly.
What's the matter?
I should be home.
You're exactly where you should be, Bridget. He leans down and kisses me. Softly at first and then harder as he backs me against the wall. He stops, pressing his forehead against mine, eyes closed, lips slack, hands clenched around my hair. I think we can wait to eat until later. He takes my hand and turns to walk away, pulling me with him. I assume we're going to the master stateroom but he has other plans. We go straight to the bridge.
Are we leaving? I ask. I wasn't under the impression we would be taking the boat out tonight.
He smiles. I'll be back in a moment. He leaves me there and I spend the wait staring out at the lights. He is back soon enough with two glasses and a new bottle of the Bolgheri wine I said I loved so much once. His memory is frightening in the way it manifests itself in his attention to detail. He pours one glass and lifts it to my lips. I move to take it but he holds my hand down while he tips the glass against my mouth.
Then he collects my other hand and produces a ribbon from out of nowhere. He ties my hands to the railing on the desk. Oh. Shit.
Caleb-
Don't you worry about a thing. He lifts my head with his hand on my chin and then uses his thumb to smooth along my forehead. Not a thing. Everything is okay, Bridget. He resumes his kisses, all over my face and throat and then he abruptly lifts me up and forces me to the floor. I am on my knees now, arms tied above my head. I can turn but that's it. I can't stand up again on my own, not with these shoes. I'm helpless. And he is thrilled. He smooths my hair back away from my face, off my shoulders. I close my eyes and when I open them I see a second pair of shoes.
He smiles. I'm so glad you both agreed to see me tonight. You really have no idea.
***
When my eyes open early in the morning it takes several moments for me to extricate my limbs and my hair from Ben's hands. He is clutching me in his sleep. I give up and shake his shoulder gently. His eyes open and close again and he turns onto his back, releasing me. His hand trails across my thigh and then falls to the bed.
I bend down and pick up a dress shirt off the floor, shrugging into it, buttoning all the buttons save for the top two. I don't know if it's Ben's or Caleb's shirt. They wear the same size. I swim in it so I roll the cuffs up seven or eight times until I see my hands. It's almost to my knees. Good enough for a short walk to the kitchen to bring back some orange juice and croissants and then get Ben awake and up so we can take our drive of shame, slipping home and upstairs to get ready before we are caught.
When I reach the kitchen Caleb is already there, making coffee. He's in a tight blue t-shirt and jeans. He looks rested and pulled-together even though he's had maybe two hours sleep if any at all.
Morning doll. I'll pour our coffee if you want to go out on deck and see the sun come up.
I nod. Morning is the only time he doesn't have an opinion on my appearance. Morning is the only time I am allowed to appear with the wrong clothes and tangled hair with scratches on my throat and my legs, skin still red from the rough ride of the darkest hours between the devil and the melody. I stumble outside into the bright morning and am greeted with a watercolor representation of my favorite sky against the water. All oranges, pinks and soft blues. Greys mixed with shame mixed with defiance. He had said to come alone and Ben followed in the truck, precisely five minutes behind, since that's precisely how long I was on my knees before Ben walked in and untied my hands, admonishing Caleb for needing to resort to total barbarism when charm would achieve better results. Ben is like a panacea to Caleb, and so instead of being angry, Caleb was pleased to see him and pleased to have unspoken permission to do unspeakable things.
Caleb appears with my coffee and I take it gratefully, burning my tongue as I try and gulp it down to clear my head.
The most beautiful sunrises follow the worst storms, Bridget.
I nod. I know it's a metaphor for my life only this isn't beautiful and the storm hasn't passed yet. It's just starting.
