Come See About Me (17 page)

He laughs when I
recount my inner dialogue about Will and Kate rolling naked in chocolate. The
sound makes me feel better and allows the conversation to flow easier once
again. Liam orders more beer, then the waitress takes what’s left of the food
away and I ask her if it’s too late to split our orders into separate checks.
Liam tells her not to bother, but I insist and as she walks away he stares at
me across the table and says, “You hardly ate anything anyway, and all you
drank was water. Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Half the food
was still on your plate—no wonder you’re so thin,” he says, and I detect a
thread of either concern or suspicion in his voice that I can’t let go of.

I sit up
straighter in my seat. “I don’t have an eating disorder, if that’s what you’re
thinking. That’s not one of my particular problems.”

Liam opens his
mouth and lets it fall shut without a sound. He folds his hands on top of the
wooden table. “No,” he says finally. “That’s not what I was thinking. I only meant,
in a friendly concern sort of way, that you should try to take care of
yourself.”

I don’t want to
hear this from him; this well-meaning interference is one of the things I
wanted to get away from. “You must think I’m really messed up, huh?” I say, bitterness
pooling on my tongue.

Liam sighs, his
eyes somber. “Everyone’s got his or her own problems, Leah. I’m not making any
judgment about yours.”

The blood drains
from my face. “I do have problems, you’re right about that.” Having already
hoisted a flag of tension between us, I carry on. “And I know generally people
would prefer them to be better hidden—or for me to just get over them. But I
don’t want to forget; I don’t want to get over them.” Why am I arguing with
him? The defiance is misplaced. I hardly know Liam. It shouldn’t matter what he
thinks and his comment about the food could’ve been innocent enough. “I’m sorry
for being so touchy,” I say hastily, steering my gaze to the safety of my
paperback.

“It’s okay,”
Liam says, two of his fingers slowly tracing patterns on the table. “It’s
really none of my business. I’m the last person who would ever offer any kind
of advice about relationships. I haven’t done very well in that area.”

“It doesn’t
sound like that was your fault.” My voice is quiet and weighed down with
regret. Our problems seem to be polar opposites—he wants to outrun his past and
I’m clinging to mine with a tenacity that makes everyone I know uncomfortable.

“Parts of it
weren’t,” he allows, “but what’s done is done.”

The waitress
reappears and sets both our bills down on the table, but now I don’t want to
leave. I’ve dragged the atmosphere down, forced Liam to remember things he’s
been trying to forget, and I wish I could edit the past few minutes into
something approximating friendly. Is it too late for that or can I still try?
“Actually, can I get a coffee?” I ask the waitress impulsively. “Do you want
any more beer, Liam?”

Liam’s hands
slide off the table and into his lap. He hesitates before replying, “I’ll have
a cappuccino.”

Given a second
chance to make this right, I change topics, describing Burnaby and Vancouver
and insisting that before he leaves Canada, Liam needs to travel out to the
west coast to take in the mountains and the ocean. “It’s beautiful—scenic even
when you’re in the city. Not like here.” Twin shivers of guilt and west coast
longing race down my spine. I don’t mean to disparage Ontario. I don’t often
think about the mountains on a conscious level, yet I’ve never really stopped
missing the sight of them in the distance.

Liam and I down
multiple lingering cups of coffee and the minutes slip into hours. He tells me
about the Dublin Mountains, the unspoilt vistas of Connemara and the Aran
Islands, and the Irish language camp he went to as a child one summer. I
compare Toronto and Vancouver and then talk about my anthropology classes. I
begin to get heady the way I used to in class and rave about the unseen
connection between all things, not meaning God but how The Essenes who wrote
The Dead Sea Scrolls, the ancient Egyptians, the Irish High Kings and each and
every one of us all trace back to the same place.

There are even
startling similarities between humans, apes and dolphins—the three of us being
species that take care of their young, develop family bonds and forge alliances.
We had a guest lecturer in my biological anthropology course last year who
brought in the skeleton of a bottlenose dolphin’s pectoral limb to show us. Its
resemblance to a human hand—though longer, lean and curved—filled us with awe.

We talk for so
long that Liam begins to get hungry again and orders cheesecake. The kids are
gone and so are the majority of other diners, although Alfred Hitchcock is
still hanging out at the bar, nursing a Guinness. I check my watch and am
surprised to find that it’s after ten. I knew we’d been here for a while but
didn’t realize it was quite that late.

For hours now a
craving’s been growing inside me, stronger that than the shame that accompanies
it. I shouldn’t have come here after all. The dirty dreams I’ve been having
lately are coursing under my skin, no longer confined to my subconscious. I’m
afraid Liam will see the fever in my eyes and recognize it for what it is. I’m
equally afraid it won’t matter to him or be what he wants. And I’m angry with
myself for being so weak. Bastien hasn’t even been gone a year yet and I’m
desperate for someone else to touch me. How can I miss him as much as I do and
still want that?

But I haven’t
done anything wrong yet. I’m still Bastien’s. A thought is just a thought until
you own up to it and give it depth and weight.

I stare at Liam
across from me. I watch his lips as he eats and feel as though if I’m not
careful I could begin to tremble. My nerve endings are on high alert. I’m
pulsing inside.

“It was such a
bright, warm day,” I say, heart thrumming. “I bet it’s still nice out there. Do
you want to go for a walk after?”

Liam’s eyes
flicker with recognition. He pauses momentarily. Swallows. Trains his eyes on
mine to search out my hidden meaning. “Where do you have in mind?” he asks.

“Down by the
lake maybe,” I say innocently because I haven’t quite given in to myself. Maybe
a bit more of Liam’s time will be enough. Maybe I won’t have to stop myself
because he’ll stop me.

“All right,” he
says with a slight incline of his head. “It couldn’t hurt to walk off some of
the food.” He smiles, the wariness fading from his eyes.

I go down to the
bathroom before we leave and stare at myself sternly in the mirror. What would
Bastien think if he could see me now? That thought alone should be enough to
stop me, but Bastien feels far away, hazy like a sidewalk chalk drawing
dissolving in the rain. The sight of myself in the full length mirror makes me
hungrier. I’m skinnier than I probably should be but I still feel attractive.
There are things beyond oxygen and food that I haven’t stopped needing. This
should come as a shock. I’m not the person I thought I was.

On my way back
to the table I see Liam handing over both our checks, along with a pile of
cash, to the waitress. I fish a couple bills out of my purse and hand Liam what
I estimate is my portion of the bill plus a tip for the waitress. Since money
is an issue for me I’d be smart to let him pay, but I don’t want this to feel
like a date. My confusion’s almost as thick and close as the longing. Should I
change my mind about the lake and walk home alone? Would I stop wanting him
when I got there?

“Don’t be
stubborn,” Liam says, trying to hand my money back as he gets up from the
table. “The majority of the bill was mine anyway.”

I keep my hands
at my sides. “You can keep it for cookie money.”

Liam smiles and
I know I won’t magically stop thinking about him if I go home now; I’ll toss
and turn with the heat of this craving. “Okay then, Leah,” he says, surrendering.
“Let’s walk.”

Without the sun
the air’s grown cooler, but the temperature is still mild for this time of
year. As we turn down a side street my boots trample freshly fallen leaves.
Soon enough there will be snow. Will I still be here this time next year? Where
is life taking me? I don’t want anything to change but I myself have changed
things. Day by day changes happen, no matter how much strength you throw into
resisting them.

I peer sideways
at Liam, so solid and real next to me. “What would you be doing now if we
weren’t walking here?” I ask quietly.

Liam’s head dips
so he can hear me. “Most nights I’m at the theater. Sometimes in the afternoon
I go to the community pool down the road. They set aside a couple of hours
specifically for doing lengths. And I’ve been tinkering around with the piano a
bit, trying to teach myself a thing or two, since there’s one in the
apartment.” He juts out his elbows in a casual shrug. “But tonight
specifically, I didn’t have any plans. That’s part of the point of being here.
If I fill up my schedule with plans and people I won’t sort myself out. I’ll go
back to Ireland in the same frame of mind I was in when I left.”

I nod, knowing
exactly what that frame of mind was from his confession that day in the
café—angry, confused and bouncing from one woman to another. It’s selfish of me
to think of putting him in that position again. I’m only thinking about myself.

“What about
you?” he asks.

I drag my lips
into a tight smile. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I haven’t been doing
much since my boyfriend died. I flunked most of my classes last spring. My
parents wanted me to come home but it didn’t feel right. I’ve been staying with
my boyfriend’s aunt.”

Liam’s face is
blank. I can’t read his thoughts but I keep going. “She lives out in B.C. most
of the time but she has a place here in Oakville too. She’s been really
supportive.” In the distance I can see the Erchless Estate grounds. According
to Abigail the house, which is now the Oakville Museum, is supposedly haunted.
During the day it looks majestic, but now it—and the winding garden grounds it
sits upon—appears nearly sinister, like a dream beginning to warp into a
nightmare.

We’re almost at
the lake. I’ve only been here in the daylight and it’s entirely deserted; even
the geese have gone. I want Liam to ask me to come back to his place so I won’t
have to suggest it myself. It would be so much better if he’d do it, but I know
he won’t. How could he when I keep bringing up Bastien, and Liam came to this
country wanting to be left alone?

The sky and
water are black. The moonlight glistens on the water, revealing the division
between lake and sky. The water’s so calm tonight that I can’t hear the
rhythmic swoosh of the waves until we’re less than thirty feet from the
shoreline. If I turn my head to the east I can make out the city lights from
Toronto, but straight ahead there are no such reminders of modern civilization.
I gaze at the pier. A lighthouse marks its end—not a place you could inhabit
like a real lighthouse, but a skinny red and white tower with a flashing red
beacon at the top.

“It’s strange
being here in the dark,” I whisper. “There’s not much to remind you of what
year it is. It could almost be 1945 or even 1895.” Liam squints in the
direction of the water, his hands in his pockets. “Let’s walk down the pier,” I
suggest, taking a step towards it.

Liam hangs back,
but only for a moment. The night seems darker as we hit the pier, surrounded as
we are, on either side, by shimmering black. When we reach the lighthouse tower
I feel miles away from anywhere, but the strangeness of that doesn’t banish the
other feelings and I stumble forward, reach out and curl my hand around Liam’s
wrist. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move an inch. For a second or two nothing
changes. Then he blinks and says my name. There’s reproach in his voice and I
feel myself shrink.

“Don’t say it
like that,” I whisper, my hand releasing his arm.

“Like what?” he
whispers back.

“Like I
shouldn’t do this.” The words crackle. With the lighthouse at my back, beyond
Liam I see only water. We’re alone like I wanted, but it won’t work.

“You’re
confused,” he says slowly, finally leaning closer to me. “You know you are. You
don’t want anything from me.”

I wish he was
right but he’s not. I can’t swallow my breath. In a low, yearning voice I
murmur, “Just tonight, okay?” I drop my purse down next to my feet where it
won’t be in the way. Liam’s so near now that I only have to tip forward to lay
my hands against his chest. I finger one of the buttons on his shirt. He
obliges me by leaning closer still, his breath warm on my forehead, his face
inches from mine. I hold the back of his head tenderly in my right hand and
press my lips against his with a gentleness that makes me want to sob.

His mouth urges
mine open, nudging at my bottom lip, sliding his tongue inside. I’m already
melting straight down the middle, pressing my hips against his, rubbing him
with my pelvis. He lunges for my neck, stroking the length of it with his lips,
nipping it with his teeth.

I slide my hand
down between us, tug at his zipper. My fingers reach into his jeans and then
his boxer shorts, my face burning and my heart pounding. I don’t know that I
have the guts to bend down and take him in my mouth—whether I’m ready for the
intimacy of that—but I don’t have to be because soon he’s hard enough just from
my hand.

Both Liam’s
hands burrow underneath my tunic, fitting themselves around my breasts, which
are still cloaked by a layer of fabric.

“There’s no one
here,” I say. We don’t have to go to his apartment. “No one but us.”

One of Liam’s
hands wind around my back to slip my zipper down. Undone, the dress hangs
looser under my top and Liam’s fingers caress the small of my back. I groan
deep in my throat and say it again: “We’re alone. It’s okay.”