Impulses (60 page)

I rub my hand in soothing strokes up and down the length of Samantha’s spine. Her brow knits as she scowls vaguely. Her mouth is agape.

“Oh, my God, what just happened?”

“You met, Berkeley,” I snigger for an ephemeral moment, but soon cease as Samantha lifts her head to pin me with her scowl. “I’m sorry, baby. No more laughing.”

“Hayden, I have just been rendered speechless by a fucking, Queen Bee.”

Encircling my arms around her middle once again, I pull her into me. “That is typical Berkeley behavior, just ignore her…I do.”

“Yes, well…” Samantha offers a broad smile, her eyes aflame with some form of reckoning. “No offense, honey, but she had better retract her claws before I remove them completely,” she reprises through her cloaking beam.

“Oh, feisty,” I pull her closer still, and she wraps her arms around my neck.

“Well you know what they say about red-heads.”

Swaying side-to-side to a silent beat, I gaze at her intently, loosing myself in the depth and seriousness of her eyes, which betray conflicting emotions.

“I do…and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“It takes someone special to control one,” she simpers.

And with that lone word, I lick my lips and uncurl my arms from her waist. I push her sleek locks back off her face, the tresses slip through my fingers like silk as I hold her head steady and restrain with a forceful stare.

“Samantha, I have never wanted, nor will I ever want to control you…” I tip my head forward and press my brow against hers. Freeing my right hand, I trace her lower lip with my thumb. “But I will hold on with every nuance of strength I have in my body, and I’ll ride the waves with you.”

I feel her fingers twirling the lengthening hair at the nape of my neck.

“You know, each time I’m convinced my feet are set firmly on the seabed. I flex my toes and feel the sand and shells grazing between them. And then you say something so perfect, that the ground falls away from me, and I’m left falling deeper and deeper in love with you all over again. I’m going to drown in our love one day.”

“But you’ll never be on your own, beautiful. I’ll be right beside you, holding your hand, and we can drown in it together.”

“Dinner is served,” Cassandra announces, effectively pulling us from our tender moment.

Samantha promptly withdraws from the warmth of my brow and brushes the edge of her index finger underneath her eyes, capturing the tears that threaten.

“Come on, let’s go and eat before you make me cry again.”

Wrapping our arms around one another, we bypass the coffee table, and stroll toward the entranceway leading to the dining area.

“Anyway, I thought we said we would drown in love, not tears,” I murmur frivolously. I’m answered by a playful swat on my backside.

“It’s your love that makes me cry…so two birds with one stone, I guess.”

The banquet was nothing short of perfect, but then again, I never expected any different when my mother and Cassandra are concerned.

We sit back in our high-back seats at the dining-table. The crimson, linen tablecloth paired with the golden placemats and table-runner adds to the Christmassy feeling, and blends beautifully with the colors that adorn the towering, eight foot Christmas tree standing in the far, left-hand corner.

The dining room is large; the walls are an off-white color, and a gargantuan mosaic of the Serengeti Plain resides on the feature-wall. The sky is differing hues of blues and gray as they melded together like watercolors in the heavens, a tinge of opal in the distance along the horizon, with widely spread decaying trees, and a single Acacia tree in the center, towering over its young. I never used to appreciate the beauty of it before. I attempted time after time to steer my father away from the idea of having something so…imposing.

Now, whenever I feast my eyes upon the majestic display, I feel warm, fuzzy and guided by his presence.

I reach under the table and grasp Samantha’s hand. “I love you,” I mouth.

She returns my sentiment, and brushes her thumb across the back of my hand, and we offer a secret smile at one another.

“We only courted for two weeks before we got engaged, and then we married four weeks later,” Grams announces. Samantha gazes at her attentively, a shy smile touching her lips.

“Yes, and look where we are now,” Gramps responds from his seat at the left head of the table. He pulls my grandmother’s hand onto the table and weaves his paper-thin, wrinkled fingers between hers, his blue eyes dazzling with love and devotion for his wife. “We have been happily married for sixty years. But remember my darling,”––his eyes dart between Samantha and I––“a wedding is one day, a marriage is something you both have to work at. And hopefully, it will last for the rest of your lives.” He looks back at Grams and his wise expression is teeming with ardor. “There is nothing that brings greater pleasure than growing old with the one you love.” He leans to his right and gives his wife a kiss.

It makes my heart flutter and warmth radiates in my chest as I observe the evidence that even after a lifetime with one person, love and passion can still remain alive in a relationship. It doesn’t just…dissipate.

As Mom gazes upon the elderly couple at the opposite end of the table her lips quirk into a wistful, tightlipped smile, one that doesn’t touch her eyes. I see her pain and her loitering grief. Reaching out with my right-hand, I grasp her hand and offer a reassuring squeeze.

She glances at me and nods.

“So, Samantha,” Richard booms from opposite us in an attempt to deviate from the subject, which is still too raw and has left a painful, grief-stricken void in my mother’s chest. “Are your parents married?”

She clears her throat and I instantly sense the awkwardness that she is endeavoring to subdue. She swallows harshly, her brow furrowed. “Um…my father died when I was very, very little.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, darling,” my mother offers her condolences. “Did she ever remarry? Do you have a stepfather?”

Samantha licks her lips before clamping her teeth down into the plump flesh. She shakes her head.

“It’s hard for any child to lose a parent, but for a daughter to lose her father…well,” Richard shakes his head in contemplation. “The first man a girl falls in love with is her Daddy.”

Of course, my revelation hits me like a lightning bolt out of the blue. The first perception of relationships that we observe is that of our parents. We mould our expectations from our fathers and our mothers. With the male role-model absent from Samantha’s life, she had no specific visual of the attributes that she wanted in a partner. She had no preference, and therefore, couldn’t dictate what she wanted or how she was to be treated. Could that be why she allowed the Bastard to influence her in such a way? Because she didn’t know any better? Because she thought that was the correct way to be treated?

“You are so right, Daddy,” Berkeley squeals and leans to her side to place a kiss on her father’s cheek.

I hear the sharp intake of breath to my right and glance at Samantha. She tactfully rolls her eyes. I can sense her steadily, uprising agitation with Berkeley’s exuberance. Yes, she has always been a Daddy’s girl.

“Come, I want to show you something,” I whisper.

Her mouth curls into a relieved grin and she nods in keen appreciation. Pushing herself up from the chair, she clutches her purse and takes hold of my proffered hand.

“We won’t be, too long,” I excuse us from the table, and the probing company of my family.

Leading her by the hand, we steer through the silver, red and oak-wood kitchen, past the island to double sliding-doors.

“Where are we going?”

“That’s a surprise. I want to show you something,” I retort, passing through the doors and onto the patio-area, which is surrounded by plants and bright flowers.

“Oh, my, Hayden, it’s like a garden center out here. It’s beautiful.” She peeks at the array of flora bordering the backyard. I tighten my grip on her hand as I lead her down two, curved steps and onto yet more paving stones.

“We need to go up this way.” I point to the slope on my right-hand side and guide her past the seating area. “Please be careful with your heels.”

“I am always careful,” she feigns offence. However, her smile betrays her stealing hilarity.

She gasps wide-eyed as we surface from the walkway and stand on the patio surrounding the pool.

“Wow…Hayden, this is incredible…Oh, my God,” she points at the elevated brickwork to the right of the pool, water cascades from three mini waterfalls.

“Come here.” She follows me meekly to the left-side of the swimming pool. She stands beside me as I point upward to the scenic view in the distance. I hear her breathing hitch. “Mt Tam. I used to spend many a time out here, just gazing up at the view, losing myself and my thoughts, to its magnificence,” I mutter as I stroke the back of her hand absentminded.

“Hayden…it’s breathtakingly beautiful, so extraordinary.”

“I’m glad you like it. I wanted to share it with you.” I cock my head and regard her with purpose. All the times I had come to this very spot over the years, to reflect, to observe…to escape.

She peeks up at me, and holds up her index finger, before delving into her black, clutch purse. She recovers a small cube wrapped in metallic paper. The glare from the sun’s rays caresses the burnished gift-wrap, causing me to divert my eyes from its incandescence.

“I wanted to save this for later, but considering how connected you are, how memorable this place is for you, I want you to have it now. Merry Christmas, honey,” she pushes herself up onto her toes and covers her mouth over mine. Her tongue dips into my mouth with long, wet, tender licks, the bitterness of the alcohol from dinner, lasting on her tongue.

Completely bemused, I seize the cube from her possession when she pulls away.

“You didn’t really think I would only get you a gift certificate for rock-climbing and nothing else, did you?”

“This really isn’t necessary, Samantha.” I shake my head.

“Please, Hayden, just open it.”

Carefully removing the paper, I flip the lid of the gold-trimmed, leather box and gasp.

“If you don’t like it or if it doesn’t fit, we can always take it back,” she says softly.

“Samantha…” Her name travels on an audible gasp as I stare intently at the yellow gold band that rests undisturbed in the slit of the velvet cushion. A pair of hands clutching a heart and a crown set above. An italic ‘
S
’ is engraved inside the heart. It’s stunning.

“It’s a Claddagh ring. The hands represent friendship…” she begins, but I am completely mesmerized by the degree of romanticism behind this gift and I’m unable to avert my attention away from the gleaming metal. “The heart represents love…and the crown represents loyalty.”

I peek up from the band. Samantha is already regarding me with an assemblage of emotions. That was the key word…loyalty. A small word that holds so much promise, an assurance that floors the mocking voice of the paranoid bane that dwells on my shoulder. I’m dumbfounded and totally speechless. My mind fails me as my heart overpowers my body. I’m overwhelmed by the love for this woman. It physically hurts to love her this much.

With the box secure in my left hand, I take hold of Samantha and pull her into the length of my body. I hold her tightly, my left hand at the small of her back, my right at her nape. Moulded against my body, her supple form fills the valleys between my muscles as I press myself against her and search blindly for her mouth with my lips. Trailing kisses from her neck, up to her jawline and chin, my lips finally connect with hers. She grants me entry and our tongues dance the tango with powerful, intense, passionate strokes.

A feral groan travels in the seclusion of each other’s mouths and caresses one another’s throat as incontrollable desire pools between us, deepening with every curl of our tongue, consuming us with its relentless, unyielding profoundness.

We both strive to suck in a meaningful breath when we pull away.

I rest my forehead against hers. My erratic heartbeat presses ruthlessly against my chest. My blood thrums through my body, making every cell and every nerve sing with elation and alertness and protest with neglected fulfilment.

“Oh, I love you, Samantha.”

Pulling her head from mine, Samantha frames my face with her hands. The intensity of her stare amplifies my need for her, right here, right now.

“I love you, too, Hayden. More than you know…and more than you are willing to believe.”

Freeing my face she takes the box from my possession and slips the Claddagh ring out of its incision. She bends down with easy grace and places the leather case on the floor beside the pool. When she stands again, she takes hold of my right hand.

I watch her intently, utterly entranced.

“You wear it with the heart pointing inward…” she slips the cool metal onto the middle finger of my right hand. She peeks back up at me when it’s in place. “It means you belong to somebody.”

With tears in our eyes, and cocooned by love, desire and yearning, she raises my hand to her swollen mouth, and kisses the ring adorning my finger.

“Next time, it will be a wedding band I place upon your finger.”

TWENTY

-------------------------

SAMANTHA

Jessie and Matt sit on the floor with their backs resting against the couch and their legs extended in front of them, as I lay outstretched, claiming the couch for myself while clutching one of the red velvet cushions to my chest. I stare at the television screen with complete disinterest in a vain attempt to appease my churning stomach.

Alas, the twosome has opted to watch some horror movie about a horde of cannibals stalking and hunting a group of teens. And the amount of blood and disassembled bodies is agitating my already unstable gut. I make a mental note to kick Jessie’s ass for sharing this bug with me––once I am back to my normal, chirpy self that is.

In the periphery of my vision, I notice Jessie snuggling into her boyfriend, and all I want at this moment, is to cuddle into Hayden and have him take care of me. My mind begins to drift into deep contemplation as I stare blankly at the screen.