The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) (18 page)

“No I’m not.”

As the rest of the titles faded on
and off the screen, Abby started to laugh aloud.

Mitch laughed too, “What?”

“Here’s your art history lesson,”
said Abby, quieting herself as the text of the prologue began scrolling up the
screen.

“Oh yea, Knight Templar, Golden
Falcon, pirates, got it.
 
No truth
to any of it, eh?” asked Mitch.

“Nope.”

As Bogart appeared on the screen,
they clapped their hands together and cheered through his opening line, “Yea
Sweetheart.”

Throughout the movie, they shared
comments as each of the shady characters entered and exited the screen.
 
In the middle of the movie when Spade
took Cairo’s gun away from him both reached for their champagne flutes in the
center of the table between them, as they did their hands brushed against one
another.
 
Neither of them pulled
their hand away.
 
Abby reached out
and lightly began to caress Mitch’s hand.
 
His fingers lightly responded, sending electricity up her arm and into
her chest.
 
A couple of times during
the film Mitch looked at Abby and thought what a gorgeous woman sat beside
him.
 
They let their hands subtly
roll within each other until the final scene when Bogart looked at Mary Astor
crying in the elevator.

The words ‘The End’ faded on and
then off the silver screen.
 
Mitch
lifted the remote and turned off the movie, triggering the curtain to close,
and the lights to brighten to the amber setting that washed the room before the
film.

“Isn’t that a great film?” said
Abby.

“All class,” said Mitch, picking up
the bottle of champagne to pour, only to see that they had emptied it.
 
“This went quick too.”

Impressed with Mitch, Abby looked
into his deep eyes.
 
She lifted her
feet up from the footrest and pulled her shins close to her.
 
Mitch thought she looked beautiful
crouched in the big cushion chair.
 
Her chestnut hair radiated in the amber light and her eyes were
sultry.
 
He realized now that the
flaw in the theater was that the big cushion chairs were separated by the
coffee tables.
 
She was so very far
from him that to make any subtle move in her direction would be impossible.
 
Mitch thought that he saw in her eyes an
invitation.
 
He was right.
 
Abby wanted him to kiss her again.
 
Mitch lightly sighed and stood up.

“I should pick this stuff up,” said
Mitch.
 
He picked up the two flutes,
put them in the hand already holding the neck of the champagne bottle, and then
reached for the popcorn bowl.
 
Abby
reached over and grabbed his wrist.
 
If Mitch was not going to make the next move than she would.

“Put those down,” said Abby.
 
As soon as Mitch set the flutes aside,
Abby pulled him around to the front of her and then slid her arms up around his
neck.
 
“This was so sweet of you.”

In Mitch’s eyes, Abby glowed and
now he had permission to recapture the sensation of the other night.
 
He put his arms around her and leaned
down, lightly pressing his lips to hers.
 
Abby had been waiting for him and pulled him tight to her as she gently
kissed him.
 
He tasted sweet from
the champagne and she felt like devouring him.
 
The longer they kissed, the more intense
they pressed their lips together.

Abby’s whole body filled with
adrenaline.
 
She had to have him
closer.
 
She attempted to bring him
into the chair.
 
He could feel
adrenaline rushing through him as well.
 
This was not why he had asked her here yet he was compelled to lean
forward by her unsaid invitation.
 
Abby locked her eyes to his.
 
His fingers caressed her forearms, his hands moving into hers.
 
He knelt on the floor and eased her off
the chair.
 
She knelt beside him and
they drew together in a tight embrace.
 
Abby’s body shivered as Mitch ran his fingers down the center of her
back.
 
He then kissed her ear and
the nape of her neck, sucking gently with several soft kisses down to her
shoulder.
 
With these wonderful
kisses, Abby tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
 
She clasped tightly to his upper back
where she could feel the muscles below his shoulder blades moving in unison
with the massaging of his hand upon her breast.
 
To him she felt delicate and to her he
felt so strong.
 
She grabbed his head
with both of her hands and let her fingers work through his hair.
 
She pulled her face across his lips,
letting him cover her in kisses, until her lips were upon his.
 
They eased down to the carpeted floor
and went with their passions.

* * *
* *

“Let me get this place straightened
up and we can get out of here,” said Mitch.
 
Abby thought he sounded like he was
apologizing.
 
Abby said nothing,
relaxed her hands, and let Mitch’s hands slip away.
 
He raised his eyebrows before he looked
away, an unspoken request for understanding.

Mitch took the bottle and popcorn
bowl back to the kitchenette.
 
Abby
stretched her arms high above her head.
 
The movement of blood through her body had sobered, cooled from the
moment before.
 
She rose to the
cushioned chair and stretched again.

 
“I was thinking we could walk off some of
this popcorn,” said Mitch from the back room.
 
“Sounds great,” said Abby.
 
She was glad he had brought up the
idea.
 
Their time together had her
reeling inside and she needed to displace the energy trapped inside of her.

The two cleaned up silently, afraid
to ignite more sparks while still inside.
 
After shutting down the theater, they stepped out the foyer to the
double oak doors then into the crispness of the winter afternoon.
 
Mitch suggested a walk down to the lake
so Abby took the lead down the driveway.
 
They each had both hands in their coat pockets.

There was no discernible sun.
 
Bright white cumulous clouds filled the
sky trading light with the snow-covered ground.
 
When they rounded the bend of the
driveway they could see across the lake.
 
Cars moved along the ice road and the lake was dotted with quad runners
and snowmobiles.

At the bottom of the drive, they
crossed Willow Lake road and Mitch launched himself over the snow bank onto a
large rock among the field of rocks on the waters edge of South Cove.
 
Once there he reached down to Abby and
helped her up.
 
They walked on the
rocks, hopping from one to the other, skirting the shore as they went.
 
When they came to a boulder that jutted
out into the ice like a cliff edge they walked to the end and stood.

They had been silent on their trek
over the rocks and were silent now.
 
Mitch looked across the lake at the shanties and snowmobiles scurrying
between them and then over to Abby.
 
She too peered out in the direction of the lake yet he could tell that whatever
she was seeing was not on the ice, or anywhere in front of her, at least not
now.

“What do you see?” asked Mitch.

“It really doesn’t change,” said
Abby.

“I suppose not,” Mitch assumed Abby
referred to the vista.
 
“People have
been doing the same things out here for years.”

“Not that,” said Abby, “the cove
itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have imagined this cove a lot
over the years.
 
Sometimes this
place is lit up, most of the time it’s menacing, ugly,” Abby lowered her chin
and looked down at the boulder they were standing on.
 
“When I think of this place, there are a
lot of ghosts.
 
Now that I am
standing out here, it’s the same as it ever was.
 
Like nothing has ever taken place out
here.
 
There are no ghosts.”

“Ghosts are only where we put
them,” said Mitch.
 
He now
remembered, “Your brother, Michael, this is where he had his accident, where he
died.”

“Twelve years ago Michael’s jeep
hit a tree over there somewhere,” Abby pointed across the road, “and then into
the rocks.”
 
Her hand dropped an
inch as her voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry,” said Mitch.

“Don’t be, he was drunk.
 
It was a long time ago,” said Abby.
 
“It’s ironic though.”

“What is?” asked Mitch.

“We had a lot of good times out
here when we were kids.
 
We played
on this very spot.”

“Right here, eh?”

“Yea,” Abby lifted her foot and
stepped back down on the boulder, “My brother and I used to fish down
here.
 
The fishing isn’t bad by the
rocks.”

“I can’t quite picture you
fishing.”

“Oh yea.
 
I was a bit of a tomboy, and quite a
fisherman.
 
This was our secret
fishing spot.”

“Well it can’t be that secret.
 
I’m sure everyone on the lake knows
about it.”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Abby.
 
“If word got out, South Cove could be
overrun.”

“Well, your secret is safe with
me.”

“How do I know that?”
 
Abby felt playful, “How do I know you
won’t go marching into the village and tell everyone?
 
Or worse, if word got to the city.”

“Well, you can rest assured that I
won’t be going to the city.
 
That’s
the last place I need to be.”

“What do you mean, the last place?
 
That’s the second time you said
that.
 
I didn’t think you were
serious before when you said you never went to the city.
 
Are you hiding out or something?”

“Deep cover.”

“Like witness protection?”

“Something
like
that.”

“How very interesting,” said
Abby.
 
“You are
going to at least come visit me aren’t you?”

“The farthest I go from the village
is Fremont, I like it out here where it’s peaceful.”

“I thought maybe we would meet up
at O’Malley’s after a day in the museum.
 
You said you liked that bar.”

“I do, I mean I did… I do,” Mitch
was confusing Abby.
 
Mitch suddenly
was serious.
 
“I just don’t do the
city anymore.
 
There is a reason I
am out here,” said Mitch, “your cousin did me a big favor bringing me
here.
 
At a time when I didn’t have
anywhere else to go.”

“I know the two of you knew each
other from college.
 
You weren’t a
couple, I would have known.”

“No, nothing like that.
 
But we were close.
 
And when I needed some help, after
college, she was there.”

“What kind of help?”
 
Abby could tell that Mitch was trying to
say something and the words were not coming.

Two birds flew overhead, one
chasing the other.
 
Mitch had both
hands in his pockets again.
 
He
turned toward the lake, toward the trees away from Abby, and then
back
again.

“After college,” said Mitch, “I
spread myself a little thin.
 
I told
you about going to Prague.
 
Well, I
never really got my head together when I came back.
 
I went to work in the city at a job that
I couldn’t stand.
 
Had an apartment
and did all of the stuff you’re supposed to, but nothing was adding up.”

“That sounds like a lot of people,”
said Abby.

“I suppose.
 
Maybe I was just going out too much, but
it all started falling apart.
 
That’s when Caroline told me to come out here.
 
After that, everything fell into place.
 
I just don’t have a need to go back to
the city.
 
To complicate my life any
more than it needs to be.”

Mitch had calmness when he spoke
that told Abby he believed that things were simpler here.
 
She certainly did not.
 
Perhaps Mitch needed an excuse to push
everyone away, to push her away.

“Give me the city,” said Abby.
 
“Willow Lake is a neat little package
for you, for me it’s a large piece of luggage.”

“That’s fair,” said Mitch, “if it’s
true, but maybe it’s not Willow Lake that has all of that weight.”

Abby put her hand on Mitch’s
shoulder and said, “Maybe it’s not the city that you are hiding from out here.”

“Who says I’m hiding?” said Mitch.

“Well, if what you’re saying is
places are what you make them, then you have made this an oasis for yourself and
that’s great.
 
The world is still
out there though.
 
I’m not hiding
from it.
 
I’m avoiding it.
 
It’s different.”