Gently
By Roger Arsht
Jackson, Bertie, and Annie rode the two hours back to where they left the jet skis. Bertie began telling Annie how they could walk to town, do some shopping, and have an early dinner when she climbed off the horses and Annie awkwardly fell to her knees while emitting a muffled scream.
Bertie rushed to her side. Annie raised a hand so that he knew not to touch her.
“What’s wrong?”
“I haven’t ridden in a long time. I’m sore. Really sore,” Annie said with an embarrassed grimace.
“We shouldn’t have gone for such a long ride.”
“I’m so sorry. Can we go back to the yacht?” Annie asked as she slowly worked her way to her feet.
“Can you drive your jet ski or should I call Ed and have him bring the dinghy?”
“I think I can make it.”
Bertie watched as Annie pulled off her boots gingerly. She put the boots in her backpack and fired up the machine. She rode the whole way standing up.
“I didn’t expect you to learn how to ride standing up so fast. I’m impressed,” Ed said enthusiastically when Annie arrived at the float deck.
“Out of necessity,” Annie said while limping toward the main deck. She turned to Bertie. He looked distressed at her predicament. “I’m going downstairs to take a shower. Please come to my room in thirty minutes with ice packs and some aloe. Don’t knock. Just come in.”
Bertie nervously nodded and rushed to the galley even though he had half an hour to collect what he needed. At exactly thirty minutes from their return, Bertie turned the knob on the door and entered Annie’s stateroom. She was naked, face down on top of the duvet with only a bath towel draped across her bottom. “Can you help me? Please be gentle.”
Bertie lifted the towel and a gasp escaped before he could stop. He resisted commenting on how her bottom was the color of a cooked lobster. He put an ice pack wrapped in a dish towel on each cheek. Every few minutes he removed the ice packs and delicately massaged aloe into Annie’s stricken skin. The process continued for an hour.
“Are you feeling better?” Bertie asked.
Annie rolled onto her side and pulled Bertie next to her and gave him a soulful kiss.
“What are you doing?” Bertie asked. “I thought you were in pain.”
“I am. That’s why I think it would be better if I was on top.”
Bertie laid next to Annie and began to kiss her neck and then slowly he worked his way to her chest, all the while trying to shimmy out of his clothes. In less than a minute, Annie grabbed both sides of Bertie’s face and held it still so he couldn’t misunderstand what she was about to say. “There isn’t going to be any wrestling or sudden movements. Get off the bed, turn off the lights, take off your clothing, and lay on your back so I can get you inside of me. I know what I’m saying isn’t romantic. Tonight, isn’t about romance. This is about gentle, controlled sex, out of necessity. Remember, thrust slowly and gently.”
“I can make this work.”
“Good, and please don’t touch my bottom for any reason. Everything near or around that part of my body is out of bounds.”
* * * *
The morning light was streaming through the stateroom when Annie awoke. She reached to her left expecting to find Bertie asleep next to her. His side of the bed was empty. Shifting slightly, she realized that one night of healing wasn’t going to soothe her bottom. She gently eased herself out from under the covers and tried to stand. Once her legs straightened, the skin on her bottom became taut. She bent her knees and leaned forward in hope of finding a position that didn’t hurt. She couldn’t. She looked toward the bathroom and cursed the shower for the pain it was going to inflict upon her.
Twenty minutes later, Annie gingerly walked up the steps to the salon where she found Bertie at the dining room table. Instead of Ed serving, he was seated with Bertie. They both rose as soon as they saw her. She raised her hands in protest. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” Bertie pulled out a chair and helped lower her to a sitting position. “You sit. I’m serving you today.”
When Bertie returned with a cup of coffee, Annie said, “I’m so sorry. I caused you to change what you planned for us. I really wanted to try Bill’s. I should have realized what was happening. I guess I thought I was still eighteen,” Annie sighed. “You were talking. I interrupted. What were you discussing?”
“That you’re out of commission. At least as far as physical activity goes,” Ed said firmly.
“I’d like to be brave and tell you that I can manage. That would be a lie. What are my choices?”
“Editing?” Bertie asked tentatively.
“You want me to edit or you want my opinion on what you’re writing?”
“Both, if you don’t mind.”
“Is this your work or someone else’s?”
“Mine.”
“I’m in.”
Bertie smiled and got up to go to his study to print some pages for Annie to read. He handed Annie the sheets of paper and a Pilot Precise blue rollerball pen.
“Is this the house choice of pen?” she asked, looking up at him with a grin.
“Yes.” Bertie smiled, sheepishly. “Everyone has their favorite. This is mine.”
“I have the same problem. I can’t write at work unless I use the pen I like.”
“I can’t be here when you’re reading. It makes me nervous, and I’ll end up interrupting you.”
“Then disappear. It’s a big boat,” Annie said while shooing him away with her hands.
After reading a few lines, Annie moved to a large lounge chair in the salon where she could tuck her legs underneath her and keep her bottom from sitting flat on the cushion. She flipped her hair with her free hand to one side of her head and gave it a twist. Lastly, she pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her palms before she began reading again. Annie read and edited six pages before finding herself reading the last paragraph aloud.
The ethereal isn’t found in heaven or inside thundering clouds. It’s found embedded in memories that randomly erupt from our hearts and minds like cloudy apparitions. For me, it’s the beauty of a tight bun’s release, the foam of the sea lapping a horse’s legs, or the blush on a cheek rubbed red by careless kisses. The warmth of these moments is fleeting. Therefore, I continue, like many, on an endless quest for new memories, however rare and elusive, to replace those that are faded, lost, or now insignificant.
“Hence, Secrets Kept,” Annie said as Bertie took the chair next to her. Annie put the pages on the arm of her chair, closed her eyes, and then leaned her head against the cushions. “We all want to disappear at times, but we can’t. Memories linger. They shape what we do and who we are. You can’t put them in a bank vault and lose the combination. You can’t program the locking mechanism to open only when you want it to visit those memories. They sometimes emerge spontaneously at inconvenient times.”
“That’s good prose. Do you mind is I steal it?“
“I’m serious.”
“The yacht helps me make new memories. Sometimes the new ones push out the ones I want to forget. Other times they meld with the older memories and make them seem less painful. It’s an unrelenting swirling exchange of good and bad. What do you think?”
“About how you deal with loss or your writing?” A little haunting. Poetic. I used to know the term. I can’t think of it. A professor once described John Donne’s work as possessing...metaphysical…”
“…conceits.” Bertie smiled. By the way, using the vault-memory comparison was an extended metaphor. I thought you were a financial analyst.”
“I’m the product of a liberal arts education. Swarthmore. A little bit of everything to form a better whole, or something like that. I don’t know if that’s true anymore. Nowadays, people prefer a path that makes them money as quickly as possible.”
“That sounds about right. People both want to capture the brass ring at an early age. It’s a terrible loss. At some time, we all need to put aside the pursuit of money and engage our hearts,” Annie stopped talking so she could focus her thoughts. “Tell me more about your ‘perpetual search for renewal.’ Who was she?”
Bertie held her eyes for more than a few beats. Annie couldn’t tell if he was wrestling with his memories or if he was uncertain of treading that path with her. “My wife.”
“What happened?”
“She died,” he said flatly.
Annie waited patiently for Bertie to complete the story. Instead, he leaned toward her and lightly kissed her lips. “It’s a beautiful day, and we need to motor to Annapolis this afternoon. What should we do?” Annie asked. By now, she knew that Bertie abrupt response meant that he wouldn’t be answering any more questions this day about his wife’s death so she changed the subject.
“Yesterday I didn’t know the extent of my injuries. The pain is worse today. Would you settle for me resting my head on your chest on one of the chaise lounges while we cruise back to Maryland?”
“I’d love that.”
“Would you mind getting a couple of ice packs?”
“No problem. Can you drive home tonight?”
“I’ll manage. I’ll go online later today and order a standup desk. I’m going to be out of commission until we see each other next weekend.”
“I’ll be in New York next week and through the weekend. Two weeks?”
“I can wait,” Annie hesitated. “No. I can hardly wait.”
The weekend ended with warm kisses and embraces. It was hard to leave and start the traffic-jammed trip home. When she reached Church Hill, a thought burst into her mind. ‘What was he doing in New York? Even if his office at his publishing firm was in Manhattan, he could just as easily entertain in the city as on Secrets Kept. Is that what he’s doing?’ She wanted to kick herself. She wasn’t a jealous teenager anymore. Ed had warned her that she needed to resist the temptation of just showing up at Secrets Kept, and Brooke had cautioned her that men sleep with whomever they want even if there is an important relationship building. However, Ed didn’t say anything about dropping in on Bertie at his office. She had put off a visit to her firm’s Manhattan offices for months. She could be there on business at the same as he was.