Chapter Twelve
The next day, Saturday, Iris was off work, thanks to having worked a couple of double shifts over the past week or so. By the time she emerged from her bedroom, her aunt had left for the store. Though Iris was curious to hear what Lily would say about Julian, it could wait until later in the day. When her mom didn’t call, Iris guessed that Aunt Lily would deliver the family’s verdict when she returned home.
With some notion of good karma, Iris decided to prepare two of her aunt’s favorites for dinner: Greek roast chicken and chocolate hazelnut cake.
She had a relaxed day, catching up on email and Facebook, where she admired the latest photos of her friend Shelley’s baby boy and tried not to feel too envious. She Skyped her mom’s parents in Japan, where they were having breakfast, and spent a half hour catching up, though she didn’t mention Julian. She did, though, have a quick phone call with him, to wish him luck with the performance at the Nelsons’ anniversary party that night.
Iris had just finished setting the table and putting on some soothing flute music when her aunt came in. Rather than heading to her room to change and unwind, Lily slid onto a stool at the kitchen island. In French, she said, “I heard something interesting today.”
“About Julian?” Iris asked warily.
“What? No. About Walter Franklin.” She sniffed the air. “Greek chicken? That smells so good.”
Iris took a bottle of Destiny Cellars pinot gris from the fridge. “I read in the Gazette that Walter confirmed the rumor that he’ll resign at the end of his term with the Islands Trust.”
“He was in the store, Christmas shopping for relatives in Australia. Bart Jelinek came along to talk to him, and I happened to overhear Bart tell Walter that he plans to run.”
Iris sighed. That meant her dad definitely wouldn’t do it. “That’s not a big surprise.”
“Walter said it was a terrific job and he’d loved doing it. And”—Aunt Lily leaned forward—“he said he had planned to run again, but a rumor got started that he was stepping down, and it seemed people were ready for a change. He felt he should stand down.” She picked up her wineglass and took a sip.
“That’s too bad. I thought he did a great job.”
“As did I. Anyhow, Bart said he’d believed the rumor, otherwise he wouldn’t have let people persuade him to run. He said he could withdraw his name, but then he’d let down all those people. And Walter quickly said that no, of course Bart should run, and I heard some manly backslapping.”
Iris sipped her own wine. “I wonder who started the rumor?”
“It might have been Bart.”
“Wow. You really think he’d do that?”
Her aunt shrugged one slim shoulder. “He doesn’t let anything stand in his way when he wants something. And he does like being the big fish.”
“But that would be so sleazy.”
“One tiny hint can turn into a rumor, and rumors take on a life of their own.”
“True.”
Her aunt put her glass on the island and patted the second stool. “Sit down, Iris.”
Ah, here it came. Clutching the stem of her glass, she seated herself.
“The islanders know you’re dating Julian.”
“Seeing each other as friends,” she corrected.
“The gossips don’t recognize that distinction.”
“Then they’re wrong.” She wanted to say that people shouldn’t gossip, but that would be hypocritical given that she and Lily had just been doing exactly that.
“You dating anyone is news. As for being just friends, I would point out that you and your friend left your parents’ house shortly after nine and he didn’t bring you home until almost midnight.”
Iris had been as quiet as possible when she’d snuck into the condo, given Julian the books he wanted to borrow, and then gone to bed. “I’m sorry if I woke you. We were talking and time got away from us.”
“I don’t need to know what you were doing. What matters is that you care for Julian. I saw it in your eyes last night.”
So much for avoiding physical demonstrations of affection. Walking the familiar balance of being honest yet selective, Iris said, “I know there’d never be a future for us. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends and care for each other. He does care for me, Aunt.”
“I saw that, too. But it’s dangerous.”
Iris arched her brows. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure you’re qualified to give relationship advice.” If her tone was the slightest bit tart, well, her aunt deserved it.
Iris assumed that Lily would take the hint and drop the subject. Instead, after a long drink of wine, her aunt said, “I can give advice on how to fail at a relationship.”
“You’ve never been in love,” Iris said, puzzled. “So what do you mean?”
Those brown eyes, so like her own, gazed into a distance that only Lily could see. “I was. Once. A very long time ago. It was all wrong. He was married and—”
A gasp of shock escaped Iris. “What?” No, it wasn’t possible.
“We did nothing . . . sexual.” Lines grooved Lily’s usually smooth face. “But in other ways we betrayed his wife.”
“Aunt Lily, I can’t imagine it. You, being the other woman.”
“It’s the last thing I expected of myself.”
Clearly, her aunt was still deeply troubled by her long-ago behavior. Perhaps Iris should leave this topic alone, but she was baffled, and her aunt had started the conversation. “Tell me how it happened.” Iris cast her gaze downward, hoping she didn’t seem too pushy. “Please?”
A deep sigh made her look up, to see her aunt’s shoulders slump. Given how perfect Lily’s posture always was, that tiny sag spoke volumes. “I was at university,” she said, fingering the stem of her glass. “You know I studied business administration, because that was the practical thing to do, with your father and me opening Dreamspinner. But I also took a few courses in subjects that nourished my soul. The man was my creative writing teacher.”
This aunt she’d thought she knew so well was full of surprises. “You were—are?—a writer?”
“I never wrote again, not after that year. I turned my creativity into art instead.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted. Tell me about your professor.”
“He asked me to come to his office to discuss my first assignments, and was complimentary. We talked about the power of words, the craft of writing. We connected in a way I’d never imagined experiencing. It was intellectual, yes, but much more than that.” She ducked her head, studying the straw-colored wine. “Despite my shyness, I bloomed in his company.”
Yes. It was exactly like that for Iris, with Julian.
“He was a brilliant man,” Lily said, “and an attractive one. A quiet man, an introvert like me. A scholar who admired great writing but said he lacked that talent himself.” She glanced up, grimacing. “I’m afraid it was the old ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ story, but I do believe that in their case it was true. They had married young, then their interests and personalities developed with adulthood and diverged dramatically.”
Iris barely breathed, so compelling was it to hear this previously untold story.
“We didn’t intend to fall in love,” Lily said, “but we did. Through words, written and spoken. Through gazes. Through touch, but never through sex.” She blinked. “He said he would leave his wife. He asked me to marry him.”
Iris gasped again. “But . . . you didn’t.”
Her aunt swallowed. “They had two children.”
“Oh,” Iris breathed.
“I would not be the cause of a broken family.”
Iris reflected, rotating her wineglass. “But,” she said slowly, “if this man and his wife were unhappy, then the family was already damaged, wasn’t it? I don’t think children are ever oblivious to, or uninfluenced by, their parents’ unhappiness.”
Her aunt sighed. “You think I made the wrong decision.”
“No, no,” she hurried to say. “I would never presume to second-guess you.”
“Well, I think perhaps I made the wrong decision.”
“Oh. Well . . . Wow. That’s . . . I’m sorry, Aunt Lily.”
“He’s the only man I ever loved. The only one I ever felt connected to on an intimate level. All the clichés—magnets attracting, jigsaw pieces interlocking—they were true. And so, since then I’ve been alone. And always will be.” The sadness and resignation in her eyes confirmed that she believed that. And if she wasn’t open to love, how could it find her?
“Do Dad and Mom know about this?”
“No. Only you.”
“I’m honored that you trusted me. But why did you tell me?”
“Because I recognize the expression in your eyes when you talk about Julian.”
Iris bit her lip. “You’re warning me off. But there’s no need. I know it can’t work.”
“I told myself it couldn’t work with Fredrick, too. I have spent decades wondering if that was true, or if I was simply not brave enough to risk all that would be involved. Leaving Destiny Island, my safe place, to live with him in Victoria. Facing censure. Feeling guilt. Having to deal somehow with his ex-wife and his children. And what if our love didn’t stand the tests of reality and time, but proved to be only a romantic dream?”
“Yes, that’s a lot to consider,” Iris agreed. They were both quiet for a minute or two, and then she asked, “Have you ever looked him up on the Internet?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you curious?” What if Fredrick was divorced? Might he, too, still dream about his long-ago love? If the two reunited and found that the romantic connection still existed, perhaps they’d have the courage to put their love to the tests of reality and time. Her aunt could have a happy ending, just like in a romance novel.
“I think it’s better not to know. We had a short but wonderful time together. I made my decision then. Best to leave it at that.”
If her aunt had held on to a romantic dream for decades, and because of it not been open to falling for someone else, then that was a tragedy. And yet, was it possible to experience that kind of truly intimate connection twice in a lifetime?
And once you’d known it, could you ever settle for less than that?
* * *
As Julian adjusted the Windspinner’s course, the wind tugged at his hair and made his cheeks tingle. It was amazing that they could be out on the ocean so late in November.
“You’re getting pretty adept,” Iris said.
His hands resting lightly on the wheel, he grinned at her. “Thanks to my excellent teacher.”
Forbes’s friend and bandmate Christian had volunteered to keep Forbes company and drive him to his therapy sessions, and Iris had taken the day off work. They would sail for a while, then maybe go back to her place, but dinner would be at her parents’ house. As a thanks for the Labor Thanksgiving Day dinner, Julian had offered to treat them to dinner—one he prepared and brought to their house, since he still avoided going out in public. They had accepted, and the lasagna and pineapple upside-down cake he’d made last night from Sonia’s recipes now sat in the Windspinner’s fridge, along with salad ingredients.
On deck, wearing a shirt and a heavyweight brown sweater-jacket he’d borrowed from Forbes, Julian was toasty warm, all but his face and his hands. He’d forgotten to bring gloves, and the ones Ken Yakimura kept on the boat were too small.
He didn’t mind the cold. Not when he was flying across the ocean, hearing gulls cry and bull seals bark at one another, filling his nostrils with the most bracing scent in the world, and sharing the experience with the woman seated to his right.
Though Iris, who wore a multicolored knitted hat, had started out with her hair ponytailed, he had, by distracting her with a kiss, tugged off the twister. As he tucked it in his pocket, she’d tried to grab it, but when he said, “Please don’t. I love to see your hair blow in the wind,” she had smiled and surrendered.
He knew it annoyed her to have those long ribbons whip across her face, and he appreciated that she’d done this for him. She was far too good for him, and that knowledge created a dilemma. Up until now, having sex with a woman he’d just met was typical, and often that sex was shorter than a one-night stand because it rarely involved waking up together in the morning. He’d always been honest up front, and if he sensed that the woman wanted more than casual sex, or if it seemed like she was under the influence of booze or drugs, he walked away. It was crucial to him that his partner not only consent, but that it be full, informed, unimpaired, enthusiastic consent.
Now, there was Iris. A mature woman, but sexually naïve. Well, not exactly naïve, because she’d read a lot, and was applying her knowledge in ways that startled, charmed, and thoroughly aroused him. Inexperienced was the more accurate word. And, though she made it clear she knew they had no long-term future, she did have that romantic dream—which surely must include losing her virginity with the man she loved.
Yet she threw herself enthusiastically into their sex play. He loved how beautifully responsive she was, and the way she shared her body unreservedly. The last couple of times they’d been together, he’d brought her to climax with his fingers and tongue. He also loved the way she seemed to revel in his body, touching and tasting more boldly each time. Two nights ago, at the commune, she’d gone down on him and not pulled back even when he told her he was going to explode. Coming in her mouth, feeling the movement of her tongue and throat as she swallowed, seeing her smile afterwards as if it was he, not she, who’d bestowed the gift . . .
Oh man, he was hard as a rock now, as he piloted the boat and she raised her closed-eyed face to the wind and sun.
Her eyes opened and she caught him staring. “What?” she asked.
“Just watching. You’re so beautiful, Iris.” So desirable, so generous, so insightful.
“Thank you. But,” she teased, “you’re supposed to be watching the wind, the water, the sail.” Pointing ahead, she said, “That’s SkySong, the serenity retreat.”
A large, lodge-like wooden building and several log cabins were nicely spaced amid natural, attractive landscaping, set above a curve of sandy beach. On the lawn, a few bundled-up people were exercising. “Hardy souls,” he said.
“Tai chi warms you up. I do it every day, myself.”
No wonder she was in good shape if she did tai chi as well as walking to and from the store. “SkySong,” he said. “This is the place Di and Seal own.”
“Yes. You’ve met them?”
“They’ve dropped by the house. They’re friends of Forbes’s, dating back to the commune days.”
She flashed him a smile. “You know who else they are? Eden’s aunt and uncle. Since Eden is married to Aaron, and Miranda is his sister, and she’s marrying your stepbrother, then you’ll be related to them, too.”
“Huh.” It reminded him of what a small island Destiny was. And how lucky he’d been, managing to avoid hearing about, much less seeing, one of its prominent citizens. His worries about the Nelsons’ anniversary party had been for nought. Jelinek hadn’t attended.
“We should head back to the marina,” Iris said. “It’s too cold to stay out much longer.”
He nodded, called “Coming about,” and turned the wheel. They both scrambled to adjust the sails, him handling the mainsail and her the jib.
She let him sail all the way to the entrance of the bay, where they dropped and secured the sails and fired up the engine. With the ease of experience, she steered through the fingers of the wharf and brought the boat into its mooring slip, where Julian jumped to the dock to tie it up. With numb fingers, he tried to wrap the lines around the cleats.
Iris hopped out to help, teasing, “Fumble-fingers.”
“Numble-fingers. I can barely feel them, much less make them cooperate.”
After securing the lines, she stripped off her gloves and examined his icy hands. “No frostbite, thank heavens.” Cradling them in her warm hands, she said, “Honestly, Julian, if you were this cold, you should have stuck your hands in your pockets and let me do the sailing. Please tell me you’ll buy gloves, or at least borrow them from Forbes.”
“There are benefits to not having them,” he pointed out.
She gave his hands a squeeze, which, sadly, he barely felt. “Shall we have lunch and hot chocolate below deck? I’ll turn the furnace on and we can warm up.”
“Sounds good.” He and Iris had come to Windspinner a few days ago, seeking a cozy sanctuary on a wet, wild day. Of course they couldn’t sail, but with the furnace on and the hull rocking gently, the cabin was a warm, intimate place.
Now, as soon as they went below deck, she clicked on the furnace. He wrapped his arms around her, both their bodies bulky in their outdoor clothing. She met his kiss eagerly and then pulled back, saying, “That’s not going to warm your icy hands.”
“It’s warming the rest of me.”
“Sit down.” She unzipped her windbreaker and tossed it onto the V-berth. “You need a mug of hot chocolate.”
He sat on the dinette bench that faced the galley, and rubbed his hands together.
“I guess you’re too frozen to play?” Iris asked as she poured a tin of soup into one pot and milk into another, and lit the elements on the propane stove.
“Sorry, yeah.” His guitar case was cushioned in the V-berth where it couldn’t bang around with the boat’s movement.
“What are you working on?” She took cocoa powder from the cupboard.
He’d been trying to compose a song about Iris, but it eluded him. He’d found a few phrases, in both music and lyrics, that felt right, but he couldn’t seem to figure out what story he wanted to tell. He was pretty satisfied with another piece, though, and would love her feedback. “I’ll play you one when I thaw out.” He shook his hands, which tingled painfully as they warmed up. “I’ve been reading those books you loaned me and I’ve written a song that’s loosely based on how your grandparents met at the internment camp.”
“That’s fantastic. I can’t wait to hear it.”
After stirring cocoa into the hot milk, she poured the brew into two mugs and brought one over to him. “Wrap your hands around this,” she instructed, and then walked the couple of paces back to the miniature galley to cut slices of French bread and cheddar cheese.
He cradled the mug, wishing the heat under his fingers was that of her naked skin. Though if he touched her now, she’d shiver, and it wouldn’t be the good kind of shivering, the kind she usually did when he caressed her silky flesh . . .
His hands might still be cold and semi-numb, but another portion of his anatomy was feeling the heat, and he removed the borrowed sweater-jacket. The last time he and Iris had been on the boat, they’d ended up in the V-berth naked, and he’d discovered the disadvantages of that cramped space.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, coming to the table with two bowls of soup. “You have this funny smile.”
He cocked his head in the direction of the V-berth. “The last time we were here.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks, flushed from the sun and wind, then the heat of the cabin, turned a deeper shade of rose. She turned back to the galley, and returned with two side plates and a cutting board with the sliced bread and cheese. “Not an elegant meal, but a hearty one.” She took the seat across from him.
He let her change the subject. For now. “It suits the day,” he told her, inhaling the tomato-basil aroma of the soup.
The dinette was small enough that their knees bumped companionably under the table as they ate with fresh air–fueled appetites. When she finished her soup, she hoisted her legs up onto her seat so she sat on it lengthwise, her back against the wall, her mug between her hands. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” she said.
“Uh-huh?”
“Eden works at a seniors’ residential and care facility. She asked me if I’d arrange a book club for the seniors.”
“Sounds like a good idea, and right up your alley.” He used a thick slice of bread to mop up the last trace of soup in his bowl.
“Yes, well, she wants me to not just set it up and provide the books, but to attend and facilitate.” She swallowed. “I would choose books with subjects the seniors could relate to. Then we could talk about the books themselves, but also move into subjects that are relevant to the seniors’ lives, and perhaps their concerns about their health and the future.”
He nodded, trying to imagine it, and saw the doubt in Iris’s dark eyes. It seemed to him that she—along with her dad and aunt—used shyness as a security blanket. An excuse. Not that there was anything wrong with being shy; it sure beat pushiness. But it held her back from doing things she’d otherwise enjoy.
Not that he could judge, not when he avoided even looking at photos of Jelinek. Trying to be supportive without pressuring her, he said, “That’s a nice idea.”
“I think so, too.” She sighed. “I’ve become complacent.”
It seemed her thoughts might have paralleled his. “Tell me more.”
“Each person’s inner nature has weaknesses as well as strengths, and I believe that one should either attempt to overcome the weaknesses or turn them into strengths.”
What if you were too weak, too cowardly, to overcome your weakness, and there was no possible way of turning it into a strength?
This is our secret, Julian.
But this wasn’t about him; it was about Iris.
“For me,” she went on, “I’ve focused on how my shyness is not just a weakness but also a strength, in making me more sensitive to others.”
“I hear a but coming.”
“That’s led me to be complacent in avoiding pushing myself out of my comfort zone. Well, I do sometimes, like when I went to university, but my first reaction is to steer clear of situations that make me anxious. And so, even though I believe in doing good in the world, I only contribute within my own small comfort zone.”
He nodded. “Would you be more comfortable if you focused on the seniors rather than yourself? And on the benefit they’d be getting?”
Her lips twitched. “Eden used that argument. Yes, I think that’s true. She also told me that everyone experiences fear. It’s how you deal with it that shows who you really are.”
Exactly. That was why Julian knew that, in his core, he was not only broken but rotten.
“I want to be a better person,” Iris said softly, “so I think I may do the book club.” Her lashes fluttered down and then up again. “Miranda suggested that my aunt might come along.”
Focusing on Iris rather than his dark thoughts, he said, “Mutual support. Good idea.”
“It is.” She pressed her lips together, thinning their fullness.
He topped another slice of bread with cheese. “There’s something you’re not saying.”
“Oh.” She fidgeted with her mug. “It was a crazy idea, just something that crossed my mind, not even worth mentioning.”
“Spit it out.”
“You. I thought about you. Instead of my aunt.”
Him? In a seniors’ book club?
“If you brought your guitar and sang a couple of songs, they’d love it. And for the first books, if I do this, I would choose the ones I convinced you to buy. So you could participate in the discussion.”
“You’d choose them so I could participate?” She was trying to organize his life for him? That didn’t sound like Iris.
“No, no. I said that badly. I mean, I thought those books would be good for the first meeting. Pooh would be fun and bring back pleasant memories. And The Tao of Pooh isn’t a heavy read, but it’s thought provoking and the concepts are relevant to whatever’s happening in a person’s life. Then, thinking about how Pooh’s a songwriter, and how you and I have talked about the books, it popped into my head that you might come. But as I said, it’s a crazy idea.”
Thinking it through, he said, “I’m kind of flattered. But . . .” But he didn’t go out in public on this island.
“Why would you want to waste your time discussing books with a bunch of old folks?”
Did she think he was ageist? “I like old folks. I have fans who are in their eighties. For some reason, my music appeals to people from all generations.”
“Your themes are universal and your tunes are distinctive and resonant.”
“Thanks. You know, I’ve never discussed books, except with you. And Forbes, recently. He wasn’t a big reader, but now it fills time and distracts him from pain.” Julian enjoyed those discussions, and he enjoyed thinking about how authors crafted their creations as compared to how he, as a songwriter, crafted his.
Iris would like him to do this. It was something they could share, another memory to sustain him in his basement flat in Vancouver, or in some nondescript hotel room on tour. Bart Jelinek wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t a senior, and his parents were dead. Jelinek had told him that, and that he and his wife couldn’t have kids. Later, Julian had realized it had been a manipulative tool used to deepen the bond between them.
“Honestly, Julian,” Iris said briskly, sliding off the bench seat. “Don’t think twice about it.” She began to stack the dishes.
“I’m up for it,” he said. “As long as we can fit it around my schedule with Forbes.”
“Really?” She stopped, hands full of plates and bowls. “If I do decide to go ahead with it, that would be wonderful.” He’d never before seen a face glow with pure pleasure the way Iris’s sometimes did.
But when she said, “Aunt Lily’s at work this afternoon. Let me tidy up the dishes, then why don’t we go to my place where it’s more comfortable?” he figured it was his face that was glowing. With pleasure, anticipation, and more than a little lust.