Beneath the Surface(13)

“Maybe that cellular phone of yours has reception,” Sheryl said.

“I hope it doesn’t.” Kristin took a step closer to Sheryl and reached for her hands. “And you said staying the night was optional?”

“I guess I was trying to not have you pack a pair of pajamas.” She slanted her head and kissed Kristin on the cheek.

“Well played.” Kristin’s voice had already been reduced to a whisper. They hadn’t even made it inside the cabin yet, and already Sheryl wanted to tear her clothes off—and finish what she had almost started last Sunday.

“I’d best empty the trunk,” Sheryl said when they broke from their kiss. “Wouldn’t want the milk to go off.”





Chapter Six





Kristin sat on the cabin’s porch, overlooking the mountain, with a glass of rather excellent red wine that Sheryl had brought especially for her. Sheryl busied herself with preparing dinner. Kristin had offered to help, but Sheryl had shooed her out of what passed for the kitchen, but was basically one electrical hob and a microwave oven that looked like it could have been one of the first ones ever made.

Last Saturday, around this time, she’d been agonizing over whether to go to the LAUS party or not, and now there she sat, surrounded by the sounds of nature as dusk gathered. She heard Sheryl clatter dishes behind the screen door. The cabin was basic, but Kristin was being pampered nonetheless.

And then there was the tension in the air that had been growing at a steady pace since they’d arrived. Well, since Kristin had slid into the passenger seat of Sheryl’s borrowed car, actually. They’d kissed, groped a little, hands venturing farther at each turn, and it was all very exciting, adding to the headiness that started to take over Kristin’s mind. This was all so dream-like, so perfect as a beginning, she could hardly imagine it not ever having a happy ending.

Sheryl planted a plate of cold cuts and various cheeses on the tiny outside table, and refilled Kristin’s glass of wine gallantly. Despite the cooling atmosphere as evening fell, Kristin could feel a warmth seep into her core brought on by the care Sheryl was showing her.

“You could have at least allowed me to bring the wine,” she said before taking another sip.

“Why? Is this one not up to your standards? If not, I’ll need to have a word with Betty, who recommended it for—and I quote—an evening in the bush.” Sheryl plastered that crooked grin on her lips.

“It’s perfect,” Kristin said.

“Can I have a try?”

“Of course.” Kristin offered Sheryl her glass.

Sheryl tipped the glass to her lips and took the tiniest of sips, after which she handed it back to Kristin immediately. “Well, if it’s good enough for you.” She blinked slowly, then leaned back in her chair, which creaked a little.

“My mother used to bring me here when I was a child,” she said in a musing tone. “Used to say she would much prefer living here than in Campbelltown where I grew up.”

“I guess I can see that.” Kristin tried to look ahead as well, but she couldn’t keep her gaze from shifting to Sheryl. She didn’t want to interrupt Sheryl’s impromptu moment of contemplation—seemingly brought about by that minute sip of wine—by reaching for a hunk of bread either, despite her stomach’s insistent growl.

“For the longest time, that’s what this cabin was to me. The place where I came with my mother. My father never joined. I don’t know why. I never asked.” A pause. “There are so many things I never got to ask.”

“You, er, never see him?” Kristin couldn’t imagine never seeing her parents. Despite their busy schedules, they were firmly rooted in her life.

“Not if I can help it.” Sheryl righted her posture. “The man has been a very avid alcoholic for the past sixteen years, and he’s not what I would call a sociable, agreeable drunk.”

“Oh.” Kristin tried to absorb that piece of information as quickly as she could in order to come up with a suitable reply. She wasn’t fast enough.

“That’s the reason I don’t drink. I want to be nothing like him.” Sheryl rubbed her palms on her jeans. “Anyway, enough gloomy talk. I didn’t bring you here to tell you all about my dysfunctional family, I promise.” The smile she shot Kristin was the least convincing one Kristin had seen on her.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Kristin felt like she should say something, even though Sheryl suddenly seemed keen to end this particular conversation. “That you had to go through that.” She put down her wineglass—she had to suppress the impulse to shove it all the way to the other end of the table—and brought her hand to Sheryl’s knee.