Safeword: Davenport(17)

"I think you wish to talk with our clothes on and distance between us, which doesn't bode well."

"Oh, no. It's fine. I'm sorry if I made you think...” Frustrated at starting off with a misunderstanding, she dove right in. “I saw my therapist yesterday, and resolved a few issues. I was conflicted about feeling submissive towards you, and she helped me see submitting to you doesn't take anything away from my relationship with Garnet. This wasn't the first we've talked about it, but it finally made sense."

Dana took a quick breath, continued before she lost her nerve. She'd practiced this in her head and now it came spilling out. “She also brought up the dangers of dating someone who's lost a spouse—how we've got two ghosts floating through our relationship. She said we should be careful to avoid the habit of speaking about them too much. They're our past, and while some discussion is necessary, to see where the other has come from and learn the type of things we've both done, she said we might consider them more of ex-husband and ex-wife, and only talk about them as often as it'd be appropriate to mention another kind of ex."

Another fast inhale and she rattled the rest out. “It's important to have conversations about them, so we learn about each other's past, what has formed us into the people we are today—but those discussions should be lengthy and detailed so we don't keep bringing it up."

Zach was smiling when she finished. “You see Kirsten."

Stunned, she just stared at him, speechless.

He gave a wistful grin. “It's hard to find a kink friendly therapist in this town. Is it any wonder we're using the same one? I saw her this morning and heard similar advice."

Hmm, that made it easier. She took a deep breath and felt the tension easing out of her body. She spoke slower now, no longer worried about his reception to her words. “Okay, so I'd like to talk about them now, get the questions out of the way so we can move forward. I always do a news search on new clients, so I know your wife died while you were vacationing in the Caribbean. Do you feel comfortable telling me what happened?"

He stood and walked to her, bringing his drink with him, sitting on the sofa and drawing her into the comfort of his arms. She rested her head on his chest and rubbed his arm, staying quiet until he figured out what to say. He took another sip and set his glass on the end table.

"We were visiting Antigua, where they drive on the other side of the road. We'd planned to spend the morning shopping. She wanted privacy to buy me a gift, asked me to go amuse myself awhile, promised she'd be in that shop or the one next door. I'd read of an artisan across the street and hoped to purchase some handcrafted jewelry as a surprise."

He stopped, reached for his drink, took a swallow, and absently set it down, his hand returning to her back, cool from the glass. “Whoever finished first was supposed to sit on the bench in front of the other's store. The jewelry counter was packed with people and I was encouraged to look around until someone could wait on me. If....” He shook his head started again. “Witnesses say she looked left and stepped into the street, not realizing traffic would be coming from the right."

"You never got to give her the gift."

"No. She'd bought me a pair of unique sandals; she had a knack for finding things I'd love. I got her earrings and a painting. I wore the sandals for weeks, only taking them off at night. Your turn,” he said, his hand trailing a comforting path down her back. “I know Garnet had food poisoning; are you comfortable talking about it?"

She'd talked about it during therapy for hours; she could do so now with Zach, so she dove right in. “We were vacationing on an island resort in Thailand when he got sick. We'd been deep sea diving and he'd fallen on the boat in rough waters on the way back to the resort. He started feeling bad that evening and we went to the resort's clinic, the only medical facility on the island. He had a headache, nausea, sensitivity to light, and was a little confused—we assumed he'd gotten a slight concussion from the fall. They kept him under observation the rest of the night, and he felt better the next day. The doctor released him, said he was fine, and we sat on the beach and talked after a light dinner, since he didn't have much of an appetite. But when he woke the following morning, he was worse again and was weak and his balance was off."

She stopped to take a sip, focusing on the burn of the Jack Daniels instead of the ache in her heart. “The doctor was still saying concussion, but I wanted a second opinion. I got plane tickets for us to leave the island that afternoon, researched the best hospital for brain injuries, arranged for a driver and translator to meet us at the airport. Two hours before we were to leave, he had a seizure and began losing hand-eye coordination. The clinic staff finally agreed it was more than a concussion and helped arrange for an emergency medical evacuation. He was in a state of the art hospital within an hour and a half of the seizure, but he lost consciousness en route to the hospital and never woke again. He died a few days later. The autopsy said it had nothing to do with the fall—the cause of death was listed as food poisoning. Something he ate created a form of meningitis, and if not diagnosed and treated right away, antibiotics can't help after a certain point. If he hadn't fallen on the boat, if we didn't assume head injury...” She stopped, remembering only madness lay down the what if line of thought.