A wave crashed into Ben's outrigger, and salt water spilled over into the already filling hull. He struggled against the current. Just then, an absurd thought crossed his mind, and the corners of his mouth twisted. It was more of a grimace at the realization that he was always struggling against something. The pressing conflict with nature was almost at an end, however. The bluffs of the island towered domineeringly in Ben's view.
"Welcome home," he said wryly to himself.
The rough shore waves carried the frail boat into the beach. Glancing at the nearby dock, he registered the implication of the other outrigger, tied neatly to the rotting planks, and speedily altered existing plans while simultaneously formulating new ones. Climbing out of his own boat, he headed toward the Barracks. He needed something from his own house.
Upon reaching his own compound, he pushed the door open. A powerful smell of roses almost knocked him over, sending his senses reeling with recollections. His brows jerked together slightly, but he swept the cobwebs away and hurried down the hall. Ben's bedroom was on the right, and he burst into the room. The sight inside crashed into him harder than any of the waves, and he stopped dead in his tracks, shocked.
A young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, sat on the far edge of the bed, facing the open window. The breeze blew in, disturbing the already rumpled sheet and comforter. A forgotten book lay still open in her hand as she stared out the window. She was naked, and pulled the edge of the sheet around her front to protect her soft curves from the unforgiving fingers of the wind.
Ben just stared, his eyes continuing to widen.
Slowly and uncertainly, as though she could feel the blue eyes boring into her back, the woman turned. Her molten brown eyes locked onto Ben, and for a fraction of a second, she looked slightly bemused. Then, she smiled, and her eyes lit up like fireworks.
"Ben!" she cried, and, abandoning the haven of the bed sheet, sprinted across the room and flung her arms around his neck.
For a moment, he stood there, too stunned by this chain of events to react, but then his pragmatic half clicked into place, and he returned her desperate embrace with his own warm urgency. Closing his eyes, he turned his face into her hair.
"Annie," he whispered.
"Oh Ben, it feels like I've been waiting forever for you to come home." She didn't bother to extricate herself from him just yet. "It worries me when you work out there for too long."
Ben's pain at her words etched itself onto his face.
"I'm home now," he managed.
"Yes," she said, pulling them apart and looking into his face. "You're home now."
Unable to restrain himself any longer, Ben pulled her in tight and kissed her. Easing into it, they fed into each other's needs, making the exchange as deep and luxurious as possible. Finally, he relinquished her. Giving him a soft peck on the lips, Annie moved away to the dresser. She opened a drawer and casually pulled on a short, strappy nightgown.
"Help me, please," she requested, gesturing toward the unmade bed. Ben smiled slightly, and began straightening. Annie cleared her throat.
"Oh, love, I almost forgot – I went to the doctor's yesterday morning, after you left, to ask about the spotting."
Ben swiveled to face her. Recognition snapped in his eyes. She didn't notice; she had already turned back to the pillow arrangement. He hadn't been able to place the time before, but now he knew.
"He said," she continued, "that I was fine, it was normal, and the baby is wonderfully healthy." She smiled at him, that smile that she hid away just for him. He turned away. This reenactment had become too cuttingly painful.
Annie's eyes clouded over, and she chewed her lip. Carefully, she sat down on the bed, facing him.
"Ben, baby, come here and sit down."
He kept his face hidden for a few more seconds so he could be sure he would keep his composure. Then he sat next to her. Annie looked so small as she lifted up her hand to his cheek, but at the same time, she looked so happy. She was like a mirror, reflecting the warm glow of the sun.
"Hey," she cooed. "I know you're worried that something might happen. Something might go wrong."
"And what if it does?" he interjected, angry. "I can't lose you. I won't lose you." He bit his bottom lip, determined not to break down. "You're my everything. I love you."
"That's just what I wanted to tell you." Annie scooted closer to Ben on the bed. Their knees touched lightly. "It doesn't matter what happens. I want to do this. Always remember that I am choosing to do this. And I love you, too. You're my everything, and I will never leave you, no matter what."
He just looked at her imploringly.
"And," she began, lying down on the bed and pulling him down with her, "it's not possible for you to lose me. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for good."
A fragment of a smile flitted across his face. Ben held himself above her, searching her face. He had another chance to never forget; he made sure this memory was catalogued properly. Letting himself down gently, he pulled her into his chest. Annie loved to lie there, with his arms around her, curled up like a happy little snail. They lay there together for a while, caressing each other's limbs and thinking.
Then, inexplicably, the doorbell rang. Ben sighed. As if in response, a breeze rustled the curtains and Annie shivered. He wrapped his arms tighter around her and kissed her on the forehead.
"Why don't you stay here?" he suggested. "I'll go see who's at the door. You need to be resting."
Annie pretended to make a grumpy face.
"Do I have to?"
"Doctor's orders. And besides, I say so."
"Well," she said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her grin, "if you put it that way."
Ben stood up.
"I'll be back soon, sweetheart."
He paused in the doorway to take one last fleeting glance at his lovely wife. Resolutely, he strode toward the door. Ben's blood began to pulse more fiercely through his veins with every step. He clutched the knob, and wrenched it open.
"Hello Ben."
Ben glared at the man standing there.
"Hello Christian."
The gray-haired man glanced over Ben's shoulder.
"May I come in?"
The steely quality in Ben's eyes was the only indication he had to seriously bite back his hate before replying:
"Of course. Please, sit."
The man gave a curt nod and moved into the living room. Ben followed him with his eyes, standing still at the door.
"Join me?" asked Christian.
Ben stiffly crossed the room and sat, back rigid and eyes hard, across from Christian. They stared at each other. One with an even, observational stare and one with an intense look of barely contained fury.
"Why did he do this to me? Why must he dredge up painful memories and parade them around in front of me like they're real?" Ben bluntly asked. He was tired of beating around the bush, waiting for answers, waiting for instruction, waiting to do someone else's bidding. Christian exhaled.
"Why?" Ben shouted.
"Because Jacob wanted to remind you of why you are here, and why you still have work to do." The older man stared implacably at the younger. "Now," he began, eyeing Ben like a rabid animal that, not of its own volition, snarls at and bites those it loves. The other returned the gaze just as intently.
"Are you going to come with me, or aren't you?"
Ben turned to look back down the hall, at the door to the room where the woman he loved more than anything used to be, an eternity ago. He knew that no matter what he did, no matter how fast he ran back to that bedroom, she would be gone, melting back into the island, absorbed like the rain. He closed his eyes, as if focusing all his strength.
"Yes. I suppose I am."