The rest of Chapter 20 and Chapter 21 beginnings

Thanks for your feedback on yesterday's post. I'm glad you all felt it was pivotal. Leesie's poem to finish off Chapter 20 ended up being kind of short, and I needed to keep writing so you get a double dose tonight. Michael's dive log starts off Chapter 21.

Happy weekend! See you on Monday.

CHAPTER TWENTY (cont.)

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

POEM # ??, A BARGAIN

I want to steal the keys,

the car, and run,

but Michael makes me go with him.

I sit in the back of the makeshift

dive classroom, with my head

buried in my arms, resting

on the folding table and listen

to pens scratch and Michael’s voice

teach dive physics—one atmosphere,

two atmospheres, three atmospheres,

four.

I’m angry—want to hate him,

but his voice feeds my weakness,

my wanting, my love, my desire.

I dream his body, his hands on mine.

No retreat.

Only surrender.

It’s a relief to cool

down in the pool

after lunch, swim laps

with his students,

help them and win

a smile from Michael.

A smile that says,

I love you,

I want you—

just do this one thing.

I shake my head.

No, Michael, no.

No.

No.

No.

No.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

Dive Buddy: Leesie           

Date:  06/17

Dive #:

Location: Grand Cayman

Dive Site:

Weather Condition:

Water Condition:

Depth:  

Visibility: 

Water Temp: 

Bottom Time:  

Comments:

            After a long afternoon of back-to-back pool sessions, I hustle Leesie back up to the apartment. “We need to hurry.” The president guy’s wife said we could see him at seven. It’s almost six. She said the church is close to the grocery store heading out of Georgetown—about forty-five minutes drive. Funny. I must have driven by it a hundred times and not noticed.

            “You can’t make me go.” Leesie stomps across the apartment into her and Alex’s room and slams the door.

            I’m on her heels. “Please, babe,” I croon into the door. I try the knob—not locked. I push open the door. What the heck. Gabriel’s always in their. Why not me?

            She’s sitting, scowling on her bed. “You can’t make me tell him anything.”

            “If you won’t”—I close the door behind me so the entire apartment full of tired dive guides won’t hear all our personal business—“I will. I need help.”

            “Divine intervention?”

            “Whatever it takes.”

            “I don’t want to talk to a stranger.”

            I sit next to her on the bed. “What you and I want”—I put my hand on her knee—“is massively irrelevant.”

            “You still want—?” She glances down at the bed.

            “That’s what I’ve always wanted. You know that. I don’t believe any of this stuff.”

            “But—”  

            “But you do. So it’s important. More important  than what I want.”

            She rests her head on my shoulder. “This is useless. Believe me. He’ll just shake his head and show me the door.”

            “I don’t think so.” I put my arm around her. “I’ve got a feeling—”

            She sits up, ducks my arm. “That’s rich. You’re getting revelation these days?”

            I hate that tone in her voice and the look she gives me. I look down, find her hand, grasp it in mine. “It’s just something in my gut that says we need to do this. Please, get ready.”

            “What do I get if I go? It’s going to be so humiliating.”

            I press her hand. “You’re wrong.”

            “Want to bet?” She makes a sound half-way between a snort and a laugh.

            “Sure.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “If it will get you in the shower.”

            She kisses me. “You could get me in the shower.”

            “Freak, you’re wicked.”

            “You love it.” Her lips are on mine again.  

            I want to lie down with her in that bed and forget all about that guy at the church, but I disentangle myself and stand up. “What’s the bet?”

            She runs her hands over the sheets. “If I’m right, we come back her and lock Alex and Gabriel out of the room.” She wrinkles up her nose. “No. Not here. If I’m right, we find a dark, lonely beach.”

            “And if I’m right?”

            “We’ll get married tomorrow.”

            I take her hand and pull her to her feet. “If I’m right—getting married?” I start to lose it and have to turn away from her. “You might not want to anymore.”

            She hugs me from behind. “Nothing can ever make me not want to marry you.”

            I turn around and clutch both of her hands in both of mine. “We both know that’s not true.”

            “You’re going to risk us”—light plays on my diamond on her finger, mesmerizing us both—“for a stupid feeling in your gut?”

            “Here’s the bet.” I kiss her one more time. “If I’m right tonight, babe, you gotta call your parents.”