Float Plan - Trish Doller Page 0,67
unfinished construction and unfulfilled campaign promises, I don’t know how the island sustains itself,” I say. “But up here, I understand why people wouldn’t want to leave. I understand why you love it.”
“So many people are attracted to the wreckage,” Keane says. “But the people are the reason I come back.”
On our way down the mountainside, we fill our pockets with lemons and guavas from trees along the trail. When we reach the end, Sharon and Miles are waiting. Queenie watches us approach from the open back window of the little SUV, her tail a furious blur.
“If it wouldn’t be a bother, would you mind dropping us at Little Bay so we can check on the boat?” Keane says. “We’ll call a taxi to bring us to Lookout, so you won’t have to come fetch us.”
Sharon leaves us at Little Bay and Queenie jumps into the dinghy before we’ve pushed it off the beach. On the boat, we check the bilge, make sure the engine starts, and then collapse in the shade of the cockpit tent. Keane removes his prosthesis, sock, and liner, and rubs the back of his residual limb. He didn’t complain of pain during the hike, but he looks uncomfortable.
“Can I do that for you?”
“What? Rub my leg?”
“It always feels better when someone else does it.”
“It does.” His eyes meet mine and hold there. “But you don’t have to do it.”
“I want to.”
I lean forward and take the lower part of his right leg in my hands. His limb is a topographical map, raised ridges of scars and soft valleys of normal skin, and touching him this way feels almost too intimate. But when I work my fingertips gently against the muscles along the back of his leg, he closes his eyes and sighs. I knead my thumbs along the back of his knee and his groan is pure pleasure. “Jesus, that feels good.”
It doesn’t take long for my fingers to feel comfortable with the scar patterns on his skin, for it to stop feeling foreign and start feeling like Keane. His eyes are still closed when I notice a rise in the front of his shorts.
His eyes fly open.
“Fuck. Anna, I’m sorry, I—” He scrubs a hand over his face while he covers the front of his shorts with the other. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s—That’s not true. I want you so badly right now, I can barely stand it.”
It’s been almost a year since the last time I had sex. My body has been ready, but my brain is the reluctant sex organ. I think too much. Worry it’s too soon.
“I crave you all the time,” Keane says. “I’ve imagined you naked more than once when I was—well, when I was alone with my thoughts, but—”
“Oh my God.” I laugh, my face growing warm. “How can I possibly compete with the fantasy?”
“Come here.” He extends a hand and I let him draw me onto his lap, facing him. Through the layers of fabric between us, I can feel his arousal pressing against me. His hands are big and warm on my back as he kisses me, his lips salty from sweat. “I can promise you that nothing I’ve imagined could ever be better than the real thing. You are the fantasy.”
“I’m starting to think you’re too good to be true. No one is this perfect.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m missing a leg and I’m unemployed, so you could probably do better.”
“Probably.” The scruff on his jaw is soft beneath my palms when I take his face in my hands. “But for some reason, I want you too.”
My mouth is on his when Queenie squirms between us, reminding us that we are not entirely alone. I’m slightly disappointed, slightly relieved. “I think your other girl also needs some attention.”
Keane scratches her behind the ears as he looks at me. “Would you mind if we press pause on this moment?”
“We have all the time in the world,” I say. “Maybe we should go swimming instead.”
Our bathing suits are back at the house, so we peel down to our underwear and leap off the boat. The dog barks at us.
“Queenie, jump.” I gesture for her to come into the water and her feet dance with excitement. She walks back and forth along the deck, barking as if that will bring us back out of the water. Finally she leaps. She hits the surface with an ungainly pelican splash, but paddles to me and then to Keane.
We swim