Twenty-three

Maybe it’s not a big deal that I didn’t ask Jonah to stay over the first night we had sex at my house. But the fact that it was the first time since we admitted we might mean something to each other—since I realized Jonah was a man I could come to care about deeply—

That feels important.

Usually this is the kind of thing I would share with Doreen. On Monday I might. But I already know where this will lead. Doreen will ask lots of leading questions meant to tell me what I already know: If I want to have a meaningful relationship with Jonah—an honest one—I have to tell him the whole truth about my rape fantasy. What an extreme fixation it is for me, how dirty it still makes me feel sometimes, and worst of all, what happened with Anthony.

I’m not ready to talk about any of that yet. I don’t think I’ll be ready to talk about Anthony ever.

So for now I just have to carry this weight around, and hope Jonah wasn’t too offended by my asking him to leave.

He shouldn’t be, though. I get the sense Jonah likes to run into locked doors once in a while, for the pleasure of kicking them open.

•   •   •

The next morning, when I park my car near campus and do the usual postdrive phone check, I see a text from Jonah: Call me when you get a chance.

Rather than walk to my office, I sit down on the nearest metal bench. It’s still strange to me that Jonah’s in my contacts. That he’s a guy I call in the middle of the day, like any other important person in my life.

Jonah answers almost immediately. “Vivienne.”

Still no hello. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“I just got a call to consult on locations for a deep-sea rig in the North Atlantic, off the coast of Scotland.”

“Wow. That’s the kind of thing you do in person?”

“Not necessarily. But they offered to fly me out there, and Scotland is one of the places I visit whenever I can. I’ll leave tonight.”

Jonah’s going away again. I’m glad he told me. I feel a pang at the thought of being without him, even for a few days. And yet I’m slightly freaked out that I already want him around all the time. “Thanks for letting me know. How long will you be gone?”

“About a week and a half. Do you think you could get some time off?”

“Wait. What?”

“I was asking if you’d like to come with me.”

“To Scotland?”

“An island just off the coast of the Highlands.” Jonah acts like he just invited me to the movies. “I realize it would take a couple of days for you to get things in order and join me—and I’ll be working—but we’d have some time away from it all.”

I can’t think of what to say. “I’m sorry, you surprised me. Seriously, you want me to come meet you across the Atlantic in a few days?”

“On the Isle of Skye. It’s a beautiful place, Vivienne. Stark and wild. Not everyone appreciates it, but I suspect you would.”

“But—a transatlantic flight—”

“It’s on me,” Jonah says. “I have the miles.”

You shouldn’t waste them on me, I nearly say, before I remember that one news story I read about his family. His late father was one of the founders of Oceanic Airlines. Not only is Jonah not short on money, but he also probably gets to fly himself or his friends for free whenever he wants.

That makes this invitation less of a splurge for him—but no less of a leap for us both.

I laugh in surprise. “You really know how to step it up for the second date.”

“I realize it’s unusual. But I wanted to ask.”

This is impossible, of course. I have a class to help teach, a dissertation to write, Shay to look after—

But a reckless whisper in my head answers, You’ve covered tons of classes for both Marvin and Keiko; they owe you, big-time. You ought to turn your dissertation over to your advisor for a preliminary look soon anyway. Shay’s not due for nearly another month. Arturo and Carmen are taking good care of her—Rosalind too—

Somehow I find myself saying, “Let me see if I can reschedule some things.”

“You’ll come?” Jonah sounds surprised, but in a good way.

“If I can make it work.”

He speaks with a knowing, arrogant assurance that should infuriate me. Instead it curls my toes within my ballet flats. “You can.”

“We’ll see!”

Five minutes later, as I walk into the departmental office, Kip glances over from his computer, eyebrow arched. “Well, well, well. I hear you’re painting the town red these days.”

“Huh?”

“A friend of mine who waits tables in the area reported seeing you and Jonah Marks strolling along Congress this weekend. Quite lovey-dovey, at least for Professor Marks, which means he seemed to acknowledge you were there.”

Does he have spies everywhere? The “campus Sauron” comparison is starting to feel a little too accurate. “Yeah, we went to dinner.”

“If he’s treating you right, I withdraw my earlier objections,” Kip says as he types something so quickly his orange nails fly across his computer keyboard. “But let it be known, if he breaks your heart, he’ll regret it.”

From anyone else, that would be pure bluster—some guy threatening to punch Jonah out, knowing full well this battle will never take place. From Kip? It means Jonah could find himself reassigned to a smaller office, denied a campus parking sticker, and God only knows what else. Could Kip derail Jonah’s chance at tenure? I wouldn’t put it past him. “Hey. Jonah’s been great, okay? No need to break out the nuclear option.”

“Yet,” Kip says with relish. “He remains under watch. Is he taking you on some other outing soon? I want to spy on you.”

Note to self: Never set up one of our “games” at any location where we could run into Kip. “Actually, now he wants to take me to Scotland. Can you help me clear next week?”

I really should’ve pulled out my phone before I said that, because the look on Kip’s face would make the greatest Vine ever.

“Wait. Hold everything.” Kip clasps the desk as if he thinks he might fall down. “Did you say he wants to take you to Scotland?”

“He’s going tonight, but he wants me to meet him over there in a couple of days. Probably I could leave on Saturday, if I get somebody to cover my classes early next week. But getting out of the departmental meeting, making sure I can move my appointment with Dr. McFadden—”

“Scotland as in another country, across the ocean?” Kip shows no sign of recovering from the shock anytime soon.

I shrug. “I realize it’s kind of extravagant for a second date.”

Kip is one of the only people who might realize that Jonah and I have a connection that dates further back than our evening out on Congress, but he’s too bowled over to catch it. “Kind of? He wants to whisk you away to foreign parts for glamorous locations, uninhibited vacation sex—”

Jonah and I don’t wait for vacations to be uninhibited. I have to smile. “He’s traveling for work, so I’ll probably be on my own most of the time. Still, I’d like to go. Can you help me out?”

“Of course I can, sweetie. Just give me a moment.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes deep breaths, like someone trying not to faint. “My God. You’ve ensnared the most elusive man in Texas. Tamed the untamable. It’s like I’m talking to the big game hunter who brought down the yeti.”

“He’s not the yeti!” By now I’m laughing.

“Then he’s George Clooney, and you’re Austin’s answer to Amal Alamuddin. But . . . this is a big step for you two. It’s not too big, is it?”

“What do you mean? It’s just some time away—a little farther away than usual.”

“Sometimes what looks like generosity can be control.” Kip speaks more quietly now, and something in his tone tells me he’s speaking from experience. He’s made some allusions to a significant love affair in his past that ended badly, but this is the first time he’s ever suggested any of the real details. “You think you’re being swept up in this big romance, but really it’s all about separating you from your own life.”

That’s not what’s happening at all, I want to say—but I can’t deny that Jonah likes control. I’ve been wondering whether the change in our relationship would take away the sense of danger that excites us both. Maybe I should have been wondering if the danger would instead become real.

Being with Jonah is a risk. It has been since day one. Someday I might flinch—but not today.

“You’re overreacting,” I say. “This is a trip. Just a trip, and one I’d love to take. Come on, Kip, work your magic.”

Kip shakes his head, as if to clear it. “For this, darling? You get the full-on Dumbledore.”

•   •   •

Unsurprisingly, everything falls into place just the way Kip said it would. Within the day, I’m able to e-mail Jonah: Hope you were serious about that invitation, because I’m coming.

Which is how I wind up spending Saturday night thirty thousand feet in the air, suspended between the sea and the moon.

Until now I’ve spent my aviation life in coach, so first class feels surreal—more like Inception than real life. Flight attendants and passengers alike speak in hushed tones as we recline in large, cream-colored seats that turn into perfectly flat beds. Free champagne arrives the moment anyone lifts a hand. We’re given blankets softer than the ones on my bed, face masks that feel like silk. Even though a transatlantic trip is already a long journey, this feels like even more daring—like traveling from one world to another.

I am flinging myself into the unknown, and trusting Jonah to catch me.

Jet lag means my arrival in Scotland is no more than a blur, just like the driver who brings me into the Highlands, onto the ferry, across the water to Skye. Somehow I manage to stay awake until we reach the bed-and-breakfast, where the kindly manager shows me to Jonah’s room, gives me the key Jonah left behind. Then I collapse into bed for a three-hour nap of the sweetest, most perfect slumber, like returning to the womb.

When I open my eyes again, I feel as if I’ve awakened from hibernation, and I’m more vividly aware of my surroundings than I’ve been in a long time.

Our room is small, and just barely on the right side of the line that separates “cozy” and “tacky.” A blue-and-green quilt covers the bed; the paintings on the wall show Highland hills blooming violet with heather. Jonah’s square, hard-sided suitcase stands in the corner, next to my lilac duffel bag. I’ve seen his stuff before I see him. It feels strange to be in Jonah’s room without him, to have come to an entirely different country to be with him and still remain alone.

Yet my solitude doesn’t feel lonely. It feels dreamlike. All my other responsibilities have fallen away. Every other source of tension is gone.

I put on jeans and a heavy gray sweater that doesn’t get much wear in Texas or Louisiana. Then I walk out from the B&B to see a wild, rocky stretch of coastline in front of me—and behind, endless rolling hills. Only a few scrubby patches of heather linger this late in the year, but the purple is beautiful just the same. Aside from a small stone cottage near the dock, not another house can be seen for miles in any direction. Even the nearby road is too narrow for more than one vehicle at a time. The breeze off the water is cool; the air smells of salt. Splashing at the shoreline makes me look for fish, but to my delight, I instead see two otters scampering in the shallows.

Some artists believe in creating every single day—writing, painting, doing whatever it is you do—to stay productive. Others believe in a concept called “filling the well.” This means stopping for a while to just take in something new, whether it’s a book you’ve never read, an activity you’ve never tried, or a place you’ve never been before. The new experiences sink deep into your consciousness and take your creativity in new directions.

If I didn’t already believe in filling the well, the stark, wild beauty of this place would convince me.

I packed a sketchpad, thinking only to fill the hours when Jonah was working. Now I can’t wait to spend every spare hour drawing. The rugged landscape—the rocky shoreline—even the way our B&B seems to snuggle against the nearest hill: I want to capture every detail, forever.

From across the water I hear the sound of an engine and the choppy impact of waves against metal. Somehow I know, even before I turn to see the white boat coming nearer, that this is Jonah’s return. When I wave in greeting, I see him lean out—no more than an outline, at this distance—and raise his hand.

I’d thought seeing him would shatter the dreamlike quality of this place. Instead it seems as though Jonah has entered my dream.

•   •   •

“What did you tell your friends?” Jonah asks that night over dinner.

Unlike most B&Bs, the one we’re staying in serves food and drink throughout the night—mostly, I think, for the fishermen gathered at the other two tables. Jonah and I sit at a beat-up wooden table, near a crackling fire, with lamb stew and dark beer. The firelight illuminates the harsh planes of Jonah’s face; sometimes the flickering shadows make him look almost demonic, but at other moments, he looks as beautiful as I’ve ever seen him.

This is one of those moments.

“I told my friends the truth,” I say. “They were surprised, but Carmen and Arturo are excited for me. And Shay . . . she’s trying to wrap her head around the fact that you aren’t always as, um, reserved as you come across in the office.”

“She thinks I’m cold.”

“No, no! It’s not like that.” Shay would never be that bluntly unkind. “One of the first things she ever said to me about you was that you were the best professor in the department to work for.”

Jonah thinks that over, then nods. As well as he’s concealing it, I can tell—Shay’s opinion means something to him. I doubt he ever goes out of his way to ingratiate himself with people. So if he cares about what Shay thinks, it’s because he realizes Shay is a person whose respect is worth having. This, in turn, makes me realize he’s a good judge of character.

“What about you?” I say. “Did you tell your friends about bringing me along?”

“Most of my close friends are from undergrad. We don’t communicate every day. But I told Rosalind.”

I remember the way she smiled at me when she realized I was “Jonah’s Vivienne.” Her respect is worth having too. “What did she say?”

“She said it was about time I ‘stepped up my game.’” Jonah says this so seriously that I can’t help but laugh. Slowly, he smiles too—and yet he’s wary about something else. “You didn’t tell me how that ex of yours reacted.”

“Geordie? He said you were making him look bad, because he never took me anyplace fancier than Ruth’s Chris Steak House.” I would giggle at the memory, but Jonah’s expression seems to forbid it. He’s become stony again, and I wonder if the emotion he’s holding back is anger, or jealousy. “You realize there’s nothing between me and Geordie any longer.”

“So you’ve said. But you spend a lot of time together.”

We do. I’ve been surprised how easily Geordie and I transitioned into a platonic relationship. Then again—“We were always closer to ‘friends with benefits’ than any red-hot love affair,” I say. “You know, we tried romance on, it didn’t fit for either of us, and so now we stick to what did work. Our friendship.”

“Does he understand that?”

“Definitely.” Truth be told, Geordie looked a little wistful when I told him about this trip, and the fact that I was seeing Jonah Marks—but no more than that. “You sound jealous.”

“I am,” Jonah says. He looks straight into my eyes and speaks with a calmness that belies every word he says. “I’m jealous of every man who ever touched you.”

Just hearing him say that brings the heat to my face, to my solar plexus. Our eyes meet, and I know he wants to grab me, right now. To knock everything off this table, lay me down on it and take me . . .

But that’s not a fantasy we can act out here and now, not without giving these fishermen the free porno show of their lives.

Jonah keeps speaking as though he didn’t know I was already crazy hot for him. “You’re better at that than I am. Staying friends with exes.”

Lightly I say, “Why is that, do you think?”

This is where most guys would give me a canned speech about how it’s better for the past to be the past. Or, worse, that talk about how their ex-girlfriends went crazy, which in context always means she dared to express anger at some point. Jonah, on the other hand, thinks for a few long moments before answering. “I tend to . . . compartmentalize. To keep the different aspects of my life separate from each other. So I don’t want to change my exes into the friends they never were. When it’s over, it’s over.”

Sounds sane enough. I’m pretty good at handling ex-lovers, but I also realize I’m unusual in that way. Some people need to lock the doors behind them. Clean breaks aren’t the worst idea.

But then Jonah adds, more quietly, “I’m trying to do things differently with you.”

Wait? When we break up?

No, of course not. Jonah invited me to join him here in Scotland. He brought me into another part of his life. I’m the one he wants to change for.

He slides his hand across the table until our fingers touch. I take a deep breath and look into his eyes. The intensity of the desire I see there—the need to own me not just in bed, but in every possible way—it thrills me. And terrifies me. I can’t say which emotion is more powerful.

This is the moment when I realize what tonight means. Jonah won’t want to play out a scenario tonight. The sex won’t be any fantasy rape. It will just be us, him and me, literally and emotionally naked.

Either I’ll have to fake my way through it, or I’ll have to tell Jonah the truth.

It shouldn’t be scarier than the dark fantasies Jonah and I have shared—but it is. It is.