Radclyffe - Sheltering Dunes

Flynn rolled down her window. Maybe the cool afternoon air would soothe the aching wound that burned inside her when she thought about never seeing Mica again. Mica’s spirit, her strength, and her stubbornness filled Flynn with excitement and awe. She loved being around her, loved watching her work, loved talking with her, touching her. They’d only been apart for a few hours and she missed her. Making love with her had been incredible. Passionate, tender, exquisitely pleasurable. She’d loved stroking her and feeling her body yield, hearing her break with pleasure. She’d loved giving herself, unconditionally, and knowing that the woman who touched her wanted her. She’d never had that with Evelyn, not without the pall of regret tarnishing the joy.

Flynn drove through the small New England town along tree-shrouded streets brilliant with fall color. Students walked in groups, laughing and carefree. On a knoll above town she turned into the wide gravel drive and made her way through the enormous scrolled iron gates up to the stone mansion. She left her car in the turn-around and went through the huge carved double wooden doors into the enormous vaulted foyer, her footsteps tapping along the stone until she reached the alcove where the receptionist waited.

“Reverend Edwards,” the sexton exclaimed, rising. His wireless glasses sparkled in the sunlight slanting through the tall narrow window behind him. His meticulously trimmed mustache slanted upward as he smiled in greeting. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Hello, Mr. Burns. I know it’s unexpected, but I’d like to speak to the reverend.”

“Certainly. Certainly. I’ll call him right away. Would you like to wait in the rectory?”

“That would be fine,” Flynn said.

He smiled at her uncertainly and she nodded her thanks before turning away to make the familiar walk through the familiar halls to the rectory adjoining the seminary building. Her brother was waiting for her outside his office. He wore jeans and a plain black shirt and his clerical collar. They looked so similar, except her neck was bare, and she felt the absence even more acutely in his presence.

“Flynn.” Matthew kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you. And about time.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Flynn saw questions in his eyes, questions that she’d avoided for too long. About Evelyn, and Debbie, and her. “I should have come sooner.”

“You’re here now.” He took her arm as he had so many times when as students they’d strolled and talked for hours. “How are you?”

“I’m afraid I’m lost.”

“Your faith or your path to it?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Let’s see if we can sort that out. Shall we walk outside?” Matthew said. “It’s so beautiful, and you’ve given me the perfect excuse to avoid the budget I’m supposed to be reviewing.”

“I’m sorry to arrive with no warning.”

“Don’t be. I’ve missed you. We all have.”

She doubted Evelyn missed her. But Matthew didn’t know about their relationship. She’d ended it as soon as she’d realized Evelyn was seeing them both, and she saw no reason to tell her brother about the past affair if his wife didn’t. “I’ve missed you too.”

The rolling hills of the seminary grounds were still green, although the maples and oaks were dropping their leaves like swatches of blazing confetti. The fall air was crisp, cooler and sharper than on the Cape. She missed the warm scent of the sea already. “I haven’t lost my faith, but I can’t seem to see past myself to its lessons.”

Her brother smiled. “Maybe you just need to see yourself, and the rest will be clear.”

“I’m afraid I see myself too well.”

“Flynn,” he said gently, stopping to sit on a stone bench overlooking the town, “what happened to Debbie was a terrible, terrible tragedy. We all feel it, and in some ways, we are all responsible. You weren’t the only person who could have changed her mind. You weren’t the only person who might have influenced her, who might have given her support. Yes”—he held up his hand—“I know, you counseled her. That’s an enormous responsibility, no matter what the circumstances, but so much more so when we counsel the young, who sometimes are so isolated and feel so alone.”

“If I’d been giving her what she needed,” Flynn said, “she would have come to me when she thought she had no options. She would have talked to me about what she was going to do.”

“You know that isn’t usually what happens, not when someone has truly made up their mind. They almost never tell us. She wasn’t making a plea for help. She had already made her choice.”

“I can’t accept her choice,” Flynn said, her throat burning with months of unshed tears.

“Of course you can’t. Who could? Maybe the reason you feel so lost is you’ve forgotten that we are given free will, the opportunity to make our own choices, even when our choices are wrong or self-destructive. As hard as it is to accept, Debbie chose her path.”

Flynn looked past her brother to the church and the cross at the top of the belfry, the symbols of their faith. Her belief that every individual had a choice, that nothing in life was completely predetermined, was fundamental to her faith. For if that were not so, there would be no purpose in ministering. Her failure had been in forgetting that ultimately, everyone chose their own path, and all she could do was help them see what those paths might be. She sighed. “Someone told me recently that my arrogance prevented me from seeing others’ reality. How can I minister if all I can see is my own belief?”

“This person who told you that, did she know about Debbie?”

“Yes, she did.”

“She’s hard on you. Why is that?”

Flynn pictured Mica in the back of the police car, imprisoned and alone. Remembered the man in the alley and the knife at Mica’s throat. Goose bumps broke out over her flesh. Mica was in danger and she had known it. Mica wanted her gone, and she had said exactly what she knew would drive Flynn away. “She wanted me out of her life.”

“The two of you—you have an intimate relationship?”

“Yes.” Flynn smiled at an image of an exhausted and sated Mica tumbling into her arms after they’d made love. The tight fist in her chest relaxed. “I’m in love with her.”

“How does she feel about you?”

“I don’t know.” Flynn paused. “No, that’s not true. She’s talked to me, told me things that I know she’s kept hidden from others. I know she cares.”

“Then why did she want to drive you away? Why did she deliberately hurt you?”

“Someone is trying to kill her.”

His expression never changed as he folded his hands in his lap and crossed his ankle over his opposite knee, as if he were settling in for a long, friendly conversation. “I think you better start at the beginning.”

So she did, and the more she told him of Mica, the more she knew what she had to do.

*

When Mica hurried past Mitch on her way to the ice machine with an empty ice bucket, he leaned across the bar and caught her arm. She pivoted and shot him a glare. She hated being handled by anyone. Stabbing pain shot through her. She didn’t mind when Flynn touched her. She liked it. She didn’t want to think about Flynn. She didn’t want to keep watching the door. She’d accomplished what she’d wanted. Flynn was gone. She yanked her arm out of Mitch’s grasp. “What?”

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Mitch said quietly. “And besides that, you’re snarling at me. You’re supposed to think I’m the hottest thing on the planet.”

Mica forced herself to smile, although she thought if anyone looked closely they’d be able to tell she was snarling. Mitch did look good, and maybe if she’d been into guys with smoky eyes and sensuous mouths and teasing bulges in their crotches, she’d be smiling at him for real. But when she looked at him, nothing stirred inside her, not the way she’d come alive when she’d looked at Flynn. And now when she thought of Flynn, she just hurt. “I don’t fool around when I’m working.”