How They May Be

The sound of the shower suddenly cut out, and I dropped my hand guiltily back to my side. Soon thereafter, Emily stepped out of the bathroom, a voluminous hotel towel modestly wrapped around her body like a sarong, swelling softly with her youthful curves. The hot water had brought a deep flush of color to her cheeks, and her hair was wetly mussed, limp ebon locks clinging haphazardly to her scalp. She smiled brightly when she saw me. "Good morning, Mark!"

"Good morning, honey." I forced an even expression onto my face, forbade myself to look down to her legs, which the towel left largely uncovered. "You look like you slept well."

"Mmm," she hummed happily. "I certainly did. I haven't had so refreshing a sleep in ages." A smirk. "I'd like to say it's because of having you next to me - but you went wandering last night, didn't you?"

I froze. "What?" She knew. She had woken up to my pawing after all. All was lost.

The panic must have been apparent on my face, for Emily cocked her head at me in confusion, even looking a bit concerned. "Um, you moved over to the chair?" And she helpfully pointed to where I had awakened that morning.

I laughed weakly, relief sudden and palpable. "Oh. Ah, yes, that's right. It's . . . I'm afraid you tossed and turned enough to wake me up, sweetie." I gave her a portion of the truth. "I decided just to let you have the bed."

"Did I really?" She blushed adorably. "Jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't even think I moved around that much. I guess I'm not really used to sleeping in the same bed as someone else."

I softly chuckled. "Well, when you get right down to it, I'm not too used to it myself, anymore."

"I guess not." A wry smile curved her lips, and she squinted at me. "Why is that, anyway? I mean, you're a pretty hunky guy. That lady from your work certainly likes you, and I'll bet she's not alone. Don't you get..." She hesitated, picking the proper word. "...lonely?"

Puffed up by her compliment, I shrugged expansively. "Why would I be lonely, when I have you to keep me company?"

"Hmph." Emily took a step closer, pointedly poked at the chest of my undershirt. "You know what I mean."

"Well," I hesitated. "It's complicated, honey. When you've been married a while, getting back into the dating world can seem pretty daunting. I was busy taking care of you after your mother passed on, and didn't want to have to worry about anything else distracting me. And I also didn't want you to think that I was trying to replace your mom with someone new." I reached up and tapped her nose with my index finger, and she gave me a soft, bittersweet smile. "You've grown up a lot since then, of course. I guess...I don't know. I've just been happy enough with the way things are that I didn't want to introduce some new element that might spoil it."

Emily nodded slowly, digesting this. "I think I've been pretty happy, too. I mean, that you didn't. I'd hate the thought of having to share you with anyone else." Her mouth curled in a self-effacing smirk. "Maybe that makes me kind of selfish."

"It might, if you didn't happen to be more fun to be with than any other woman I can think of, anyway." I chuckled quietly. "I'm sure I'll make up for lost time when you head off to college, though. You'll come back for Christmas and find me with six or seven new wives."

I meant it to be humorous. Instead, my joke seemed to kill both of our moods. Looking at her, I realized hollowly how little the thought of anyone but Emily appealed to me. And she just frowned and glanced over to her suitcase, no doubt still feeling qualms about the transition to college life. "Anyway, ah," I offered weakly, "I should take my shower now, give you a chance to get dressed." She nodded, and I scurried off to the bathroom.

When I emerged fifteen minutes later, somewhat soothed by the shower, it was only to be immediately set on edge once again by the sight of Emily's garb. She was hunched over, working on her hair in the small mirror above the cabinet, but upon seeing my reflection stood up straight and spun around to face me, palms turned out demonstratively with a sly little smile. "Okay, what do you think?"

She wore a belted dress of shining satin, its hue a deep crimson, the color of passion. It was not more adventuresome than her dress of the previous day, or at least not much more so - the skirt was higher, three inches above the knee, but its neckline was higher as well, a simple circle at the base of her graceful neck. Something in it, though, grabbed at my consciousness, a beauty I could not quite name. It emanated a graceful, functional simplicity, fitting just tightly enough to suggest the shape of the body beneath while flowing readily with her movement, and carried a dynamic of casual allure, from its artful waist pockets to its loose-draped shoulders to its line of dark buttons up the front. Indeed, the dress was almost austere in its loveliness, like the geometric perfection of a lancet arch. Instead of lewd lusts, it inspired in me an infatuation which was no less dangerous, and my heart beat faster as I clutched at the towel around my waist.

"It's a good look for you, Emily," I mumbled at her. Oh, why did she have to torment me so. "I have to admit, this one's a winner. But, ah, are you just running your outfits by me every day now, or what?"

"No..." She made a moue at me that quickly dissolved into a giggle. "Just every time I wear something I've never worn before. Which, okay, means every day of the trip. But I have to! What if it turns out something I picked out makes me look bad?" And she gazed at me sidelong.

I recognized fishing when I saw it, but could not resist the lure. "I don't think they've invented an outfit yet that can make you look bad, sweetheart."

"Aww." She affected bashfulness, looking down and linking her hands behind her back. I could just see the tips of her pearly teeth through delighted lips, and her bosom was thrust enticingly forward by the pose.

"Anyway, honey," I added with a bit more heaviness, forcing my eyes away, "I've got to get dressed, too, so if you could just scoot back into the bathroom for a minute, that'd be great."

For a moment Emily paused, opened her mouth as if to speak. But instead she shook her head, and with a small smile, stepped through the doorway. Just two more days, I told myself. Less, even; a day and a half. Surely I could last that long without deepening my sin - it was already a very low bar I had set for myself.

We had a light breakfast that morning, with similarly light conversation; movies and the weather, over eggs and toast. And afterwards, a conflicted separation, as the duties of the retreat called once again. Another seminar, two team-building exercises, and the round-table discussion Katheryn had mentioned the previous day. Once again, I found it difficult to concentrate on the activities, my mind occupied by thoughts of my daughter, as though I were a schoolboy distracted by some new crush. I'm afraid I came off very poorly at the discussion, not recalling for long seconds what was required of me, and then just rattling through my prepared notes. Even in the midst of a horde of serious-minded colleagues, the minutia of my career seemed very far away, while Emily might still have been beside me by the prominence she held in my mind.

I had foolishly failed to arrange a place to reconvene, and so for some time after the meeting ended I had to wander the hotel, trying to track Emily down. She was not in our room, nor out on the beach, nor by the pool, nor in the exercise room, and I was beginning to grow concerned when I finally caught sight of her from a distance in the hotel lounge, sitting engaged in conversation with a male figure. What was more, even from where I stood I could see the man's hand resting casually on her knee.

I am ashamed to confess that my immediate reaction was almost entirely one of burning jealousy, with barely a flickering hint now of the paternally protective urge that should have filled me. But as I stormed closer, I noticed more features of the scene which revealed to me just how inappropriate my initial reaction was. Her legs were tightly closed under his hand, her body language ineffectually forbidding, and she wore an awkward, uncomfortable smile. Whatever was going on here was certainly not her idea. The man himself was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, blonde and well-muscled with a deep tan and an easy, arrogant grin. As I drew up close, I could hear the tail end of their conversation. "I just can't stand to see a sexy little thing like you left all alone." His voice was softly demanding, with a vaguely Southern accent. "I promise, I know how to treat you right. You come up to my room, I'll make you feel things you ain't ever felt before."

I spoke up beside them, firmly, with a tightly controlled anger. "I don't think she's interested, son."

They both started, noticing me for the first time, and the man shot to his feet, contentiously getting in my face. "Yeah? And who are you, her father?" I could smell alcohol on his breath, despite that it was still early afternoon.

I was spared from having to answer this by Emily, who struggled out of her chair and pushed past him to cling to my side with a relieved "Mark!" My arm protectively encircled her, but my eyes stayed locked on her aggressor, whose expression stumbled about somewhere between surprised and annoyed. "Well, shit. You're her husband?" He looked me over appraisingly, and judging by the disgusted curl of his lips, was less than impressed. "How 'bout I take her off your hands for the evening? I reckon I can get much better use out of her than you can."

I smiled humorlessly. "How about you just take off before you embarrass yourself any further?"

His smouldering eyes did not look away as he cracked his neck menacingly, and for a moment I thought he was actually going to take a swing at me. But he seemed to think better of it at the last minute, shaking his head and turning his gaze back to Emily. "You get bored of him, beautiful, you come see me. Room 217. Remember that." And with a final dismissive gesture towards me, he ambled over towards the bar, leaving me to escort Emily out to the hotel lobby.

"Thanks for rescuing me," she said softly, with an undertone of faint chagrin.

"No thanks necessary," I murmured back. "I'm all too glad to do it. What happened there? Who was that?"

"He said his name was James something." Emily pulled her head off my side to explain. "I don't really know. He just walked up and started talking to me maybe half an hour ago. I thought he was nice at first. Then he started getting really close, and, you know...suggestive. I even told him I was married, and he didn't seem to care."

"Some men don't," I muttered. "Some men are just looking for a warm hole to-" I stopped myself, not wanting to put it so crassly. "Just looking for someone to spend the night with, and not much caring who it is. I'm afraid you're going to have to learn to deal with men like him - being an adult isn't always the most pleasant thing, especially for women." Stopping, I put a hand to her chin and turned her gaze to mine. "Are you all right, though?"

Emily smiled weakly, sheepishly. "Yeah, I'm okay. I mean, I should've just gotten up and walked away. It was just in the moment, you know, I felt like I didn't know what to do." Her smile flickered, a brief note of vulnerability that made me want to sweep her up in my arms. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"That's fine by me, sweetheart." I placed my arm comfortingly back around her shoulders. "And we've got a good long afternoon now to do whatever makes you happy. What'll it be?"

"I think . . ." She hesitated, biting thoughtfully at the tip of her tongue, and then suddenly grinned at me. "You should decide. You're my knight in shining armor, after all."

I chuckled, my heart foolishly soaring, and tried to think of something that she would enjoy. My eyes alit upon the rack of activity booklets by the front desk. "How about that cultural center on the north end of the island?"

"That sounds lovely." Emily's smile was like sugar. "I'm ready to go right now, if you are."

"Absolutely," I agreed. "Let's see what they have to offer."

We hired a cab to our destination, and for a bit less than four hours wandered amongst the villages representing the various native peoples of the Pacific. I couldn't call it a terribly authentic experience; it was a collection of displaced cultures, tarted up and put on display for the amusement of Western tourists, millennia-old lifestyles turned into theater. A thoroughly pragmatic affair, from the perspective of the people running it. But I can't deny that I enjoyed it all the same, in no small part due to the pleasantness of my company. Despite her uncomfortable experience in the lounge, Emily seemed to be particularly affectionate that day, walking with me hand in hand along the lush jungle paths, a custom I thought lost somewhere in her fifteenth year. I was only too happy to see it suddenly revived, to hold her hand warmly in mine, palms pressed against one other in an endless embrace. To feel her delicate carpal muscles occasionally twitch against my grasp, like a tender kiss.

Even now, my memories of that afternoon have a peculiar, otherworldly quality, an incredible lightness. We canoed down a river between the villages, watched performers juggle fire and demonstrate native dances, and even tried our hand at walking on hot coals - I singed my sole a bit. Through it all, I found that the joy of being near her suffused me, overpowering my worry about my troubled desires. There was a beast within me, I knew that. But in those hours, the knowledge could not keep a smile from my face. I kept sneaking glances at Emily when I thought she wasn't looking, nurturing the blissful tingle that sparked in my chest every time I gazed upon her angelic features. Sometimes I would find her eyes waiting for me, a tiny smile on her lips, and I would try to play it off like I was casually looking around - but not before the sight of her beautiful silver eyes drew my mouth into a grin, boiled a euphoric laugh up out of the heart of me. With her beside me, and the fresh, clean air filling my lungs, I felt more alive that it seemed I had in decades.

Finally, we exhausted the cultural center's appeal, and headed back to the hotel with a small plastic bag of gift-shop souvenirs and macadamia nuts. I was ready for dinner, having had only a section of party sub for lunch, but Emily had other ideas. As we walked down the hallway, we could hear boisterous music coming from the ballroom; she poked her head curiously inside, and pulled it back with an excited grin. "They've got a band playing in there! Let's go dancing."

"Right now?" I tried to demur, too easily imagining what it would be like to dance with her, to watch her rocking hips, to slide my hands down her back . . . there were dangerous temptations in it. "Sweetie, aren't you tired from all the walking around?"

"Hardly!" She giggled with amusement and tugged lightly at my hand. "Come on, don't tell me my big, strong da - um, husband is worn out before I am. You don't have any excuse today, I woke up before you did."

I was pulled a step forward, but still hesitated. "I'm not really much of a dancer, to be honest."

"Well," she arched an eyebrow severely as she gave my hand another tug, "that's all the more reason to practice, isn't it? Besides, you've got an obligation here."

"I do?" Blinking with surprise, "How's that, then, princess?"

She finally gave up tugging at my arm and instead stepped up close beside me, her voice compellingly playful. "Remember, way back when I was like eleven or twelve? I used to make you dance with me when the radio played a song I liked."

"I do remember that," I said softly, retreating briefly into memory with a nostalgic smile. It was dim, but I could recall twisting about on the carpet with her to the energetic pop hits that grabbed her attention. "So, what, did I make some promise to 'dance with you later' that you're turning against me now?"

"Well..." She laughed and bit her lower lip. "I don't think so. I mean, maybe. But I was just going to say, we never officially stopped that, so I still get to make you dance with me if I want." And she flashed a crooked smile at me.

I quirked an amused grin back. "Ah. Naturally." But that was not the answer she was waiting for - Emily continued to stand before me, soft and expectant and oh so beautiful. It was such a simple request. How could I explain a refusal? How, indeed, could I even bear to refuse? "All right, all right, one dance. But then I've got to get something to eat before I collapse."

"Great!" Softly exulting, she turned to pull open the ballroom door while I followed helplessly after. A wave of peppy music washed over us as we walked inside. I didn't recognize the song, but it had the bombastically jubilant quality of big band music from the middle of the century, a voice desperately upbeat beneath the shadow of world war. A dozen performers stood scattered across the stage, swinging energetically with the rhythm, and the room was already about half-full of other couples, some gliding across the room, others just standing by the edges, listening to the music. Weaving expertly between them, Emily led the way to a quieter section of floor before spinning round to transfix me with an enchanting smile. "Okay," she confessed with a laugh, "I'm a little nervous, but let's do this."

Only her hands moved first, small claps in time with the beat, easing her way into terpsichorean motion. Then her right foot, the narrow heel tapping a lively tattoo upon the floor. I'm afraid I hardly helped to put her at ease, just watching with baited breath as she began to dance - she blushed and looked away under my gaze, but kept at it, the flow of the music penetrating further into her body with every beat of the drum. Soon enough her arms were swinging, her legs hopping, and she goaded me gently, "Come on, Mark, you're supposed to be dancing with me!"

I myself reddened a bit at that, started to shuffle about and bob my head to the music. I couldn't even recall how long it had been since I had danced in public; 'out of practice' would have been a drastic understatement. But Emily's eyes on me were loving, her smile encouraging, and I found myself relaxing. It didn't hurt, either, that the tune was so jaunty, practically begging me to move my feet. Old instincts slowly resurfaced, and I grinned foolishly as something like a disco dance worked its way into my step.

We must have made quite a sight - Emily's energetic, improvised boogie alongside my decades-old footwork, a fresh-faced young lady dancing enthusiastically with a man not just old enough to be her father. I didn't care. With my eyes locked on her, the pleasure of the moment was so great that I could not imagine the couples who glanced at us in passing felt anything other than jealousy. A kind of exchange occurred as the music possessed us; I stole fragments of her motion, she borrowed bits of mine, until we moved in a new symmetry, a unique dance shared between just us two.

There was hardly any physical contact between us, just a few bumps and the occasional clasped hands as we switched positions. But there was certainly spectacle for me, as our dance grew florid. The rocking hips I had envisioned more than came to pass, calling down my eyes and titillating my imagination to think of how they might feel, straddling my waist. Her dress jumped about with the energy of her motion, teasing with quick glimpses of pale thigh, somehow made mysterious by the fluttering fabric despite having been entirely on display the previous day. You cannot take the sex out of dance; it paints in the mind an image of your partner's body, showcases her most intimate movements. And Emily - oh, what a body, what movements she had. I felt an almost tantric energy in our dance, a slender thread of holistic sensation tying me to the universe. It was sublime.