Water and Fire - A Short Story

Part 10

I tried to focus on the road, but my vision wavered from blurred to clear. I felt the bumpy surface of gravel and told myself we were almost home. A kangaroo came out of nowhere, bursting from the bush on one side of the road. It cleared the bonnet of the car and hightailed off into the bush on the other side of the road.

“There goes Lucky,” Aidan said.

I struggled to understand. “The kangaroo’s name is Lucky?”

Aidan laughed. “Any kangaroo I don’t hit is called Lucky.”

I smiled, or I think I did, but I was so cold I couldn’t feel if my face was working correctly.

Aidan kept shooting glances in my direction, his expression increasingly grim.

He parked his car so close to the house it was almost on the veranda encircling the walls. He bundled me out of the car and into the house.

Once inside, he let go of me. I sagged on my feet, but I remained standing.

His fingers were manically combing through his hair, so it fluffed out in all directions. “You should…go get changed. Into some warm, dry clothes. I’ll start the fire and get the room heated, so you can sit out here on the sofa to get warm.” He looked at me, more than a little apprehensive. “Do you need help getting changed, or will you be okay?”

I smiled, bemused. “I think I can dress myself.” I ambled toward the bedroom I’d claimed. Changing my clothes was harder than I’d expected, because my hands weren’t as cooperative as I needed them to be. After some time, I managed to take off my wet clothes and put on some pants and a shirt. I decided I didn’t need a bra, because it was pretty useless when I couldn’t fasten it. Today I was glad my breasts were much smaller than Vanessa’s, because if she chose not to wear a bra, it hardly went without notice. Quite the opposite.

After some consideration, I pulled Aidan’s tartan coat on over my shirt. This would hide my breasts, if such a thing was necessary.

I carefully picked my way across the tiled floor on numb feet. In the time it had taken me to get changed, Aidan had started a fire in the fireplace. The first big chunk of wood was starting to burn, orange flame darting around the edges, like small nibbling fish.

I sat on the couch, focusing on the flames. Aidan moved from his crouch in front of the fire to the couch beside me. He helped me out of his damp coat, flinging a fluffy rug over my shoulders instead.

He stood in front of me, unconsciously washing his hands without water or soap, I noticed with faint humour. Rubbing his hands from his forearms to his fingertips, as if scrubbing up for some delicate surgical procedure.

“So, I take it you’re not going whale watching again for a while?” Aidan’s joke fell flat.

I looked up to his considerable height, incredulous. Why would I avoid whales? It was the wind that took my warmth, not the whale. I wished I could tell this man why such a suggestion was so nonsensical, but I kept my mouth closed. I turned my eyes to the flame-fish in the fire.

“Right.” His voice was uncertain, as he moved away from me and out of my sight. I heard him moving around in the kitchen, but I concentrated on the fire, my focus on its warmth.

Aidan returned with a glass bottle and two glasses, clinking them down on the coffee table. He carefully opened the bottle and poured a small amount of kelp-coloured liquid into the bottom of each glass.

He held onto the bottle, giving a sigh. “I was keeping this for a special occasion. I guess medicinal purposes qualifies as an occasion.” He did not explain his cryptic words, nor did I care for an explanation, so I waited for him to hand me a glass. “Drink this. It’ll help warm you a bit.”

I judged the quantity of liquid to be a large mouthful, so I took it all in one gulp. A mouthful of fire coral would have burned less. My eyes watered as if to put out the fire in my throat, but the effort was futile.

I tried to focus on the bottle’s label, but it took me a few minutes before I could see. Limeburners Single Malt Whisky Barrel Strength, I read, before I had the use of my voice. What lime was I didn’t know, but this drink would burn anything.

“What is it?” I rasped.

Aidan took a small sip of his drink. He held it in his mouth, as if savouring the burning sensation. “Whiskey,” he answered.

He looked at the bottle carefully. “Barrel strength. I’m sorry, I should have added some water.”

He placed his barely touched glass on the table and headed past me to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a small jug of water, a ridiculously small quantity to extinguish the fire from my glass. He lifted the jug to pour some water into my glass, but stopped before a drop landed.

“You finished it all? You shouldn’t have too much, not before your body temperature goes back to normal.” Aidan looked worried, but poured more of the whiskey into my glass, then a tiny trickle of water. He did the same for his own glass. He handed my glass back to me and carefully clinked his glass against mine.

“To your good health,” he said gravely, before taking a sip.

This time, I followed his example, taking only a tiny sip of the whiskey I now regarded warily.

It was as I suspected. The water did nothing to stop the burn, but there was flavour amid the hot sensation. I thought I tasted honey and warm chocolate. I took another sip and ventured an opinion. “This would go well with warm brownies and ice cream.”

My words surprised him. He looked like he was struggling to find a reply. “I’m not giving you ice cream until you’re warm again,” he said finally. He put his glass down and knelt on the floor to stoke the fire. He placed several large chunks of wood in the fireplace, far more than I considered necessary. Perhaps he felt the room was chilly, or that I required additional warmth.

He unfolded to his full height and crossed the floor to me. He placed a hand cautiously on my chest at the base of my neck, where bare skin showed above the collar of my t-shirt. I met his eyes with a question, but he didn’t answer it.

“You’re still cold,” he murmured, concern creasing lines into his forehead beneath the crest of orange curls.

I bit back the comment I wanted to make, that I would always feel cold to his warm hands. There were differences between us that I could not begin to categorise.