Free At the Water's Edge by Harper Bliss

tired. Last night’s conversation has drained all energy from my body.
    Kay doesn’t force small talk, as though she has a sixth sense about these things. She’s all showered and dressed already, wearing jeans and a pale yellow blouse, I’m still in the robe she loaned me last night.
    When my curiosity gets the best of me, I ask, “What’s with the fancy-dress?” I’ve been here almost a week and I’ve never seen her in anything but shorts or slacks.
    “Got some business to attend to today. Some potential tenants are viewing one of my properties.”
    One of her properties? The surprise must be visible on my face, because Kay breaks out into a smile and gives a chuckle. “My father didn’t go to college either, but he knew that real estate is always the best investment.” She shrugs. “I don’t have expensive tastes, but West Waters barely makes me enough to get my hair cut every three months. And buy a new pair of denim shorts now and then.”
    “How many ‘properties’ have you got?” My interest is piqued.
    “Just a few apartments in the building they constructed on the high street in the nineties. And The Attic.”
    “You own The Attic?” I have to keep my jaw from dropping all the way down to the table’s surface.
    “Bought it after Jeff left me. Bit of a bitter revenge situation at the time, but it has paid off well in the end.”
    It hits me that, last night, I poured the inner workings of my soul out to a woman I know hardly anything about.
    “Jesus christ.” I drop my fork onto my empty plate. “A woman of many talents.”
    “We all have bills to pay.” Kay starts pushing her chair back. “And I’m mostly reaping the rewards of the smart decisions my father made.” Towering over the table, she locks her gaze on mine. “I have some errands to run first. Feel free to use the bath, or anything else you may need. Just make sure the door’s locked when you leave.” She looks at me in silence for a few moments before inching closer and putting a hand in my neck. “See you later.” A quick squeeze of her fingers, and she’s gone.
    Instantly, Kay’s house feels too empty, allowing too much room for destructive thoughts. I want to stay longer, have a bit of a browse around, check out which books she reads and what she keeps in her refrigerator, but I can’t. I have to get out of there now that she has left. It doesn’t feel right anymore.
    I locate my clothes in the living room, draped over the back of a chair. When I pick up my underwear, I can’t help but think that Kay touched it when she put it there. I’m your friend now, she said. And perhaps she is, but I distinctly remember the shiver of arousal that came over me in the water, and I realize it wasn’t just the freedom of skinny-dipping that caused it.
    * * *
    Verbalizing is a powerful, positive thing. Dr. Hakim’s voice in my head again. But any relief I felt after telling Kay is slowly but surely being crushed by shame again. At least, in Dr. Hakim’s office, I could leave the shame behind, if only for a few hours a week. I’m starting to miss his liver-spotted hands, his long fingers stroking that pitiful excuse for a goatee whenever I said something remotely meaningful. Out here, it’s just me. And Kay. But that’s different. And I know what he would say: Steer clear of distractions, Ella. This is a pattern we’re trying to break.
    When I arrive back at my own cabin, I take a long, hot shower before booting up my laptop and opening a draft e-mail to my sister. She’s my flesh and blood—the only sibling I have—and she doesn’t even know. At least I haven’t told her. I can’t be sure about my mother—whom I wouldn’t put it past to use it to lure a response out of Nina. Distorted negative thinking. Stop it. Instead of letting my thoughts meander into that direction, I turn to the e-mail, which has been sitting in my drafts folder for weeks, and start typing. I compose an abridged version of what I told Kay,