This is the long-awaited sequel to my story of love and lust in the New Zealand outback, "You'll See, Lucy". I've had a number of requests for this story, and I apologize to everyone who enjoyed the last one so much that it took me so long to write again. Life sometimes has a way of directing us away from our personal projects. Hopefully this will live up to the expectations of the fans of the first part. In any case, this story takes place some years after. The rest will become apparent. Enjoy! And please feel free to contact me with comments and suggestions for a third installment.
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"This...is just a one-time thing," Lucy began. I nodded in ascension.
"What happens in New Zealand stays in New Zealand," I reassured her.
"It's for the best," Becca agreed. We were all silent again, but the breathing was easier. The next day we met Frank at the airport to drop of his ute. I gave him a look and a handshake that said, "Meet me at the pub, I've got a tale for you," and he drove off with a polite nod and smile to the girls. Becca and I took Lucy into the airport as far as security before saying our goodbyes. She still looked amazing, standing there, happy but slightly sad, dressed all pretty in her light skirt and sandals, her deep cleavage once again beckoning. I gave her a long, strong hug when it was my turn, and she surprised me by giving me a long, deep, loving kiss. When we finally broke I saw that Becca was flushed and smiling. She squeezed my hand. I was getting laid that night for sure. Lucy bit her lip and ran and hand down my chest as she took a step away and picked up her things.
"I've got some free time around Christmas," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, "And I hear this country is beautiful that time of year. Perhaps I'll come visit you two? Besides..."
"What happens in New Zealand," I began.
"Stays...in New Zealand," Becca said, smiling at her sister and pulling in close to me. Lucy winked at us both, turned, and was gone.
*****
Christmas. She kept her word, technically, as she never did indicate what year that might be. 2007 ended without a word from Boston as Becca and I settled into our tiny, cold flat in Dunedin. It had been a terrible hassle to transfer all of our credits, but after four years I finally returned to school and finished my degree, as did Becca. Finally employable beyond selling river-running trips to hipsters and slickers, we moved into a comfortable little bungalow south of Auckland. By the end of 2008, I had a job overseeing a drilling project at the gold mine in Waihi, and my pretty little bride-to-be was donning her brightly-colored scrubs each morning. Weekends on the beaches of the Coromandel, vacations to the forgotten valleys of the Fiordland...life was good.
But still, no word from stateside. Our questions were finally answered in a letter from Mrs. Castel.
"Does this not seem strange to you?" I said, sitting at our little kitchen table and holding the hand-written letter. Their mother was a stickler for traditional correspondence.
"Does what seem strange?" Becca answered. She had finished the letter before I returned home from the mine, and left it out for me to read. I waited for her to look at me, then gave her a " 'scuse me?' look with my eyebrows.
"The fact that Lucy's getting a divorce because he slept with another woman? I never took her for a hypocrite," I said. I immediately winced, regretting my choice of words as Becca stopped putting away dishes from the drainer and gave me a stern look. "I didn't mean that-" I began.
"I'm not even going to go into all the reasons why that's wrong, because I think you know all of them," she said, winding down from her momentary temper and turning back to the sink. She was right. Our backcountry tryst of the previous year was something entirely different, indeed. Infidelity? Maybe, technically. But the phrase "cosmic command of the highest echelon" comes to mind. There was no way it could not have happened.
I paused, leaning back in my chair and allowing the letter to wave in the breeze from the open window. The kitchen was silent for a moment.
"We should call her," I suggested. Becca shook her head.
"Despite what little you know of her, Lucy is a very private person. Let her handle this on her own, and when she's ready, she'll do the calling," Becca said. Ready for what? I wondered.
I was silent for another moment, then got up and began to help her put away the dishes. "Then write to her," I said.
Becca stopped and looked out the window, then looked at me. She shrugged.
*****
Becca did. She wrote a beautiful long letter that we both signed, then slipped in a photo of the two of us at Lake Taupo. We didn't really expect a response. And, well...we didn't get one. Not for another year.
*****
I managed to pick up the phone on the fourth ring, dripping wet and holding a towel around my waist. It never fails. Always when you're in the shower. Becca wasn't home from the hospital yet.
"Hello?" I said. Silence. I wiped the water off the side of my face. "Hello?" I said again.
"Peter?"
"Oh, hey babe!" I said quickly, thinking I had recognized the voice as Becca's, "Could you stop and grab some brew on the way home? We're fresh out," I said. Musical giggling sounded from the receiver.
"Well, I would, but I don't think it would keep on the flight over."
".....Uhhh...." I said, furrowing my brow. I felt suddenly like I was being put on.
"Peter, it's Lucy," she said with a laugh. I was flabbergasted for a moment, my jaw dropping.
"Peter, are you there?" she said, laughing more. What a wonderful sound. My chest flooded with heat as a huge smile spread across my face. I was still in the towel and still talking to her forty minutes later when Becca arrived home and wrestled the phone away. I let the sisters talk privately for as long as they wanted, then joined back in at Becca's behest about an hour later. If her out-of-the-blue phone call was a wonderful surprise, news that she would be attending our wedding and reception was positively spine-tingling. Becca jumped on the couch like a little girl, practically crying with happiness.
The next month passed with amazing rapidity. Christmas came and went, and on January 15th my bride's parents arrived with Lucy, and my father and brother later that same day. The tiny outdoor ceremony was completed with only our immediate family in attendance, witnessing our union (at least, our lawful one) beneath an oceanside Pohutukawa tree exploding with its trademark red blossoms.
The reception was another matter all together.
Everyone would later recall the night, if they could recall it at all, as perfect. The air was warm and balmy beneath the same bursting red trees, the breeze calm. Long strings of paper lanterns hung from the branches, food and booze flowed with a pace that would have shamed the most raucous of Roman orgies, and the crowded dance floor pulsed with the beat from the live band as over 200 friends and family members partied until sunrise. For that night, everyone acted like we were back in college, complete with a couple of highly inappropriate keg stands, streaking runs, and even a good 'ol rasslin' match between some drunken miners from work. As morning brought the harsh sun, those who weren't carted off by taxis littered the deck furniture, couches, and guest beds of the huge house on the water that had been rented for the occasion. I would later vaguely recall being helped to the master suite by two little pairs of hands, and awoke mid-afternoon to the lovely, familiar, exotic, and all-together welcome scent of Lucy's hair.
I blinked. Then blinked again. It took a lot of blinks to clear the bleariness from my eyes, let me tell you. Lucy stirred under my arm with a soft little moan, nuzzling into the fluffy white pillow that we shared. I finally began to gain my bearings and raised my head, only to be greeted with the pulsing pain of a hangover. I immediately let my head back to the pillow. I lay flat on my back, still wearing one shoe. My bow-tie was loose around my neck, my shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, and there was a girl on each shoulder, both snuggled close. Becca had at least shed her expensive white dress, and had climbed into bed wearing her stockings, panties, and bra. Lucy must have been a bit further gone. The only things that were missing were her shoes. She even had her purse slung over one shoulder, her beautiful and revealing red dress lightly rumpled from her night-time tossing. There wasn't a man at the party who didn't try to pick up Lucy, and look where she ended up! I smiled to myself and closed my eyes, drinking in the feel of their warmth against me.
It took a few minutes to gently extricate myself from their arms and weave my way across the carpet to the bathroom. I left the lights off as I downed glass after glass of water from the tap, adding a few migraine-strength headache pills on top of the last. Out in the bedroom the sisters had yet to stir, so I thoughtfully placed glasses of water and their own soon-to-be-needed doses on the nightstand before struggling out of my clothes and into the shower.
The power of bathing after a night of heavy drinking cannot be understated. By the time I finished scrubbing every inch and washing my hair twice, I felt like a new man. When I exited the bathroom, towel-clad, the girls still slumbered on. I quietly pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then wandered downstairs to bid farewell to the remaining couch-guests. There wasn't any food to speak of, as the caterers had done a wonderful job of cleaning up after the rest of us slobs passed out. Breakfast would have to wait until we got back to our place.
I returned to the master suite to find that the water and pills I'd laid out for the sisters had been dutifully consumed, and both were rubbing their eyes and temples while sitting on the edge of the bed. They nursed their hangovers in a silent way after a soft 'good morning' and genuine smile, and both fell asleep in the car on the way home. I wasn't sure at that point if there had been any prior arrangement with Lucy, but much to my happy surprise she seemed all too prepared to stay for at least a few days, judging by the size of the bag I had loaded into my trunk. Our contact in the presence of guests had been limited to knowing looks and furtive glances, but it was clear she was glad to be there, and Becca and I made it clear she was welcome.
