I’m uneasy about what happened this week, I have to admit. At least it is Freya, who has reserves of strength that some of my other charges could not even imagine. But I still worry that she will be hurt by this.
She was on vacation this week with Kara and some of her other friends. It intrigues me how sometimes women can set aside all of their differences and their distance and open their hearts to one another. This innate sisterhood does not often appear, but nearly every woman is capable of it, and it is a delight to see, their auras opening and expanding to include everyone. These women—some of whom Freya knows from work, some from college, a few brought along with Kara, so Freya did not know them at all before this week—have shared secrets and supported one another and come to know one another well.
This is not what troubles me. I am delighted that Freya went on this trip, however short-notice it may have been. I have hope that in future she may call on these women for emotional support—I know she will give it to them in return. No, what worries me is something that happened while she was at the beach.
Late last night, while the rest of the women were playing games and relaxing in one of the hotel rooms, Freya stepped outside onto the balcony for a bit of fresh air. Of course, ‘fresh’ was not quite the word to use, for a storm was brewing. The ocean was iron-gray and lashed with foam as the wind began to pick up, and night was coming on early. Freya smiled and leaned on the railing, breathing deep and watching the water, or perhaps the few remaining families who were hastily gathering up their things.
There was one figure who caught her eye, perhaps because he was moving in a different direction from everyone else, along the water rather than away from it. As he came closer, Freya saw his dark hair, the sandals he held in his hand, the way he smiled as lightning flickered over the water, and she stood upright again to get a better look.
After a moment, he noticed her too. He waved, and she waved back, and there was something of a beckon in the gesture, and so he left the damp sand and came up closer.
“You’re going to get wet,” she said, smiling down at him.
“Isn’t that everyone’s goal at the beach?” he pointed out.
“Maybe not to get struck by lightning,” Freya said with a shrug.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, his eyes moving over her. “In the right circumstances, that can be very enjoyable.”
Even to me, his meaning was unmistakable, and though it wasn’t lightning that charged between them, the feeling was something similar. Of course he found her beautiful—her skin was bared to the heat, smooth and freckled, and her hair was loose and tossed by the wind. But more importantly, he was intrigued by the look in her eyes, a reflection of the flames in her aura that I can see so clearly.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Freya,” she answered. “What’s yours?”
“Freya,” he repeated, grinning. “So you are a goddess. I wondered.”
She rolled her eyes, though she was pleased. “As if I haven’t heard that one before. And I asked you a question, by the way.”
“Apologies,” he said, unabashed. “I’m Henry. Which is considerably less sexy than Freya.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Freya murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, though her eyes would have given him the message.
Through all of this, I was uncomfortable—she knew nothing of this man, after all, and already she was thinking of inviting him upstairs. Still, as I said before, Freya is strong, and I took comfort from two things. First, Henry’s aura was as warm as Freya’s own—he is adventurous, with something in him that reminds me of Gabrielle, but with a core of kindness underneath. And second, it was the look in Freya’s eyes, evidence of her spirit and strength, that intrigued him most, not just her body.
For that reason, I said nothing as Freya glanced up at the fat drops beginning to fall. “Do you have a long walk back to your hotel?” she asked.
“Oh, miles and miles,” he answered immediately. “Or at least it’ll feel that way.”
“Because you’ll be pining for me the whole way?” she said mockingly.
“No, because I’ll get cold and soaked,” he retorted and made her laugh.
Considering him for a moment, she said, “Well, we can’t have that. Why don’t you step into the lobby and wait for the rain to stop?”
“Will you be there to meet me?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she said. “Try your luck.” And with a wave she stepped back into the room.
On her way back through the room, Freya collected Kara and two of the other women without my having to say anything. They followed her down to the lobby quite willingly—in fact, it was hard for her to persuade the whole party not to come along, for they were all intrigued by the possible fling. Freya, however, put her foot down, saying that Henry would be scared away by a crowd of giggling women.
I’m not quite certain of that. I’ve met few people as self-possessed as Henry. Standing in the lobby and shaking the rain out of his hair, he reacted to the appearance of four women with nothing visible on his face or in his aura but delight. He ushered them all over to the bar and ordered a round of drinks for the table.
“A gentleman, too,” Mallory murmured to Freya. “Do you share?”
Kara, bless her, was not so easily won over. “So what’s your story, Henry?” she asked, leaning over the table and stirring her drink.
Respectfully ditching some of his insouciance, Henry replied that he was chaperoning a group of boys on a trip from their hometown just outside of Boston. “They’re chowing down on pizza and watching explosion movies, so I wasn’t really needed. My dad and Pastor Jake have got things covered. I bet I could stay out the whole night and they wouldn’t care,” he said, winking at Freya.
She only raised her eyebrows, but the small smile on her face kept him from losing hope.
It was a strange conversation—everyone knew exactly what was happening, but they kept a casual air to it all. Mallory and Beth watched with eager amusement as Kara continued the interrogation, her words and her gaze sharp. Henry answered without a trace of resentment, and the thought did cross his mind that he was glad that Freya had such a good friend to look out for her. That made me more comfortable with the whole thing.
And at least it meant that Freya would not be tying herself to a complete stranger. I know now that in addition to volunteering with his church’s youth group, Henry is also a big brother to a foster boy, works for a nonprofit organization that takes care of animals, and runs a men’s book club every other week. He is the kind of man who is hard to dislike.
Through it all, Freya sat silent, nursing her drink, but a different conversation was going on in the glances between her and Henry. Neither one doubted for a moment where this was going.
Finally Kara sat back, satisfied, and shrugged at Freya. Grinning in triumph, Henry leaned forward. “So how long are you ladies out here?” he asked.
“We’re headed back on Sunday,” Freya answered. “So two more nights.”
“Only two?” Henry shook his head. “Well, you’ll have to make sure not to waste them.”
“Oh, trust me, I intend not to,” Freya said. She stretched and yawned, grabbing a napkin as she did so. “But I think I’m going to head upstairs. Kara, you coming?”
“Nah,” Kara said, shaking the ice in her glass. “I’ve got some writing to do. Think I’ll be down here for a while.” She had, in fact, brought her notebook down, and now she handed the pen to Freya.
“Well, Henry, it was nice to meet you,” Freya said. She wrote a number down on the napkin and pushed it across the table to him as she rose. “I hope to see you again very soon,” she murmured, and turned and left while he was still inhaling the fragrance of her.
Looking down, Henry saw that Freya had written her room number on the napkin. He excused himself from the other women only a few minutes later.
It’s an elaborate game, and I can see how it amuses them all to play it. Perhaps my uneasiness comes from preferring honesty over all, or by how quickly the whole thing happened. Certainly there is nothing else in Henry to which I can object. And Freya is no fool—she knows better than to hook her heart on a summer fling. I did check on her after Henry left and found her very satisfied with herself, and with no sign of heartache or starry eyes.
Still, I can’t shake a feeling of uncertainty. Perhaps, like Kara, I am overprotective. We shall see.