Bunny

A young man is attracted to his sister's friend

Two weeks after I'd graduated from Northwestern, my sister Irene called me from her summer home on Martha's Vineyard.

She requested my company for a long weekend on the island.

"Be here by Friday?" she said.” There’s somebody I want you to meet."

The following morning, I took an Uber from my parent's house in Greenwich to Woods Hole, Massachusetts. I boarded a ferry and spent an hour standing at the ship's rail in an Atlantic breeze.

Vineyard Haven harbor lay in the offing and, as we approached, I spotted Irene on the dock, first waving,and then clutching me with a robust air of confidence as I stepped off the gangplank. 

A small time later, we sat across from one another in a restaurant.

I listened while she described The Little House Café's history and her partiality to the food and staff. I asked after her friend.

"Bunny and I met during our residency in Chicago. We're opening a practice together."

"Radiology?"

"That is the plan."

"And how goes it with Kyle?"

"Our divorce is complete," she explained. "I got the island house and alimony. Kyle and his millions are tucked away in Nova Scotia--permanently, I'm hoping."

"So, it's over for good?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

The murmur of patron's voices and the clink of wine glasses gave way to the woosh of a flambé. I felt my first sips of Chardonnay going to my head.

Waiters lit candles, and the room took on a flickering ambiance as evening approached.

Irene was excited as our food arrived. She'd picked for use: pan-seared Ahi tuna with lemon caper sauce.

Night had fallen by the time we piled into her Audi for a thrilling drive to Edgartown. Fireflies flashed green, yellow. Constellations glimmered in the crystalline night as we approached the driveway of her colonial-style home.

I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and followed her along flagstones.

A firefly came close, and I reached as though I might touch it.

"Aren't they adorable? Bunny and I play night crochet to their little flashes on occasion."

"Can you see well enough in the light of fireflies?"

"Of course not. It's silly good fun, is all."

"She's beautiful?" I asked.

Irene pushed the front door open.

"I like to think so."

"Wow," I said. "You've made changes."

"The walls are pecky cypress. The rug is Persian. It adds weight to the room."

"And the American flag box kite?"

"It belongs to Bunny."

"She's patriotic?"

"After a fashion."

"Imperfectly patriotic?"

"Precisely, you're in your standard room," she said, pointing to the stairs. "I've got work to do. Let me know if you need anything."

"Ok,"

By work, I assumed she meant teleradiology--reading X-rays from home, a common practice among radiologists wanting to avoid outbreak monkeys. 

I took my suitcase upstairs, squared away my travel kit then crashed into a wicker chair and fell into a trance like sleep.

***

I awoke to a wall clock and morning's glow saturating the bedroom windows.

It was 6:15 a.m., Quiet. I went about my morning routine, then stepped into the hallway, taking care to avoid the creaking in a floorboard at the top of the staircase. Once in the kitchen, I helped myself to orange juice and a slice of bread before stepping outside and heading down a sandy access path to the beach.

Waves rushed the shoreline, streaming into the shallows and falling back into the relentless spume. A sparkling glint ran to the horizon under the cloudless sky. A shark's fin beyond the break gave me a shiver. My thoughts shifted to Bunny. Would she have charm, polite austerity, a doctor's self-possession? Would she be single? I'd nearly asked Irene if Bunny was attached, but discretion held me back. I didn't know why.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

What's this, I wondered, turning to discover a man, better yet, a captain's hat atop a scarecrow in need of straw. He teetered forward with decrepit limp, an eye poached in cataract, his hands clamped around the shaft of a metal detector. I walked off in silence, forgetting the old codger and wondering about Bunny. I'd learned from Irene that Bunny was six years my senior at twenty-seven, a Doctor of Medicine.

For my part, I'd finished school near the middle of my class, distracted and rebounding from a three-year relationship gone sour.

I started back to Irene's house, noticing the old codger, having fallen to his knees, was pawing at the sand.

***

I found Irene up and cooking breakfast.

"What's on the menu?" I asked. "Eggs, Benedict?"

"Ho! You wish," she said with a laugh. "It's a bit simpler, scrambled eggs and hash browns."

"That suits me fine. Which room will Bunny be staying in?"

A moment passed while Irene peeled a potato at the sink.

"Bunny sleeps with me, Alex."

"I knew that," tumbled out of my mouth. I felt my ears turning red.

"Knew what, exactly, that your sister is a lesbian?"

"No... I mean yes... I mean... Ok. I'm surprised, is all. This is new."

"I'm happy, Alex, for the first time."

She threw her arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder. "Be happy for me," she whispered.

"Why, because you're irresistible?"

"Don't tease." 

***

Bunny's Carrera GT pulled into the driveway two hours later. I called Irene from her office, then turned back to the window. My eyes stayed fixed on Bunny. She climbed from the Porsche, silken hair, a prima cotton skirt hanging loosely above her ankles and a sleeveless blouse.

An ocean breeze blew the flap of her sunhat back. Her skirt was wrapped around her legs. She was svelte, tall, with aquiline features and a pouting mouth.

Irene exited the office."

Be nice, Alex."

How could I be anything else; I nearly tripped over my feet trying to get Bunny's luggage.

She caught my arm.

"Easy, Kiddo."

"Oh, that was nothing," I replied, coloring while catching a waft of her exotic scent. 

"A trifle; you should catch me on an awkward day."

I might as well have fallen on my a*s.

"Did I mention she's savagely attractive?" Irene said with a smirk.

I'd forgotten my sister was on my heels. Another gust blew in, and my eyes dropped to the outline of Bunny's hips as her skirt rippled. I tried getting my eyes back, but they dragged along her body until I encountered her face and her sultry understanding of my attraction in one sympathetic and encouraging glance. The next moment, her expression was changed, the fire gone from her eyes, but I believed something unmistakable had passed between us.

Irene hugged Bunny, saying, "I can't believe you're here!"

I followed them into the house.

Irene said, "Alex, would you be dear and take Bunny's luggage to my room?"

I smiled and nodded, "Of course," I said.

What could be more natural?

I placed Bunny's luggage in Irene's room and glanced at the bed.

What might occur there in the next twenty-four hours? What would I give to be a fly on the wall? My imagination raced, and the images came faster.

Bunny is hard at the wheel of her Carrara, putting the car through its paces, taking us around hairpin curves, then into a straightaway, shifting gears while I lean against the acceleration force and grip the inside of her thigh. 

I went to my room and started rearranging my closet, trying to sweep Bunny's sensuality from my mind. But it was no good. I sat in the wicker chair, still imagining.

Bunny is fresh out of a shower, wearing a terry cloth robe and a towel turban, her body swelling under the material as she tosses the towel aside and stands in a full-length mirror, combing her raven hair. She's purposely left her bedroom door ajar, knowing I'll peek while she sets the comb down and lets her robe slip off her shoulders.

I heard footsteps in the hall and glanced past my door to see Bunny disappearing into Irene's room carrying a travel bag. The door clicked shut, and I returned downstairs.

"So, what do you think?" Irene asked.

"What do I think about what?"

She slapped my arm, saying, "What do you think about Bunny?"

"I like her. She seems pleasant."

"That's it? That's the best you can come up with. Pleasant?"

I shrugged. What did Irene want me to say? Could I tell her Bunny made my pulse race, admit I'd fantasized about my sister's lover within ten minutes of meeting her?

I couldn't shake Bunny's smoldering gaze from my mind, the sensuality of her mouth, her hips. Everything in her bearing said yes when she caught my eye; I'd do that with you. Yes, I'll follow your lead. Where should we hole up, Tanzania? Had something passed between us, or was I crazy to think this seductress would find me attractive?

Irene asked me to be happy for her. It seemed simple enough then, but that was before Bunny got in my blood. It was plain jealousy now. Irene had her winning way, and I had my resentment. It wasn't the first time, of course. How often had the scenario played out? How often had my sister brought me into her circle of friends when my social awkwardness prevented me from finding my own groups? She'd always been a step ahead of me, and now this.

"I think she's…."

The bottom step creaked, and I heard her voice from behind.

"Anybody for a stroll on the beach? It's kiting weather."

I turned and smiled. Bunny was wearing clam diggers and a white blouse with horizontal black stripes.

"I'm game," I said, searching Irene's face for signs of disapproval.

'It's fine by me," Irene said, "so long as we can make Black Dog Wharf by noon. I've chartered a sailing excursion." She shot me a curious look as though she were seeing through me.

I followed Irene and Bunny out the back door, making for the beach path while trying to manage the kite and eat a bear claw simultaneously, but there was too much wind for it, and as we reached the beach, I tossed the pastry aside. No sooner was I wiping the glaze off my hand than a gull swooped down for the treat.

"Oh, look," Irene said, pointing down the beach.

Several paramedics were kneeling near the shoreline. Had somebody been pulled into the undertow? Irene and Bunny rushed forward. I kept my distance, trying to control the kite against the shore breeze, then noting the old man's metal detector lying on the sand. I wondered if this meant an end to our walk, but then Irene and Bunny were helping the old man to his feet and brushing the sand from his clothing.

"I'm eighty-three years old, eighty-three!" said the old man, shaking his fist at the paramedics. "You sons-of-b*****s ought to come on time when a man loses his detector. Where's my metal detector?"

The kite wriggled and spun under a gust of wind. I gave it string, walking backward to the shoreline while letting it sail. She climbed aggressively, pulling left and right, challenging my grip on the string reel. Not since I'd been a schoolboy had I experienced that singular thrill, and now the memories rushed back to me, the many moments I spent with my kites, how distant and alone they'd seemed while aloft. But it wasn't the kite's loneliness; it was my own, and I was overwhelmed with sad remembrances, all the failures and lost opportunities in my life.

Irene and Bunny are chatting with the paramedics. 

I jog along the beach, toward a lifeguard station with a windsock tethered to a stake in a cement cone. I'm still pulling the kite. Backing into the surf, l let the kite go and dive into the spume. Once beyond the break, I'm bobbing in the swells. Irene and Bunny are waving me in. It's too late, though. I swim out farther, wanting to escape myself and everything my life has been until this moment. A shark's fin appears and I swim toward it.