Toes!

Ruby nudged me on the jetty; she whispered in my ear, "Enough watching."

She told Coral and Josh we were buying ice cream and putting the picnic supplies in her car. Their hands lay atop one another, controlling one rod. Their bare toes dangled and wriggled over the jetty's edge, and their shoes and socks lay scattered behind them.

Ruby and I began our stroll along the jetty. I carried the wicker hamper. I peeped, and yes, Coral leaned into Josh. He craned his head, and they kissed on the lips. I pulled my eyes forward to the promenade.

Other couples sauntered, their dreams real, too.

Ruby gazed behind, nudged me, and pointed her finger.

I treasured the brunette's gob-smacked reaction, "Damn me! Coral's toes are curling!"

I witnessed life and art merge.

Passion is devastatingly simple.

My heart swelled rapturously as Josh and Coral moored.

Ruby grabbed the handle of the picnic basket, and we swung it together.

"Ice cream?" I queried, stowing the basket in the boot of her car.

I believed Ruby made a manufactured excuse, leaving Josh and Coral alone on the jetty.

She replied upbeat, "Why not? Let's go."

As we walked the esplanade to an ice cream van, she surprised me by divulging, "Jesus, I behaved greedily with Coral."

Ruby fessed more than I expected, "I chased her in complete selfishness. I saw my dad cheat on my mum in unrestrained lust. I did the same with Coral; I sought her body, nothing more. I didn't want her toes. Screw toes!"

"Yeah, toes, you horse kicked me away in Paris."

I expected no elaboration, yet Ruby commenced, avoiding my face, "I was on the cusp of thirteen. After school, chance led me to a different way home than usual through a park."

Her voice deepened, unexpectedly solemn.

"I started happily in the company of a friend. At a new gelato bar, we selected Neapolitan. Outside the shop, we parted."

Her voice slowed; her words stuck on her tongue.

My steps shortened, and I followed her drag.

"I licked my ice cream while wandering through the park. To my surprise, I saw my dad's sports car in a secluded tree-lined nook. The hood rolled. My dad licked someone's toes."

Her voice dropped to a scratchy tone.

"I saw hair, long blonde hair; it cascaded."

As Ruby's hand went up and back for a second, I believed she was searching for her youthful ponytail.

"Shiny hair, spreading wild like a horse's tail in full flight," she continued.

She halted on the esplanade, looked across the bay, and then scuffed her new black shoes.

She unfolded, "A double shock hit me, my dad cheating and realising it was not a girl, but a guy! The tall dude was a recently hired kitchen hand. He leaned back, groaning. His long hair hung over the car door."

She elaborated on the detail we remember but equally craved to forget.

"The dude's leg seemed impossibly long, and my dad's mouth, gross and enormous, sucking a king-sized toe. I dropped my ice cream, and I ran away."

"Ruby, no!" my voice shrill, desiring to erase what she witnessed.

"Tree limbs morphed to gangly toes— an awful memory. I toughened my shell and determined to be as selfish; it seemed the way of the world."

"No more than the rest of us, growing up," I rasped in sympathy.

She glanced and dipped her head, sort of in agreement.

"It's worse," she pinpointed, "I channelled my stolen innocence into taking anyone else's."

Her head slid, " It should never have been Coral's!" she admitted louder.

I recalled how my bestie and I discussed Ruby bypassing the nuns.

The cost burgeoned too high!

Ruby unconsciously continued scuffing.

I resolved at some future date to help her stop, a tad gentler than her sharp rebuke that cured me from nail biting during my late teens.

Her hands went through her hair as she confessed like she was in a confessional booth, "The 'contrite' my mother wrote in the book wasn't aimed entirely at my Catholicism. She also hoped I could forgive my dad!"

I leaned closer, "It's time, Ruby."

She glanced at me, demonstrating her inner strength, appearing to release the young girl lost.

Ruby agreed, "It's time."

Her face generated natural resolve, jaunting along the esplanade.

"And I missed Neapolitan ice cream," she said with a wink.

Keeping apace, I confronted how I chose to remember Ruby in the past contained flaws, viewing her as emotionally impregnable.

Reflecting, I evoked an accurate architectural comparison.

She reminded me of a complex wonder of humankind, The Hagia Sophia. The outer monumental buttressing offers no hint of the fantastic yet delicate vibrancy hidden within.

—Rubetta Eva Marre and I became first-rate friends.

Ruby's efficiency made her the ideal maid of honour at Coral's wedding in 2018. My four girls formed the bridesmaids in light blue dresses. Josh insisted I be his best man, and Ruby helped Coral compose her vows.

She acknowledged, 'They can have Corinthians; they believe the words.'

For my best man speech, I reread the ee cummings poem.

Rhea liked the thoughtful wordplay.

Arianna and her daughter combined to make a stunning three-tier wedding cake.

Ruby, these days, sometimes attends mass; she accompanies her mum and plays sedate chess with her dad on their elegant outdoor set.

Coral and Josh tied the knot in his attic under the skylight. They alternate time between Sydney and the countryside. The attic became full of greenery and the place where my bestie sketches and paints.

—At the ice cream van, the usual endless flavours were offered.

"Neapolitan for two?" Ruby asked the street vendor.

"Are you sure," I checked —as she bluntly faced her past.

"Yes, it's time," she repeated.

We both enjoyed our ice cream wandering the esplanade, the jetty in the far distance, and Coral and Josh were dots like a dozen other couples, mere specks against the vista of the bay and the sky.

Of all Ruby's admissions, I yearned to know a final one.

I wondered, did she kiss Coral? 

I ventured the intimate personal question to Ruby.

She licked her ice cream several times and made me wait before she sassed, "We both found out those lips remained exclusive."

I admitted seeing them at the spring. "You kissed her neck; you were about —"

Ruby twittered, pitched like Coral and fluttered her lashes, "Yeah, I aimed directly at her classy, tempting pair. She swayed low, and I kissed her nose. Awkward."

My ice cream melted and dribbled down the cone and into my hand as I contemplated two deep regrets.

I should have only ever watched Coral's freckles dance. 

I should have only ever watched Ruby's eyelash flutter. 

Ruby and I finished our ice cream before returning to our best friends on the jetty.

—As the sun rose, I snuggled closer to Rhea in bed.

Rhea's hand rested over my chest in her partial sleep. I held her hand and embraced the moment: me, my partner, us.

I promised never to seek out more.

Before Rhea woke, my eyes roved our bedroom. Three large framed wedding photos spread above our bedhead.

Rhea Kaja Moore frames my life.

My favourite landscape painting, purchased in a Millhouse gallery, hangs on the sidewall.

My mind's eye searched freely for a young woman hidden in the picture's swirl of fog. When summer light shone into the room, it gave the canvas a pink tone, recalling Tiepolo's sensual palette and Redon's softer hues. The landscape painting brought a shell on a beach to the forefront of my mind. I wish sometimes a compelling young woman kept the cowrie.

Her voice pulsed at the landscape's vanishing point — 'You see more than what is there.'

A pair of framed prints hang outside the bedroom door on the hallway wall.

One picture is of Rama, and the other is his antagonist, Ravana. I purchased the works of art at a market stall below a Buddhist temple in Bangkok.

My memory intimates what my immature self missed. I see a young woman holding flimsy pieces of gold leaf. She offered and gave me much more than a piece of foil.

Finally, my radio alarm and car keys dangling from a metallic Eiffel Tower chain ring — occupy the top of my bedside drawer.

Does the other tower hang on a hook inside a Parisian apartment? 

Also, an unused twined snake's incense burner, a travel souvenir from a temple in Penang.

And the book I was reading: Howards End, by E.M. Forster. A second-hand copy with the same cover as the novel I perused briefly in Coral's boathouse — so many years ago.

Rhea awoke.

She stretched her arms high and wide.

My darling, pleasantly surprised, to see me still in bed, accepted the love in my eyes.

She swatted me playfully.

Her love never waxes or wanes.

We had an early morning rendezvous of bodies under our doona cover, a striking patchwork quilt — crafted by Rhea.

We dispersed love to each other, dawning in our minds, jaunting through our mingled sticky bodies, and sojourning to our soul's horizon — beyond flesh and words.