The Moments Between

by Natalie Banks

  There was something surreal but safe about being in here. A comfort I couldn’t explain.

  After the tour was over, we grabbed a quick lunch at a little café that overlooked the Neuse River specializing in French cuisine. We sat outside on the deck, inhaling the smell of gardenias. Soft French music played from the outside speakers. Soothing us as we ate a lunch of chicken Provencal with white wine. We made small talk as the river moved below us, dark and silent.

  I always marveled at the power of rivers. Above the surface, the water so calm and serene, and below, in the depths, the current was pulling and ripping at anything in its path.

  Once we were finished, we headed back to the car and drove to the marina in Beaufort.

  I got out of the car and stretched my legs, looking over at all the boats that were docked in the large marina. Sea gulls called out as the boats bobbed up and down in the water. I watched as the tourists bustled back and forth. Some leaving, some arriving. As I looked at the flow of people moving, I saw a man that looked like Lewis, with a long-legged brunette on his arm, walking toward the docks. Ben was locking the car and I yanked on his shirt.

  “I think I just saw my sister’s husband down by the boats. He was with some woman!” I exclaimed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I am sure that wasn’t Lewis,” he answered.

  I could still see the top of the man’s head as we headed down to the docks, but soon lost sight of him.

  “Stop worrying about it!” Ben said, sternly. “Why would Lewis be all the way down here with some other woman?”

  I shrugged and reluctantly agreed. Ben was right. Anyway, Lewis was so wrapped up in Mandi, it was impossible that he would stray.

  Ben took my hand as we walked the rest of the way down to the docks where the boat was waiting for us. We chose a seat near the back, and Ben put his arm around me as the boat glided out onto the water.

  We took in a lush landscape of flowering Crepe Myrtles and wild growing Mimosa Trees bordering the open waters. Birds flew just above the water line, and herons with long legs and long beaks hunted in the low-lying water areas. Along the way, we passed by Shackleford Banks and saw wild horses grazing on sea grasses. They stood majestic as the wind blew through their manes and tails, completely oblivious to our presence there.

  We finally hit the edge of the open water and I stood up, looking over the railing at Onslow Bay. Ben stood up behind me, and I leaned into his strong frame. The sea breeze whipped my hair as I inhaled the salty mist. The sun shone down on the water, giving it the sparkle of millions of diamonds. Sea gulls cried overhead in the crystal blue sky as water splashed against the side of the boat. We bounced gracefully over the waves as dolphins came and swam along beside us, jumping in and out of the wake.

  The captain told us tales of pirates and merchants that had once roamed in this very bay. Of sunken ships and tales of lost treasures.

  He said that no one was allowed to jump in the water and check out his story.

  Everyone laughed.

  Once we got back into New Bern, we began looking for a place to have dinner. As we drove down the street, we saw Middle Street Oyster Bar & Grill. The sign weathered and old, but there was a crowd filing in. A sign of good food.

  When we walked in, we immediately realized that we had made a good choice. The atmosphere was upbeat, and there was a live saxophonist playing in the corner.

  The server sat us down at a table, right in the middle. The only table left in the full restaurant. Ben ordered a bottle of wine, and as the server walked away, I said, “Don’t drink too much now…remember you owe me!” I gave him a serious look, trying not to laugh.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I have not forgotten. Trust me…” With that, he gave me a sly smile.

  When the server came back with our wine, we ordered a bucket of oysters with hushpuppies on the side. While we waited for our food, we sipped on the wine, enjoying the saxophonist’s music as it whined soulfully across the restaurant.

  Ben looked over at me and smiled. “Would you care to dance?”

  I looked around nervously.

  “Ben, this isn’t a dancing place…”

  He laughed and said, “Well, it is now.”

  He stood up, walked around the table, took my hand and led me into the main aisle that ran between the tables. He pulled me close as we began to sway back and forth with the flowing melody.

  The entire restaurant grew quiet, all eyes were on us.

  I didn’t see them; it was just him and I, moving together with the music.

  Ben whispered in my ear, “Claire, I don’t know what you’re going through because you won’t talk to me, but I want you to know how much I love you, and I will be there on the other side when you come out of it. I would do anything for you. You are the reason for my everything. I just need you to know that.”

  I buried my face in his shoulder, fighting back tears.

  When the song was over, everyone clapped and cheered.

  After we sat back down, the server came over with two glasses of champagne. Apparently sent over from a secret admirer, who had been moved by our dance.

  I looked over at my husband. “I love you too, Ben, more than you know.”

  His hand came across the table and grasped mine.

  “I know you do…”

  When we walked into the inn, it was quiet. Not much seemed to be happening on a Sunday night.

  As soon as we got back to the room, I went into the bathroom to freshen up.

  When I came out, Ben was sitting in one of the chairs across the room. He motioned for me to come to him.

  I walked over, knowing exactly what was on his mind.

  It was on my mind too.

  Twenty-four hours of foreplay had reached its peak. I stood in front of him as he leaned forward, running his hand up my inner thigh and under the skirt of my dress. I stepped back from him and slowly undressed. He watched, his eyes filled with lust, as I slipped off the dress and my panties.

  I stood in front of him, completely naked, and for just a moment, he didn’t move, taking the moment in. With swift movements, he stood up, slipped off his clothes and sat back down in the chair. I moved toward him again. He ran his hands over my butt and pulled me closer still. I climbed onto the chair, straddling him. He slipped himself inside of me and I groaned, feeling the fullness of him inside of me. Tilting my head back with pleasure as he tickled my nipples with his tongue. We moved together slowly in unison, not breaking our locked eyes. I began to move faster on top of him, and he moaned with pleasure. I grabbed onto the back of the chair to steady myself. He ran his tongue up and down my neck, sending jolts of electricity through my body. He grabbed my butt and moved my hips back and forth on top of him faster and faster, until I could no longer hold back. My body exploded in ecstasy, and I cried out so loudly, I was sure the neighboring room heard me. When it was over, I collapsed on him, and he lovingly caressed my back with his hands.

  I was overcome with love for this man.

  He was my heart, living outside of my body.

  He was everything to me.

  Without warning, my emotions escalated. The dream, invading the moment.

  My sensibility faltering.

  Fighting against fear as it steamrolled me.

  It was too much, more than I could bear.

  My thoughts, unhinged, as I fell into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 16

  The days after we returned from New Bern were a roller coaster.

  My emotions completely out of balance.

  Negative thoughts prevailing.

  My imagination filled with endless suffering. My days, endless anxiety.

  I knew Ben was worried. I saw the pained way in which he looked at me.

  Who was I becoming?

  I was a stranger even to myself.
/>   I started marking the days off the wall calendar with big red X’s as June 3rd rapidly approached. In some way, I thought the act of marking off the days, one by one, would somehow prepare me for what was coming. But in reality, it was only making me feel more helpless.

  The morning of my art class came and I was tempted to skip it, but the thought of sitting at home another day thinking solely about the dream stirred me to the point of getting up and moving. I got in the shower and washed my hair. When I got out, I wiped the steam from the mirror, seeing my face for the first time in a week. I was shocked at what I saw. I looked like I had aged ten years. Dark circles and bags had taken residence under both of my eyes. My lips dry and cracked from repeatedly biting on them. I put moisturizer on my face and lips, but it didn’t help much.

  I went to the dresser, staring off into space for several minutes before I began searching for something to wear. I dug through the drawer and found one of Ben’s old t-shirts. Blue with yellow lettering that read Rowing Team across the front. I didn’t think he’d ever rowed in his life, but it was one of his favorites. Soft and broken in from years of wear. I put it on for a sense of comfort, along with a pair of grey running shorts.

  I threw my hair into a ponytail and looked in the mirror.

  I definitely wouldn’t be winning any beauty contests today.

  It was a clear day, but clouds were gathering on the horizon as I drove to class. I parked in my usual parking space and walked into the studio a few minutes early.

  Mr. Thompson was already in his seat. He was wearing a blue leisure suit that I am sure he must have worn in the seventies. His hair was combed and he was humming to himself.

  “Good Mornin’ there Missy!” he greeted me with a broad smile.

  I wondered why he was in such a good mood.

  “Hi there, Mr. Thompson….” I offered back, reluctantly, not feeling like conversation.

  “Yes, indeed, it is a good morning…” he added.

  Was he talking to me or himself? I wasn’t sure.

  I set up my brushes, one by one, along the side of the easel to pass the time until class started.

  I could feel Mr. Thompson’s eyes on me, and I knew he wanted to talk.

  My guilt over ignoring him won out and I looked up, giving him a forced smile.

  “How are things going for you?” I asked.

  “Oh, well they are just great. I’ve made me a lady friend. Her name is Sophia and let me tell you, she is a looker. She might be in her seventies, but you wouldn’t know it. She doesn’t look a day over sixty. And boy, does she know how to cook. I haven’t eaten this good since the last time my Lola fixed a meal, right before she got real sick.” His voice trailed off a little.

  “I’m happy you’ve made a friend. I am sure Lola would be pleased. I don’t think she’d want you to spend the rest of your life alone…Would she?”

  He looked up at me with grateful eyes. “You know what, young lady? I needed to hear that. You’re alright, you know it?”

  I nodded back, glad to have helped.

  Then my mind started to spin.

  There were questions I wanted to ask him.

  I wanted to talk to him about what it was like knowing Lola was going to die, but at the same time, I didn’t want to push him. Especially when he seemed so happy now.

  But it still came out of my mouth. Word vomit at its finest.

  “What was it like for you when you knew she was going to die?” I stuttered, wishing I could shove the words back inside.

  He paused and looked out the window across the room, lost in thought.

  When he answered, he looked directly in my eyes.

  “It was scary, confusing, and painful knowing I couldn’t save her. I was filled with regrets from our years together. I wished I had made more of the time we had. But mostly, I felt cheated. Like, life was stealing my most precious gift right out from under me, and I was helpless to stop it. As her days grew shorter, I did the only thing that I could do, and that was to be with her. I spent my time right up until the moment she passed loving her. Making sure she knew how much she meant to me. I wouldn’t trade one moment of those last days with her for anything. Well, except being able to get her back, that is…” he trailed off, his eyes misty.

  I reached out and touched his arm.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me…” I could feel the tears forming in my own eyes.

  “Yeah…I sure would give anything to have her back, but I will tell you, this new girl, she has given me back my smile and put a little pep back into my step…”

  “She sounds wonderful. She’s one lucky lady to have you, Mr. Thompson.” I smiled, gently.

  With that, he started humming again, a tune I didn’t recognize. As his words rolled around like thunder in my head.

  After class was over, I stopped by the coffee shop. I was in dire need of some caffeine. I ordered my usual vanilla latte and waited, watching the television in the corner of the room as it broadcasted the local channel.

  My eyes were glued to the television when the barista came up with my latte in hand.

  I stared at a face that appeared on the screen. One that seemed familiar to me.

  I turned and walked away from the counter without looking back. The barista stood holding my drink in the air, her face poised with confusion.

  I was helplessly being pulled toward the TV.

  Toward the man speaking. I needed to see him better.

  And as I got closer, certainty washed over me.

  I knew that face.

  A face I would never forget.

  The face of Detective Anderson.

  He was giving a news flash interview about an attempted bank robbery downtown that had happened earlier in the morning.

  As he spoke, a cold chill went down my spine.

  I had heard that voice before.

  The voice from my dream.

  The voice that told me that my husband was dead.

  I ran straight out of the coffee shop, never stopping to get my latte. The door slammed behind me as I ran through the parking lot. Tears streaming down my face.

  He was real. I didn’t imagine him after all.

  Detective Anderson was a living, breathing person. But, how could I have known him? How could I dream of someone I’ve never met?

  All at once, a rush of despair threatened to swallow me up

  It all had to be true. Every bit of the dream had to be true. How else could any of this be happening?

  Later that day, I sat outside the boys’ school. My tears dried up.

  Numb.

  A flood of weariness rushing over me like a flowing river.

  The clouds that had threatened to gather earlier this morning had moved out and given way to the afternoon sun. As the boys climbed in the car, I told them the news. I had decided to take them to the park on the way home from school. Truth being, I couldn’t face going home right then. Not to mention, it had been months since I had taken them to the park, and I was way overdue.

  We arrived at the park to see it was already bursting with activity. The happy shouts of children rose above the squeak of the swings in motion. Beyond the playground sat baseball fields filled with Little Leaguers running around the bases as their teammates cheered them on. Soon, Grayson would be one of them. He had been asking Ben to sign up for months, and Ben had finally conceded.

  Would Ben be here to take him?

  The boys ran across perfectly manicured grass and onto the sandy substrate of the playground. Oliver climbed the rock wall, and once at the top, yelled for Grayson to follow. When Grayson didn’t come, Oliver slid down the slide, his bangs blowing in the wind. He smiled, pleased with himself, repeating the pattern again and again. Up the rock wall, down the slide. Yelling for Grayson each time he mounted the top of the rock wall.


  Grayson ignored his brother. He was busy playing chase with a group of boys his age. He ran, cheeks flushed with the determination to win. A look I often saw on his father’s face.

  Soon, Oliver grew tired of his trek and turned his attention to a puddle near where I was sitting. He crouched down at the puddle, poking the water with a stick.

  “Look, Momma, I’m fishing!” he exclaimed, bent over the tiny body of water poking his stick in and out, stirring up clouds of mud. I watched him, so serious and absorbed in his task. I looked as the sunlight glimmered in his dark hair, thankful for his still vivid imagination.

  Soon, he ran off again to try out the swings.

  I rested in the warm sunlight, watching him play.

  The air was filled with the sights and sounds of spring in motion. Bees buzzed around freshly bloomed azaleas as the park continued to fill with children just released from school.

  I watched the crowd filtering in from the parking lot and suddenly saw a face that I recognized. It was Mr. Thompson, now wearing a button up shirt and shorts. He was walking toward me, with a woman on one side and a little girl on the other, and a broad smile on his face.

  “Fancy meeting you here!” he exclaimed.

  I smiled in return.

  “This here, is the beautiful lady I was telling you about, and my vivacious, granddaughter, Lauren.” His face beamed with pride.

  “Nice to meet both of you!” I said, holding my hand out to Lauren. She stepped back behind Mr. Thompson.

  “Oh, don’t mind her, she’s a little shy,” he told me. “Run along and play, Lauren. There’s lots of kids your age here!” he whispered in her ear. She turned and ran straight to the rock wall and began climbing, taking the same journey Oliver had taken earlier.

  I looked at over at Sophia, who had not taken her eyes off of Mr. Thompson. She was definitely in love.