Chapter Three
Gray came over at ten thirty to get Lizbeth for church. They joined Fanny on the street, becoming part of the promenade of locals down to the Methodist Church. Gray, true to her word, wore khaki shorts, a white linen button up shirt, and her orange flip-flops. Fanny wore a more traditional Sunday dress, but had Reebok tennis shoes on her feet. Lizbeth, not sure about Gray’s casual dress statement, had put on a yellow sundress and sandals.
Lizbeth tried to concentrate on the old church. As she walked up the red brick steps and into the white clapboard-sided United Methodist Church, she remembered the story of the hand-made wooden cross resting on the altar. An islander and his wife constructed and painted the cross, made from salvage of a ship on which an island native served and lost his life. A German U-boat torpedoed and sunk the ship, “Caribsea,” on March 11, 1942. The war department did not inform the family of the man’s death; they learned a few days later when one of the lost man’s cousins found his framed engineering license washed up on the beach. Later, the ship's nameplate and other debris floated up at his family's dock. The story always brought chills to Lizbeth.
Gray was even more attractive in the bright light of day. The white shirt set off her deep tan. Her eyes were not visible behind dark sunglasses, but when she took the glasses off inside the church, the clear crystal beauty of Gray’s irises again took Lizbeth aback. Lizbeth could not keep her eyes or mind off Gray as they sat through the service. Today, it wasn’t the story of the cross giving Lizbeth chills. Sitting close enough to feel the heat from Gray’s body, Lizbeth grew more and more uncomfortable as the service droned on in her ears. She heard not a word. She mechanically rose with the congregation and tried to sing the hymns when prompted. Yet, she remained lost in her own battle to save her soul from its infatuation with the gorgeous woman beside her in the pew. Gray did not seem to notice, which was a good thing because Lizbeth was, by now, convinced that her own body might just grab Gray and kiss her, whether Lizbeth’s brain consented or not.
Lizbeth considered forty years old a little late to be switching teams, but then, she had only known one team, and most of that with one man. Could she have missed something in her sexual awakening because she got pregnant and married just before her eighteenth birthday? What if she never gave herself the chance to grow into the person she was really meant to be? Had she been gay and turned that part of her off when she married James? Maybe sexuality wasn’t as cut and dried as the world would like her to believe. Instead of black and white, sexuality might be painted in shades of gray. She tried to think of girl crushes she may have had in adolescence. She had practiced kissing on the lips in sixth grade with her best friend, Sherry, but didn’t all little girls do that? She had no idea what was happening, and was pondering the answers to her questions when the congregation stood to exit the church. She was so lost in thought that Gray had to touch her to get her attention.
Lizbeth looked up to see both Fanny and Gray staring down at her. She panicked, afraid they would somehow know what she had been thinking. She quickly looked back at the front of the church, crossed herself, and said, “Amen,” as if she had been in deep prayer. She felt stupid for doing it. She wasn’t even Catholic. It didn’t seem to bother Gray or Fanny one way or another. They must have bought the prayer bit because they said nothing about her non-attentiveness at the end of the service as they left the church together.
Once outside, the locals gathered to visit with one another before going home for Sunday dinner. Lizbeth hung to the side, listening, glad to have the brogue she was hearing take her mind off the tall blonde. Gray stood under the tree in deep conversation with some older gentlemen. Lizbeth grew closer to hear what they were saying. In the purest brogue she had heard so far, two of the gentlemen debated the coming of Earl.
“Hit's fixin' to blow a gale, for shore,” one of them said. He was white haired and sea worn, the years on the water etched in the wrinkles on his brown face. Correct English would have read, “It is going to blow a gale, for sure.”
The other man, gray headed, with the same wrinkled squint lines, spoke next. “We’ll be mommicked for shore, if’n she takes a turn.” He used the female pronoun, even though this hurricane possessed a male name. Just like boats, hurricanes had been traditionally referred to as female, until recent history. The O’cokers had a hard time dropping tradition.
Lizbeth noted the use of the word mommick, meaning to beat up or rough up, and the sound of the word sure, pronounced like shore. On occasion, she would glance at Gray, watching her as she absorbed what the old men were saying.
“They’ll be sendin’ the tourons off island and back to the country, should she track to land,” the white haired man said.
Lizbeth made more mental notes. Tourons was just another word for tourists and country in this instance meant the mainland. She was surprised at the number of truly Ocracoke words she knew. She had studied hard and researched the Carolina Brogue for the last twelve months. It seemed the preparation was paying off. Lizbeth noticed Gray was looking at her and she smiled back reflexively.
Gray flashed that million-dollar smile, and Lizbeth’s insides did a flip. Instantly, although she wanted to listen to the men converse, Lizbeth felt the need to run away. She knew if she made a sudden move to distance herself from Gray, it might look awkward, giving away her infatuation. She fought the urge to flee when Gray started towards her.
“Are you quamished?” Gray asked, her brow wrinkled with concern.
Lizbeth knew Gray was asking if she felt okay, another O’coker word.
“I’m beginning to get hungry,” Lizbeth answered. Lightheadedness starting to overtake her functions, the words came out thickly and sounded strange to her.
“Come on,” Gray said and grabbed Lizbeth’s elbow, leading her toward where Fanny was holding court with a few women, who appeared to be her contemporaries.
The electricity from Gray’s fingers on her bare skin was burning up Lizbeth’s arm. She was too shaken to do anything but follow the taller woman. She wondered if Gray could feel it too. If she did, Gray bore no outward signs of it. When Gray finally dropped her elbow, Lizbeth rubbed it, attempting to stop the tingling. Gray saw her.
“I’m sorry; did I hurt your sunburn?” Gray asked, a look of concern on her face.
Lizbeth stuttered out, “No… no, I just felt an itch, that’s all. Can’t scratch because it will sting.” Lizbeth couldn’t look at Gray. Eye contact might send her over the edge.
“You should come by the house and I’ll cut you some fresh aloe. It will help,” Gray offered.
“Thank you, that would be great,” Lizbeth said. A kind of wa-wa echo bounced between her ears, accompanying her words.
She was no more thinking about the sunburn than the man on the moon. All of her thoughts were focused on this seemingly uncontrollable crush she was developing for Gray. It had now reached a critical stage. She was having trouble standing this close to Gray without staring. Her heart was racing. She must have been losing color in her face, because Gray was looking at her with a worried brow.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gray asked.
Hell no, she was not okay. She was having palpitations and her head was spinning. She could feel the beads of moisture forming on her upper lip. Gray took a step toward her, which only made it worse. Lizbeth’s entire body broke out in a cold sweat. She took a step, wobbled a little, and tried again. She had lost the ability to speak. She began to develop tunnel vision, then the tunnel folded in on itself and everything faded to black. Lizbeth felt strong arms catch her just before she completely lost consciousness.
#
Lizbeth’s eyes fluttered open. Not six inches from her face were Gray’s blue eyes. Lizbeth tried to grasp the situation, but couldn’t seem to get it together. Was she dreaming?
Gray whispered in a soft, calm voice, “Lizbeth… Lizbeth… Hey there.”
Suddenly Lizbeth’s world came back in focus. She was in Gray’s arms,
as Gray cradled her while kneeling in the sand. Lizbeth tried to sit up.
“Hey, whoa. Give yourself a minute,” Gray said, gripping Lizbeth a little tighter, preventing the struggling woman from leaving her grasp.
Lizbeth had only fainted two other times in her life. The first time was in the middle of telling her parents she was pregnant. Next had been when she found out her husband was cheating on her the first time. Lizbeth was borderline hypoglycemic. In times of great stress, her blood sugar would plummet. Most of the time, she didn’t notice the hypoglycemia at all. She ate small meals interspersed with light snacks, which is what her doctor had recommended. This morning, however, she had been so anxious about seeing Gray, Lizbeth completely forgot to eat. She had hustled around making sure her makeup was perfect and spent extra time on her hair. She had just finished when Gray knocked on her door.
“Sugar,” Lizbeth finally was able to mumble.
Gray asked, “Are you diabetic?”
Lizbeth shook her head, no. She tried again. “No breakfast.”
Gray understood. She turned to someone and said, “We need juice or a Coke.” Gray looked back at Lizbeth. “We’ll get you on your feet in just a minute.”
Lizbeth remained in Gray’s arms. She continued to look up into Gray’s face, studying it up close for the first time. Gray had a strong jaw line and high cheekbones. She wore no makeup. She was a natural beauty. The words handsome woman came to Lizbeth’s mind. Gray was handsome. She by no means looked like a man, but she did have that unique androgynous quality that turned the heads of men and women alike.
Gray frequently looked down at Lizbeth, but she was focused on the church doors, awaiting Lizbeth’s drink. She didn’t seem to notice Lizbeth staring at her. When the Coke can was finally produced, she helped Lizbeth sit up and placed it in her hands.
“Here ya’ go. That’ll fix you up. There’s enough sugar in there to wake up a classroom full of kindergarteners.”
Lizbeth turned the can up and chugged half of it before she came up for air. She could feel the cold liquid traveling through her body. Her limbs began to tingle as the sugar hit its mark. The fog from her brain subsided and she was finally able to sit up on her own. Gray remained on her knees beside her. Lizbeth finished the entire can before she looked back at Gray. She handed the empty can back to her.
“Thank you,” Lizbeth said and took Gray’s extended hand. Gray stood up and pulled Lizbeth to her feet. Lizbeth was still a bit shaky and swayed into Gray’s chest.
Gray caught her and held on until she was sure Lizbeth could stand on her own. Lizbeth looked up into Gray’s eyes. This time Gray was looking back. Time froze for Lizbeth. She didn’t know how long she held Gray’s gaze, but it was long enough. A sly grin formed on Gray’s lips.
“There you are,” Gray said. “You left us for a minute. I’m glad I was close enough to catch you.”
Lizbeth, almost in control now, became aware that concerned onlookers surrounded them. It looked like the entire congregation had witnessed the event. Fanny came over and put her arm around Lizbeth’s waist.
“Darlin’, you need to come on to the house,” Fanny said. “Let’s get some food in you.”
“I’m so stupid. I know I should not go without a meal, but I just forgot to eat this morning,” Lizbeth offered. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” she said to the now dispersing crowd.
“Well, I know you Catholics like to go to services early. You just weren’t used to our schedule,” Fanny said.
Lizbeth started to say she wasn’t Catholic and then remembered the sign of the cross she made at the end of the service. She just nodded in agreement.
Fanny continued, “I guess that was the Lord’s way of sayin’ you need sumtin’ good t’eat. You’re too skinny.”
Gray fell in to step with them as they turned towards home. She chuckled, adding, “Yep, the Lord works in mysterious ways.” She winked at Lizbeth.
Lizbeth leaned into the older woman and said with a sigh, “Yes, yes he does.”
#
The Lord may not have worked a miracle, but Fanny’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes, sliced garden tomatoes, and corn on the cob did. Lizbeth ate until her stomach felt completely full. It always hit her like that if she let her sugar levels drop. Now, her body demanded food and as much as it could hold. The whole thing still embarrassed Lizbeth. Fainting like that in front of the congregation would ensure she would be the talk of the village before Sunday dinner had been digested.
“I still can’t believe I fainted. I mean, I know that it’s a distinct possibility if I don’t eat, but I haven’t just dropped like that in years,” Lizbeth said and then took another swig of sweet iced tea.
“Maybe all that sun yesterday made you weaker,” Gray said. “Speaking of that, don’t go home without some aloe plant. I’ll just give you a pot of your very own and you can keep it growing.”
Lizbeth was able to smile at Gray now, without thinking the fainting spell would return. The food had fortified her. She said, “Thank you. I could definitely use it.” Lizbeth stood up to take her plate to the sink, saying, “And thank you so much, Miss Fanny, for this fine dinner. How on earth did you manage all this and attend church, too? I couldn’t even remember to eat breakfast.”
Gray stood and took the plate from Lizbeth. “Sit back down, you are a guest. After this visit, you are no longer a visitor and will be expected to fend for yourself, so enjoy it.” She poured more tea in Lizbeth’s glass.
Fanny chuckled. “I’ve been gettin’ up afore the birds my whole life, so I cook our Sunday meal in the mornin’ and leave it in the oven to stay warm.”
Gray was emptying the table of dishes and bowls. She chimed in, “I’ve been trying to tell her to use the microwave to warm the food, before we come home from church and have to ask God for a new house, ‘cause she’s burned this one down to the foundation with Sunday dinner.”
“I been doin’ that longer than you been alive and this house is still here and so are you,” Fanny shot back.
Gray teased the old woman, “Drime. You were cooking on a woodstove when I came along. You didn’t have an oven to leave the food in.”
Fanny scoffed, “Some folks sure can say a word.”
Lizbeth was enjoying the banter between the two other women. Fanny had just told Gray she had a big mouth and talked too much. Lizbeth was so glad she studied the idioms and understood the conversation. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t know half of what they were saying. Fanny and Lizbeth remained at the table while Gray did the dishes. Lizbeth used the time that Gray’s back was to her to examine her thoroughly without being seen.
Gray’s haircut matched the one worn by Jethro Gibbs, Mark Harmon’s character on ‘NCIS.’ Not the strictly marine buzz, but the one with the longer hair on the top, short on the sides. In fact, Lizbeth thought, if Mark Harmon had a beautiful twin sister she would look exactly like Gray. Maybe that was it. Lizbeth had always found Mark to be exceedingly sexy. She was transferring the lust for People Magazine’s former sexiest man of the year to this woman who reminded her of him. That’s all it was, she decided, and congratulated herself on solving the problem.
The celebration didn’t last long. She listened only enough to keep up with the story Fanny was telling, but continued to look at Gray whenever the other two women were distracted. Her eyes traveled down Gray’s back and locked on Gray’s butt. She had a nice tight, rounded one. Her tanned legs were smooth, with tight muscles, and Lizbeth flashed on those legs wrapped around her. “Oh God,” Lizbeth thought, “I’ve become a sex maniac overnight.” She felt the blood rush to her face.
Fanny’s voice broke her from her terror. “Good, I see some color comin’ back in your cheeks. You must be feelin’ better.”
Lizbeth smiled, glad to be distracted from her thoughts of Gray. “Yes, I do feel so much better, but I think I need a nap. When I let my sugar get low like that, it makes me tired.” She needed an excuse to go home. Lizbeth didn’t want to be in th
is tiny room with Gray anymore. She was afraid of what her mind might think of next. She clearly had no control over it.
Gray turned around, drying her hands on a towel. “Are you sure you’re okay now? I’ve got to go run a tour in a minute, but I’m sure Fanny wouldn’t mind the company.”
“Of course I would rather stay here and chat with you, Fanny, but I really do need a nap. I’ll be good as new in a couple of hours. Maybe I’ll come back later.”
“Come on back and let me know how you made out,” Fanny said.
Lizbeth thanked the O’Neal women again for their hospitality and the fantastic food. Gray walked Lizbeth to the front porch, carrying a small pot containing an aloe plant. It was the first time they had ever really been alone together. It made Lizbeth nervous. She made small talk to cover her anxiety.
“What kind of tours do you do?” Lizbeth asked.
“I run tourists to Portsmouth Island, show ‘em Teach’s Hole, Beacon Island, tell a few stories. It pays the bills.”
“That sounds like a wonderful job.”
Gray smiled. Her entire face lit up when she said, “Yes, I guess it is.”
The smile was holding Lizbeth hostage. She couldn’t leave Gray’s presence so she kept talking. “What do you do when the tourists leave?”
“I run a couple of pound nets and some crab pots so I can stay busy year round.”
“Now, that sounds like hard work,” Lizbeth commented.
Gray’s eyes sparkled. “It is, but then I get to be on the water every day. It’s worth it.”
The combination of her eyes and the smile on Gray’s face was more than Lizbeth could take at the moment. She took the potted plant from Gray, smiling back at her.
“Well, I don’t want to make you late.” Lizbeth paused, then added, “Thanks for catching me.”
Gray grinned. That mischievous little boy look took over her face. She leaned in close to Lizbeth. It became apparent to Lizbeth that Gray was fully aware of the predicament in which Lizbeth found herself. Gray was flirting with her.
Waking Up Gray Page 4
