Waking Up Gray

by R. E. Bradshaw

  “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

  “No, I just got up,” Lizbeth said. “I haven’t had time to fix anything. I had company pacing outside my door, remember?”

  “Do you want me to fix you something?” Gray asked, looking a little concerned.

  Lizbeth thought she must be pale. All the blood had flushed from her brain when Gray leaned across her at the counter. Sitting down had helped. She was regaining her senses and her heart was slowing down. Forget fainting, if Gray ever kissed her, she was probably going to have a heart attack.

  “No, I’ll fix some oatmeal in a minute,” Lizbeth answered, now that she was feeling better. “So what do I need to do to get ready for the storm?”

  Gray hesitated, not fully believing she had recovered, but decided to go ahead with her plan. “Okay, we need to cut two branches back, so they won’t slap the cottage. The rest are okay. All the loose stuff has to be tied down or put away and…”

  “Do I have storm shutters?” Lizbeth interrupted.

  “No, but Minnie had plywood pieces cut to size. I just have to screw them on. We’ll need a ladder for the top windows.”

  “Do you really think the wind is going to get that strong?” Lizbeth didn’t want to climb on the roof and put plywood over the windows.

  “It’s not the wind, so much as the crap in it,” Gray answered.

  “What if I wasn’t here? Would my cousins have asked you to do it?” It had just dawned on her how lucky her cousins were that she was there and Gray was willing to help.

  Gray answered, but she looked like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “No, I imagine Bob would’ve done it. He takes care of the property, now that Minnie’s gone.”

  Lizbeth, who had regained much of her strength, leaned across the table. She smiled at Gray, studying her face. “Gray? What did you do, tell ol’ Bob you would take care of it?”

  “Something like that.” Gray grinned.

  “Okay, then you have to go on the roof. I can’t believe you turned away a perfectly good man willing to do it.”

  Gray laughed. “You obviously don’t know ol’ Bob.”

  Lizbeth laughed with Gray for a moment, and then said, “So what do we do first?”

  Gray stood up. “You, eat. I’ll be back in a minute with the ladder and the saw.”

  “Don’t you need help?” Lizbeth said, standing with her.

  “No, I got it,” Gray said, backing away. She stopped in the threshold to the hallway, an inquisitive look on her still grinning face. “How long did you make me wait before you opened the front door?”

  Lizbeth was the one now caught with her hand in the jar. “How do you know I made you wait?”

  “Because you said I was pacing outside your door.”

  Lizbeth saw a way out. “But, I could have just seen you when I opened it.”

  Gray narrowed her eyes, smiling knowingly. “How long?”

  Lizbeth let out a sigh. She was caught. No way around it. She said meekly, “Twenty minutes.”

  Gray clapped her hands. “I knew it!” Then she hooked her index finger in the corner of her mouth and pulled herself down the hallway and out of sight, still laughing when she closed the front door behind her.

  #

  Lizbeth and Gray worked side by side all morning. Gray kept Lizbeth in stitches. She was just naturally funny. By lunchtime the plywood was on the windows upstairs, the back of Gray’s Jeep had been loaded with limbs and branches from both their yards, and all the loose items had been put away. Gray had also stopped about ten o’clock, claiming to need a snack, but Lizbeth knew she was just looking out for her helper. They ate the last of the peaches and cream, because if the power went out, the cream would spoil anyway.

  “When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait for the power to go out because it was the only time I could eat all the ice cream I wanted,” Gray told Lizbeth.

  “You sound almost excited that a hurricane is coming,” Lizbeth said.

  “There is something energizing about a hurricane. Maybe it’s all that raw natural power, and then there’s all the cool stuff that blows up on the beach after a big storm.” Gray thought for a second, then said, “I think some of my fondest memories are riding out storms in that cottage across the street.”

  After they ate lunch with Fanny, consisting of sliced fresh tomato sandwiches and big glasses of milk - because the milk wouldn’t last, either - they hung the remaining plywood pieces, leaving only the windows on the screened-in porch uncovered. They were both tired and dirty when they finished. They sat on Gray’s porch, drinking iced water, and admiring their handy work. Lizbeth was exhausted, but the sweating and hard labor had eased the tension she’d been carrying in her body, and somehow energized her at the same time. Watching Gray’s muscles ripple under her tanned skin, glistening with sweat, might have had something to do with it, also.

  They had been sitting quietly, slumped in two of the big rocking chairs, when Gray said she needed to take a shower. Lizbeth needed one too, so they parted and agreed to meet back at Gray’s at five o’clock. Gray had something else to show Lizbeth.

  “Bring a jacket, or a sweatshirt, and some pants. You might get cold,” Gray said at the screen door, once again standing, holding the door open for Lizbeth. “And hey, do you drink beer?”

  “Yes, I’ve been known to drink a beer or two,” Lizbeth said, smiling as the grin spread across Gray’s face.

  “Any particular kind?” Gray asked.

  “No, I’m easy,” Lizbeth answered, and then registered how that must have sounded.

  Gray didn’t miss a beat. “Oh really? I hadn’t heard that about you.”

  Lizbeth giggled. “Yeah, but I heard it about you.”

  “That’s not true,” Gray said, in mock defense. “You heard I was a rogue. I think that means I’m on the lookout for easy women.”

  “Well, I guess you found one,” Lizbeth teased.

  Gray laughed, adding, “We’ll see.”

  #

  Gray was waiting beside the Jeep, parked in front of her cottage, when Lizbeth emerged from her front door. The wood they had collected was still in the back, joined by a cooler and a blanket. Gray beamed at Lizbeth as soon as she saw her. Gray’s childlike excitement twinkled in her eyes. She wore a pair of very faded, old jeans, holes in the knees, slung down on her hips, a plain white tee shirt tucked in at the waist, and no shoes. Gray did casual very well.

  Lizbeth was running out of clothes that she had not already worn. She hadn’t expected to do a lot of socializing, so she brought only two suitcases, one with summer things and one with things to wear when the weather turned colder. She debated for a while and chose function over glamour, picking her white clam diggers and a comfortable teal, cotton, sleeveless tee to wear. The teal made her eyes an even deeper shade of blue. She threw her windbreaker and a pair of sweat pants in the canvas bag, as Gray had suggested.

  They left Howard Street and found a spot on the beach down at the point, south of the village. The sky was still clear, with just a few swirling clouds, and the wind on the beach wasn’t too bad. They had the entire area to themselves. Occasionally someone would come by and yell, “Gray!” out a vehicle window, to which Gray would throw her hand up in the air and wave, but no one stopped.

  Gray brought Lizbeth to a spot where someone had dug a wide deep hole. The remains of a once roaring fire lay in the bottom. Gray unloaded all the pieces of wood from her jeep into the pit, arranging it so it would catch fast, but she didn’t light it.

  When she finished stacking the wood, Gray climbed out of the pit. She opened the cooler, grabbed two cans of beer, and placed them in neoprene coozies, designed to keep the beer cold and their hands dry. She handed Lizbeth one of the beers and held out her free hand for Lizbeth to take.

  “Come on, let’s go for a walk,” Gray said.

  Lizbeth took Gray’s hand and they strolled down by the water’s edge, looking to see if the ocean had departed with any of her trea
sures yet. Gray rolled her pants legs up so they could walk in the edge of the surf, occasionally having to scamper away from a particularly fast approaching wave. Gray would pick up shells and tell Lizbeth their scientific name and then the name by which most people knew them. They laughed and giggled up and down the beach. Lizbeth never let go of Gray’s hand. They were comfortable together. Well, except for the enormous sexual tension in the air.

  The sun was nearing the horizon. Golden amber burst from the glowing ball and streaked into the heavens. The building clouds, twisted like large meringue wisps dotting the sky, were now tinted with the pinks of fading day and the deeper blues of coming night. The sea was angry. Large waves crested over eight feet high at the sandbars, sending frothy swells crashing toward the shore. Foam gathered at the waterline, moving with each successive series of waves, and blew in clumps caught in gusts of wind across the wide beach.

  Gray led Lizbeth back to the fire pit. She started the fire and soon the flames bathed them in a dancing glow. The sand berm around the edges of the pit prevented the wind from blowing the sparks too badly. Gray unfolded the blanket and smoothed it out over the sand. Lizbeth sat down with her next to the fire, where they could watch the waves and the flames at the same time. Gray got them both a cold beer from the cooler, being careful to put the empty cans in a bag she tied to the cooler handle. Gray explained that she adhered to the rule of not leaving anything but footprints behind.

  Gray was propped up on her elbows, her legs stretched out in front of her. Lizbeth was leaning back on her hands. Their positions put them at eye level with each other. They sat close together, but not touching. Still Lizbeth could feel electricity jumping from her body to Gray’s and back. She was sure, with the right kind of lens, she would be able to see the little blue lightning bolts emanating from their skin. She half expected her clothing to burst into flames any minute. Even the all-consuming crush she had on James when they first met had not been this intense. Lizbeth could swear she could feel the air move with every breath Gray took beside her. One of the most beautiful beaches in the world surrounded her and all Lizbeth could see was Gray.

  Gray looked away from the fire and back at Lizbeth. She smiled. They hadn’t said anything to each other for a few minutes. Gray said, “I like that we don’t have to talk all the time. I mean, you don’t ask me what’s wrong if I get quiet.”

  Lizbeth understood. “Sometimes I need to stop talking so I can hear myself think.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “That’s all I seem to be doing lately, thinking. My mind is so jumbled with questions. I can’t seem to settle on the answers.”

  Gray asked, “What kind of questions? Maybe I can help.”

  Lizbeth searched Gray’s eyes for something. Was it trust? She was honest when she answered, “I don’t know if I want you poking around in my head just now.”

  Gray chuckled. “What, afraid I might find out your darkest secrets, your deepest desires?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. A girl has to have some mystery.”

  Gray sat up, looking down at Lizbeth. “Oh, you’re plenty mysterious.”

  “I could say the same about you,” Lizbeth said.

  “Like you said, a little mystery never hurt anybody.” Gray paused, and then clearly feeling strongly about the subject, she said, “Why do some people feel the need to share their worst tragedies and heartbreaks with the world?”

  “I don’t know, Gray. Maybe it helps them deal with their grief.”

  Gray stared into the fire. “The best thing they could do with that shit is put it to rest and never wake it up again. Take whatever lessons you can from it and walk away.”

  “Damn, Gray, that’s harsh.”

  Gray was on a roll and didn’t pay much attention to Lizbeth’s comment. She continued, “And you know what gets me, those drunks on the barstool, lamenting their broken hearts, while you watch them make the same mistakes over and over again. They never learn.”

  “And what lessons have you learned, Gray? Whatever they were they don’t sound pleasant.”

  Gray hesitated. Lizbeth had promised not to ask about what happened in Texas, but Gray had opened the door. She waited to see what Gray would say. Lizbeth hoped the pall that ruined last evening did not return. To her relief it didn’t. Gray took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, appearing to have decided to answer Lizbeth’s question.

  “I learned that trusting someone doesn’t make them infallible. I learned not to trust like that again. Isn’t that what you learned, too?”

  Lizbeth thought about it, and then said, “Yes, at one time I felt that way, but I think it’s passed. I don’t want to go the rest of my life without falling in love again. Just because I chose poorly the first time, doesn’t mean there isn’t somebody out there I can trust with my heart and soul. I have to say, it’s a pretty depressing future, if I don’t think like that.”

  Gray let out a faint laugh. “I’m more a once burned, twice shy kind of person.”

  “Wow, somebody did a number on you.”

  Gray sighed. “Yeah, something like that.”

  Lizbeth shivered. The sun was sinking over the dunes. The sky above them had gone dark. Twilight had descended over the island. Gray saw that Lizbeth was cold. She got up, went to the jeep, and returned with Lizbeth’s canvas bag. Lizbeth thanked her, took out the jacket, and slipped it on. They were both quiet again for a few minutes. Finally, Lizbeth had to say something.

  “I met James, my ex-husband, when I was sixteen years old. He was two years older, a senior, and the star quarterback. He was from the right family, had a bright future, and was the handsome the All-American boy. I fell madly in love with him and he fell for me. We were the perfect couple.”

  Gray was listening, while she got two more beers out of the cooler, exchanged them for the empties, and returned a cold one to Lizbeth. Lizbeth took a couple of swallows, watching the sparks from the fire carried off by the wind, wondering if she should continue. Lizbeth had never really told anyone, except her divorce lawyer, exactly what happened to her marriage. Most people assumed correctly that she had caught James cheating, but there was so much more than that. She sighed loudly.

  Gray reached for Lizbeth’s hand. She squeezed it, saying, “You don’t have to tell me this.”

  “I want to tell you,” Lizbeth said. “I need to tell you.”

  Gray seemed to understand, but looked away, as if she couldn’t bear to watch while Lizbeth finished her story.

  Lizbeth began again. “I got pregnant in the spring of my senior year, got married right after graduation, and had Mazie at age eighteen. Now, that could have been a devastating blow to a young couple, but it wasn’t. We were happy. James comes from money, so that wasn’t a problem. Mazie was the love of both our lives. James went to college, I kept house and played mother and wife, and we were happy, still madly in love.”

  Lizbeth drank some more beer, and then continued, with no comment from Gray. “James finished law school and started working in his father’s firm. My life was a dream come true. The handsome prince, the beautiful daughter, the big house, everything I had ever wanted was within my grasp. The one thing I knew that separated me from so many of my friends was I loved my husband and he loved me, unconditionally. That was a fact I knew like I know the sky is blue. My life was perfect.”

  Lizbeth felt the tears coming, but she didn’t try to stop them. Although this was painful, she felt the uncontrollable need to say it aloud, set it free, and watch it float away on the island winds. Gray remained silent, still holding Lizbeth’s hand, but not looking at her.

  “When Mazie was eight, James and I were asked to be in the wedding of a couple we knew. We were all in this one hotel at Hilton Head. I ate something that made me very sick and I was left in our hotel room, throwing up, during the after rehearsal party. I started feeling better, cleaned myself up, and went looking for my husband.”

  Lizbeth took in a shuddering breath, the tears com
ing freely now, not in sobs, just gently falling, trailing down her cheeks. Gray squeezed Lizbeth’s hand again.

  “I found him on the beach with one of the other bridesmaids. I came over the dune and there he was, fucking another woman. I swear Gray, until that very second, the thought of James cheating on me had never crossed my mind. I trusted him with every ounce of my being. To say I was devastated would be an understatement. I fell completely to pieces.”

  Lizbeth sniffled and wiped the tears with her jacket sleeve, but she kept going, unable to stop. A faint sarcastic laugh escaped her throat as she said, “I forgave him. I believed him when he said it was a mistake, that he was drunk, that he would give anything if I would just forgive him. Eventually, I was able to let it go, but it nagged at the back of my mind on occasion. James was even more attentive after that. My friends were jealous of how he showered me with gifts and affection, especially my best friend Chelsea.”

  Gray suddenly dropped Lizbeth’s hand. She ran the fingers of both hands through her hair and then held them up in a sign for Lizbeth to stop. Still she had not looked at Lizbeth. “Stop, just stop,” she said.

  “No, Gray, I want you to know.”

  “I know where this is going. I don’t need the details.”

  “Yes, Gray, you do. Just let me finish,” Lizbeth pleaded softly.

  Gray took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then whispered, “Okay.”

  “As you may have surmised, James and Chelsea were having an affair and had been for some time. I soon discovered how naïve I really was, when James’ true nature was exposed. He had been cheating on me, on quite a regular basis, the entire time I had known him, all the way back to high school. Now, this man was the basis for my existence. I loved my daughter, but she too was a part of him. He was my world.”