She made her presence known by tossing the keys into Gray’s lap, saying, “You drive.”
They drove over to Lighthouse Road, but all the good spots were gone. Lizbeth asked, “Where to now?”
Gray aimed the Mustang back to Harbor Road and took a left, explaining, “We’ll go over by the community cemetery. That’s the side where the Navy dumped the sand they took out of the natural harbor when they made it bigger. That’s when they changed the name from Cockle Creek to Silver Lake. Old folks still call it the Creek.”
They locked the car and started back toward home on foot. They were joined, both in front of them and behind, by other people coming back from having moved their vehicles to higher ground. Every few minutes a car or truck would pass, a hand out the window, waving at neighbors. When they would pass Lizbeth and Gray, a loud “Gray!” would emanate from the driver and all passengers. Gray would smile and wave, sometimes calling a name back at the passersby.
Lizbeth admired Gray’s apparent magnetism among her fellow natives. She commented, “I see I’m not the only one you’ve charmed. You have quite the fan club.”
“Just islanders,” Gray said nonchalantly. “There’s barely over seven hundred of us year round, so I guess we gotta get along.”
It was calm out, with just a bit of a breeze. The air was warm and smelled heavily of salt spray. They walked around the harbor, down to the Cedar Island ferry dock. The harbor was almost empty. Most of the smaller boats were out of the water and could be seen here and there, lashed to trees and steel poles or some other immovable object. The remaining free-floating boats in the harbor all had extra lines tying them in all directions, creating a bit of a spider web effect on the slick surface of the water.
“Which one’s yours?” Lizbeth asked, looking over the small fleet of fishing skiffs.
“That one.” Gray pointed at a small white skiff, with its characteristic forward pilothouse. “She’s twenty four feet long, not too big, but it’ll do.”
Lizbeth stepped around Gray to get a better view of the boat. As she did this Lizbeth trailed her hand around Gray’s waist, stepped under Gray’s pointing arm, and leaned back into her ever so slightly, pretending to be getting a better vantage point. She could feel Gray’s breathing quicken against her neck. The wind blew the boat just enough for Lizbeth to read, “Fanny Gray,” painted on the stern.
“I like the name,” Lizbeth said, not moving, but looking up over her shoulder at Gray.
“Fanny said she told Granddaddy he was a fool for naming a boat after a ship that sank.”
Gray was talking to Lizbeth, but Lizbeth could see her mind was churning beneath the surface. Lizbeth had not played this flirting game since she was a teenager. Sure, she flirted with James when their marriage had been good, but this was different, it was exhilarating. She felt emboldened by the power she seemed to wield over Gray. If Gray was having second thoughts, Lizbeth was going to make it as hard as possible for Gray to resist her. Lizbeth, still looking over her shoulder at Gray, leaned back a little harder into Gray’s chest.
Gray shook her head, grinned at Lizbeth, and said, “God, you’re killin’ me.”
The loud cry of “Gray!” shattered the moment. Four women, stopped in an SUV just ten feet away, had shouted it. Gray stumbled backward, almost unbalancing Lizbeth, before she stuck a hand in Lizbeth’s back to steady her. Then when Gray was sure Lizbeth had gained her feet, she turned to the women in the large black vehicle.
The local lonely women’s club had found the island rogue, or that’s what went through Lizbeth’s mind. Because the blond thirty something hanging out the passenger window, Bloody Mary in hand complete with celery stick and umbrella, was looking at Gray like she was a big piece of candy. This woman was making no attempt to cover her lust for the woman standing beside Lizbeth.
Gray waved. “Mornin’ ladies.”
Damn, did Gray have to be so charming? Lizbeth was watching Gray smile at these women and a twinge of jealousy pinched her chest.
The Bloody Mary woman said, “Well, there you are. We’ve been looking for you. We’re having a party. Come on. It’ll be fun.”
The accent and the jewels the woman possessed told Lizbeth two things: she had money, and she was from somewhere near Charlottesville, Virginia. The woman dropped her r’s, farm became fahm, car became cah. Lizbeth immediately didn’t like her. The way she was undressing Gray with her eyes didn’t help.
The two other passengers and the driver started in on Gray for her to join them at their hurricane party.
Lizbeth was happy when Gray said, “Thanks for asking, but I got things to look after. Y’all go on and have fun.”
The driver, another thirty something bottle blonde, yelled out, “Gray, you know our girls’ week wouldn’t be the same without a visit from you.”
The one hanging out the window said, “Yeah, we’ve been looking for you since Monday.” She looked at Lizbeth. “Who’s your friend?”
Gray was blushing. “This is my neighbor, Lizbeth. Lizbeth, this is Della, Pam, Sarah, and… I’m sorry I forgot your name.” Gray indicated each woman, as she called her name. Della was the one hanging out the window.
Della said, “Oh that’s Ellen. She dyed her hair.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Lizbeth said, smiling at the women. A bit of tigress crept into Lizbeth. She stepped up beside Gray, slid her arm around her waist, and patted her on the stomach. It was a friendly gesture, nothing sexual to the untrained eye, but understanding registered on Della’s face. Lizbeth said, “I’m sorry to have kept Gray away from you ladies. She’s been helping me get acclimated.”
Gray’s body froze under Lizbeth’s touch.
Della smiled knowingly, saying, “I bet she has.” Gray evidently had lost the ability to speak. Della continued, “Well, if you change your mind, you know where we are. Nice to meet you, Lizbeth.” Then the SUV pulled away slowly, the women inside laughing loudly.
Lizbeth released Gray from her grasp. Gray’s face was still red when Lizbeth looked up at her. “Thought you said all the tourists had to leave.”
“Della and her husband own the house. She comes down once a year with her girlfriends for a girls’ week. How’d you know she wasn’t a local?”
“That accent, pure Virginia, Charlottesville probably.” Lizbeth answered.
Gray was impressed. “Very good. You’re on the money.”
Lizbeth raised an eyebrow, grinning out the side of her mouth. “I suppose you’re part of the local wild life.”
“Something like that,” Gray said, which Lizbeth was coming to know as Gray’s answer when she didn’t want to admit something out right.
Lizbeth laughed at Gray, because she seemed so uncomfortable. “Gray, don’t be embarrassed. I told you I didn’t care how many women you’ve slept with. I’m not jealous.”
Gray chuckled. “You sure staked your claim awful quick.”
Lizbeth turned so she was facing Gray, looking up at her, mirroring their positions from the kitchen earlier. Lizbeth was no holds barred into this now. Lizbeth had turned the corner of wondering if she would sleep with Gray, to now wondering how much longer Gray was going to wait to make a move. Waiting didn’t feel so much like an option anymore and taking it slow went out the window long ago. She locked eyes with Gray.
“I have now witnessed, with my own eyes, two different women more or less begging for more of whatever it is you do. I’ve experienced a bit of it myself.” Lizbeth’s eyelids lowered in a sultry invitation. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in finding out what all the fuss is about.”
Gray raised her eyebrows. Her expression read, “Be careful what you wish for, little girl,” but she said, “And I suppose you are going to tease me mercilessly until I give in?”
Lizbeth inched closer, feeling Gray’s body heat, watching as Gray’s chest began to rise and fall, quickening the longer Lizbeth stayed there. “Yes, Gray, there’s no turning back now. You have to fini
sh what you started.”
A short laugh left Gray’s throat. “What I started? How did I start anything?”
Lizbeth said softly, “You said hello.”
This rocked Gray. She searched Lizbeth’s face, her eyes darting back and forth. An expression of actual physical pain enveloped her. Lizbeth was afraid of what Gray would say next. Lizbeth didn’t give her the opportunity.
“Take a chance, Gray. I don’t know where this is going to go either, but I’m willing to find out.”
Ever so softly, Gray said, “And what have you got to lose?”
Lizbeth didn’t hesitate, when she said only, “My heart.”
Another loud “Gray!” from a passing truck broke them out of their solitude. Lizbeth had forgotten they were standing at the docks. Everything had disappeared but the two of them for a few moments. She wondered for an instant what they must have looked like, standing there lost in each other’s eyes. Then she realized she didn’t care. Lizbeth was passing Molly’s test. She was putting what other people thought at the back of her mind and being happy in the forefront.
Gray waved at the man in the truck. There was no further comment about what had just been said. They began to walk again, back toward Howard Street, passing the Community Store. A few locals were gathered there on the porch. Gray and Lizbeth stopped to listen. Everyone on the porch shouted, “Gray!” simultaneously, and greeted them with a smile. She introduced Lizbeth. The porch dwellers had known Aunt Minnie, so Lizbeth was accepted into the fold. Islanders were notorious for their “us and them” attitudes and were not readily accepting of “woodsers” into their circle, until you’d been there good long while. Lizbeth’s association with Gray and Aunt Millie offered her a little leeway.
They listened to the old timers’ predictions of sixty to seventy miles an hour wind. Not too bad, they thought. The worst winds would be on the northeast face of the hurricane, which would remain out at sea. No one thought the storm would come much closer than a hundred miles, keeping the eye off shore. The storm surge would come from the Sound. There were some side bets made on whether the surge would be closer to four rather than the predicted six feet. Overall, the natives were taking it all in stride. Everyone seemed to be reveling in the quiet, with all the tourists gone.
Gray bought them ice cream cones. They ate them on the way back to Lizbeth’s cottage, finishing them on the front porch. Trying to eat the ice cream and not have it melt down their arms prevented them from talking too much. When they were finished with the cones, Gray followed Lizbeth into the kitchen where they threw away the soaked napkins that had been wrapped around the cones and washed their hands. Gray remained very quiet.
Lizbeth started another pot of coffee. She was beginning to think she might have pushed Gray too far, too fast. It was painfully obvious that Gray was struggling with falling for Lizbeth. She had even told Lizbeth she was afraid of her. Maybe it was going to take a lot longer for Gray to trust her. She was lost in these thoughts when she crossed to the refrigerator in front of Gray, who was leaning with her back against the sink.
Lizbeth felt Gray’s fingers on her elbow, just an instant before Gray spun Lizbeth to her, wrapped her arms around her, and kissed her passionately. Gray pulled Lizbeth close to her body and Lizbeth melted into her. Lizbeth’s hands went to Gray’s face. She caressed the smooth skin there and then ran her fingers through Gray’s hair and down her neck. There were so many sensations happening at once, Lizbeth could not settle on one before another overwhelmed it.
Want, need, lust, whatever it was called, consumed both women. Gray backed Lizbeth the few steps into the wall of the narrow kitchen. Lizbeth’s hands went above her head to the wall, where Gray grabbed them, holding them there, pressing her body into Lizbeth’s. Their lips never parted. Desire overcame Lizbeth. She pulled her hands from Gray, and wrapped her arms tightly around Gray’s neck. Gray took Lizbeth around the waist and stood up straight, pulling Lizbeth off the floor and into her arms. They banged around in the kitchen for a few minutes, before coming up for air.
Lizbeth, panting against Gray’s heaving chest, said under her breath, “Oh, my fucking God.”
Gray held Lizbeth, while she tried to catch her own breath. Finally, when Lizbeth felt she could talk again, she looked up at Gray, whose scandalous grin had returned, and said, “I take it you’ve decided to take a chance.”
Gray winked. “Something like that.”
“So what happens now?” Lizbeth asked, her head back on Gray’s chest.
“In about an hour we’re expected across the street for lunch. Fanny is cooking everything that might spoil, before the power goes out.”
Lizbeth had not moved. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in Gray’s scent. Her head moved up and down with Gray’s now slowing breath. She said dreamily, “Oh, I don’t think an hour would be enough.”
Gray’s laughter rang like sweet music to her ears.
#
After Gray checked that Lizbeth had enough candles and batteries and knew where everything was, she went over to her house to help Fanny with lunch. Lizbeth stayed behind, promising she would follow soon. She kissed Gray on the cheek before she left, knowing that if she kissed her lips again they would probably miss lunch. Lizbeth moved her wet colored clothes from the washer to the dryer and threw her white clothes in to wash. She ran upstairs, brushed her hair again, checked herself in the mirror, and then hurried down the stairs.
The winds had now picked up and were blowing a steady ten to fifteen miles an hour. More clouds filled the sky and the horizon was beginning to darken. The outside edge of Earl was closing in on them. Aside from the wind, everything was eerily quiet when Lizbeth tapped on Fanny’s screen door.
The front door was open and soon Gray’s beaming face appeared. “Come on in,” she said.
The aroma of boiling collards and frying pork overtook Lizbeth. A flashback of Sunday dinner at her grandmother’s flooded her mind. She followed Gray to the kitchen where Fanny was busy frying cornbread. A large bowl of chopped collards graced the center of the table. An old ketchup bottle sat beside bowl. Long green and red peppers in vinegar replaced the original contents of the bottle, because no good southern cook would serve collards without homemade pepper vinegar.
A platter of pork chops glistened beside a plate of sliced tomatoes, fresh from Fanny’s own vines. Next to that was a small bowl with sliced cucumbers and green onions, bathing in vinegar and sprinkled with black pepper. There were boiled potatoes and green beans, probably the ones Lizbeth saw Fanny snapping that first day, in another large bowl. A fresh pitcher of sweet iced tea, at the end of the table, capped it all off. This was some down home food, a southern soul food delight.
“Oh Miss Fanny, this looks amazing. I haven’t had cooking like this in years. Thank you so much for having me,” Lizbeth said with true appreciation.
“Go on, sit down. I’ll be through with this here bread in a minute,” Fanny said, turning back to the cornbread, while she continued to talk. “Gray tells me you had one of them sinkin’ spells again. Thought we ought might to feed you. Get ya’ perked up.”
Gray, continuing to grin from ear to ear, pulled out a chair for Lizbeth. Lizbeth sat down. Gray sat down beside her on the same side of the table. This left the other side of the table clear for Fanny to move around and have a place to sit. This also left Gray and Lizbeth’s legs covered under the tablecloth and within inches of each other. When Gray’s leg brushed Lizbeth’s, she shivered. Lizbeth was glad Fanny’s back was to them.
The first time it happened, Lizbeth thought it was an accident. The second time it happened, Lizbeth had been looking at Gray, and she saw the corner of Gray’s mouth twitch. Gray glanced at Lizbeth, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Lizbeth, not to be outdone, slid her hand under the table. Ever so gently, she ran the back of her hand up the side of Gray’s thigh.
Gray jumped. Fanny turned around. Looking at Gray, who was trying to act like nothing happened, Fanny said, �
��Good Lord, Gray. What’s got into you? You been jumpin’ round here for days, like a minnow with a bird after it.”
Gray moved her chair further from Lizbeth, saying, “Must have been a rock under the leg.”
It was all Lizbeth could do not to burst out laughing. She drank some tea to cover her smile, while Gray shot daggers at her with her eyes. Fanny joined them at the table, bringing the still sizzling cornbread with her. They bowed their heads while Fanny thanked the Lord for their meal and asked for protection from the coming storm. They ended the prayer together. “Amen.”
Food was passed and the plates were filled. Lizbeth and Gray didn’t have much to say. Fanny did most of the talking, with the other two adding to the conversation when she prodded them. Lizbeth ate as if it was her last meal. If spinach made Popeye stronger, then these collard greens could be just what she needed. Lizbeth had a feeling she was going to need all of her strength tonight. She and Gray were vibrating with so much sexual tension, Lizbeth didn’t know why the whole room wasn’t shaking.
Fanny was suspicious. Lizbeth could see her looking back and forth between the two of them. Gray wasn’t helping. She had never been so non-talkative. Lizbeth, at least, was trying to stay engaged in the conversation. Gray had just checked out. Lizbeth tried to distract Fanny.
“Miss Fanny,” Lizbeth said, “In forty-four, how did you deal with the storm surge? That was an enormous amount of water.”
“We all stayed to the lighthouse keeper’s quarters. Highest spot on the island. The water just washed on through. Ain’t nothin’ to keep it here. It can only get so high, then it washes right off the other side.” Fanny paused. She looked over the table at Gray, locking eyes with her namesake. “Does the island good to wash off the past now and then. Lets us start fresh. Some folks could learn a lesson from nature. Wash away all that bad stuff from their life, and start over with fresh ground under their feet.”
Waking Up Gray Page 12
