by L. L. Akers
“It happened on a business trip. I asked my wife—”
“—Wait. Your wife?” Olivia blurted out.
“Yeah...my late wife.”
Olivia’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Ooooh.” That explains so much. He’s not divorced, he’s a widower.
“I asked her to come with me and bring Graysie along to see New Orleans.” He sniffed and wrapped his arms tight around himself.
“My wife didn’t want to come. Begged me to stay home. Said she had a ‘bad feeling.’” Grayson held his hands up, making mock air-quotes with his fingers. “She was always getting ‘bad feelings’ about this or that. She called them ‘glimpses.’ I never put much power to them.”
He shrugged.
“And sometimes things would happen after one of her glimpses, but I thought it was just a coincidence.” He paused. “I was wrong. I should have listened to her, but I didn’t. I insisted they come. I loved spending time with my family, and it was a great opportunity for a paid vacation.
“So they reluctantly came with me. I went to my business meetings during the days, and at night we did the tourist thing. We were having a good time. But then Graysie got sick. At first, we thought maybe food poisoning, until the fever kicked in. The news surprised us, calling for a possible hurricane, but Graysie was too sick to travel home. And then...she blew in. Hurricane Katrina. I thought we’d be safe...we were on the 2ndth floor of a very nice hotel, after all.”
He sadly shook his head.
“The city was supposed to be protected by the levees. The levees had always held up.
“But this storm...this hurricane...it was something else; like I said, a monster. It pounded the Louisiana coastline. Then the unthinkable happened. The levees broke. Even on the 2nd floor of the hotel, water was coming in. It was worse than what we just saw out there.”
Grayson pointed towards the window again, and the wind screamed in answer.
“It was terrifying. I carried Graysie while my wife and I moved up one floor, along with dozens of other scared people. We found an open room that was above water, although the windows and glass doors were broken. Rain and wind assaulted us. We put Graysie in the bathtub. We were scared...real scared. My wife held Graysie in the bathroom while I watched the hurricane, wondering if we’d live through it. I couldn’t look away.
“We survived it. But the next day was worse. I tried to make them comfortable while we waited for help, but Graysie’s fever spiked and we ran out of anything to break it. I left them alone and looked all over the hotel. Couldn’t find anything. Complete chaos. When I came back, they were in the bathroom again—hiding. Some assholes had come in looting, looking for jewelry, or money... I don’t know what. But they scared my girls something fierce.
“Other people were moving about. Told us we had to get out of there. Gangs were roving throughout the hotel. It was safer outside in the water, they said. I knew then I couldn’t leave them again. And we didn’t have food or water in that room. We didn’t have medicine. We were desperate. We weren’t prepared, and I had no way to protect my girls. We had to go.
“Graysie was burning up. We had to do something fast. I found a solid plastic crate floating. I grabbed it. We dumped it and put Graysie inside and floated her right out the door, with both my wife and I hanging on and swimming alongside. We’d only gone fifty feet or so when a surge came.”
Grayson sucked in a huge breath and blew it out.
He continued, “The crate tipped over. Graysie fell out. She was so sick. Weak. She went under and I dove in after her. I couldn’t find her. When I came up, I wasn’t near either one of them. Then I saw Graysie. She was clinging to a street light. The water was filled with debris. Tires, trash cans; all sorts of sharp and heavy things. Even small cars floating by. It was rushing, like a river. Dangerous. Too dangerous to be swimming in. The crate was nowhere to be seen. It’d been swept away.
“Her mother—my wife—was clinging to a torn awning on the side of the building, hanging by a thread. She was struggling. My girls were in opposite directions. I had to make a choice. A hard choice...” His voice broke.
He dropped his head and wept.
Olivia scooted over and pulled his face to her chest, rubbing his back.
“I saw it in her mother’s face,” he blubbered. “She knew it. I could only save one of them. They were both barely hanging on. And her face told me to save Graysie. To save our child. How could I refuse?”
Grayson was overcome with grief then.
“You see, I had to play God that day. I chose which would live and which would die. I don’t envy Him that power. I’d give anything for Him to have chosen me and let them both live.
“So I swam to Graysie and pulled her from the pole as quickly as I could. But I was so exhausted. It took too long to get her to safety. At least ten minutes. My wife couldn’t hang on that long. When I turned to go back after her, she was gone. Just...vanished.
“I spun in the water, screaming her name. I wish I’d have seen her. But it was Graysie that spotted her mother first. She screamed and pointed. I’ll never forget my little girl’s scream. She screeched...bawled for me to hurry...to save her mom.
“But I was too late. I swam as fast as I could. When I got there, her long hair floated around her in the dirty waters, and her arms and legs were limp. I turned her over and held her in my arms. I tried to bring her back. I did everything I could while swimming in ten foot of water. But she was just...gone.”
Grayson collapsed completely in Olivia’s lap, crying like a child. She rubbed his back and cooed to him in between deep breaths and sniffles of her own. She couldn’t let him see her cry. She had to hold it together, for him. No wonder he was the way he was...such a tragic story.
She scooted out from under him and laid down beside him, sharing her body warmth. And she held him.
Let him cry.
And he did: he sobbed, snuffled, and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep, and Olivia followed him.
34
Olivia blinked. Something had woken her. She lifted her head and looked straight into Grayson’s eyes. He was awake, too. They’d slept for hours. The crofter was filled with hazy pre-dawn light.
The sound came again and they both laughed. Ozzie was snoring loudly.
“Is it over?” she asked.
“I think so.”
While the bed was still wet under them, she was toasty warm. Grayson had mostly dried and his body put off a delicious heat. She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to him, enjoying the heaviness of his arm over her.
She felt his breath against her face, getting closer. Then his lips were on hers, his hands caressing her arm, and moving down slowly, spreading his heat. Desire churned in her. She leaned into him, showing him her hunger.
He gently pushed her to her back and rolled atop her, holding his weight on his elbows and his hands in her hair while pressing against her.
She moaned as his kiss went deeper. It was everything a kiss should be. Warm and sensual. Slow and gentle.
She looked into his gray eyes and saw no more anguish. No torment. Only desire. The haunted look they’d held was gone. He stared back into hers.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands through her hair. She leaned into his hands, wanting to feel them on her.
She pushed her hips up to meet his. He moaned and pressed firmly against her. They began to move slowly—together—both still unsure.
But it took only a moment for their bodies to decide for them. They pressed against each other harder...faster...their hips undulating, surging and rolling in passion. She wanted more—needed more.
Grayson reached down and slowly pulled her nightgown up, over her legs. She lifted her hips again and he gently pushed it up further, bunching it around her waist. He slid her panties down and she hooked them with one toe, helping to pull them off. She kicked them onto the floor.
She sighed deeply, feeling her bare flesh against his heat. It had bee
n so long since she’d felt the warm heaviness of a man against her. It felt right.
Grayson pulled his own shorts off with one hand, tossing them from the bed, and pressed against her again.
The heat where their bodies met surged, rippling through her.
“Are you sure you want this? Now?” he whispered, his hips rolling against hers.
“Yes...now,” she whispered back.
He scooted down, leaving a trail of kisses. From her lips, to her ears, then her neck...she closed her eyes in rapture. She felt his chest against her stomach, the warm hair tickling her.
With one hand he pulled the gown down off her shoulders, exposing her breasts. His hand covered one, first tracing her nipple softly with his finger. Then a squeeze as he cupped her breast. He pressed it to his mouth and sucked in the peak, running his tongue around it in smooth, wet circles.
Olivia sucked in her breath.
She arched her back, pushing against him.
More. Take more, she thought. Fire coursed through her and she moaned again.
He gently pushed her legs apart with one knee, and slowly slid back up, after giving her breast one last kiss. He brushed his lips against her neck and then he was back to her mouth.
He kissed her deeply and she felt it all the way down to her core. Their tongues danced against each other as they shared their breath.
She gently bucked against him once more and he met it with a heavy heave of his own. Shudders shot through her at the feel of him hard against her, so intimate. So close. Desire ripped through her. She wanted him now...all of him.
She bucked again and this time, he slid into her, filling her. She stilled for a moment and exhaled loudly, her breath stolen. A loud hum filled her ears...she realized it was her.
He stilled too, waiting for her to adjust to the size of him. The room seemed frozen in time as they stared at each other. The air after the storm was quiet. It gave strength to every whisper, every moan, and every heavy, ragged breath that echoed in the small room.
She felt him throb inside of her and gave him permission to continue with a sigh and an arch of her hips. He closed his eyes and moaned, and began to move again slowly, pushing and then pulling, deeper upon each thrust.
Gone was the memory of the cold, dark night. The chilling storm. The unrelenting winds and rain.
Now their bodies glistened in sweat, heat pouring off of them, sliding and moving against each other in an explosion of ecstasy. They moved in a frenzied storm of their own making; a torrent of passion, through peaks and valleys, raining down in a fervor, until finally surging together as one, in an intense burst of lightning.
The room disappeared. The sound of Ozzie snoring was no more. Her world shrunk to one thing.
Grayson.
And as he brought her to the brink of bliss and over the top, she called out his name and he answered, calling out hers as well.
Grayson rolled over, taking Olivia with him. She let herself fall limp atop his chest, feeling his heartbeat against her own, in perfect rhythm. She draped herself over him and buried her face in his neck, tasting the saltiness, and basking in the maleness.
Her limbs were limp with satisfaction. She sighed.
“The last thing I want to do is rush this,” Grayson whispered. “I could stay inside you all day—and I will the next time. But I think my little brother and your little sister might be needing us. There was supposed to be a wedding today.”
“I know,” she whispered back, snuggling deeper into his warm chest. “Poor Emma and Dusty. It’ll have to be cancelled.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I don’t think even a hurricane can stop Dusty from marrying that girl today. How about you show me that lighthouse? I bet we’ll find them there.”
35
Dusty stood on the bottom step of Old Baldy Lighthouse staring at his shoes—his muddy, torn-up running sneakers. He raked his fingers through his wet hair.
He’d snuck outside before Emma awoke to check the chapel. He’d stood in the devastation of the little church next door as the first hints of a shadowed sun peeked into the ruined stained-glass windows. Much of it had been shattered, letting the wind and rain into the church. There would be no wedding there today.
He’d hoped to keep Emma from seeing it, but as he’d come back into the lighthouse, stepping over strangers who were slowly waking from their huddled sleep, he saw her perched beside one of the few lighthouse windows—a window looking out onto the church. It was too late. She was looking at the destruction now.
Her back was to him, but he could see she held her hand over her mouth. Her shoulders were slumped. Her wedding gown was stained and tattered—there had been no time to take it off before they’d been forced to evacuate with only the clothes on their back—and no sign of Olivia and Grayson.
They’d all been relieved when Grayson had shown up an hour before, holding Olivia with one hand and Ozzie with the other. But the relief—for him and Emma—had been short lived.
Before he made his way back up to her, he needed to figure out a way to fix this. He couldn't stand to see her so upset.
He placed one foot on the next step and then stopped suddenly, looking up to her and loudly blurting out, “Marry me now. Right here!”
He looked around the lighthouse, holding his arms out toward all the people—the people stunned into silence from his loud proposal. “We’re here. The preacher's here. Everyone we really need is with us. Let's just do it, Emma.”
Emma whipped around with wide eyes and open mouth. She stared at Dusty for a moment and then let her eyes wander around at all the unfamiliar faces crowded together in the lighthouse, seeking shelter.
Dusty watched her look to her older sisters for guidance. His heart swelled when they just nodded with smiles. He quietly pumped his fist into the air. If he had them on board, she had to say yes.
Emma looked back at Dusty, her eyes pleading. “We can't get married right now... What about my dress? It’s ruined. And... and... the... the flowers? The music? We can’t just skip the music, Dusty.”
Dusty looked around excitedly, caught up in the moment, grasping at ideas, then looked back to Emma.
Emma, his girl—soon to be wife—stood waiting on the steps in front of one of the few lower windows, where someone had placed a lantern. Even now, with no make-up, hair tangled, her wedding gown torn and dirty, pink Converse high-top Chucks peeking out from beneath...she was perfect.
Rickey, soon to be his legal son, still laid curled up in his Batman pajamas. His tiny tuxedo still hung back at the house.
None of it mattered.
Emma’s silhouette was bathed in the yellow light, framed by the remnants of the dark storm now blowing out to sea. She was beautiful; inside and out. She took his breath away.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Reschedule. Re-plan. It might take months to clean up the island after the hurricane. He’d waited long enough. He wanted to marry her now—hurricane or not.
Their family and the strangers alike all ceased to exist. All he could see was Emma’s face, and he felt like he could feel the beating of her heart from where he stood, a flight of stairs beneath her.
She wanted music? He could give her that at the least. A song sprang to his mind. As his mind played the melody, everyone and everything faded away until it was only Emma—his girl.
He took in a deep breath and then let it carry out the song. “I've got funtimes....on a rowdy day...” he sang in a shaky voice. He paused to clear his throat, embarrassed.
Before he could change his mind about singing his silly rendition of his favorite song, he cleared his throat and kept going, “—and when I’m old inside, I——I like to say——” he sang, the tune a little off-key, but his voice was getting steady and strong.
Another voice joined him, humming very loudly.
Dusty whipped his head around and saw the elderly man the humming had come from; his withered body not looking as though it could support such a deep, rumblin
g voice. He gave Dusty a toothless grin and started snapping his fingers and nodding his head, giving Dusty a beat to continue to.
More fingers started snapping and Dusty’s smile opened and stretched wide across his face, lighting up his eyes. He bravely sang his next line, bobbing his head too, in rhythm with the tune.
“I'll bet... you'll play... so what can make me sing this way?”
And in unison, a crowd of people joined in with him, humming and snapping their fingers to his silly words, the sound echoing throughout Old Baldy Lighthouse, “My pearl...my pearl, my pearl...Talking 'bout...my pearl...my pearl!”
Several of the ladies swaying in unison even sang the doo-doo, doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo sounds that normally followed the lyrics. No one even noticed his silly change of the words; if they did, they ignored them and sang the word ‘girl’ instead. He was glad he’d picked it. Everyone loved My Girl.
The lighthouse that was minutes before filled with quiet strangers—a mass of wet clothes and shivering bodies, pushed together for warmth on the dark, damp floor—was now filled with light and love, people smiling, standing and swaying, holding hands of other people they’d never met.
Dusty had just unknowingly given everyone a reason to cheer up; to hum, to snap... to be a part of something magical in the wake of the devastating storm.
Emma clasped her hands together against her chest, her eyes shining with unshed tears—happy tears. She looked up. The steps of the lighthouse wound up, where at the top, a short ladder would take you through a trapdoor to the lookout, which gave a panoramic view of the entire island.
She nodded her head, smiling through the blur, and giving him the answer he hoped for. “Race you to the top?” she squeaked out through her tears.
“Yes!” he yelled, followed by another fist pump.
He swung around, nearly falling off his perch in his excitement to find the preacher. The preacher held his arm up in the air and Dusty waved him forward. They climbed the stairs toward Emma, with Gabby and Olivia following closely behind, and Jake and Grayson bringing up the rear, followed by the tangled mop of hair that was Ozzie, refusing to be left behind.
