by Orton, D. L.
Chapter 37
Isabel: Alone in the Dark
I slam the door as tears roll down my face and drip onto the worn hardwood floor. A moment later, I rush to the bathroom and throw up in the toilet, blood and bile splattering across the white porcelain bowl. Tego’s seashell slips out of my bra and rolls across the bathroom tile. I sit on the floor, crying and vomiting, until I have nothing left inside.
Walking away from him was the most perverse and disheartening thing I have ever done.
He knows something is wrong, but what can I tell him?
I get up off the floor and rinse my mouth in the sink.
And he’s going to think I’m some sort of fanatical feminist after the “girl” comment.
I leave the light off and stumble out to the kitchen. It’s nearly two in the morning. I peer through the open window as he trudges across the sand, his shoulders hunched, the magic all gone out with the moonlight.
I watch until the darkness swallows him.
“I can’t imagine he’ll be coming back for more of this.”
I fill a glass with water and take a sip, still feeling nauseated. “They picked the wrong person to save the world.” Leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, I stare out into the empty darkness long after he has disappeared, my hands shaking uncontrollably and my insides heaving.
I’m dying.
I peer up at the stars, feeling the vast emptiness of space. “Please. Let me have one more day with him. Just one more.”
I return to the bathroom and switch on the light. The face looking back at me in the garish glow of the cheap florescent bulb is ghostly white and aging rapidly. I pick up his shell and turn it over in my hands. If I manage to survive the night, I’ll probably be seventy by tomorrow evening. He won’t even recognize me, an old woman of no consequence.
I would rather die than have to live through that.
I don’t think I’ve made any difference in his life, other than angering him, and he’s going to get plenty of that from my stunt double. All I’ve done is make it worse.
Despite my exhaustion, I take a sheet of stationery and an envelope out of the kitchen drawer, write out the address, and affix a stamp. Then I grab a box of tissues and sit down at the small kitchen table, writing and crying my way through a letter.
Once I finish, I force myself to get up and stumble across the sand to the dark café, barely able to support my own weight. I slip the envelope under the door and manage to return to the cabana without incident. I set a bunny-shaped clock to wake me in eight hours, shut off the light, and collapse into the bed.
On the nightstand, the white edge of Diego’s shell glows luminescent in the dark room.
I love you, wherever you are. And I’ll be joining you soon.
Chapter 38
Tego: In the Moonlight
I make my way back to the one-room cabin, the tension in my jaw threatening to turn into a headache. There’s a faint glow coming from the vacant café, but no other signs of life. I cross the deserted main street, cut through an overgrown yard, and slip through the unlocked door of the cottage. The place reeks of old pizza, sour sweat, and dirty socks. I open a window, hoping the mosquitoes won’t be too bad, and then shuffle toward my bunk, tripping over backpacks and sport bags as I go.
I peel off my clothes, collapse onto the bed, and stare up into the darkness, resisting the urge to pick up my shirt and search for her scent on it. I lie there listening to the soft snores of my friends, but despite the fact that I’m physically and emotionally spent, sleep won’t come. I can’t get her out of my head: The breeze pressing her dress against her hips and breasts as she strolls down the beach. The way she bites her lip when she looks at me. The electricity that arcs between us when she slides her hand up the inside of my thigh.
I exhale and grab my shirt off the floor, annoyed with myself for being so desperate. I bring it up to my nose and breathe in the faint scent of her skin and hair, my whole body responding to the powerful longing it stirs up.
Shit, I’m hopeless.
Even though we just met, I want to know what’s going on with her—and with us.
And I need to find some way to deal with the overwhelming sense of despair I feel when she pushes me away, because right now it’s killing me.
The cabin door opens and shuts with a soft creak, and Beto makes his way into the cluttered room. He collapses on the last empty bunk, and after a minute, gets up and opens more windows. I can smell the macha’s cloying perfume wafting off him as the cool breeze trips across the dark space. He strips and falls back into bed, and a few moments later, I hear his breath quicken, and eventually slow.
I wish it were that easy to get her out of my head.
Just as it starts to get light, I fall into an exhausted sleep.
She stands before me like a statue in a shaft of moonlight. My breath catches in my throat as she slides her hands up to her breasts, her mouth open and her eyes on me. She lifts her arms above her head and pulls out her ponytail. Her hair tumbles to her shoulders, dancing in and out of the shadows. She runs her fingers through the loose curls, her eyes shut and her nipples erect.
I gape at her soft curves, a familiar ache twisting up my insides and filling me with heat.
As I watch, she slips her fingers into her mouth and then trails her hand down her body until it rests between her thighs. I let my gaze fall across her long legs, imagining them wrapped around my waist, pulling my hardness inside her.
A moan forms in my throat and escapes before I can stop it. She lifts her hair, a smile flitting across her lips, and turns away, rocking her hips to some slow, internal beat. I visualize kissing the nape of her neck, my hands moving down the curve of her back to her smooth, round ass. I stare at the white triangle drawn there by the sun, longing to drag my tongue down the center of that alabaster marker, searching for the center of her sex and making her writhe and cry out with pleasure.
She turns to me, her eyes glossy, and I reach out. But before I can get my arms around her, a stab of pain cuts across her face, and she falters.
I lunge for her…
And bang my head on the top bunk.
“Shit!”
I fall back onto the damp sheets, my heart pounding. Harsh daylight pours in through the open windows, but everyone else is still snoring. I rub my forehead and try to fall back asleep. Eventually, I get up, take a shower, and go in search of coffee.
The morning is quiet, the streets empty except for a few locals. I buy a croissant at the café but have no appetite, and end up feeding it to the seagulls. No one’s around to play futbol this early, so I flop in the sand and shut my eyes, wondering if she’s still asleep.
God, I want to see her again.
Around lunchtime, half looking for something to eat and half just killing time, I head over to the touristy shops crowding around the beach hotel. Behind a row of turtle magnets, dolphin mobiles, and beach mats, I spy a wooden puzzle box carved from a local hardwood tree. The wood is purple with white veins and is carved in such a way that there are no sharp edges, the top curving into the sides and bottom. I pick it up and run my fingers across the smooth surface.
It’s almost as beautiful as she is.
I know it’s too soon to be buying her a gift, but she’s already under my skin, a drug that I crave and have given up all hopes of resisting.
I carry it up to the cashier and take out my wallet, the voices in my head clucking their tongues.
This is not going to end well.
Chapter 39
Tego: Crazy for You
A couple of minutes before two, I head down the beach to Isabel’s cabana, forcing myself not to run. She is waiting for me outside on the lanai, sitting in a porch swing built for vertically challenged guests. The bench is no more than a foot off the ground.
“Tego! You are a si
ght for sore eyes.” Her voice falls on me like drops of rain in the desert. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thanks.”
She laughs. “You’re lying.”
“You got me. How about you?”
“Same.”
She’s wearing jean shorts and a bikini top, her long legs propped up on a gnarled piece of driftwood, toes wiggling as she speaks. Not knowing what she expects and feeling uncomfortable with my own intense desire, I stand there like a deer in the headlights as she rocks in the absurdly low porch swing.
She reaches out to me. “Come here? I promise I won’t bite—unless you want me to.”
Ay, dios mío.
I take the steps two at a time and lean over to kiss her on the cheek. The smell of her hair fills my body with desire, and I have to force myself to lean away.
She pats the seat beside her and gazes up at me. Something about her seems subtly different, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I turn the small package over in my hands and then hold it out to her, confident that it’s the right thing to do, but still nervous about being too forward, wanting too much. “For you.”
“How sweet.” She takes it and reaches out to me. “I missed you. A lot.”
Relief floods in. I take her hand and sit down.
She leans her head against my shoulder, and the subtle scent of her sets my pulse racing again. I leave my eyes fixed on the horizon, needing her to lead, her touch a lifeline.
Without tearing the paper, she unwraps the present and then gives a startled cry, tears filling her eyes.
“Oh, Tego. It’s… lovely.” She turns the box over in her hands the same way I did, stroking the smooth, heavy wood. She looks over at me, her eyes glossy. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” I’m caught off guard when she slides forward out of the swing and collapses in front of me, her head in my lap. She holds the box to her chest and stays silent for a long time.
I’m a bit overwhelmed by her response, but definitely pleased that she likes my gift. I stroke her hair and let my fingers float across the pale skin on her shoulders and back, feeling the electricity jump between us just like last night. She lets out a soft moan, and it pulls at my insides, twisting them into a knot.
She is an enigma, a tempest, and a goddess all rolled up into one, and I could get used to having her in my life.
I run my fingers through her damp curls and feel her tremble. “Hey? Are you okay?”
She nods but remains silent.
I continue stroking her skin, content to just be close to her.
The swing sways slightly with her breathing, and I watch the sunlight play in her mahogany hair—and notice a gray strand. I look more carefully. There are quite a few silver streaks mixed in with her dark locks!
Going gray in her twenties? Unusual, but not impossible.
I push a curl back from her face and lean over to kiss her temple, taking in the smell of her skin and hair.
A few moments later, she sits up, her face flushed and damp.
“Anything I can do?” I ask.
She shakes her head, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, and then produces my shell.
“Ay! Thanks.”
“You need to take better care of it, or I’m going to charge you storage and recovery fees.” She chastises me with her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, Miss Moneypenny, but it wasn’t my fault. Some diabolical dame picked my pocket. Given the woman’s villainous technique, I was fortunate to get away with my clothes intact.”
“Mr. Bond, any woman proficient enough to pilfer a paragon from your pocket without your permission…” She thinks for moment, “...could have purloined your pants as well.”
“If I had not made the mistake of calling her a girl, maybe she would have.”
She stands up. “Perhaps.”
I take the seashell and put it back in my pocket, feeling off balance again.
She bumps me on the shoulder with her hip. “I hope you have your board shorts on because this time you will be losing your clothes.”
Before I can think of something clever to say, my stomach growls.
She addresses my belly: “All right, all right. Let’s get you something to eat.” She looks down at me. “Can’t take advantage of you on an empty stomach.” She grabs my hand, pulls me up, and leads me through the doorway.
Walking from the bright sunlight into the subdued darkness of the beach house blinds me, and I stop, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
A moment later, I see her washing her hands in a compact kitchen sink, a pink T-shirt over her bikini. In the corner is a bed, neatly made. On the opposite wall, a door to a small bathroom hangs open, her dress from last night draped over the top.
“What would you like? A sandwich?” She pirouettes to face me. “Coffee, tea, or me?” She raises her palm above her shoulder and twirls a tea towel with the other hand.
“Definitely you.”
She turns back toward the small refrigerator. “Seriously, I’m afraid I don’t have a lot to choose from, but you’re welcome to whatever is here.” She opens the fridge door and peers in. “Iced tea? Water?”
“A sandwich and some iced tea would be great.” I walk over to the sink. “What can I do to help?”
“Hmm.” She starts taking things out of the fridge and setting them on the counter: an orange, a papaya, and a melon. “My first choice would be your chocolate cake, but we don’t have the time, so how about a fruit salad?”
I stand and stare at her. “My chocolate cake? How do you know about my chocolate cake?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Lucky guess, my ass.”
She rolls the melon across the counter to me. “Fruit salad?”
“Sure.” I turn on the faucet. “Why did the cantaloupe go swimming?”
Still holding the fridge door open, she watches me washing my hands, then returns to her search. “Why?”
“He wanted to be a watermelon.”
“How do you remember that stuff?”
“I read Increasing Your Brainpower by Sarah Bellum.”
She gives me a wistful look and then glances away.
“Hey, it wasn’t that bad.” I shut off the faucet and dry my hands, but she doesn’t respond. I watch her bend over and reach into the bottom drawer of the fridge. The edge of her T-shirt slides up, revealing the curve of her butt, and I feel myself getting hard. I can’t seem to get that pale triangle out of my head.
She turns back to me. “I’m afraid it’s peanut butter and banana sandwiches—very exotic where I come from.” She tosses a banana at me. “Here.”
I’m still ravaging her naked body in my mind, and I barely manage to catch the banana. “Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana?”
“Hah.” She tosses me a papaya, a pineapple, a mango, a star fruit, and an avocado.
I manage to catch all of them. “Good thing I took Fruit Tossing 101 last semester.”
She shakes her head, but I can see that she’s smiling.
“Are you sure about the avocado?” I hold it up like a gemstone.
“Hmm. Probably not. Better toss that one back.”
I do. She catches it deftly in her left hand—very athletic—and sets it down on the counter.
I pick up the pineapple. “I bet you like to play a racquet sport, probably tennis.”
She gives me a quizzical look and surreptitiously glances around the room. “How did you know that?”
“I seek not to know the answers, but to understand the questions.” I put the palms of my hands together and bow, and then add in my regular voice. “And you ask a lot of questions.”
She rolls her eyes.
I enlighten her, showing off a bit. “You caught the avocado with your left hand, but I know you’re right-ha
nded.”
“Really.” Her tone is condescending, and that annoys me a little. She raises her eyebrows. “And how would you know that?”
“From the way you held your fork at dinner last night.” I stick my tongue out at her.
“And what does that have to do with tennis?”
“Well, my young Jedi, you probably hold the racquet with your right hand and catch balls with your left.”
She purses her lips.
“Am I right?” Just this once, I want her to acknowledge that I can be clever too.
“You’re correct about the racquet.” She glances down at my shorts. “But I don’t know about the balls.”
I feel suddenly warm. “This is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought.” My stomach growls, and we both laugh.
She opens the freezer and takes out a loaf of bread. “Right now, I think we should feed you.”
I watch as she struggles to open the twist-tie around the bag, her hands visibly shaking. “Hey, are you okay? Let me help.” I reach out, but she pulls away.
“I’m fine, thanks. Really.” She manages to get the bag open and then gestures toward the cutting board with her chin. “Back to taming the wild fruit?”
I nod, and she stands still for a moment, watching me rinse the pineapple. I peel and cut it, the sweet, tart smell making my mouth water. She starts opening cupboard doors and eventually takes out a large, blue ceramic bowl, the outside covered with brightly colored tropical fish. I scoot the golden cubes into it using the side of the knife.
She grabs a piece of pineapple and pops it in her mouth, lingering a bit with her lips around her fingers. “Have you ever been in love?”
I glance up at her mouth, watching her suck her fingers, and then look back at the cutting board, my insides twisting again. I want to suck on her fingers and kiss her hard on the mouth and—
Ay.
The panic I felt after waking up from the nightmare floods back into me.
Why do I feel so nervous?
I force myself to concentrate. “Nope. Never been in love.”
