by Laura Day
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lori turned around. The water in the surf now crashed against the back of her knees before swirling around her legs and rolling onto the sand as boiling purple foam. The darkness no longer scared her as it had before. It welcomed her into its fold, as one of its own, the prodigal daughter. Clouds danced in the darkness, perfectly choreographed bare-knuckled brawls of brilliance, revealing the secrets of those with no tongue, the dreams of those who had never slept. As peace erupted from that place deep inside her, where the soul forever resides untainted by the truth of mankind, she waited unflinching for the kiss of solitude.
Lost memories clung to the hem of her skirt, selfishly tugging her toward the sea of lost bliss. She fully closed her eyes for the first time to see what lay beneath the veil of hopelessness. Her life was merging with her expectations, shattering them like fragile shards of glass that fly in every direction, piercing everything in their path, and cutting deep enough to never bleed. Her memories flowed before her eyes like the most stunning carousal, lights flickering brightly before disappearing beyond the bend.
She saw her tears, as they quenched the thirst of those clinging to her. In the darkness, they thanked her endlessly for the stain caused by the touch of her strength. It was nourishing with its simplicity and summoned the completeness of her love.
The darkness embraced her, loving her without end. The memories, once thick as the snow on the river banks in January, melted under its touch, merging with the waters to seek the horizon.
All was well.
All was right.
God was in his heaven and his angels walked the earth. They would protect; they would heal. All was right. Lori was infinite now and her angels would heal.
Derrick leaned back against the chair, his eyes marinated with tears as he buried his head into his hands. Sarah’s hand caught hold of his, as they listened to the minister reading the words from one of Angie’s stories. The minister, Reverend Lance Chasum, repeated some of the words, paraphrasing for emphasis, for clarification, as if anyone in the church could have possibly not known what the recently deceased was saying.
“Angie is in heaven now, and her angels will heal,” he said.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the place, as the powerful words she had written before her death, most undoubtedly about the death she knew was nearing, echoed above them. All was well. They, too, would heal.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Derrick sat on the couch, the television blaring unnoticed in front of him. He had somehow gotten through the funeral, but he wasn’t sure how. Perhaps it was the words of Reverend Chasum, as he repeated the words of Angie. He clung to them, knowing they were her. They sang in the choir with her voice and lay behind the smile on Michael’s face. However, it had been like a difficult dream, distant and unattached to anything he knew as reality.
People came, people cried. People said trivial shit, and then they left. Now, he was left alone to deal with it all. The night was the worst, and he did everything he could to postpone going to bed for as long as he could. It was so empty without Angie. Once he was wrapped in the sheets, his head resting on her pillow, he could hear her. He could still feel her around him, holding him. He would heal.
He heard the shower cut off in the bathroom. Her sister had stayed after everyone else had left. He wasn’t sure if she would ever leave. He knew she probably didn’t have anywhere to go anyway. Angie had always said her sister was only one missed paycheck away from being homeless. He didn’t even know her though, and if she didn’t look so much like Angie, he might have even doubted if she was actually her sister. He began to wonder if this too was part of Angie’s story, like she had to make sure they were both ok before she could leave. But the two sisters were nothing alike.
Sarah had been a great help with Michael through it all. After everything Derrick had done, all he had seen, he was lost now and had no idea what to do next. It was good she had stayed. They needed her, he knew that now.
He looked up when she came out of the bathroom and couldn’t help but stare. She did look a lot like Angie. A hell of a lot. While her character remained completely different from Angie’s, Derrick found it hard to not notice the physical similarities. The eyes and the hair were almost identical, as was the way she walked. Even the slight drawl in her voice, though generations removed from actually living in the South, was almost a complete match between the two.
However, there was something else there, too. The whispers he often heard from the railing on the ship at night when no one else was there belonged to Angie. At least the whispers began as Angie’s, but they had changed. He hadn’t been able to put his finger on it before now. They had become different. The same caring, loving sweetness, but somehow different it was different. He needed it like never before. He needed its warmth and longing. It was different. It was…
As she walked by him on her way to the kitchen, he noticed something else that was eerily similar between the two sisters. They definitely looked good from behind. He hadn’t intended to notice, and he sure as hell hadn’t intended to stare, but it was almost unavoidable. The short, silk bathrobe she wore left little to the imagination.
He couldn’t see anything but the top of her legs as they disappeared under the red material; but, it was cut high enough that he knew she wasn’t wearing anything but panties underneath. At least he thought she was wearing them. And while he argued with himself about whether he should even be arguing with himself about whether his sister-in-law was wearing panties or not, her voice startled him.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” he asked, snapping back to the present.
“I asked if it would be alright if I helped myself to something to drink,” she said with a little smile in her voice.
“Oh, help yourself,” he answered, rising from the couch and walking toward the kitchen. He sat at the small table and reached for the pack of Marlboro’s she had been smoking earlier. Angie hadn’t smoked and so he had politely stopped after they were married, though he occasionally allowed himself an occasional indulgence when he was out of the country.
The makeshift ashtray she had constructed from an old soda can was primitive, but effective. He lit one of the cigarettes without asking. Angie probably would have thrown a fit to see it on her kitchen table, but she wasn’t there. She’d never be there again. He lowered his head, feeling a bit shameful for allowing the ashtray and even more for actually using it; but, he didn’t put out the cigarette. He needed it.
“Want one?”
He looked up to see the Jack Daniels bottle on the counter beside the cola. Yea, he wanted one. Shit, he wanted several.
“Yea, I’ll get it.” He started to get up, but she told him to stay seated. He did as she said with little resistance. He didn’t have the energy to argue over things as trivial as chivalry. He took another drag from the cigarette.
“Thanks. Make it a strong one, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s the only way I know how to make them.”
She mixed the drinks, and before too long, mixed some more. They seemed to go down easier each time she filled their glasses.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sarah returned to the kitchen, convinced the stereo was now emitting a proper level of too loud. She took the bowl of ice from the freezer and returned to her seat across from Derrick. The last can of cola had gone empty almost without notice earlier, and the whiskey was chasing it quickly into nonexistence. She refilled the two glasses with the ice and then split the last of the Tennessee sour mash between them.
She watched him down his in one swallow, noticing the new moisture in his eyes. He was hurting as much as she was. Whether it hurt more to be completely alone in the world as she now found herself or left alone to raise a child as he was, she couldn’t answer. All she knew was she had to do something. She walked around the table and wrapped her arms tightly around him.
“I know,” was all she managed. She did know. It hurt like hell. She felt his arms
slip around her waist as he sobbed. Squeezing her, he pulled her against him. His head found a place to rest against her side. She ran her fingers through his short hair, comforting herself as much as him. She was content to let him hold her as long as he needed. When he did loosen his grip, she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the top of his forehead.
As her hand slid over his shoulder, she turned to walk back to her side of the table, but she felt his hand on her arm. Her arm slid effortlessly through his hand as she retreated, but when her hand reached his, he held on. He stood, as she turned back to face him, and he wrapped his arms around her again. It was gentle, and she realized she had perhaps needed this contact more than he had. She felt safer than she ever had.
She hugged him tightly around his chest, welcoming the embrace. When one of his hands rose to stroke her hair behind her head, it seemed more natural than anything she had ever felt. She held him tighter. Somewhere inside, she knew it had to end at some point, but she forced the thought from her head and held him.
His hands found their way to the sides of her neck. His thumbs rested against her jaw lines, slowly tilting her head back so her gaze was facing his. The tears were still in his eyes, built no longer running down his face. A hesitant smile upturned his mouth, as he looked at her. Her mind raced, as she tried to understand whether it was the pain inside, the alcohol, or perhaps something even deeper that triggered the desire to kiss him.
The only certainty she could ascertain was that it felt more like something she needed rather than wanted. She was lost in the depths of his eyes. They were deeper than the oceans he frequented in the Navy, deeper than the sky above her. She closed her eyes and leaned into him.
His lips met hers, causing her mind to swim, but any attempt of rationalizing it was lost. He pulled her against him, as his tongue found hers and his body unified with hers in an embrace of heated necessity. She felt his hands slide down her body, as their mouths danced. They slid over the silk material easily, stopping below her ass before tightening and lifting her feet from the floor. He sat her on the small table, and his grip loosened a bit. As their lips separated, he leaned back far enough to look at her again.
A momentary pause, long enough for her to see the pain in his eyes, had been replaced by passion. Then, he was kissing her again, their hands franticly grabbing at each other. He slid the now open robe over her shoulders and let it fall to the table behind her. His lips fell from hers and landed hungrily at the base of her neck. Sarah leaned her head back, subconsciously giving him the room he needed. As she pulled his waist vigorously against her, her legs slid easily apart on the silk covered table beneath her.
She recognized the need pulsating from him as a mirrored reflection her own. It was completely, distinctly different than any desire or longing she had ever felt. Her soul was thirsting for his, her body ached not for a man, but this man. She could feel his swollen manhood through his pants and her thin, moist panties. Both hands went quickly between her legs, one aggressively finding the cock-shaped bulge at the front of his pants, while the other began to grind itself against the wet material hiding her pussy. She moaned without restraint, compelled by the touch of her own hand and the necessary relief stiffly pointed at her.
Derrick quickly unfastened the pants around his waist, as she moved her hand only long enough to let them fall to his ankles before grabbing him again. Now, only their most intimate apparel separated them. She grabbed him, squeezed tightly, and forced a groan from his lips, throwing her over any remaining line of restraint. Both of her hands grabbed the top of his shorts and pulled them out from his body enough to clear his protruding rod. Then, she violently jerked them downward.
He leaned forward, moaning again as the tip of his dick forced its way against the only thin barrier barring its entry. The force of the short thrust inevitably caused her to spread her welcoming pussy. Any protection formed by the wet barrier her now soaked panties had created became seemingly ineffective. Goddamn it!
His hunger was matching hers. She could feel it in the pressure he applied, as he forced the fabric to stretch slowly inside her with his dick. She didn’t care. Her hands went to her head, fingers intertwining in her hair and pulling uncontrollably. She fell backwards onto the table, welcoming him to do as he needed.
Sarah felt his finger tips slide along her inner thighs, stopping only long enough to meet inside the leg holes of her panties. His dick still pressed almost violently against her. Partially inside her, he grabbed the fabric with each hand and pulled. She heard her panties rip apart, eliminating even the slightest hint of resistance.
Immediately, his dick slid deeply inside her. His balls slapped hard against her ass, as he thrust the entirety of his dick into her welcoming box. His hands grasped her hips and pulled her toward him, synchronizing the pull with the thrust. Ecstatic pleasure overran all other sensations, rendering her mind unable to form a single thought.
“Yes!” she screamed, as he slowly pulled the majority of his dick out of her before slamming it back home again. Each thrust came harder than the one before, as somehow it seemed he reached even deeper inside her.
Her ass slid effortless across the soaked silk which had once hid her body, as she rose to meet each thrust. Her pussy tightened against him and tried to hold onto him as he retreated. Then, it gratefully loosening its grip, as he slammed back inside her. As shockwaves of pleasure took control of her body, Sarah no longer was able to control her own pussy. It tightened around the cock inside her, as her legs began to tremble. Her back arched against him, as he continued to thrust into her.
Slight trembling transitioned to violent quaking, as passion swept over her. She lay seemingly helpless on the table, as his tempo increased. His body began to twitch at times, throwing out any hope that he could maintain the rhythm he had established. She opened her eyes in time to see his face rock suddenly upward, his own back arching, as he tried to maintain his stance between her legs. His groans shifted to a barbaric cry, as she felt him explode inside her.
His climax weakened his legs and caused him to collapse on top of her, his sweat mingling with hers. Her heart pounded inside her chest, as she felt his hot breath on her skin. They both lay there motionless, except for their heaving chests, as they tried to catch their breath.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Derrick returned the receiver to its cradle before walking quietly toward the bedroom. He still had a lot of things to get in line, but he had set the ball in motion. He wasn’t going back to the ship. Michael was adjusting fairly well, but he couldn’t just take off for another six months.
Of course, Sarah would probably stay as long as he needed, but he wasn’t sure how that would affect the boy. She really did look a lot like his mother, but she wasn’t. It was a fact he had to repeatedly tell himself.
Take some time and then make the decision, they had told him. He knew he was supposed to take all the time he needed, but he didn’t need any more time. His decision had been made the moment he knew she was gone.
He opened the bedroom door and stuck his head inside. Sarah was sleeping peacefully on the bed, the bed he hadn’t been able to sleep on the night before. The sex had been incredible, quite possibly life saving, but it was still the bed he had shared with Angie. He held some hope that his late wife would understand the night before, given the grief and the alcohol; but, even he couldn’t understand sleeping in the bed with her, not their bed. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how closely she resembled Angie as she slept.
He pulled the door closed as quietly as he could and walked down the hallway to check on Michael. He was still asleep as well, so he headed for the shower. His head still throbbed a bit from the alcohol, and he was certain a new aroma had been working its way out of his pores. A shower would do the trick.
One of the things he had picked up in the Navy had been the ability to multi-task, especially in the shower. It was one of those things he did so often on the ship that it tended to carry over into the civi
lian world. So, as he stepped into the shower, he already had his toothbrush in his mouth. It saved time and water, but he did it so often, he rarely even thought about it now. The habit had become routine.
Derrick brushed quickly, as he let the shower flow over him. With his pearly whites adequately white again and ready for the day, he put the brush on a shelf and went about the business of making the rest of his body presentable. Shampoo ran from his hair and down his chest, as he used the suds to wash his torso. When the process got lower, reaching the area the military had always been fond of telling him he wasn’t supposed to spend too much time on, his thoughts immediately went to the night before. He shouldn’t have done what he had done. She was his wife’s sister for crying out loud; but, fucking shit, it had been intense. While he still wanted to attribute a lot of what had happened to the alcohol, he also knew he had needed the company, the soft touch of a woman.
However, something had happened that he still couldn’t tell himself was related to the alcohol. He had connected with Sarah in a way he had not expected. It was like fucking her and not fucking her at the same time. He knew she wasn’t his wife; but, somehow, he felt like Angie had been there, almost encouraging the union. She had always talked about how she wished they could help Sarah, how if she could meet a man like him, she would probably be able to get her life together.
