by Nat Burns
I waved my hand at her to let her know I would be all right if I could just catch a full breath and ease the pain in my throat. I tried to rise and she leapt to help me.
When I gained my feet, I heard her gasp. “Oh, Angie, your neck.”
I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but my voice was a sad croak. She stared at my neck and reached out a hand to touch the area. I touched her arm, opened to her, and saw that my neck was scratched, with red welts and purple bruises already appearing. I was going to have a lot of fun explaining that to Mama.
“Let me get you some ice to put on that,” Grey said.
I shook my head. I’d had just about enough cold for one night.
Grey
I watched Angie as she slept in my bed, Oscar Marie curled next to her. Angie was so beautiful and the brutal welts and bruises on the delicate skin of her neck made my heart hurt for her. I was also terrified.
I had figured, perhaps expected, that a ghost was too vaporous to do physical damage. That their damage consisted of the psychological terror they caused by catching us off guard. But here was Angie, bearing the actual marks of a spectral attack. I didn’t know how to file that away and make it innocuous.
I glanced down the hallway into the brightly lit living room. There would be no way I would turn off all the lights at night ever again.
All was quiet right now, though, and I was grateful for that. I had cleaned off the bed, putting my clothing back into the covered bins at the foot end. I was so glad that I had finished when I had, or Angie might have been hurt even more seriously.
I sure was getting tired of neatening up after this bothersome spirit. I thought of the Suzy panel, knowing I would have to fix that in the morning.
The unfairness of Mary ruining the panel paled in comparison to her hurting Angie. I looked at the sleeping woman again. She stirred restlessly. I laid a calming hand on her leg where it rested beneath the comforter. She whispered my name in her wounded, croaking voice, and I looked at her to make sure she was still sleeping.
Even as roughly spoken as it was, I thrilled when she said my name, which meant she was thinking of me. I realized an interesting truth about myself then: it was imperative that I be important in her life. I had never thought about it before, but as much as I missed Mary, I was also craving being important to Angie.
Feeling restless, I rose and walked through the eerily quiet apartment. Often at night, I heard voices outside. Not tonight. Instead, I heard the persistent slap of the waves, but nothing else. The sound was womblike. I felt as though it was the calm before a storm, and an odd sense of unease began to steal across me. I rubbed my palms over my bare arms for comfort. I was glad I wasn’t alone tonight.
After checking the door to the Bookmark to make sure it was firmly locked, I checked the door to the deck outside. Everything seemed secure. I turned off the overhead light in the kitchen, but left on the two lamps in the living room.
Angie remained deeply asleep when I returned to the bedroom. I went quietly through my usual bedtime preparations in the bathroom, and then returned to the bedroom.
I looked down the hall, at the small couch I could easily convert into a cozy bed. I looked at Angie one more time, at her bruises, and carefully joined her under the blankets.
Angie
I woke to a horrible pain in my chest and throat and a delightful sensation in my arms. I lay on my side, my arms around Grey, who rested in the front curve of my body. I felt the warmth of Oscar Marie on top of the comforter, tucked into the curve behind my legs. I let my face fall into the sleekness of Grey’s flaxen hair. She smelled heavenly. Even though I was in pain and needed to help Mama with breakfast, there was no place on earth I would rather be than right here.
I opened to Grey, but she was still asleep and dreaming. I don’t receive dreams well, but I enjoyed the bonding I felt by opening fully with her. I was always afraid to deeply enter the senses of someone I cared about. I didn’t want to know too much about how they felt. Mostly because it was an invasion of privacy and secondly, I didn’t want some momentary ill will about me to come across. Receiving that kind of information was like being bludgeoned with a weapon. I would not set myself up for that, but here, lying together with Grey sleeping, it felt good to allow the bonding on that intimate, deeper level. I’m not sure I would have done it with her awake, but I had no problem venturing in while she was slumbering. I did feel that her sadness had abated somewhat, which pleased me.
Grey woke slowly, probably disturbed by my slight movements or a change in my breathing patterns. I felt it and began closing off. For a brief moment, she snuggled into my embrace, but realization dawned and I sensed her pulling away.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she murmured, slipping from my arms.
“No.” I discovered my throat was raw and the words just wouldn’t come out normally. My hands flew to my throat. I managed a whisper. “Not a problem. Like it.”
Sitting on her side of the bed, she turned to me. I melted. She looked so beautiful in the early morning sunlight, all warm and tousled from sleep, her hair cascading across her face. Her green eyes were clear and emerald colored this morning.
She saw my neck and sorrow tarnished her gaze. “I am so sorry Mary hurt you.”
I wanted to tell her that it may not have been Mary, but didn’t feel as though I could get out enough words to explain. She saw my difficulty and rose, showing me a beautiful glimpse of bare thigh below loose tap pants as she shrugged into a long flannel shirt.
“Let me get you something warm to drink,” she said. “Coffee. I’ll be right back.”
After she left the room, Oscar Marie stretched and followed her, so I eased off the bed to my feet. I still wore the shorts and shirt I’d worn yesterday. Stretching my sore body gingerly, I followed them into the kitchen.
Grey was leaning to switch off the lamp in the living room. I became transfixed by her long, tanned legs and the gentle curve of her bottom beneath the silky short pajamas. I felt an uncommon wetness pool in my center, but knew I had to wait until all this haunting craziness was solved before I could acknowledge the depth of my attraction.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked while standing in the center of the dining room, her hands on her hips.
I shrugged and splayed my hands helplessly.
She pulled out a chair from the table. “Well, at least sit down. I’ll get you some coffee. Do you think you could eat scrambled eggs?”
At my nod, she busied herself in the kitchen. I stared out at the bay and pondered my next move. First, I would pop over and see Mama, and then go home, pack a bag, and come back. I would stay here with Grey until I got to the bottom of this insanity. What did the ghost want from Grey? Obviously, if it was Mary, she was violently jealous. I fingered my neck thoughtfully. But what about the attractive redhead? How did she fit into this? I noted the book of poetry. Grey had rescued it from the floor and placed it facedown on the coffee table.
Grey handed me a cup of coffee. I saw its paleness and looked at her quizzically.
“Yes, I added cream. And sugar. It’ll soothe your throat. Deal with it.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.
I had to chuckle to myself, even though it hurt. One just didn’t say no to Grey Graham.
I sipped the coffee and indeed, it was soothing. I drained the cup just as she set before me a plate of softly scrambled eggs with a side of mixed fresh fruit cut into very small pieces. She took my cup and refilled it while I dug in. She joined me moments later and we breakfasted in companionable silence.
“It’s good having you here,” she said finally. “Comforting. I’m glad I don’t have to go through this insanity alone.”
Nodding, I found I could speak again, albeit roughly. “You shouldn’t. I’ll be here until its over.”
“You know,” she began, idly smoothing her thumb against her ceramic cup. “My mother was a big believer in ghosts. I always thought she was blowing smoke, trying to scare me. I’ll neve
r doubt her again.”
“Life changing,” I agreed.
I thought about Mama’s stance on ghosts and realized that it wasn’t something we’d ever talked seriously about. I wondered about Grey’s relationship with her parents.
“Where are your parents?” I asked.
“Mother died of breast cancer when I was sixteen…”
I grasped her hand across the table, feeling her loss. She looked at our clasped hands, but let them remain together as she continued.
“My father remarried. To a woman he worked with. They moved to Wyoming so I don’t see them but once a year.”
“Siblings?” I released her hand after seeing her mother’s face. Grey looked much like her.
“Nope, an only kid. That’s why I started cartooning, I think. To make friends for myself.” She smiled. “Suzy is actually my longlost older sister.”
I returned her smile. “Me too,” I whispered. “Just me and Mama.”
“Your mother is sweet,” she said, cocking her head and studying me. “I like her a lot.”
I nodded, and then laboriously explained my plans for the day.
She glanced around the apartment. “How about I go with you? Would you mind?”
I captured her gaze. Something passed between us, as solid and tangible as the dishes on the table. I realized anew that we would be together. I saw that she was coming to understand it as well. Not on that psychic level where I lived, but on her own earthly plane. I think she knew we’d found one another at last. That she had found her home in me.
“Come with me,” I whispered.
Grey blushed, the crimson starting at her smooth neckline and moving upward to her hairline. “I’ll…I’ll get ready,” she said quickly.
Grey
It was good seeing Angie’s mother, Maylie, again, but I’m not a hundred percent sure she accepted our abbreviated account of how Angie got hurt. She kept looking at me like I had done it, which perplexed me. I didn’t want to give credence to the idea by mentioning it, yet at the same time, I wanted to reassure her I would never deliberately hurt Angie. Never.
We spent a good half hour trying to get Angie the day off, as Maylie made a few calls to find people who could cover her
daughter’s obviously day-long shift. I realized then how much of a partnership the two women had in operating the business.
I sat at the bar, observing and sipping even more coffee, and watching the weather on the television behind the rail. A storm was brewing. There was much debate about how low in the nation the front would drop.
Dallas would be affected for sure, but the storm was slated to dip as low as Houston. I knew Houston was prone to severe flooding, so hoped the bad weather wouldn’t linger long. The forecast called for several inches of driving rain, high winds and lightning.
“Okay,” Angie whispered, approaching me from behind and laying a hand on my shoulder. She glanced at the television briefly and shook her head as if in disbelief.
I followed her to her Jeep. We had a pleasant ride through Port Isabel and out into the Fingers region that I had read about in the brochures. We passed a large, formal yacht club and a quiet residential neighborhood, and then we were at a small cottage—Angie’s place. The small home fronted North Shore Drive, but the back appeared to open right onto Laguna Madre Bay.
“Wow, you live out here? This is still part of the Fingers area, right?” I asked.
Angie came around the Jeep and took my hand, silently leading me across her front yard and to the far side of the house. From there, I could see, stretching off to my left, the true Fingers with their homes and condos reaching all the way to the water. Most of the homes had extensive decking that reached out into each wide channel. Waterfowl were everywhere, pelicans even roosting outside residential doorways. I noted that just about every home had a boat moored into a type of floating garage or dry dock below the building proper.
The area was like photos I had seen of Venice, Italy with narrow peninsulas of building crowded land stretching out into shallow waterways that were used like highways. It might have been smaller and shallower here perhaps, but I’d never seen the like in real life. I had a sudden urge to kayak between the homes. I laughed at the folly of that idea. I’m sure I would be topsy-turvy and underwater in no time.
I turned to Angie and saw her watching me, her eyes filled with a serene fondness. I leaned into her and kissed her. It happened without warning, without plan. I just felt drawn in and unable to help myself. There was something about Angie, something special.
The kiss was innocent at first, but one of Angie’s powerful arms went around my waist. I was crushed into her body and I suddenly wanted more. My mouth opened for her. I invited her to fill me with her essence.
The kiss deepened. The world disappeared, snatched away into the ever-present sea breeze. All I felt was Angie’s wind- roughened lips against mine. She smelled like the ocean and earth blended, a powerful aphrodisiac that shot through me, igniting feelings that had been dormant too long. My desire swelled, my body rising like the ocean at high tide.
I pressed against her, my breasts and pelvis soft cushions between us. My hands left Angie’s arms and roamed along her upper chest to feel the hard planes of muscle I had sensed there. I cupped her head in my hands even as her hands moved lower on my back, grasping my bottom and pressing me into her even harder.
A hiss of pain doused cold water on our union. I realized I had inadvertently touched the bruises on her neck. I stepped back quickly, moving to the distance of her outstretched arm. Her hand still held mine by the fingertips. Her eyes were dark pools of slate blue desire.
We were both breathing heavily. We studied one another for the better part of a minute as the world returned with boat sounds, people sounds, and the sounds of water and wind.
She smiled at me, an indulgent smile of promise. I know my face and neck had turned bright red. She grasped my hand more tightly and pulled me toward the cottage door. I hesitated.
“I’ll behave,” she croaked, seeing my doubt. “Promise.”
I followed her inside, wondering if I could behave.
Her cottage consisted of three large open rooms. I noticed right away that Angie lived very simply. She had only a few pieces of furniture including a sofa, which she pressed me into, an easy chair and a coffee table with only a candle on it. The kitchen was as neat and simple as the main room. She headed there and returned with two bottles of water from the small refrigerator.
“Wait for me. I’m gonna shower and change, okay?” she whispered.
I nodded. One of her hands gently brushed my cheek as she moved away. I keenly felt her absence and mentally shook myself.
Standing, I wandered across the room to the sliding glass doors. The bay stretched before me in its own particular glory. The waves heaved, with froth like white lace slapping against the breakwater below Angie’s private deck.
What was I thinking, trusting Angie? Surely this…was she seducing me? I whirled and looked at the interior of the cottage. So many things remained unexplained.
I wanted to take her at face value, but had to wonder what the money was for—a matter of financial need, or was she one of those con artists I’d read about who prey on wealthy tourists? Maybe she was a drug addict.
I strode into the kitchen and guiltily opened a few cupboards. Angie had the bare necessities only: a few dishes, a handful of mismatched silverware. A laptop computer rested on the bar separating the kitchen and living room. I noted a pet bowl and a small bag of cat food, but no cat that I could see.
I strode across the main room and peered into the bedroom. The double bed was made haphazardly, the clothes Angie had been wearing tossed across the foot of it. I saw a tall bureau and a mirror hanging on the partially open bathroom door, but that was all.
I heard the shower running. Steam had already frosted the face of the tall, thin mirror. A huge trusting part of me wanted to go join Angie in the shower. But that other part, the part
that told me about my vulnerability since Mary’s death, kept me paralyzed.
The noise of the water switched off abruptly. I rushed back to the sofa, my breathing ragged.
Angie
We drove back to Grey’s house slowly on a meandering, sight-seeing path. I wanted Grey to see Port Isabel from a native’s viewpoint. We went out North Shore and came back in along Trout and up Island Avenue so she could get a good feeling about all the Fingers.
I drove along back roads, showing her secret inlets that the tourists knew nothing about. We stopped and watched a congregation of egrets and a tall, dour, great blue heron as he high-stepped among them. We searched for dolphins off Pompano, but didn’t have much luck.
It was fun racing along the wind with her, and fun having an entire Saturday off work.
I was still warmed by that incredible kiss we’d shared and I was flying high. She seemed subdued, though. I hoped she wasn’t already regretting that moment of bliss.
I figured she was thinking about Mary. I had felt her sadness about Mary’s death, so I knew it still affected her, but I was patient. I would wait for her to heal and certainly would not push for anything more in the meantime.
It was late afternoon by the time we got back to Grey’s house. We had stopped at Pirate’s Landing for shrimp baskets, which we ate sitting out on her deck as the sun made ready for bed.
“Why do you think Mary is doing this to me, Angie?” Grey asked quietly. The ruddy glow of the lowering sun rested on her fine features when she turned her face toward the water.
I lifted an ankle and rested it on my opposite knee, chewing as I gave her question some thought. I took a large gulp of water so I could more easily swallow with my still smarting throat.
“I’m not sure,” I finally said. “You say your relationship was a good one. Maybe she is angry that you are living on. Doesn’t understand it.”
