Emotional Waves

by Miller, Maureen A.

  Was she crazy? How could her body respond to his touch at a time like this?

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  Brent sat back on his heels, and then after watching her for a moment, stood up and rested on the edge of the bed, facing her.

  “You’ve been through too much today. You need to sleep. Lay down here on the bed and I’ll take the loveseat.”

  Jill snorted. “You are about twice the length of the loveseat.”

  “I’m not going to sleep, Jill. I need to think.” He stood and moved to the loveseat beside her. His proximity made her edgy so she switched positions and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I need to think as well.”

  Brent shook his head. “Don’t think. The more you think, the worse you’ll feel about me.”

  Jill held her forehead in her hand. One thing was true. It hurt to think about it all. Maybe just a few minutes rest would clear her head.

  “I’m just going to lie down for a few minutes.” She eyed the door, watching the handle to see if it moved.

  Brent followed her gaze. “Sleep, Jill. I’ll be watching out.”

  “You need to sleep too,” she mumbled as she put her head back on the pillow and felt the blissful tug of oblivion, a siren too strong to resist. She tried to engage in conversation, but in a matter of moments the sanctity of that void claimed her.

  ***

  Jill opened her eyes. The lighting was dim−just a tabletop lamp in the corner. It took a moment to recall where she was, but she had no concept for time. Turning her head she found the digital clock in the same location as it had been in her cabin. It read 3:16am. She lifted onto her elbows and glanced past her feet to find Brent awake and watching her.

  “Haven’t you slept?” she whispered out of reverence to the quiet.

  “No,” his response was hushed.

  “You can take the bed, and I’ll take over the watch,” she offered.

  Brent chuckled softly. “My protector, hmmm?”

  “I’ll be your protector as soon as I have a chance to run to the bathroom.” She shimmied to the edge of the bed and padded on bare feet to the bathroom. When she returned, Brent had not moved except for the fact that his head was tipped against the back of the loveseat. He looked much older now, with fatigue etched at the corners of his closed eyes. Though they were closed she knew he was not sleeping.

  “My protector has returned,” he murmured.

  Jill opted to sit on the edge of the bed and face him.

  “You could have a protector very easily, Brent. You can get the authorities involved.” She leaned forward and wanted to touch his outstretched leg.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, dammit. Yes you can.”

  “Jill.” He shifted to the edge of the loveseat, his elbows crooked on his knees so that he was only a few inches away.

  The room was dark, but a light from the bathroom glinted off his eye and cast half his face in shadow. Her glance dropped to his mouth and felt the momentary numbness in her ears as she recalled its hot assault on hers.

  “There is no point in rehashing this. I can’t, and tomorrow you will go stay with your mother, and all I can ever do is apologize with all my heart for the pain I’ve caused you.”

  “The pain is the part I can walk away from…what about−” Jill sat up straight. “What about the kiss? What about tonight? Was it so−”

  He reached for her hands and held them between the span of bed and couch. “It is the reason I’ve been sitting here awake all night, torturing myself with the temptation of watching you. Tormenting myself with what I can’t have.”

  “I’m right here.” She clutched his hands tight. “You can have me. In the morning we will go to security and report Luis as the man who vandalized my room and it’s over. You can let them know he has your friend’s money. Authorities will be waiting at our next port. It will all be over.”

  It sounded like such a valid argument so why was his expression resigned? Why did he not share her enthusiasm? All it would take was one small signal on his part and she would be in his arms.

  “You’re shaking your head,” she whispered.

  “Don’t you see, Jill? The less you know, the safer you are. As much as I want you, I owe my family. I have a debt I need to repay.”

  “Owe? A debt? You owe your family money?”

  An empty grin formed on Brent’s mouth. “No,” he sobered. “I owe them my life.”

  There was finality to that claim that made Jill’s lips clamp together…for a moment. “If your family knew that you were chasing some guy who took money from your friend, they would be doing the same thing I am right now…arguing with you to go to the authorities.”

  Brent let go of her hand and reached up to rub his fingers at the apex of his nose. He kept his eyes shut and the furrow on his forehead indicated he was in pain. His hand dropped from his face into his shirt pocket as he extracted a folded piece of paper. He handed it to her.

  My associates do not want any feds involved.

  Jill held the paper and felt her stomach cramp when she read the text. She had never been exposed to raw danger before. Her world was quaint and convenient, with no unsavory elements. Now she meets a man on a cruise, and her cabin is destroyed, and she is hiding out in fear from the criminal−fear that the thug and his associates might return. She swallowed but there was no saliva in her throat.

  “Of course he’s going to say that,” she argued. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

  Brent took the letter and put it back in his pocket. “It is.” His eyes cast to the floor, avoiding hers.

  “Tell me,” she commanded. “There is more to this. Tell me, Brent. It puts me in no greater danger, if that is your argument not to−and it helps me to help you.”

  “Why in God’s name would you want to help me? It’s not safe for you. You need to go. How many times do I need to say it? You need to run as far as you can. Hell, if it were up to me I would put you and your mother on a plane on the next stop.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” She rubbed her knee. “So here we are. It’s 3:00am. There is peace for the moment. Tell me, Brent.”

  “You are a pain in the ass.” His husky voice bore a hint of sad humor. He cleared his throat. “I can’t go to the authorities because these people have Al’s−my friend’s parents.”

  “That’s terrible!” Jill gasped. “But, but−I don’t want to disrespect your friendship−but why are you here? Why are you sacrificing yourself? It’s not even your family.”

  ***

  “It’s too long a tale to tell, Jill.”

  And it was a tale he had not shared outside of immediate members in his life. There was never a woman close enough to confide his past with. When he finally made it back to the states and enrolled in the University of Florida, the story was still too fresh−something to be secreted at all costs. But Jill was in danger because of him, and instead of running as she should have, she kept coming back. And tonight, the way she kissed him− it had taken his connection with her to a higher level. It had been near impossible to sit here in the dark and watch her body sprawled out in his bed, and not touch her.

  “I have nowhere to go.” She sat back.

  Jill’s dress was hiked up to mid-thigh as she crossed one black-stockinged leg over the other. In the dim light and with the hosiery barrier he could not see her scar, but she kept dusting her fingers over it.

  In this dark cocoon, with this woman, he felt at liberty to talk.

  “When I was a teenager,” he began, “we used to take my father’s boat to the Caribbean every summer. Each year he made the same speech. There are a lot of rich people in yachts down there. We have to check out the competition. Neither Mom nor I would point out that he could check out the competition down the road, or on the internet−or even that there were many who might consider him one of the rich people. We both enjoyed that time with him−when he was away from work and just focused on fun with the t
wo of us.”

  Brent watched as Jill scooted up higher on her elbows, her attention fixed on him.

  “One summer,” he continued, “we were off the coast of Barahona in the Dominican Republic. Dad and I were spearfishing, and Mom was reading a book. It was close to noon and it was so hot out. I hadn’t caught anything and I was getting frustrated, so I told Dad I was jumping in for a quick swim before lunch. He waved at me and started packing up some of our gear because we were moving around to the other side of the island. Puerta Plata was our destination for the night.”

  Brent glanced down at his hands, imagining them sifting through that crystal water, broadening the distance from Coales Cove.

  “I never strayed too far. It was the one thing Dad was vehement about. I had to be in his eyesight at all times.”

  “That sounds like my father,” Jill whispered.

  They shared a smile and he continued. “At one point when I came up from underwater, I heard a motor−another boat approaching. I started back towards the Cove.”

  He thought he could do this, but the sound of that boat drawing near drowned out his thoughts. If there had been a lineup of cruisers with their motors revving, he could forever identify that sound.

  “I couldn’t see the boat. I was on the other side, but I heard their motor cut and I noticed Dad turn that way. He made a motion to my mother to stay put. The next sound was gunfire and my father−my father went down.” He choked and tucked his head.

  Jill was up and on the loveseat next to him, her hand on his thigh. Focus on her hand, Brent thought.

  “I swam as fast as I could, but I wasn’t fast enough. I heard the voices and then there were more shots. Then I saw Mom slump over and−” Focus on Jill’s hand. No nail polish. She was real. “−and fall onto the deck. I must have shouted because a man appeared at the rail. It was hard to focus on him. He was eclipsed by the sun, and there was salt in my eyes−but I could see the gun in his hand. I saw the strap around his shoulder, holding it in place, and then I saw it swing in my direction,” he hesitated. “And then I heard the shot.”

  Jill made a throaty yelp of protest.

  “I’m told that I didn’t wake up for several days. Al said that I probably didn’t want to wake up.”

  The hand on his thigh rose to touch his cheek. He wanted to lean into that caress. “Your scar?” she asked.

  “Yeah. That one, and one you can’t see on my scalp.”

  “Oh my God, Brent.” Her voice was hoarse. “What happened?”

  He cupped her palm against his cheek as if the warmth had the power to heal his scar.

  “Crime is not as big in the Dominican Republic as it is in Haiti, and we’ll really never know where the pirates came from. I like to call them pirates. It’s easier to say than murderers. I’m told that they took everything they could and left. A local boy heard the shots and saw me in the water, but was afraid to approach until they were gone. As soon as he could, he pulled me on shore and his father swam out to the Cove−” he hesitated, “−my parents were both killed.”

  Jill’s gasp was overtaken by the staccato echo of gunfire lodged inside his mind.

  “Brent.” She slipped her arms around his neck and drew his head down into the crook of her neck. It felt good. It felt so good. Not the physicality−it was the comfort she offered. The only comfort he had ever received was from Maria Petri. She would sing to him in the middle of the night when he would wake to nightmares. He would pretend to fall back asleep, but would cling to that Spanish melody.

  Brent inhaled a fortifying breath of honeysuckle and drew back.

  “Al and his father−they brought me to the hospital, and I guess days later when I finally woke, I couldn’t remember anything. I knew my first name, but the pirates had taken my parent’s identification so it took awhile to learn my identity. In the mean time, the hospital released me to Alfredo and his family because they didn’t know what else to do with me.”

  “Alfredo.” Jill injected. “Your friend who is being blackmailed?”

  “Yes.” Brent glanced at his cell phone sitting on the coffee table to see if the green light was flashing. “For nearly a year, Arnaud and Maria Petri cared for a complete stranger who barely knew his name. They worked on healing my wounds and they worked on healing my mind. I owe them my life and so much more− and now they are being used as collateral in an extortion plot.”

  “Oh God, Brent. I had no idea.” She paused and frowned, “Petri? Your friend’s name is Alfredo Petri? Not the Alfredo Petri? Not the pitcher, right?”

  Brent snorted. “Yeah. That would be the one. Except, when I knew him he was just a scrawny kid who I had to force to play ball with me.”

  “No wonder they are trying to extort money from him. There is talk of him signing a three year extension deal for forty million.”

  “How do you know so much?” Brent crossed his arms but was amused by the look of awe on Jill’s face.

  “Well heck,” she said. “Anyone can read the front page of MSN, but I do happen to work with the Groupers…sort of.”

  “Ahhh,” Brent nodded, grateful for the diversion from the original topic. It helped him to disassociate for a moment and concentrate on his captivating audience. “You mentioned you freelanced, I didn’t realize you worked for the Groupers as well.”

  Jill frowned. “They have their own photographer. They’ll buy some pictures off of me occasionally.”

  Puzzled by her expression, Brent said, “Their photographer must not be that good then.”

  For a second she looked at him wide-eyed and then she let loose a soft laugh and shook her head. “No. No he’s not.” The mirth fled and she squeezed his thigh in earnest. “Tell me what happened, Brent. If you feel up to it, please tell me what happened to you after that day.”

  “You realize I haven’t slept yet.” He teased.

  Chastised, Jill removed her hand and nodded. “You’re right. You go lay down and I’ll watch over you.”

  “How about−” He took hold of her hand and rose. “We lay down together and I’ll tell you more.”

  He saw her hesitancy as her eyes flicked from him, to the bed, and back again.

  “I’ve wanted to take you to bed all night, Miss Perry…but for the moment you’re virtue is safe with me.”

  “What fun is that?” she joked, but he could see she was torn.

  They lay down on the bed with their hands still connected. Brent crooked an arm behind his head and tried to ignore the scent of the woman beside him. Only the subject matter of the conversation at hand overpowered the need to reach for her.

  “Jill,” he spoke to the ceiling, not chancing a look at her lying on a pillow beside him. “I’m never going to be able to forgive myself for what I’ve done to you.”

  “Enough with the martyrdom,” he could tell from the trajectory of her voice that she also spoke to the dark recesses above. “Did I not pursue you as well? The situation is very bad−but Brent, I have been with you the past few days because I wanted to.”

  “You didn’t know all the facts. I was innocent to you until today.”

  “Never innocent,” she said. “But I knew most of the facts when I kissed you.” Before he could respond she added, “Now tell me about that summer, Brent. I want to know what happened to you.”

  He sighed and laced his fingers tighter with hers. “When I was released from the hospital in the Petri’s care, I spent a week of not even comprehending where I was. I had no perception for what happened, so maybe that was a good thing. Realization had not yet kicked in. I was with people that I didn’t recognize, but I didn’t think there was anyone I could recognize. I believe they asked me for names of family members, but I knew nothing. I didn’t even speak to them for a week. But Maria, Al’s mom…she never left my side. She would clean my wounds and she would sing to me at night…and I never said a word to her. But I knew she was there. She was all I knew for a week. Pretty soon I began to be aware of Al. He fed me and would talk non-stop.
He would talk about school. He would complain about his father’s hogs. He would tell me about the girl down the road with tiny pigtails that made her look like a cat. The sound of his voice was something for me to focus on.”

  Brent cleared his throat. “They spoke English around me, which was great…but most of the time, I didn’t really recognize the words, just their intonations. By the time clarity started returning, these people represented my reality…everything else was unknown.”

  “Arnaud Petri seemed larger than life to me. He was of Haitian decent and had a strange accent. He did not speak to me much that first week, but I remember the day−” the recollection made it impossible to speak for a second. “I remember the day he took me to the shore where it happened, and he told me everything. He told me that my last name was Coales and that my parents had been identified from the boat. He said the American Citizens Service was trying to locate relatives, but that unless they contacted someone soon, there were no funds allotted for transportation of the bodies. He said we can bury them here with their family rather than−”

  “Don’t−” Jill squeezed his hand.

  “It’s okay. You see, as he was having this conversation with me, I had a disassociation. It was like talking about people I didn’t know. The pain had not set in yet. I understood what he was saying, but I didn’t feel it. All I could say was, yes.”

  Some of the tension seeped out of Jill’s grip, but he knew she was now on her side, her other hand on his arm−a connection in the dark.

  “For a couple of months I just existed with this family. Al and I grew very close. I even went to school with him. Heh,” Brent chuckled. “It was in the backyard that we would throw a couple of old baseballs through a tire hanging from a tree. Al was so good at it I told him to go out for the team at school.”

  “Finally, I started remembering, and that was a really tough time for me. I remembered Warm Winds Boating, and I remembered my mom’s sister, Aunt Rita. I called her and it was a very emotional conversation. She said she would fly down and bring me home and that I could stay with her−” Brent hesitated. “I always liked my aunt. She was a little flaky. She owned an arts and crafts shop in Bradenton. I got along well with her…only, at this point I felt closest to the Petris. Their home had become my home. Al was my best friend, if not a brother. I didn’t want to leave.”