Luna, thrilled to have something to talk about besides how the food tasted—good, why thank you—dropped her fork. “Sunrises too. That’s the best part of living out on the water—sunrises and sunsets.” She pretended to paint on the sky with an imaginary brush. “The beauty of the heavens when you rise and just before you sleep. It’s like having your very own art collection, epic paintings on the sky.”
“Okay, that’s a much better way to put it.” Beckett leaned forward both elbows on the table, fork hanging down, lingering, watching her, as she picked up her fork and returned to eating.
Her eyes were down. Her cheeks reflected the sunset’s hues.
“I have to know more. How long have you been living a Nomadic life?”
She looked up. “Since forever. I can’t remember anything else.” She mirrored him, leaned forward, fork hanging down. “Have you always lived on the Mainland, what’s that like?”
“It’s interesting. There’s sadness because of all the, um, changes, and a lot of fear. But there’s also some joy. I think some of us feel like that was a close call, but we survived, and now we need to go on. Live your life, you know?”
“I do know. That’s the Nomadic creed.” Luna smiled pushing her plate away, finished. “I want to hear more about your great-grandmother the sea captain’s wife.”
“Oh, her? I think she was actually my great-great-great,” he counted on his fingers, “great-grandmother, Jane. The way I heard the story is like this: Her husband George was out at sea all the time. Every time he left, Jane begged him not to go. She begged him to quit and become a store clerk, to stay home, but instead he made promises, ‘This is the last time,’ or, ‘this time will be short,’ or, ‘I’m saving money for my store.’ And he would leave and be gone for months and months and months. After a decade of this, he left one day and never returned home.”
“He died?”
“Lost at sea. Jane waited for a while, but then she decided not to wait anymore. She also decided that she hated that ocean. Hated it. She moved inland and never looked at an ocean again, extracting promises from everyone she loved to never dip a toe in the sea, ever. For generations that’s been the way we’ve lived. Even as the ocean rose, creeping closer and closer, my family heads to higher ground.”
Beckett pushed his plate away and leaned back. “I guess the point of the story is this—I take after my maternal multiple-great grandmother and don’t much like the ocean.”
There was a twitch in the corner of Luna’s mouth. “Funny, I was thinking you shared a lot of qualities with the sea captain. Hard to get more out to sea than this.”
Beckett chuckled, nodding. “You have a unique way of looking at the world. Maybe it’s all that time floating on water, gives you a clarity.”
“I don’t know, I don’t feel very unique. Have you met many Waterfolk? We’re all a lot of the same.”
“Point made. But I don’t know, like I said before, you’re different.”
“I just seem that way because I’m alone, there’s no one here to compare me to.”
“We’re most of us alone now. You’re lucky you still have a family.”
“True.” Under his gaze, Luna shifted her focus to the horizon. “Well, sea captain, the sun is going down, the last night aboard your ship. This is my mostest-favorite time, this epic change of light. If you watch—don’t blink—and catch the exact moment that the sun disappears over the horizon, there’s a flash of light. It’s hard to see.” She turned her chair to face the sun.
Beckett watched her silhouette, the pink glow on her cheeks and nose. But he also wanted to please, so he tore his eyes away directing them at the sun.
“Okay watch, don’t blink, keep watching—there! The flash of light, did you see it?”
“I think so?”
“Oh, you would know. If you don’t know then you missed it. My mother told me it’s the moment when the instruction sheet to the whole wide world is shown to us, but our eyes are too weak and our brains too uncomprehending to see it. But if we could see it, the instructions hidden in the flash of light, we would be able to solve everything, understand it all.”
“Now I wish I had tried harder.”
“You don’t have to speak in past tense. You have every night of your life, Beckett, every night.”
“True. Thank you, Anna.”
Luna gulped, swallowing down what she really wanted to say and instead saying, “You’re welcome.”
Chapter 17
The sun was gone The last light of day faded as pink hues and lilac glimmers. The night sky slowly darkened as ultramarine, reaching, spreading.
Beckett stood, stretched, and picked up their plates to carry to the kitchen counter. Luna followed. Beckett filled a dishpan with suds and warm water and dropped the dishes in. Luna said, “Let me wash, I love bubbles!”
“Only because you love the bubbles. It is your birthday after all. I’ll dry.”
Beckett and Luna did the chore side by side. Her arm touching his. His hand brushing along her fingertips. Chatting about nothing and everything while they worked.
Finally, Beckett dropped his dishtowel to the counter and deposited the last dish into a box labeled ‘mess’.
Luna dumped the dirty dishwater over the side of the Outpost.
It was fully night now. The corner lights were on, spiraling and turning, signaling that the Outpost existed, jutting up out of the sea, still, and shouldn’t be crashed into by boat or paddler.
Please don’t. Don’t.
Luna was watching the lights spin and frolic in apparent opposition to their intent: caution, warning, command, when Beckett interrupted, “Do you like to dance, Anna?”
“Who, me? Why, you do?”
“Sure, on the mainland we do all the time, and I was thinking you and I ought to, especially under an epic sky like this.”
The sky, while they washed up after their meal, had filled with stars, creating a canopy that out-sparkled the blaring signal lights. He leaned to a stack of equipment in the corner, pushed buttons, and a song began. “Have you heard this?” The sound of acoustic guitar flowed from the speakers.
Luna shook her head.
“This is Blaise Portnoy. He’s popular right now. I saw him live once.” He held out a hand, with such intent in his eyes, that Luna’s heart skipped, then sped up.
“Um, I don’t know how.”
Without dropping his gaze, or his hand, he asked, “Can I teach you?”
Luna had passed the point of being able to talk. She nodded and somehow, though disconnected from the thought processes that usually moved her body parts, got her hand to his.
He swooped his other arm to her waist and pulled her in…close.
She giggled.
With his cheek pressed to her hair and her body hugged, he walked her backwards, out of the kitchen to the middle of the rooftop.
The sky was epic. Beautiful. Stars flung from one horizon to another. Or, because it was difficult to see the horizon, and with the stars reflected on the sea, it was like the whole up and down and all around was encrusted with stars. Music lilted.
Beckett said, close to her ear, “This dance is called the two-step-rock. Just rock back and forth like this.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “One and a two, one and a two. Then you roll out on my arm like this,” he flung her out and away. “Look in my eyes—good—and then one and a two, one and a two. Now wind back to me.”
Luna rolled in, pulling up, wrapped in his arms, her back to his front. A breath of warm air tickled her ear as he said, “One and a two, one and a two.” He switched hands and then rolled her out and away on his other arm. “And one and a two, one and a two,” and then she returned to rock in his arms. “One and a two, one and a two,” he whispered close to her ear, “it goes like this, indefinitely,” causing Luna to feel dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the twirling.
The song ended and silence filled the Outpost. Beckett lingered, his mouth at the edge of
her dark hair, just above her ear, her hands in his, both of them rocking back and forth to the echo of a song that no longer played.
His voice resonating, he asked, “What did you think?”
Without letting go of his hands, Luna raised their arms turning in place to face him, front to front, a wide, electrified, quarter-inch apart. A quarter-inch that caused him suffering, so he shifted forward, closing it by an eighth. Another song began, a slower song.
She spread her arms out slow and down, bringing his with them, mirrored, less speaking, more breathing the words, “I like. Am I doing it right?”
Beckett pulled her close, rocking her in a slow uncomplicated circle. “Yes.”
Luna wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in.
Beckett sang a line in her ear.
As he sang she pulled closer, pressing.
They rocked and spun and turned and occasionally he pulled away and spun her down his arm and while she was away, they looked deep into each other’s eyes, mirroring, concentrating, watching, until she returned with a twirl, nestling into his arms again.
Finally, the third song ended.
It was like he woke up. Beckett panicked. What was he doing? He was supposed to be unemotional, distant, detached, and here he was completely utterly totally attached. He wanted to take her to bed, to carry her home, to make her his—
He dropped his arms, stepping back. “So that’s dancing, mainland-style.” He rubbed the palms of his hands all around on top of his head, looking right and left, anywhere but at Luna. Backing away, he said, “It’s got to be getting late. I wonder what time it is?”
“Beckett?”
“Hold on, I’ll check the time. You’ll want to sleep before—”
“Beckett. What are you talking about?”
Beckett said, “I’m just—I want to make sure—”
Luna stepped forward, really, dizzyingly close, and looked up into his face. “What?” asked like another breath.
“I shouldn’t. I’m not supposed to.”
“Yet here you are and here I am.” Luna placed her hands into his, entwining his fingers around.
He said, “I promised you that it was okay, that you were okay.”
“Yes, you did promise.” Luna pulled his hands behind her back, stood on tiptoe, and gently kissed him on the lips.
His hands let go, his arms slipped around, and he half-lifted her, weightless, pressing his lips to her mouth. They kissed long and slow.
Then Luna slid down and gently tugged him toward the wall. “Come see the water, Beckett.”
He followed her to the edge—her knees against the low wall, him standing behind. He wrapped his arms around, hugging her in, holding her back from—
She said, “When you’re on the water at night, and it’s still like this, I can’t tell where the water ends and the universe begins, and isn’t it really all the same thing, anyway? Dust and water flung through space and—”
Beckett had no answer, his lips were focused on the steady thrum of the pulse on the soft edge of her neck, and he couldn’t be bothered with one more second of—he turned her and kissed her harder, his tongue playing between her lips. Then he asked, “Can we step away from the wall now?”
She smiled and walked forward, forcing Beckett backward, returning to the middle of the rooftop.
There they kissed again, this time deep, their lips open, their tongues glancing and playing. Beckett’s hand was in the back of Luna’s hair, the other on the small of her back. Her hands were between his shoulders pulling him down and on and further and in.
Beckett pulled away. “Anna, are you going to spend the night with me?”
She asked, “You mean, again?”
He said, “No, I mean, really?”
Luna smiled, “I knew what you meant. And yes.”
Beckett, fingers in her hair, kissed her lips for their perfect answer. Her hands were on his elbows bringing him closer until Beckett pulled back. “Just a moment. Can you wait right here like this?”
He jogged away and returned hidden behind an armful of bedding, including pillows, blankets, and his great grandmother’s quilt. He dropped the pile on a chair, and in unison Beckett and Luna each took up the opposite edges of a blanket, unfurled it, and laid it flat. Then they placed a blanket on top and then another. Beckett tossed two pillows at one end of the square and Luna dropped the quilt on top. And then...and then.
Suddenly they were awkward.
The first kiss: done. Second kiss: done. An agreement had been struck. A bed, made. Beckett pulled her in for another kiss, yet in their excitement—or tense intensity—neither one knew how to drop from standing to the floor. Luckily, Luna’s stomach growled, audibly. She giggled.
He appraised her at arm’s length. “You’re hungry?”
“You would think two plates of chicken Alfredo would be enough, but I must be growing.”
Beckett teased, “But, you’re nineteen today.”
“I’m also Waterfolk, we have longer growth cycles.”
“Would you like more dinner, or rather should I say, second dinner?”
“I believe that there was my dessert stomach signaling for a tad of something.”
“I’m not big on dessert, but let me rustle something up.” Beckett disappeared into the kitchen. He called out, “Do you like chocolate?”
Luna called back, “Who doesn’t like chocolate?” She dropped to the bedding, wrapping the quilt around her legs.
He reappeared saying, “Me, that’s who,” carrying a chocolate bar and sitting down in the bedding, facing her, knee to knee. He presented it with a flourish.
Luna tore open the paper and broke off a segment. “Yum, milk, my favorite.”
Chapter 18
Beckett watched her as she chewed, smiling. Then his smile faded and his eyes grew serious. He changed his focus to his thumb rubbing along her knee. Concentrating on steadying his breaths, remaining reasonable, being the kind of guy who could laugh with Anna Barlow while she ate and kiss her without consequences, but instead he was having trouble holding it together. He felt like every single second within her reach had very serious consequences. And he wasn’t able to get away, but also, didn’t want to try.
Luna saw his mood shift. She wasn’t sure why, but he had gone serious. And she could either stay where she was, in chocolate and dancing and epic skies, and watch him as he shifted away, or she could meet him there, but she was scared. Because she wanted him, and she had a place in her heart that she didn’t want him to know about, but god, she desperately needed him—and to make that shift with Beckett suddenly seemed very serious indeed.
Chapter 19
Luna carefully wrapped the paper around the end of the chocolate bar and put it to the side. Then she rose up on her knees and leaned forward to Beckett’s face. She kissed him, deep, her tongue flitting and playing in his lips. She stopped kissing him and groped for the bottom of his t-shirt, pulling it up, passing it over his arms and head, and tossing it away.
It landed in a bucket of water with a splash. “Oh! I’m sorry.” Luna giggled as she climbed his body until she was straddling his lap.
He said, “No worries, needed washing anyway.”
She kissed his neck and up to his ear. “But it’s in the dirty sink water.”
He rubbed his hands down her back. “Sink water? What are we even talking about, sink water? Shirt? I’m having trouble concentrating.” They chuckled with their lips pressed together.
She wrapped her arms around the back of his head. “Are you now? Because I feel like you’re intensely focused.” She wiggled on his lap. He groaned and tugged fruitlessly at the bottom of her tank top. He pulled at it but it was tight and wouldn’t budge. “I can’t…”
She grinned, leaned away, and pulled her shirt up and over on her own, flinging it across the rooftop toward the garden.
“Now your shirt is off I definitely can’t think. Where are we even?” Beckett curled around her ch
est, holding her tight, nestled in her breasts, suckling and kissing. Her breath quickened. He pulled her down, heavier on his lap. Urgently.
“We’re in the middle of the ocean, just me and you, and you want me desperately.” Her voice was a whisper in his ear, then she kissed down the side of his cheek to his lips.
“I do, Anna, I really do.”
She clamped her eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Beckett, I …”
“Yeah?” His hands caressed down her back, pulling her closer.
She closed her eyes tight, gulped a deep breath, “Never-mind,” and pressed her lips to his mouth until she forgot what she wanted to say. She pushed him back to the pillows and bedding, shimmied down to his pants, unbuttoned them, and pulled them to his knees. He rose up on his elbows and kicked them off.
She peeled her yoga pants down, kicked them away, and sat down, a knee on both sides at his waist, hovering over him, rocked forward on her arms, head bowed. She kissed the corner of his lips, and then deeply with her tongue in his mouth. His hands gripped through the back of her hair, rubbing down her back, rocking closer and closer, until it wasn’t close enough. He firmly pulled her hips down and on and himself inside.
A moan escaped him. Her breath caught in her throat. She pressed the side of her forehead into his cheek and found a rhythm as she moved her body up and down on his—his breath close to her ear as she rocked. His hands moving—rubbing along her back and her hips and her thighs. Her small moans coming faster and deeper.
She took his hands in hers, pushed them over his head, and held them there, panting into his ear, pressed long on his body — stopped, deep, stilled, stretched, the pause long, her panting in his ear, his heartbeat pounding in his chest, then a gasp as waves rolled through her body. He pulled his hands from hers, held her hips and thrust again and again, until he climaxed, with her moans hot in his ear.
Leveling Page 5
