His arms encircled my waist, his chin rested on my right shoulder, and with the rain as a humming choir he began to recite:
Tree
he watching you.
You look at tree,
he listen to you.
He got no finger,
he can’t speak.
But that leaf . . .
he pumping, growing,
growing in the night.
While you sleeping
you dream something.
Tree and grass same thing.
They grow with your body,
with your feeling.
I turned to Gabe and cupped his jaw with my fingertips. Dirt crusted my nails. “That was beautiful, Gabe. What is it?”
“Aboriginal cave-painting poem.”
I stopped on the landing to scoop up Peridot and took one last look at the tree. It seemed to have extended its branches, welcoming the light rain to wash off the exhaust fumes from its erstwhile home and the grime of the highway trip that brought it here.
“I’m hungry.” I closed the door and let Peridot jump out of my arms. “How about you?”
“I could eat,” Gabe said. He walked away toward the bedroom—to unpack and then re-pack.
I followed him. “How about something light to keep us from starving until dinner?” I leaned against the doorframe and inspected my dirty hands.
“Anything, luv. I’m sure it will be tasty.” He opened his bag.
“I had a wonderful time, Gabe.” I crossed my arms against my chest. I tried to keep my emotion from my voice, from unraveling right then and there, I guess . . . but, as usual, something in my voice gave my feelings away.
He looked at me for the longest time, then just opened his arms. I crossed the short distance between us and wrapped myself inside his safe embrace. I closed my eyes, wishing to stay there forever. I wished to be a painted bell on a headboard trapped with him as my sound forever.
Then my stomach rumbled.
“Was it you or me?” Gabe chuckled.
“Me.” I unwrapped myself from his arms. “I’ll go make something to eat.”
“Do you need help?”
“No, but company’s welcome.”
“I’ll be there in a sec, luv.”
I washed my hands under warm water and dried them with a red gingham kitchen towel. I checked to see if Peridot’s bowls were OK. They were both almost empty. I refilled them and got a thank-you rub against my legs before he started eating.
Perusing the fridge I found some prosciutto and a very ripe cantaloupe. A bottle of Galestro, my favorite Italian white, had been chilling on the top shelf since before we left for New Orleans. The thought of a nice plate of prosciutto e melone with a fresh glass of wine doubled the rumbling of my stomach, and I set to work. It didn’t take long at all to peel and seed the melon and slice it into juicy moon slivers. I wrapped the prosciutto slices around each melon wedge and arranged them on a colorful Spanish serving tray. I set the table with indigo place mats and bright yellow cloth napkins. I added a pitcher of fresh water, yellow plates, thick Spanish glasses, forks, knives, and salt and pepper shakers that matched the serving plate. Gabe walked in as I uncorked the wine.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I asked him, pouring myself some.
“Yes, thanks. What kind is it?”
“My favorite: Galestro.”
He laughed. “Do you have a wine that you don’t like?”
I thought about it for a second, holding the Galestro bottle in midair. “Yes.”
“Well? What is it?”
“Chardonnay.”
“Chardonnay?” he asked, incredulous.
I noticed how his face had a deeper tan and a few freckles bridged his elegant nose. “I don’t care for young, un-oaked Chardonnay. Too crisp and tart. When it is aged in oak barrels and then aged in the bottle for a while it becomes creamier—buttery.
“Now, since we’re on the subject of likes and dislikes . . .” I paused, tried to look dead serious, broke into a smile, and then resumed, “what is it that you like about me?”
He cracked a grin. “What is there that I don’t love about you would be easier to answer. You’re the sexiest goofball I’ve ever met, Porzia, and, unfortunately for me, that’s a deadly pairing, luv.” He burst out laughing. That laughter sprinkled over me like joyful confetti.
“Sexy goofball?” I could not believe it. Did he even know the meaning of “goofball”?
“That’s roight.” He leaned over and took my right hand in his and kissed my palm softly. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. Every action, the way you look at life, is with the strength of a mature woman, the purity of an uncontaminated soul, and the sense of humor of a compulsive prankster.” He smiled at me. “The only thing I don’t like about you is how far away you live from me and how much better you look in high heels than me.”
I cracked up. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stop. Through teary eyes I saw him take a sip of wine, watching me, totally amused. He took another sip of wine, cast me an enigmatic look, and grinned. “I don’t like your favorite wine, either.” He reached for my glass and poured the contents of his into it.
That sobered me up. I got up from the table and got him an ice-cold beer from the fridge.
“Better?” I asked him once he had taken a sip.
“Yes, thanks.” He toasted my glass with his bottle. “Cheers, mate,” he said, turning his attention to the tray of prosciutto e melone. “This looks good.”
“Have you ever had prosciutto?” I asked him, handing him the tray with one hand while I wiped tears off my face with the other.
“Yes, you gave me a panino on the plane I liked a lot, but I’d had it before that a few times.”
“Great!”
“I like it with eggs in the morning instead of bacon.” He helped himself to several prosciutto-wrapped wedges of melon.
“This here we usually serve as antipasto back home. But people have it as a main course as well,” I told him, filling my plate. I took a sip of wine and wished him bon appétit. Laughter aside, it was time to eat.
And it was complete: a quiet early afternoon meal with great music in the background, drizzle outside, and the perfect setting inside. We shared the last wedge of melon and then I peeled an apple that we shared as well.
We were just finishing up when the phone rang. I went to answer and Gabe got up, telling me he was going to clean up the kitchen. Peridot followed me to the phone; it could only mean one thing: Evalena. As I picked up the phone to answer, I noticed it had been blinking with several messages I hadn’t realized were there. Busy with planting the tree, I had forgotten to check the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, hon, it’s Evalena.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Oh, you do?” She sounded amused.
“Peridot told me.”
“Sweet kitty.”
“How are you, Evalena?” I asked, smiling at Peridot. His duty accomplished, he left me to amble back into the kitchen. I sat on the sofa armrest.
“I’m well, hon. How’s everything with you?”
“We’re doing great. We got back from New Orleans and just finished a late lunch.”
“Oh, well, I won’t keep you. Give me a call when you get a chance sometime in the next few days.”
“OK, I sure will. Say hi to Rex.”
“Yes, hon, I will. Bye now.”
She hung up, barely giving me a chance to say good-bye back. I hung up the phone and checked the rest of the messages.
Grape Expectations had called as well to follow up with their instructions for the Oregon assignment. I felt a bit apprehensive. I didn’t know this magazine well; however, I knew their reputation for being one of the toughest wine reviewers in the nation, employing
master winemakers and international sommeliers ruthless in making or breaking a name. Fancy how they’d ask a novice like me to contribute an article.
And that is exactly what they told me over the phone when I returned the call. In a scholarly British accent, the voice said that, despite my inexperience, they would like me to submit a piece. The editor in chief, tired of reserve and vintage opinions, had expressed the wish for a vino novello, as we say back home—a young wine. Would it be possible for me to be ready in two to three weeks? Of course, I answered as my brain translated the conversation to: None of those vintages could bother traveling to the Northwest to discover grape pioneers making great wines in a region that has all the qualities, if not more, of some of the best wine producers of the world. Just give them time.
I told the posh voice on the phone I would do it.
“Excellent,” he replied. “We’ll be in touch.”
I hung up with a lingering feeling that the voice sounded somewhat familiar, but I shook it off.
Gabe walked into the living room and we decided to go enjoy the sunset at the beach. We drove fast across bridges, against evening traffic, and made it to Perdido Key Beach with a few minutes to spare. We parked in the main parking lot and found a secluded spot on the beach among virgin dunes and salty mist. The sand, warm with the day’s heat, massaged the bottoms of my bare feet.
Gabe laid out a blanket. In silence we held each other and watched the sun go down, stroking the sky with confident swirls of purples and blazing oranges. Everything around us held its breath.
“It must feel incredible to be the horizon,” I whispered.
“You mean to receive the sun at the end of every day?”
“I mean to be worthy of such an honor.” I turned to face him. I raised my right hand to caress his jawline.
“That’s how I feel when we make love, Gabe,” I told him. “I feel like the horizon welcoming the sun.”
“I can’t bloody believe you just said that,” he whispered.
I looked straight into his candid eyes and showed him my soul.
This love was to know no boundaries, no limits. I shed my veils of defense and allowed Gabe to reach me completely. I unburdened my soul and, with my eyes, I offered it to him with my hopes for our future surging like a high tide.
The sun faded away. A cool breeze stirred, creeping up from the eastern sky, already dark and fast spreading to herald the arrival of evening.
CHAPTER 26
Our last day together.
We had fallen asleep on the sofa where, alone with miserable thoughts as my only companions, I wondered what had awakened me. It must have been the sound of water running in the bathroom. My brain didn’t want to think. It was like trying to hold back an avalanche. The past week had been heavenly; I didn’t want it to come to an end. Not quite yet. Hell, not ever. But Gabe’s bag, packed and stowed by the door, heralded a different end to this chapter.
Why in the world was I even considering dipping the quill of my thoughts into the vivid ink to write of what my life might be like if distance weren’t an issue? I mean, what if Gabe lived here? Not even with me, necessarily, but close enough so we could do this anytime.
I wondered if I could live in Australia. Then I realized we hadn’t even talked about it. So why even consider it? Because I was in love.
How could a flower not bloom? Imagine this seed of love tucked in warm soil, feeding slowly on water and energy. In the darkness, life stirs; from the downward-curled fetal position, the tender head of unborn foliage straightens itself on a fragile stem and breaks through compact dirt. It’s impossible to defy nature. To not go ahead and live? Absolutely impossible!
My own Dreamtime had begun.
The shower was silent. Gabe walked out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a white towel wrapped around his hips. With another towel he was drying his hair and almost walked into me as I reached the door.
“G’day, luv,” he said, bending to kiss my forehead. Drops of water still clung to his chest. I wondered if he’d mind if I licked every one of them off.
“I’m going to jump in the shower myself.” I looked over my shoulder to smile at him as I closed the bathroom door behind me with every intention of taking a long shower and shedding all my tears, but decided I wasn’t going to waste precious time like that. If I needed to cry, I would do it later, after he had left that evening.
I stepped out of the bathroom with my robe on and my hair in a towel. The delicious aroma of eggs and something else sizzling tickled my nostrils. Freshly brewed coffee was in the mix too. I walked into the kitchen.
Gabe handed me a small espresso cup. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve made us breakfast.”
“Mind?” I laughed, taking a sip of the hot coffee.
“I’ve used up the rest of your prosciutto with the eggs.” He handed me a plate with toast and sunny-side-up eggs on a bed of pan-fried prosciutto.
I sat down at the well-laid table, a carafe of orange juice in front of me, and waited for him to join me with his plate.
“Thanks,” I said, pouring us juice.
“No worries.” He took the glass I handed him.
We ate, talking and making plans for the day. I wanted to take it easy and not do too much. He wanted to pack a picnic, go to the beach, and spend the day in the sun. He reminded me that back home it was still winter, and I gave in. He told me he could rest on the plane, making a point to comment that he wouldn’t be able to sleep without me.
We cleaned up the kitchen, packed a light lunch, and headed downstairs to the car. The morning was refreshingly crisp. After the rain of the day before, the humidity hadn’t had a chance to thicken yet. We admired the oleander for a few moments on our way out to make sure it was OK. It seemed to be doing fine. The few blooms it had possessed we had sprinkled along the highway, but I had no doubt it would bloom stronger and fuller than ever once it settled in.
We had a blast of a day. Besides a pair of cut-off denim shorts, I wore only my yellow bikini and almost lost my top a few times as I pretended to be a mermaid and frolicked in strong, agitated waves. Gabe couldn’t believe how warm and clear the water was, even when the tide rolled in, threatening our sprawled junk: towels, suntan lotion, bottles of water, a Frisbee, and a picnic basket. He finally dragged me out of the ocean, literally pulling me away from the waves by my braided hair. What can I say? I just love to swim and play in the sea.
I joined him by the towels, grinning and dripping wet. I felt deliciously fresh against the blazing midday sun. “I want to be a mermaid in my next life.” I laid on my towel inches away from his face and noticed his nose was beginning to burn. I reached for the sun lotion, squirted some on my fingertips, and massaged his face gently.
“Mermaid.” He closed his eyes as I spread the leftover lotion onto his forehead and then down his neck. “Is that your favorite fairy tale?”
My eyes pierced him. “You don’t forget a thing.”
“You’d give up those gorgeous toes?”
“Maybe,” I told him. I shifted on my back to lie down on my towel. The sun felt great against my cool, wet skin. “But that’s not my favorite tale.”
“Your bathing suit’s sheer, luv,” Gabe said in a breath. Against the blazing sun I slit my eyes open and stared down my chin to my chest. My breasts were up at full attention against the thin yellow material of my bikini top. The outline of my nipples was totally visible. I looked around us; we were alone for miles. I rested my head back on the towel.
“If I were home, I wouldn’t even bother with it.”
Gabe gave no answer.
I relaxed. With my eyes closed, I tilted my nose up in the air. My lips tingled with salt drying on my sensitive skin. I was too lazy and comfortable to reach for lip balm in the beach tote. I thought of asking Gabe but . . .
No movement. No stirring. No breathing. No sig
n of . . . anything. Perhaps he’s asleep, I thought, opening my eyes and turning my head to look at him. Suddenly a cold chill ran the length of my spine. A shadow shielded the sun from my still-wet body; I needed the sun back to warm me up. Gabe was no longer lying on his towel. He had quickly and silently shifted on top of me, bracing himself on his hands and knees with the sun a glowing aura behind his solid frame.
It took my breath away.
I swallowed hard. “You scared me,” I told him once I was able to talk again. How in the world did he do it? What kind of life teaches you to move at the speed of light?
“Didn’t mean to.” He lowered his sun-warmed body against mine. And the dripping meltness of a burning candle hit the coldness of a marble slab. Only this marble slab molded itself to welcome the heat radiating from Gabe’s body.
We lay there for the longest time. The sunrays hit Gabe’s back and through him they reached me slowly, not as intense, but still hot and soothing, tinged with my lover’s energy. It warmed me up, not only with heat but with passion as well. My emotional batteries slowly charged up with his love, to keep me from cold and solitude in the days to come. It was an incredible feeling I had never experienced before.
Not in this lifetime, for sure.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“So fast and silently and yet your movements are of such a frugal nature.”
“You should have felt it. I blocked your sun.”
“Actually, that’s all I felt, just a drop in the temperature.”
“Cooler, roight?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I asked.” I looked straight into his eyes. “That’s not the first time you’ve done it.”
Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) Page 28
