Waking Up Gray (13 page)

Lizbeth smiled to herself and disappeared up the stairs, yelling down to Gray, “Come on in. Coffee’s ready in the kitchen.”

She heard Gray go down the hallway to the rear of the house. Lizbeth dressed quickly. She had a lot of work to do to ready for the storm, so she threw on an old tee shirt and her gray shorts. She brushed her hair, pulling it up in a ponytail, put lotion on her face, legs, and arms, and then waited. Pretty soon, she heard Gray coming back down the hall. Lizbeth sat very still on the edge of the bed, listening. She heard Gray pacing in the parlor below. Finally, Gray could be patient no longer.

“Hey, are you ever coming down from…”

Lizbeth timed it perfectly, appearing in the middle of Gray’s lament. “Good morning,” she said, nonchalantly.

Gray grinned broadly. Lizbeth could almost see the hook peeking out of the corner of Gray’s mouth. Lizbeth was trying not to laugh and turned her back on Gray, going to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. Gray followed right behind her.

“Good morning to you, too,” she said. “I was wondering if you wanted me to help you get everything secure, before the storm.”

Lizbeth poured another cup of coffee. She leaned against the counter while Gray stood in the doorway. Gray had the hopeful look of a child trying to talk a friend in to coming outside to play. She was so adorable this morning. The dark shadow that had crossed her face last night was gone. Lizbeth couldn’t help grinning at her.

“What about your house?” Lizbeth asked.

“Already done. Only thing left is to close the storm shutters and that can wait till later.”

“My God, Gray, how long have you been up?”

Gray, who was glowing with excitement, said enthusiastically, “Since five.”

Lizbeth tried out her best seductive smile. She raised one eyebrow in question. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

Gray blushed, grinning. “Something like that.”

Gray came toward Lizbeth and the game changed quickly. Gray spit the hook. She stopped just in front of Lizbeth and leaned around her to retrieve the coffee cup she left there. When she did, she got as close to Lizbeth as she could without touching her, then straightened and took a drink from her cup, while looking at Lizbeth over the rim. Oh God, she was smooth. Lizbeth’s heart was pounding in her chest. She was at once relieved and crestfallen when Gray took her cup and sat down at the little table by the back door. Only then did Lizbeth remember to breathe.

Gray watched, wearing a self-satisfied grin as Lizbeth followed her to the table and sat down, just like the pied piper leading the mice. Lizbeth no longer held the upper hand; she was back to swooning in Gray’s presence. With all the palpitations, breathlessness, and fainting, Lizbeth felt lightheaded most of the time and it wasn’t getting any easier. She wasn’t hiding it very well, either. Gray probably saw something that triggered her next comment.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“No, I just got up,” Lizbeth said. “I haven’t had time to fix anything. I had company pacing outside my door, remember?”

“Do you want me to fix you something?” Gray asked, looking a little concerned.

Lizbeth thought she must be pale. All the blood had flushed from her brain when Gray leaned across her at the counter. Sitting down had helped. She was regaining her senses and her heart was slowing down. Forget fainting, if Gray ever kissed her, she was probably going to have a heart attack.

“No, I’ll fix some oatmeal in a minute,” Lizbeth answered, now that she was feeling better. “So what do I need to do to get ready for the storm?”

Gray hesitated, not fully believing she had recovered, but decided to go ahead with her plan. “Okay, we need to cut two branches back, so they won’t slap the cottage. The rest are okay. All the loose stuff has to be tied down or put away and…”

“Do I have storm shutters?” Lizbeth interrupted.

“No, but Minnie had plywood pieces cut to size. I just have to screw them on. We’ll need a ladder for the top windows.”

“Do you really think the wind is going to get that strong?” Lizbeth didn’t want to climb on the roof and put plywood over the windows.

“It’s not the wind, so much as the crap in it,” Gray answered.

“What if I wasn’t here? Would my cousins have asked you to do it?” It had just dawned on her how lucky her cousins were that she was there and Gray was willing to help.

Gray answered, but she looked like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “No, I imagine Bob would’ve done it. He takes care of the property, now that Minnie’s gone.”

Lizbeth, who had regained much of her strength, leaned across the table. She smiled at Gray, studying her face. “Gray? What did you do, tell ol’ Bob you would take care of it?”

“Something like that.” Gray grinned.

“Okay, then you have to go on the roof. I can’t believe you turned away a perfectly good man willing to do it.”

Gray laughed. “You obviously don’t know ol’ Bob.”

Lizbeth laughed with Gray for a moment, and then said, “So what do we do first?”

Gray stood up. “You, eat. I’ll be back in a minute with the ladder and the saw.”

“Don’t you need help?” Lizbeth said, standing with her.

“No, I got it,” Gray said, backing away. She stopped in the threshold to the hallway, an inquisitive look on her still grinning face. “How long did you make me wait before you opened the front door?”

Lizbeth was the one now caught with her hand in the jar. “How do you know I made you wait?”

“Because you said I was pacing outside your door.”

Lizbeth saw a way out. “But, I could have just seen you when I opened it.”

Gray narrowed her eyes, smiling knowingly. “How long?”

Lizbeth let out a sigh. She was caught. No way around it. She said meekly, “Twenty minutes.”

Gray clapped her hands. “I knew it!” Then she hooked her index finger in the corner of her mouth and pulled herself down the hallway and out of sight, still laughing when she closed the front door behind her.

#

Lizbeth and Gray worked side by side all morning. Gray kept Lizbeth in stitches. She was just naturally funny. By lunchtime the plywood was on the windows upstairs, the back of Gray’s Jeep had been loaded with limbs and branches from both their yards, and all the loose items had been put away. Gray had also stopped about ten o’clock, claiming to need a snack, but Lizbeth knew she was just looking out for her helper. They ate the last of the peaches and cream, because if the power went out, the cream would spoil anyway.

“When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait for the power to go out because it was the only time I could eat all the ice cream I wanted,” Gray told Lizbeth.

“You sound almost excited that a hurricane is coming,” Lizbeth said.

“There is something energizing about a hurricane. Maybe it’s all that raw natural power, and then there’s all the cool stuff that blows up on the beach after a big storm.” Gray thought for a second, then said, “I think some of my fondest memories are riding out storms in that cottage across the street.”

After they ate lunch with Fanny, consisting of sliced fresh tomato sandwiches and big glasses of milk - because the milk wouldn’t last, either - they hung the remaining plywood pieces, leaving only the windows on the screened-in porch uncovered. They were both tired and dirty when they finished. They sat on Gray’s porch, drinking iced water, and admiring their handy work. Lizbeth was exhausted, but the sweating and hard labor had eased the tension she’d been carrying in her body, and somehow energized her at the same time. Watching Gray’s muscles ripple under her tanned skin, glistening with sweat, might have had something to do with it, also.

They had been sitting quietly, slumped in two of the big rocking chairs, when Gray said she needed to take a shower. Lizbeth needed one too, so they parted and agreed to meet back at Gray’s at five o’clock. Gray had something else to show Lizbeth.

“Bring a jacket, or a sweatshirt, and some pants. You might get cold,” Gray said at the screen door, once again standing, holding the door open for Lizbeth. “And hey, do you drink beer?”

“Yes, I’ve been known to drink a beer or two,” Lizbeth said, smiling as the grin spread across Gray’s face.

“Any particular kind?” Gray asked.

“No, I’m easy,” Lizbeth answered, and then registered how that must have sounded.

Gray didn’t miss a beat. “Oh really? I hadn’t heard that about you.”

Lizbeth giggled. “Yeah, but I heard it about you.”

“That’s not true,” Gray said, in mock defense. “You heard I was a rogue. I think that means I’m on the lookout for easy women.”

“Well, I guess you found one,” Lizbeth teased.

Gray laughed, adding, “We’ll see.”

#

Gray was waiting beside the Jeep, parked in front of her cottage, when Lizbeth emerged from her front door. The wood they had collected was still in the back, joined by a cooler and a blanket. Gray beamed at Lizbeth as soon as she saw her. Gray’s childlike excitement twinkled in her eyes. She wore a pair of very faded, old jeans, holes in the knees, slung down on her hips, a plain white tee shirt tucked in at the waist, and no shoes. Gray did casual very well.

Lizbeth was running out of clothes that she had not already worn. She hadn’t expected to do a lot of socializing, so she brought only two suitcases, one with summer things and one with things to wear when the weather turned colder. She debated for a while and chose function over glamour, picking her white clam diggers and a comfortable teal, cotton, sleeveless tee to wear. The teal made her eyes an even deeper shade of blue. She threw her windbreaker and a pair of sweat pants in the canvas bag, as Gray had suggested.

They left Howard Street and found a spot on the beach down at the point, south of the village. The sky was still clear, with just a few swirling clouds, and the wind on the beach wasn’t too bad. They had the entire area to themselves. Occasionally someone would come by and yell, “Gray!” out a vehicle window, to which Gray would throw her hand up in the air and wave, but no one stopped.

Gray brought Lizbeth to a spot where someone had dug a wide deep hole. The remains of a once roaring fire lay in the bottom. Gray unloaded all the pieces of wood from her jeep into the pit, arranging it so it would catch fast, but she didn’t light it.

When she finished stacking the wood, Gray climbed out of the pit. She opened the cooler, grabbed two cans of beer, and placed them in neoprene coozies, designed to keep the beer cold and their hands dry. She handed Lizbeth one of the beers and held out her free hand for Lizbeth to take.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk,” Gray said.

Lizbeth took Gray’s hand and they strolled down by the water’s edge, looking to see if the ocean had departed with any of her treasures yet. Gray rolled her pants legs up so they could walk in the edge of the surf, occasionally having to scamper away from a particularly fast approaching wave. Gray would pick up shells and tell Lizbeth their scientific name and then the name by which most people knew them. They laughed and giggled up and down the beach. Lizbeth never let go of Gray’s hand. They were comfortable together. Well, except for the enormous sexual tension in the air.

The sun was nearing the horizon. Golden amber burst from the glowing ball and streaked into the heavens. The building clouds, twisted like large meringue wisps dotting the sky, were now tinted with the pinks of fading day and the deeper blues of coming night. The sea was angry. Large waves crested over eight feet high at the sandbars, sending frothy swells crashing toward the shore. Foam gathered at the waterline, moving with each successive series of waves, and blew in clumps caught in gusts of wind across the wide beach.

Gray led Lizbeth back to the fire pit. She started the fire and soon the flames bathed them in a dancing glow. The sand berm around the edges of the pit prevented the wind from blowing the sparks too badly. Gray unfolded the blanket and smoothed it out over the sand. Lizbeth sat down with her next to the fire, where they could watch the waves and the flames at the same time. Gray got them both a cold beer from the cooler, being careful to put the empty cans in a bag she tied to the cooler handle. Gray explained that she adhered to the rule of not leaving anything but footprints behind.

Gray was propped up on her elbows, her legs stretched out in front of her. Lizbeth was leaning back on her hands. Their positions put them at eye level with each other. They sat close together, but not touching. Still Lizbeth could feel electricity jumping from her body to Gray’s and back. She was sure, with the right kind of lens, she would be able to see the little blue lightning bolts emanating from their skin. She half expected her clothing to burst into flames any minute. Even the all-consuming crush she had on James when they first met had not been this intense. Lizbeth could swear she could feel the air move with every breath Gray took beside her. One of the most beautiful beaches in the world surrounded her and all Lizbeth could see was Gray.

Gray looked away from the fire and back at Lizbeth. She smiled. They hadn’t said anything to each other for a few minutes. Gray said, “I like that we don’t have to talk all the time. I mean, you don’t ask me what’s wrong if I get quiet.”

Lizbeth understood. “Sometimes I need to stop talking so I can hear myself think.”