CAYMAN SUMMER (Taken by Storm) (7 page)

I crack a smile. “You didn’t.”

“No.” She manages a crooked smile back. “But it’s true.”

I bite my lip. “I was just out there doing free dive cycles.”

“That’s what I told them.” She punches a button so the bed sits her up more. “You’re now my coach.”

I sit beside her. “Cool.” I smooth my hand over her head.

She closes her eyes and leans into my caress. “He thinks it’s a good idea to keep me trussed up like this for another week so the collarbone can set. After that I’ll just need the sling.” Her eyes open.

“What about your hand?” I pick it up, inspect the fingers, wonder when my ring will fit on them again. “Did we keep it elevated enough?”

“He said that’s just for the swelling.” She wiggles her fingers. “We’re past that crisis now. I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Her fingers still look puffy to me.

She pulls the sheet up to show off her footwear. “I have to wear these new boots night and day for the next three weeks so my ankles heal strong.” Her new boots, lined with support, snugged tight with Velcro, are nothing like the floppy footgear she had before. She looks tired, worn out, strained.

I try to read her eyes. “Did he hurt you—poking and prodding?”

She holds up her morphine pump and pushes the button. “This stuff is great, but it makes me dozy.” She yawns. “He said I’ll need it around the clock for at least another week. Then we can taper off.”

“No more skipping your pills?”

She nods—so obedient today.

I balance her hand on my outstretched palm. “When do you get your cast off your hand?” And your nose, but I don’t want to bring that up again.

She pulls her hand away, lays it on her own chest. “Another five weeks—maybe longer. They’re going to X-ray it tomorrow and put on a new waterproof one to match my nose.”

“Pink?”

“Yes.” She scowls at my tone and sticks out her tongue. “And then we can go to the beach.”

I smile. “Cool.” The smile fades as I remember what I came to tell her. “I got a hold of your dad.”

She closes her eyes and turns her face to the wall.

I bend down, hover over her. “They aren’t mad. Don’t blame you.” I stroke her silky scalp. “You can go home.” I lean closer so I can whisper in her ear. “You rest here another couple weeks, get really strong, and then let’s fly home.”

She speaks in a small tight voice. “I can’t. He doesn’t know.”

“He does, Leese.” I kiss her temple. “He says God doesn’t think you’re guilty. He says they love you.”

“They’ll hate me.”

I nuzzle my lips against the side of her bare head. “Let me call him and tell him I’m bringing you home.” I slide my arms around her so I can embrace her. “They need some hope right now, babe. You got to go home.” I squeeze her close, .

She doesn’t answer.

I kiss the back of her neck.

“No.”

My arms relax defeat. “What happened, Leese? This isn’t you. Why—”

She turns terror-filled eyes towards me. “Don’t ask me. Ever again. If you love me—”

I wish I could press this. What could be so ominous? She looks so pathetic. I back off. “Look.” I slide off the bed and pick up the flowers. “I brought you something to inhale deeply.”

She bends her head toward the branches and tries to smell the gardenias. “Sorry. I can’t smell anything. I’ve got stuff shoved up my nose holding the bones in place.”

“No problem. Let’s get to work on those free dive cycles.”

She looks at me through her eyelashes. “I can inhale you.”

Sugar comes in, unhooks Leesie’s IV, and tapes the needle sticking out of her hand down. I help Leesie to her post-op surgically booted feet, guide her out to my bench, hold her on my lap and coach her through cycles one to three. She’s not ready to pack yet. Then we make out in the sunshine.

She whispers, “Kissing you is the only thing that feels right.”

My lips moves against her mouth. “That’s just the morphine talking.”

“Then let’s enjoy it.” She sucks my tongue into her mouth and keeps it.

I do enjoy that. Way too much. I finally break loose, sit up straight. “Freak, Leese. That so not allowed.”

“But we’re officially engaged.” She picks up the ring, dangling on its chain, and twists it so the diamond flashes in the sunlight.

“No—on our honeymoon.” I nuzzle her neck. “You little liar.”

“You backed me up.” She tries to get my lips again but can’t reach.

“What else could I do?”

“Let me have your tongue back.”

I move my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Not until you can follow it up with more action.”

“Party pooper.”

“Torturer.”

A lopsided grin breaks out on her face. “That totally frustrates you?”

“Totally.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

I peck her lips one last time. “I won’t let you forget.”

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #79, PHIL

They buried my brother
today. It hangs in the air
between me and Michael
unsaid,
untouched,
unwept.

If we don’t speak it,
is it real?
Could it happen
without my words?
My consent?

He’s there in the locker
room, driving the tractor,
dancing with Krystal
wrapped tight in his arms.
Not cold in a coffin
too gruesome to open.
Not slid into a hearse
filled with flowers.
Not lowered into a deep hole
in a place he didn’t want
to rest. Not whispering
at the edges of my soul.
“I’m here, Leesie.
Let me in. I’m here.”

Michael doesn’t bring it up.
Keeps the silence—even
when he tells me about dad.
He sticks by me all day—drinks
half my smoothie, shares his
French fries and does his best
to make this ugly bruised cue ball
so hideous to look at he nearly fainted
feel sexy,
adored,
beloved.

He sits by my bed
while I nap—worn
out by doctors’
ministrations, Michael’s
attentive encouragement,
and holding Phil back.

I dream I’m there.
Dream fingers point.
Dream angry faces
screaming condemnation
surround me.
Dream rocks, big ones,
clutched in their hands.
Dream they raise them high
over their heads and no
gentle Savior intercedes,
no quiet voice says,
“He who is without sin.”
The stones fly but I feel
nothing—they form a cairn
around me. I’m entombed,
untouched—imprisoned
forever.

Hands knock on the outside,
voices call my name—
Michael, my dad—mom—grandma,
even Phil,
and a sweet, strong voice
I know so well.
I block my ears
scream and scream and scream.
Michael wakes me, holds me.

Haunted by his own alternate
reality, he doesn’t leave me alone
with mine. The morphine dulls my pain
but doesn’t make me sane.
He does.

We watch movies all night—
stupid ones, funny ones
and one that makes me cry.
Those tears are the best
medicine yet.
And Michael kissing my
fingertips, lotioning
my itching bare scalp,
sitting on my bed beside me,
dozing on the sofa
when I wake late the next
morning from a sleep touched
only by dreams
of him.

Chapter 7

FOR NOW

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

Dive Buddy:
Alex
Date:
05/05
Dive #:
6
Location:
East End, Grand Cayman
Dive Site:
Cinderella’s Castle
Weather Condition:
perfect
Water Condition:
perfect
Depth:
perfect
Visibility:
perfect
Water Temp:
perfect
Bottom Time:
perfect
Comments:

“Hey, babe.” I close the door to her room and take up my station standing beside her bed. “Ba-abe. I’m back.” She made me go diving. Saturday, too. She knows I’m dying to get out there in the sun and saltwater—knows I wouldn’t leave her for a second unless she insisted. I feel guilty about that first trip I took. Guilty for diving the North Coast on Saturday. But, today, I don’t feel guilty at all.

Leesie sleeps a lot in the day. Nights are hell. But in the day she makes me go to my hotel to get some decent sleep. Then Saturday she started in on diving. “You need to get out of here. I don’t want you to get sick of me.”

At first I was hurt she thought I could
ever
get sick of her. But I didn’t resist long. I mean—it’s diving. Sorry. Hate me. I deserve it.

She seemed happier Saturday when I got back. Slept better that night. Sunday I freaked her out by asking if she’d like me to try to find her a Mormon church to go to. Sugar said she could leave for a couple hours—no problem. Leesie wouldn’t talk to me the whole rest of the day. Had nightmares again that night. At least that’s what Sugar told me. Leesie wouldn’t let me stay.

So when she was calm and sweet again on Monday, I wasn’t going to argue when she brought up me going diving.

“I’ll take you over to the beach when I get back.” I plastered a grin on my face.

She didn’t flash me that smile that makes her so beautiful. Even a tight-lipped smile rarely happens. Her face just looked less sad for a moment. “I’d love that.”

I left her sleeping soundly, and when I phoned from my hotel early this morning, Sugar said she stayed that way all night. I didn’t feel too bad hopping into the burnt orange RAV4 I rented last Friday and practicing driving on the left-hand side of the road like they do here in Cayman all the way around to the East End.

And now, zero guilt.

I’m glad I went.

“Leese.” I press my lips on her forehead. Her scalp is stubbly—like kissing sandpaper, so I don’t do that.

Her eyes open. “Hey.” She purses her lips together until I kiss them. “Scratch my head, okay?” She closes her eyes.

I don’t know if it really itches—she’s numbed up. If she’s drugged enough not to feel her broken collarbone or her ribs smart when she inhales deeply, would she be able to feel an itchy head? I think she likes me touching it. I scratch her head, lightly. She presses into my fingers.

I avoid the gash. She’s supposed to get the stitches out tomorrow. “I have news.”

Here eyes tighten—ready for a blow. “Did you talk to Stan? Are they going to charge me with vehicular manslaughter? Reckless endangerment?”

I move from scratching to rubbing her head. It feels freaky, but I keep stroking it. “Bad guess. Relax. It’s good news. Us news.”

Her eyes open wide. “We’re going to get married this afternoon instead of going to the beach?”

“Better guess.” I laugh. She never gives up. “But not that good.”

She doesn’t respond.

I draw my hand away from her head. “I found a job, and it comes with a place to stay.” The grin I’ve been holding back breaks out on my face.

Her face falls. “How far away will you be?”

I put my hand on her arm. “The room next door.”

“Here?” Her eyebrows squinch up.

“No, babe.” I lean over and stroke her cheek. “I got a job with our—my—favorite dive guys out at the East End. Two of their dive masters took off. They are way shorthanded and can get an emergency work VISA pushed through for me.” She’s not smiling, not excited. I try again. “They are a great bunch of divers. You’re going to love them.”

“How far away from here is it?” She presses her lips together to still the trembling.

“Don’t worry.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ll drive you back down for physical therapy and check-ups.”

She clutches at my arm. “Where am I going?”

I pat her hand—notice her fingers are no longer swollen. “They are going to take you off the morphine on Thursday. Try you on regular pain pills. If that goes well, you don’t have to stay here anymore.”

She inhales, holds it and blows it out. “It will go well. It has to.”

Am I pushing this too soon? “How do you feel about leaving?”

She musters a smile. “You’ve got a condo for the two of us?”

“Yeah. Well—not just us.”

The smile slips off her face.

I cradle her hand in both of mine. “There’s not a lot of decent apartments near the resort, and their units aren’t exactly booked up these days, so they rent out one of their condos to all the foreign dive masters and instructors. There’s like eight of them crammed into one two-bedroom condo. Or there was. And there will be again when we move in.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “I’m moving in with seven guys?”

I don’t like how that sounds. “No. Alex needs a roommate.”

“Who is Alex?”

“The girl running things on the boat today.”