He slips his open palm over my hand
and entwines his fingers through mine. I look over at him and he pulls me in
his arms. He holds me for what seems like hours. I’ve never felt more torn, confused
and uncertain in my life.
I’m at the lowest of lows right
now. I feel like the pause button is pressed, and I’m not able to move, one way
or another. I wish I could rewind the last few months.
“It’ll be okay. It will all work
out.”
“That’s what you all keep saying,
but I see no evidence that even points in that direction.”
“I know this is difficult, but I
want us to work this out together.”
“How?”
“By taking it one day at a time and
being honest with each other. Do you want this? Do you want to be with me?”
“I do, more than anything I’ve
wanted in a long time, but now I’m so afraid of hurting you. I did that once
before, and I don’t want to do it again. I’m afraid that it’s inevitable if we’re
together.”
“I’m over it. It’s time for us to
move on. I know this isn’t going to be easy, but I think it will be harder if
we try to do it apart. When you left last night I realized that.”
“I miss you so much.”
“Baby, I miss you, too.”
He hasn’t called me that in weeks,
and I feel some sense of relief at the sound of that one word. That one word
carried so much weight and I notice now how much I longed for, and needed to
hear it.
Cupping my face in his hands, he
kisses me tenderly and tightens his grip around me. I don’t want this moment to
end. He pulls me close, and this time his tongue brushes my lips and I part
them, returning his caress and welcoming him in.
I have no idea how or what is
making this possible, but in this moment of extraordinary adversity, somehow,
we find our way back together. He circles my body, holding me close in his
arms. For a moment, just a moment, I think maybe he might be right. Maybe this
will all be okay.
Pulling away, Morgan says, “I keep
hoping there’s some logical explanation for this, but the more I hear, the more
questions I have.”
“Did you hear something else?”
“I’m not sure what to make of it.
After dad got out of surgery, he seemed to be in a talkative mood. He said he
was disappointed that he had to miss the trip because he hadn’t spent time with
Robin in a long time. Several times recently, when speaking to her, she said
she had to go because she had plans with Dad, including just last week. If she
wasn’t with Dad, I wonder where she was. And she hasn’t stopped by or been at
so many things we planned together. Look how long it took for you two to meet.”
“How are we going to sort this
out?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to
think about it right now. I’m exhausted, and your red eyes tells me you haven’t
had any sleep either.”
“No. I sat on Jada and Jonathan’s
deck until sunrise. My heart was breaking. I was so sure we were over.”
“I can’t let you go. You mean too
much to me.”
“You do, too.”
“Let’s try to relax and get some
rest and not think about this for a few hours.”
“I know we’re both tired, but do
you think you could take me somewhere for a drive? It always helps to clear my
head and relax a little.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Surprise me, the more beautiful
the better.”
“I have a great idea.”
He kisses my hand then laces his
fingers through mine. While we drive, I listen through the speakers as Morgan
makes a phone call.
“Hello?” says the voice of an older
man.
“Hey Uncle Tony, it’s Morgan.”
“Hey. How are you?”
“I’m great. You’re at work today?”
“Yep. Just getting ready to clear
everyone out.”
“I know it’s after hours, but is it
okay if I stop by?”
“You know I always make exceptions
for you.”
“Great. I’ll see you in about
twenty minutes.”
After he ends the call, I ask, “Who’s
Uncle Tony?”
“My mom’s brother. He’s a
lighthouse keeper at Point Bonita Lighthouse. Ever been?”
“No.”
“It’s beautiful. You’ll love it.”
Soon after crossing the Golden Gate
Bridge, we start the scenic drive. The evening is beautiful. Blue skies and
ocean are endless to our left and San Francisco’s most prominent landmark can
be seen in the distance behind us. To our right, vivid green rolling hills and
mountains are dominant throughout our drive along the winding road.
We arrive at a point with a small
parking lot. A narrow walkway continues in, but barricades block our path.
Morgan parks, and we start our stroll alongside a long, white wooden fence.
Everyone else is heading in the opposite direction. One or two strangers have
told us the lighthouse is closed.
We eventually come into view of the
lighthouse, perched upon a rocky peninsula. Scores of people lag behind, taking
photos of the ocean, the rocky bluff, and the Golden Gate Bridge in the
distance.
Waves collide violently with the
cliffs on either side of us, but it’s soothing. I taste and smell the salt air
in the atmosphere, and with every step we take, I’m happy that we’re here.
“This is stunning. Thank you for
bringing me here.”
Morgan tightens his arm around my
shoulder and kisses my head in response.
The walkway appears to cut through the
hillside then a blackened tunnel through a hill. The final leg is onto a small,
suspended white wooden bridge where an older Hispanic man smiles as he waits.
“Morgan.” A broad smile beams
across his face.
Morgan circles his arms around him
in a long embrace. With black hair, and chocolate brown eyes, I’m guessing he’s
probably in his mid to late seventies.
“Uncle Tony, you look great. Meet
my girlfriend, Zoë.”
“Pretty name for a very beautiful
lady.”
“Thank you.” I blush. “It’s nice to
meet you. Thank you for letting us visit. I’ve never been here before.”
“My pleasure. Anything for my
favorite nephew.”
“I’m your
only
nephew.”
The older man laughs in response.
“Come. I’ll give you a quick tour.”
“You really don’t have to do that,
I just wanted Zoë to see it.”
“
Ahhh
it’s not a problem.
How are your sister and your dad?”
“We had a scare with Dad this
morning. It turned out to be his gallbladder. He had surgery, but he’ll be back
home tomorrow. And Robin went to L.A. for the week to visit José’s family.”
“That’s great. Wish your dad my
best. I haven’t seen Robin in almost a year.”
“Really? She told me she spent some
time with you a few weeks ago.”
“She was supposed to, but she
called and said something came up.”
Morgan looks a little confused. I
suspect that’s not quite the story that he got. He doesn’t comment further on
the matter.
“Going to retire anytime soon?”
Morgan laughs, as if knowing the response to that question.
“You know the answer to that. I
love this place. Been here all my life, and this is where I intend to live the
rest of my years.”
We listen on and follow him as he
tells us the history of the place, I’m sure Morgan has heard this many times
before, but he indulges his uncle. By the time he’s done, the sun hovers over
the horizon and a pretty purple and orange hue glows over us.
Uncle Tony locks up, and we all
take the cool walk back to our vehicles. We say goodbye. After Uncle Tony
drives away, we stay at the lookout point and watch the sunset. There’s a
constant breeze and while sitting on the hood of the car, Morgan envelopes me
in his arms, keeping me warm as we take in the views. The last set of people
parked next to us leave, and we are alone to relish the afterglow.
“I miss being in your arms like
this.”
“I miss holding you like this.”
I turn to face him and kiss him
lightly on his lips. He circles his opened hands to the back of my neck.
Pulling me toward him, he teases my lips. He parts his lips and taunts me with
his tongue. I fold my arms around him and welcome him, taking him all in,
tasting him.
I miss his body, his kisses, but
most of all I miss the way I feel when he makes love to me.
He surrounds my ass in his palms,
raises me up and places me over him, so I’m now straddling his thighs as we
kiss. He tightens his hold around me as I deepen our kiss. I’m hungry for him,
I need him, and as I move my hips above him, he comes alive. His hands creep
underneath my skirt, pulling it up and the chill from the evening air tells me
my ass is exposed. Then with my ass in his palms, he guides my swaying hips
over his erection.
“God Zoë, if you keep this up, I’m
going to fuck you right here.”
I don’t relent; as we kiss, I start
to unbuckle his belt. Releasing the button of his jeans, I hear loud music,
screams and laughter. A Jeep Wrangler with a bunch of teenagers pulls up about
ten feet away.
Morgan quickly pulls my skirt down.
“I think we better finish this at the house.”
On the drive home, all I can think
about is that kiss and what we almost started on the hood of this car. Make-up
sex is the best and after a month of not being well and our break up, I look
forward to rekindling our relationship and making up for lost time.
We drive home in a comfortable
silence. Morgan’s fingers lace through mine. We stop at a light. He releases my
hand and tugs my left leg over to his side of the vehicle. I watch as he slips
his hands between my thighs. Through the fabric of my white panties, he slowly
starts to caress me.
For the first few minutes, I’m
determined to keep my cool. I
will
make it home in one piece… or that’s
what I keep telling myself.
Gently, he strokes me with his
fingers. Then slithering his hands into my panties, he penetrates me
repeatedly.
I’m so wet and aroused. I find
myself holding onto the headrest of the seat, kneading my core against the
pressure of his fingers, swinging my hips until my panties become completely
soaked. Through the wet fabric, I am extremely turned on at the site of him
sinking his fingers inside me.
Panting, I say, “If you don’t stop
this, you’ll ruin the seat of your beautiful car.”
“Those are replaceable. Nothing can
replace the look on your face every time my finger slips inside of you or every
time I rub that nice, swollen clit of yours.”
I can’t help but notice the bulge
in his jeans; I lean over, release his zipper and stick my hand down his pants.
“You’re going to cause me to have
an accident.”
“You started it…”
“I’ve created a devil,” he laughs.
With some effort and finagling, I
whip his cock out and slowly start to caress him with nice long strokes until
he become slippery in my palms. Finally, he pulls his hands away from between
my thighs, putting them both on the steering wheel.
After some time the vehicle
drastically slows down. “Baby, sit up and close your legs,” he says, fixing his
clothing as well.
We’ve arrived at the house and at
the gate. Lucas and three other guards are huddled together. They are all
looking at the hand of one of the guards. When they notice Morgan, they all
step aside to allow him to drive through. As we get closer, I notice blood on
one of the guard’s shirts.
“Everything okay?” Morgan asks.
“What happened?”
“He caught his finger in the gate
while it was closing,” Lucas responds. “We’re just wondering if he needs
stitches or if it might be broken.”
“Come to the house, and I’ll take a
look at it.”
Great. Just what I need… yet
another delay.
We drive through and while Morgan
attends to the injured guard, I head upstairs and take a shower. I’m surprised
when I’m done he still hasn’t returned upstairs. I try to take a nap, but I’m
unsuccessful in my efforts. I preoccupy my mind upstairs in the room over the
detached garage. Morgan told me I could use it as my office and see clients
there if I wanted until it is safe enough for me to go out on my own.
I take my measuring tape and laptop
up there to start organizing the space, but when I get there, stacks and stacks
of art supplies that occupy every corner of the room distract me—from brand new
canvases to shelves and shelves of paint in every color and medium imaginable.
A large, untouched canvas sits on
the desk in the room. I am tempted to try my hand at painting.
I hear Morgan calling out my name.
“I’m up here.”
I watch his body ascend the spiral
staircase. His hair is wet, and he’s wearing his old blue jeans and a black
T-shirt. He must have showered.
“What are you doing?” He wraps his
arms around me and kisses my neck from behind.
“I was thinking of trying my hand
at painting. How’s the guard?”
“He’ll be okay,” he says.
“You didn’t tell me you paint.”
“I don’t. This belonged to the
previous owner.”
I stop, feeling like I’ve imposed
on something sacred. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I never stopped to consider—”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s not
dead. She just moved back to Sweden. She told me I could do whatever I want
with it. Go ahead, paint.”
I hesitate, feeling like I’ve
crossed an unwritten or unseen boundary.
“Go ahead,” he coaxes.
“I will if you help me,” I respond,
picking up the brush and handing it to him.
He takes the brush. I’m excited to
see what he’s going to do on the canvas but moments later, something brushes
pass my neck. His hands circle my ass.
“I thought you said you were going
to help me.”
He glides his fingertips lightly
over my body and submerges the brush into a purple can then splats it across
the surface of the canvas.
“There… I’ve helped,” he says,
pulling one of the straps of my dress down my shoulder.
“
Immm…
I see you’re trying
to make a Jackson Pollock of your own.”