“Yeah, I guess I over did it on my first day.”
Fanny, who appeared to have dozed off, woke up when the other two started moving around.
“Well, I reckon I need to go on in to bed myself,” Fanny said. “Lizbeth, would you like to go with Gray and me to church in the mornin’?”
Lizbeth’s heart leapt at the thought of seeing Gray tomorrow. She was beginning to think an alien had invaded her body overnight. She could no more control this attraction than she could the tides.
She answered Fanny, “I would love to attend church with you. What time should I be ready?”
“We go to the ‘leven o’clock service,” Fanny said.
Gray added, “The dress code is strictly casual. I wear shorts and my flip-flops.”
“Sounds like my kind of church,” Lizbeth said. “Just come across the street when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting. Good night, Miss Fanny. Thank you for the hospitality.” Lizbeth went out the screen door.
Gray followed. “It was good to meet you again, Lizbeth.”
“I’m glad you didn’t feel the need to tie me up, this time,” Lizbeth joked.
“I’ll only do that if your momma pays me again,” Gray countered.
“See you tomorrow morning, Gray. I had a wonderful time.”
Gray beamed that perfect smile at Lizbeth. “I had a good time, too. Goodnight, Lizbeth.”
“Goodnight,” Lizbeth said, and then moved away to her own home.
When Lizbeth closed her eyes that night, she saw the kiss again, playing out in her mind. Only, Gray wasn’t kissing the other woman this time. She was planting that sweet kiss right on Lizbeth’s waiting lips. Lizbeth’s eyes flew open. What in the hell was going on with her? She lay there mulling her attraction to Gray over, afraid to close her eyes, in the off chance that she would see Gray kiss her again. The exhaustion finally shut her eyes for her. She spent the night dreaming of more than a kiss with Gray. Evidently, her mind was enjoying itself, while Lizbeth’s ability to stop it slept soundly unaware.
Gray came over at ten thirty to get Lizbeth for church. They joined Fanny on the street, becoming part of the promenade of locals down to the Methodist Church. Gray, true to her word, wore khaki shorts, a white linen button up shirt, and her orange flip-flops. Fanny wore a more traditional Sunday dress, but had Reebok tennis shoes on her feet. Lizbeth, not sure about Gray’s casual dress statement, had put on a yellow sundress and sandals.
Lizbeth tried to concentrate on the old church. As she walked up the red brick steps and into the white clapboard-sided United Methodist Church, she remembered the story of the hand-made wooden cross resting on the altar. An islander and his wife constructed and painted the cross, made from salvage of a ship on which an island native served and lost his life. A German U-boat torpedoed and sunk the ship, “Caribsea,” on March 11, 1942. The war department did not inform the family of the man’s death; they learned a few days later when one of the lost man’s cousins found his framed engineering license washed up on the beach. Later, the ship's nameplate and other debris floated up at his family's dock. The story always brought chills to Lizbeth.
Gray was even more attractive in the bright light of day. The white shirt set off her deep tan. Her eyes were not visible behind dark sunglasses, but when she took the glasses off inside the church, the clear crystal beauty of Gray’s irises again took Lizbeth aback. Lizbeth could not keep her eyes or mind off Gray as they sat through the service. Today, it wasn’t the story of the cross giving Lizbeth chills. Sitting close enough to feel the heat from Gray’s body, Lizbeth grew more and more uncomfortable as the service droned on in her ears. She heard not a word. She mechanically rose with the congregation and tried to sing the hymns when prompted. Yet, she remained lost in her own battle to save her soul from its infatuation with the gorgeous woman beside her in the pew. Gray did not seem to notice, which was a good thing because Lizbeth was, by now, convinced that her own body might just grab Gray and kiss her, whether Lizbeth’s brain consented or not.
Lizbeth considered forty years old a little late to be switching teams, but then, she had only known one team, and most of that with one man. Could she have missed something in her sexual awakening because she got pregnant and married just before her eighteenth birthday? What if she never gave herself the chance to grow into the person she was really meant to be? Had she been gay and turned that part of her off when she married James? Maybe sexuality wasn’t as cut and dried as the world would like her to believe. Instead of black and white, sexuality might be painted in shades of gray. She tried to think of girl crushes she may have had in adolescence. She had practiced kissing on the lips in sixth grade with her best friend, Sherry, but didn’t all little girls do that? She had no idea what was happening, and was pondering the answers to her questions when the congregation stood to exit the church. She was so lost in thought that Gray had to touch her to get her attention.
Lizbeth looked up to see both Fanny and Gray staring down at her. She panicked, afraid they would somehow know what she had been thinking. She quickly looked back at the front of the church, crossed herself, and said, “Amen,” as if she had been in deep prayer. She felt stupid for doing it. She wasn’t even Catholic. It didn’t seem to bother Gray or Fanny one way or another. They must have bought the prayer bit because they said nothing about her non-attentiveness at the end of the service as they left the church together.
Once outside, the locals gathered to visit with one another before going home for Sunday dinner. Lizbeth hung to the side, listening, glad to have the brogue she was hearing take her mind off the tall blonde. Gray stood under the tree in deep conversation with some older gentlemen. Lizbeth grew closer to hear what they were saying. In the purest brogue she had heard so far, two of the gentlemen debated the coming of Earl.
“Hit's fixin' to blow a gale, for shore,” one of them said. He was white haired and sea worn, the years on the water etched in the wrinkles on his brown face. Correct English would have read, “It is going to blow a gale, for sure.”
The other man, gray headed, with the same wrinkled squint lines, spoke next. “We’ll be mommicked for shore, if’n she takes a turn.” He used the female pronoun, even though this hurricane possessed a male name. Just like boats, hurricanes had been traditionally referred to as female, until recent history. The O’cokers had a hard time dropping tradition.
Lizbeth noted the use of the word mommick, meaning to beat up or rough up, and the sound of the word sure, pronounced like shore. On occasion, she would glance at Gray, watching her as she absorbed what the old men were saying.
“They’ll be sendin’ the tourons off island and back to the country, should she track to land,” the white haired man said.
Lizbeth made more mental notes. Tourons was just another word for tourists and country in this instance meant the mainland. She was surprised at the number of truly Ocracoke words she knew. She had studied hard and researched the Carolina Brogue for the last twelve months. It seemed the preparation was paying off. Lizbeth noticed Gray was looking at her and she smiled back reflexively.
Gray flashed that million-dollar smile, and Lizbeth’s insides did a flip. Instantly, although she wanted to listen to the men converse, Lizbeth felt the need to run away. She knew if she made a sudden move to distance herself from Gray, it might look awkward, giving away her infatuation. She fought the urge to flee when Gray started towards her.
“Are you quamished?” Gray asked, her brow wrinkled with concern.
Lizbeth knew Gray was asking if she felt okay, another O’coker word.
“I’m beginning to get hungry,” Lizbeth answered. Lightheadedness starting to overtake her functions, the words came out thickly and sounded strange to her.
“Come on,” Gray said and grabbed Lizbeth’s elbow, leading her toward where Fanny was holding court with a few women, who appeared to be her contemporaries.
The electricity from Gray’s fingers on her bare skin was burning up Lizbeth’s arm. She was too shaken to do anything but follow the taller woman. She wondered if Gray could feel it too. If she did, Gray bore no outward signs of it. When Gray finally dropped her elbow, Lizbeth rubbed it, attempting to stop the tingling. Gray saw her.
“I’m sorry; did I hurt your sunburn?” Gray asked, a look of concern on her face.
Lizbeth stuttered out, “No… no, I just felt an itch, that’s all. Can’t scratch because it will sting.” Lizbeth couldn’t look at Gray. Eye contact might send her over the edge.
“You should come by the house and I’ll cut you some fresh aloe. It will help,” Gray offered.
“Thank you, that would be great,” Lizbeth said. A kind of wa-wa echo bounced between her ears, accompanying her words.
She was no more thinking about the sunburn than the man on the moon. All of her thoughts were focused on this seemingly uncontrollable crush she was developing for Gray. It had now reached a critical stage. She was having trouble standing this close to Gray without staring. Her heart was racing. She must have been losing color in her face, because Gray was looking at her with a worried brow.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gray asked.
Hell no, she was not okay. She was having palpitations and her head was spinning. She could feel the beads of moisture forming on her upper lip. Gray took a step toward her, which only made it worse. Lizbeth’s entire body broke out in a cold sweat. She took a step, wobbled a little, and tried again. She had lost the ability to speak. She began to develop tunnel vision, then the tunnel folded in on itself and everything faded to black. Lizbeth felt strong arms catch her just before she completely lost consciousness.
#
Lizbeth’s eyes fluttered open. Not six inches from her face were Gray’s blue eyes. Lizbeth tried to grasp the situation, but couldn’t seem to get it together. Was she dreaming?
Gray whispered in a soft, calm voice, “Lizbeth… Lizbeth… Hey there.”
Suddenly Lizbeth’s world came back in focus. She was in Gray’s arms, as Gray cradled her while kneeling in the sand. Lizbeth tried to sit up.
“Hey, whoa. Give yourself a minute,” Gray said, gripping Lizbeth a little tighter, preventing the struggling woman from leaving her grasp.
Lizbeth had only fainted two other times in her life. The first time was in the middle of telling her parents she was pregnant. Next had been when she found out her husband was cheating on her the first time. Lizbeth was borderline hypoglycemic. In times of great stress, her blood sugar would plummet. Most of the time, she didn’t notice the hypoglycemia at all. She ate small meals interspersed with light snacks, which is what her doctor had recommended. This morning, however, she had been so anxious about seeing Gray, Lizbeth completely forgot to eat. She had hustled around making sure her makeup was perfect and spent extra time on her hair. She had just finished when Gray knocked on her door.
“Sugar,” Lizbeth finally was able to mumble.
Gray asked, “Are you diabetic?”
Lizbeth shook her head, no. She tried again. “No breakfast.”
Gray understood. She turned to someone and said, “We need juice or a Coke.” Gray looked back at Lizbeth. “We’ll get you on your feet in just a minute.”
Lizbeth remained in Gray’s arms. She continued to look up into Gray’s face, studying it up close for the first time. Gray had a strong jaw line and high cheekbones. She wore no makeup. She was a natural beauty. The words handsome woman came to Lizbeth’s mind. Gray was handsome. She by no means looked like a man, but she did have that unique androgynous quality that turned the heads of men and women alike.
Gray frequently looked down at Lizbeth, but she was focused on the church doors, awaiting Lizbeth’s drink. She didn’t seem to notice Lizbeth staring at her. When the Coke can was finally produced, she helped Lizbeth sit up and placed it in her hands.
“Here ya’ go. That’ll fix you up. There’s enough sugar in there to wake up a classroom full of kindergarteners.”
Lizbeth turned the can up and chugged half of it before she came up for air. She could feel the cold liquid traveling through her body. Her limbs began to tingle as the sugar hit its mark. The fog from her brain subsided and she was finally able to sit up on her own. Gray remained on her knees beside her. Lizbeth finished the entire can before she looked back at Gray. She handed the empty can back to her.
“Thank you,” Lizbeth said and took Gray’s extended hand. Gray stood up and pulled Lizbeth to her feet. Lizbeth was still a bit shaky and swayed into Gray’s chest.
Gray caught her and held on until she was sure Lizbeth could stand on her own. Lizbeth looked up into Gray’s eyes. This time Gray was looking back. Time froze for Lizbeth. She didn’t know how long she held Gray’s gaze, but it was long enough. A sly grin formed on Gray’s lips.
“There you are,” Gray said. “You left us for a minute. I’m glad I was close enough to catch you.”
Lizbeth, almost in control now, became aware that concerned onlookers surrounded them. It looked like the entire congregation had witnessed the event. Fanny came over and put her arm around Lizbeth’s waist.
“Darlin’, you need to come on to the house,” Fanny said. “Let’s get some food in you.”
“I’m so stupid. I know I should not go without a meal, but I just forgot to eat this morning,” Lizbeth offered. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” she said to the now dispersing crowd.