Hurricane House (20 page)

“Aren’t you having wine?” I asked when he returned to the table.

He handed me a paper napkin and sat down. “If I have as much as one sip, I won’t be able to stop until I get drunk and black out. I’m an alcoholic.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Worse than terrible when I can’t remember a damn thing, where I’ve been, or what I’ve done.”

“Scary.” I ate a bite of the steak and wondered why he kept alcohol around when he couldn’t drink it. “Tastes great. What did you marinate it in?”

Sean speared his salad. “Soy sauce, Worcestershire, minced garlic, a little honey and olive oil.”

“Where did you get the filets? I had to drive forever today to find dog food.” “I keep them in my freezer.”

I poured the vinaigrette dressing on my salad and glanced inside his town home. “How do you keep everything from spoiling? Do you have a generator somewhere?”

Sean speared his meat with the fork like a chef then carved off a piece of steak with the knife. “I should have installed one when I remodeled, but I didn’t.” He placed his right hand over my left hand, a gesture I considered too intimate. “But I have a battery-operated cooler that works well. Speaking of batteries, I have a CD player that works, would you like some music?”

I swallowed a bite of salad before answering. “That would be nice.”

Sean went back inside, walking with the grace of a self-confident man. Soon the first stanza of a tinkling piano began to play, “When a Man Loves a Woman.”

He left the French doors open, allowing the music to filter out. “I love this CD. It has ‘Yesterday,’ ‘Blue Velvet,’ ‘Moon River,’ ‘Had to Be You,’ ‘Love Is A Many Splendored Thing...’”

“It’s lovely,” I said, feeling the warmth of the crystal on my chest.

He smiled, showing his dimples.

We ate in silence, listening to the music, the wind, and waves until Onyx broke the mood with his whimpering. To appease the dog, Sean gave him a piece of steak.

I started to protest, but the dog snapped up the steak with such relish I decided one bite wouldn’t kill him. As if satisfied, he sat down between us on the patio while Sean and I continued to eat in silence. Filmy clouds slid over a new moon, and I had the sensation the piano music orchestrated it.
When I finished my first glass of wine, Sean poured me another, and I wanted to ask him about his problem with alcohol and blackouts, but I didn’t quite know how to broach the subject. Adam had a college buddy who refused to admit he was a drunk until he blacked out, got a DUI and woke up in jail.

Rather than share this story with Sean, I used the straightforward approach. “When did you first realize you were an alcoholic?”

“Hard to say.” Sean dabbed his month with the napkin. “I was in denial for a long time. During my college days my drinking didn’t seem to interfere. After med school, I signed up for the army, went to Iraq, served in the first Gulf War. By then, I was sneaking booze every day, made me feel good. I thought I didn’t have a problem, because I felt great most of the time. Like other alcoholics, I inherited the tendency and tolerance for it, but my excessiveness began to take its toll after I married.”

“You’re married?” I felt a pang of disappointment.

Sean smiled and squeezed my hand. “I was married. We divorced a year ago.”

“Sorry.” I pulled my hand from his, and reminded myself he was a stranger, though a charismatic one.

“Don’t be sorry. We shouldn’t have married to begin with, but I thought it was the right thing.”

“The right thing? What do you mean?”

“Bunnie, my now ex-wife, was pregnant at the time. I didn’t want my child to be illegitimate. As I was. I never knew my father. Never met him until he came to my first book signing. He showed up out of the blue, an Irishman with a puffy boozer’s face.” “How did you know for sure he was your father?”

“He told me enough. My mother later verified it. Also, it was clear I’d inherited his eyes.”

“I wondered where the blue eyes came from. Your bio on the book jacket said you’re an American Indian.”

He laughed. “I’m a half-breed who inherited my eyes from the Irishman who charmed my mother until she came to her senses. But getting back to why Bunnie and I married. She was young. I was her first. We lived on the same reservation. It was one of those things and just one time, but she got pregnant. It was my fault. I knew I needed to assume the responsibility of raising our child.”

I remembered the boy’s photo in Sean’s living room. “How old is your child now?”

Sean massaged his eyes. “Jonathan would have been ten last July. He died two years ago.”

I thought of Dad, Mom and Adam, and the long grieving process that never ended. How horrible to lose a child. “I’m so sorry. How did your son die?”

“Heart problems, complicated by multiple birth defects. Jonathan had a hole in his heart. His doctors wanted to wait until he grew older and stronger...” Sean whistled a sigh. “Jonathan was my life. And the reason Bunnie and I married. After he died, there was nothing to hold us together. Unfortunately, Bunnie blamed herself for what happened to him when it was actually my fault.”

“Why do you say it was your fault?”

“After I came back from the war, I had physical problems, the cause of which may have contributed to siring a defective child. Also, my drinking got worse.”

“What kind of physical problems?” “For one, my skin began to streak like a zebra’s.” “Your skin looks fine to me.”

“It’s okay if I don’t try to tan. I’m dark anyway so I stay out of the sun or use sunscreen, but the skin problem was not my only symptom. My fingernails stopped growing.” He held up his hands. “I experienced some memory loss and coordination problems. I have occasional flashbacks of the war. However, my symptoms aren’t as severe as other soldiers who developed Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis.”

“I’m very familiar with Lou Gehrig’s Disease,” I said, studying my fork filled with salad. I questioned how much I should share with Sean. “My Dad died from ALS.”

Sean touched my cheek, tenderly. “Terrible, I’m so sorry.”

“Do you really think there’s a link between the Gulf War and ALS?”

“I do. There’s an excess in the rate of ALS in veterans who served.”

“How do you explain that?”

“Neurotoxic exposures.”

“Dad served in Vietnam. He once said he thought there was a link between Agent Orange and ALS, but he wasn’t sure.”

“As you may know, the chemical companies who produced Agent Orange, which is dioxin, admitted guilt when they settled that class-action suit.”

I nodded in agreement. “I know, but I’d rather not talk about that.”

“What would you like to talk about, Maeva?”

“I’d like to know how you’re feeling now. What are you doing to treat your health problems?” “I follow the adage, ‘physician, heal thy self,’ which is the main reason I went to chiropractic college. I favor holistic remedies more than traditional medicine. That’s not to say traditional medicine isn’t necessary.”

“I see, you’re saying you prefer taking vitamins and herbs and eating more veggies and less red meat.” I smiled, impishly. I made a point of cutting off a piece of steak and placing it in my mouth.

Sean laughed, as if he enjoyed my sarcasm. “Good source of protein, low in fat.”

Onyx barked, demanding more steak.

I expected Sean to give in to the ravenous dog, but he stroked Onyx’s head instead. “I could never be a vegetarian and as far as drugs go. I’ve done my share, Xanax for alcohol withdrawal and anxiety, all kinds of over-the-counter stuff. For the most part I’ve stayed on the wagon, though I’ve had my relapses.”

I became aware of a painful throbbing in my head. I’d had only two glasses wine, and I felt fatigued. By now, the Tylenol had worn off. I massaged my temples to ease the pain.

Sean leaned in close, with concern on his face. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t lie. Sean’s a chiropractor. He might help me. “I had a stupid accident today.”

Sean scooted his chair closer. “What kind of accident?” “In my truck...”

Sean grimaced. “What happened?”

I pointed to Onyx. “This guy ran out in front of me. I swerved to miss him and hit a palm tree.”

Sean ran his fingers along my upper back and neck.
“You’re definitely out.” He walked behind me and began to massage my neck and shoulders. “Try to relax.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” I touched the crystal, now hot, resting on my breastbone. “Why don’t we do this some other time?”

“You’re just tense,” he whispered. “Let go. Let your arms drop. Take deep breaths. Focus on your breathing.”

I tried to follow Sean’s instructions, but my breathing became shallow rather than deep as Sean positioned his hands on both sides of my head. He jerked it to the left.

I jumped when I heard the loud cracking noise in my neck. “Ouch.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered while trying to monitor my body.

Sean jerked my head to the right, making another popping sound. This time, I felt my face turning red. How do you feel?” he asked.

I rubbed my neck and took a minute before I answered. “Sore, but my headache seems to have disappeared.”

Sean sat next to me and sandwiched my hands in his. “That’s natural. I’ll give you another adjustment tomorrow. Meanwhile, you need to apply ice to your neck.”

I freed my hands. “I don’t have ice unfortunately.”

“I’ll get you some.” He stood up. “And put it in a sock for you?”

“A sock?”

He laughed. “It’s a clean sock.”

I laughed with him, and marveled at how well I felt as Sean walked inside and disappeared from view. A moment later, he returned with a lumpy gym sock filled with ice. After he handed it to me, I said, “Thanks for everything. Dinner was great, and I appreciate your cracking my neck. I think you got rid of my headache. The massage was helpful, too.”

He smiled, showing his dimples. “I’d hardly call what I gave you a massage, but hey, if you’re looking for a good one, I’m your man.”

It sounded like a definite pass. Not knowing how to respond, I stood. Onyx got up with me. I grabbed his collar and directed him toward my patio. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sean grinned roguishly. “Please do.”

At the French doors of unit five, I turned to wave goodbye before I entered.

Sean looked handsome, standing there, staring at me. It was one of those deja vu moments, the way Rhett looked at Scarlet maybe, or the way Adam looked at me. Whatever the memory, I chose not to dwell on it. “Goodnight,” I said.

“In case you need anything, I’ll leave my door open.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, but I wondered if he expected me to sashay up to his bed all hot and ready. Thinking he was probably used to women behaving that way, I walked inside the townhouse, it looked dreadfully dark, and I wished I’d hooked up the generator, but I didn’t have the energy to do it then.

Heading for bed, I’d made it half way up the stairs when I heard a knock on the French doors. Then the doors opened and I realized I’d stupidly forgotten to secure the lock.

My heart hammered when Sean walked into my living room. He extended the hurricane lamp toward me. “You might need this.”

“Nice of you. Thanks, I’ll owe you,” I said, reaching for the lantern. “Your company is payment enough,” Sean said with his hand lingering on mine. “I really enjoyed tonight, Maeva. I’d like to see you again tomorrow. I know you’re busy. I’m busy, too, working toward a deadline, but I’d like to take you out to dinner. Or fix something for us here. Whatever you’d like.”

Rather than answer, I backed away from him.

“No rush. You don’t have to commit now. Let me know when it’s convenient with you.”

“I...” my voice stuttered. I’m sorry to say I couldn’t control my voice or the crystal burning my chest. “I...I... really don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow night. I’m behind in my work as it is.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He squeezed my shoulder. “My invitation is open. If I see you, wonderful, if I don’t, I’ll be disappointed, but that’s okay. There’ll be other times. Just feel better.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.” I said.

After Sean left, I locked all the doors then heard Geneva’s cell phone beep, signaling she had messages. I picked up the phone and saw ten missed calls. Two from her home number, but I couldn’t listen to the messages unless I could figure out the password. Strange. I could get into Geneva’s e-mail from her laptop, but not hear the messages on her cell phone.

The other calls on Geneva’s phone included five from “Mother.” I felt sorry for the woman. Martial Law prevented her from coming to Paradise Isle and organizing a search party for her daughter.

I checked my own cell. Both Paula and Keith had left messages for me to call them. I’d received a sweet message from Victor Curry: “I’m worried about you, Maeva. Hope you’re doing okay. If I can help you in any way, let me know.”

The next message came from Lilah Sanderford. “Hi Maeva. Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been watching the coverage of the hurricane devastation. I heard the shocking news of Roxanne Trawler’s death and Geneva VanSant’s disappearance. I’m sure by now you’ve had a chance to read my notes, and maybe you’ve discovered for yourself the power of the crystal necklace. In my case, the crystal helped me trust my instincts. No need to call back. Just be safe.”