Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 01 - Wild Nights (21 page)

“You okay?” He startled me out of my reverie. We glided to a stop while I rocked back and forth and regained my balance. I looked at him and had the weirdest premonition that I was going to look at him a lot.

“That was weird. I was flying with my father one day. We ended up in a sky sandwich. That’s what he called it. It happens sometimes on cloudy days; you end up flying in a band of clear sky between layers of clouds. You can’t see up or down, you can’t see what’s going on except right where you are. This is different. We can see other universes. I have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“We can see them.“ He smiled. “But we can’t go there for very long without help.”

“Like a plane?”

“Or air tanks,” he said. “We should turn back. You’re going to feel these swells in your hips tomorrow.”

We got back and he read while I rolled up in a sheet like a mummy to nap.

My voice was muffled through the fabric. “Did you understand what I was talking about?”

“When?” he asked.

“On the water.”

“You mean about living in our own universe?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Did I?”

“Yeah. It’s safe to leave me here. I’ll steam but I won’t broil.”

I unrolled an hour later sweaty and squished. He was still reading. I sat up and peeled wet hair off my face and tried to dislodge the sand stuck to my chest with sunscreen and sweat glue. He watched me go through my monkey antics.

“I need to wash off,” I said.

“You want to go to Victor and Kaia’s for a pig roast tonight?” he asked.

“Sounds fun,” I said.

I tried to blow my bangs off my forehead; I’d already rubbed sunscreen into my eyes trying it with my hand. He reached over and brushed them loose.

“Thanks. I’ll never get lonely the way you keep including me.”

“Victor suggested it,” he said. “I warn you, if you get out of hand and start licking people, you’re on your own. It’ll be mostly Samoans, way out of my league.”

I guess that little blip wasn’t going away any time soon. I ignored the licking comment.

“I haven’t been out of hand in years,” I said.

“You miss it?”

I had to think about how to answer that. The short answer was, yes. The long answer was, yes but.

“I don’t miss a lot of it. I was young,” I said. “They were less wild than stupid. But I miss thinking I was free, if that makes any sense. How about you?”

“Same. Though I felt free, at least until Chana was born. Chana’s good; she came out of it.”

“Yeah, I missed that,” I said.

“You don’t think you’ll have kids?”

“No, not now.”

“Right, it’s all behind you.”

“What about you? You want more kids?”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“Yeah, old man with one Facebook friend. Chana Moon is a beautiful name, be hard to match that anyway. What time’s dinner?”

“It’ll be up to the pig. I’m going in to work for a while, we can head over about five.”

I went to town, bought flowers and spent the afternoon experimenting with ikebana arrangements. I was short on supplies so used a square Tupperware container that I wrapped with a black napkin and filled with rocks and sand as my base. I gathered greenery from around the cottage. I set it on the kitchen table.

Jon came over to get me and nodded at my first attempt. “That’s nice.”

“Hobby number one.”

“What happened to wood burning?”

“I can’t believe you remember that. This felt right for now.”

Victor and Kaia’s was only about a ten-minute walk down the beach. It was on stilts, much more exposed than my green shrouded den. The colors were faded; the many-paned windows had mullions peeling with generations of paint color whims. The finish on the floor was completely gone, the wood soft and worn. The steps in front and back sagged. The tin roof looked like it could Frisbee away any second. They had a huge fire pit on the waterside; we could smell the pig passing over.

It was all locals. There were lots of kids and dogs. Victor’s upper arms were banded with tattoos and he’d switched out his toque for a headband. Kaia had her hair braided, probably to keep it from sweeping through the fire. Everyone was talking and laughing in the glow of red coals. A band of light bled out the kitchen window and folded its way down the stairs. A tabby cat with a stiff shivering tail paced back and forth through the light, waiting for that pig. Someone passed a joint. Jon introduced me around. The food was Victor delicious.

A couple of the women decided I needed to learn to hula. I guess they thought it would be amusing to see me try. They’d never seen me drive; I have great rhythm. They rolled my skirt down around my hips and tied my blouse in a knot. Ha! I did not embarrass myself. It was pure novice for sure. I couldn’t get the whole belly jiggle thing going; but I could get off a pretty good hip pop. We bonded over my trying. I lost track of Jon. It was still early but it was starting to cool down and people were beginning to drift away. I had my blouse untied and skirt pulled up and had put on a shawl.

“Ready to go?” His voice near my ear sounded like a seashell.

“Yeah. Where were you? Hiding while I was trying a stoned hula. That pot was crazy.”

“I was right here.”

Kaia invited me to go to the locals’ beach the next day and the waterfall the day after. I was making friends. I could see myself coming every Christmas. I needed to talk to the owner, get my dibs on the cottage before Mike.

It was dark walking back. The moon lit the sand enough to see. Jon said the paths around his house were crushed shell that the moon illuminated so they glowed. I smelled like smoke and roasted pig from head to toe.

“You want to take a hot tub? I’m smoky.”

“Sure,” he said. “You ready to drink your champagne?”

“Great idea. We’ll celebrate my not making a complete ass of myself. Cut me off if I start saying shit.”

I lit a hurricane lamp and put it on the porch. Jon opened the champagne and came out with two glasses. He clicked off the kitchen light.

“How do you want to do this?” I asked. “I’m okay naked if you are.”

“That’s fine.”

We got in and clinked our glasses.

“You should have been dancing,” I said.

“I’ve done the hula, it’s not my dance.”

“Oh boy, I’d love to see that.”

“Catch me at a local wedding, I’ve been known to put on quite a floor show.”

“Do you like to dance?”

“Sure, just not the hula.”

“Are you any good?”

He laughed. “I have no idea.”

“So you weren’t embarrassed by your little haole friend?”

“The only person who can embarrass me is me. I know enough to not hula in front of Victor, I’d never hear the end of it. You’ve made a friend in Kaia. I think you can drop the haole. They weren’t expecting that.”

We put our heads back to look up at the sky. Papery leaves rubbed against each other and whispered in a gentle breeze. Night birds called. The ocean was off in the distance; the moon glittered on the surface like a path to the universe. White water rushed toward us then swept back out again. Champagne on top of pot. Crazy!

“How did a mathematician end up in the restaurant business?” I asked.

“I started out waiting tables. I needed the extra money to support my family.”

“Your wife didn’t work?”

“She wasn’t my wife when she got pregnant. But no, she threw up for nine months, then Chana was born.”

“So you worked two jobs?”

“For a while. My best friend, a biologist slash waiter, and I decided we should open our own place. We borrowed money from our parents. It was a juggle at first. She helped out then, until Chana jumped her corral. It worked. We ended up with five.”

“That still seems like a huge stretch.”

“It’s not. I don’t know many people who grew up dreaming of opening a restaurant. Most are like me, came at it sideways. It’s an interesting business; it’s always changing.”

“But you have three restaurants now.”

“And no partner. He has the two big ones and Chana’s mother.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s okay. I don’t have a problem with it. He might.”

“Mike said he’s uptight about Chana.”

“Yeah, that’s been too bad, can’t unwind children. He was with her mother first. It was pretty casual between us. We wouldn’t have ended up married, but she got pregnant.”

“Why didn’t she have an abortion?”

“She’d had one with him, that’s why they broke up. She was worried she’d never get pregnant again.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know. I think it was more that she was mad at him for not wanting a baby with her. She always loved him. Then I came along. She felt ganged up on, maybe a little unappreciated. There might have been some payback.”

“Unappreciated? How about pregnant and unloved?”

“I liked her, but he loved her. He just wasn’t ready at the time.”

“But you raised Chana.”

“Not at first. They couldn’t have more kids, she was right about that. Chana was mine. The tension was bad, bad for Chana. Her mother made a choice. That’s where we are.”

“Do you think the first one was his?”

“None of my business. It wasn’t mine, I know that.”

“I can’t imagine not raising my daughter.”

“She’s a good person, Hannah. We were all young. She never stopped being a mother.”

“It sounds like a soap opera.”

“It was our stupid days. You want a glass of water?”

He went in for glasses of ice water and got back in the tub.

“I don’t mean to sound critical,” I said. “I don’t know what I’d do. I was with a man who married a woman he doesn’t love because she got pregnant. He didn’t think she could do it alone.”

“I love Chana, but trying to stay married would have just compounded our stupidity.”

We were quiet in the steamy tub.

“I love this place.” I was looking up through the leaves to a slice of starry sky. “I have no idea what India is going to be like. Physicist Phyllis says it’s going to be wild.”

“You’ll fit in.”

“Is this about the ear licking again?”

“No. I just think you’ll melt in like you have here.”

“Well, I’m trying to be a grown up. I’ll be working anyway; it’s a totally different thing. There’s very little energy left over for wildness.”

“What about the misbehaving crew?”

“There’s always that. It’s true for any gypsy business; same as yours I imagine. People used to party like rock stars, but that’s toned down now, crews are smaller. We’ll be using mostly local people. But lots of marriages still come apart on these long shoots.”

“Why do people do it?”

“I guess because when you’re in it, it’s like rubbing up against something shiny. It pays well with great benefits. It’s creative. We become just like a family, good and bad. It’s hard to leave it. And if you do leave, you can’t go back.”

We were quiet for a few minutes.

“You tired?” I asked.

“A little, I’m okay. Why?”

“You’re so quiet. Did I insult you again?”

“No, I’m just listening to you. You?”

“I’m a little buzzed, but I’m not tired.”

“What do you think about now?” he asked.

“About now?”

“Does this feel right for now?”

“If you mean what I think you mean, if we do, I just want it to be two friends.”

“It’ll be what it’ll be,” he said.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means we’ll see what it means.”

“Is that some kind of double talk thing that works on the lonely women who come through?”

“You need to drop the insults. I don’t like it.”

“Well, would you like some man talking to your daughter like that?”

“You’re not my daughter. But if he were here now, it would be fine. It means it’s wide open.”

We were quiet. I got out and held out my hand to him. “It means we’re just friends.”

We put the cover back on, then dried off and took the hurricane lamp in, leaving it on the kitchen table. We stood looking at each other by the side of the bed while our eyes adjusted. My breath kept catching. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me down on him. I wrapped my legs around his waist. There was no overture. It was a strange beginning; I must have looked frightened.

“It’s okay, Hannah,” he said.

We stayed like that, looking at each other.

“I didn’t want this to happen,” I said.

“I know, let’s just make the best of it.”

I started laughing. “Make the best of it? We don’t have to do this; we’re not marooned here. We could go dancing instead. Oh god, I’m actually laughing. And I’m afraid to move.”

He smiled. ”You haven’t stopped moving.”

“That’s just the laughing.”

“I don’t think so.” He reached up and ran his finger around the edge of my ear. “I’m pretty sure we have to do this.”

He was right. My mind may have been resisting, but the wild animal part of me had leapt ahead, and had been rolling and rollicking with him in complete abandon. Stroud’s hot and otherworldly creature was on the loose.

It felt all new and like we’d known each other for lifetimes. At one point he knelt down between my legs. I reached for him but he pushed my hand aside and said, ‘uh uh.’ I don’t know where his nose was, but I know where his tongue was. He held down my hips when I tried to push away from the intensity of it. When it was over he slowly dragged his tongue up my body to my ear and said, “Needs more salt.” I started laughing again. He rolled me over and I thought of Steve. He slid his arm down along mine and followed along like he was reading Braille, then nudged my hand aside and took over. I was doing the same things to him. We learned, experimented, we played. I said “ouch,” he said “sorry.”

At one point I said I thought I’d met god. Another reason to not mix pot and champagne. Not the god part, that was true; but the saying so part. Sheesh. We fell asleep tangled like one; there were no protruding bones, no uncomfortable spots, we smelled better mixed together than apart.

I was completely surprised to wake up with him. Like I’d had a dream and there he was. He was still asleep with his arm thrown over his eyes. Soft hair swirled in his armpit. I knew it was soft; I’d spent some time there. He didn’t smell like citrus or bay rum or Beverly Hills. He just smelled like a clean sexed up man who I knew. I lay looking at him while my psyche chewed her lip. I put my nose under his arm. He wrapped an arm around me as his other hand played with my electrified hair. He didn’t open his eyes.