The Still of Night (50 page)
He’d scared Todd? All he did was check to make sure the kid was all right in a strange room.
“If you hit me …
” Hit him? Consuela reached for the buttons of his shirt and he caught her wrist. “Go away.”
She stepped back. “You go to bed now. No more poison.”
Morgan looked at her blurred brown face. “Make sure Todd’s all right.”
“Sí. I will check on him.”
“Tell him …” Morgan pressed a hand to his gut.
“Go to sleep.” She went out, and Morgan fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, pulled it off, and dropped it to the floor. He did the same with his pants, but sleep was out of the question. His stomach twisted, knotted, and balled itself into a fist. He staggered to the bathroom and retched. This was ridiculous! He hadn’t had enough to be sick on.
He splashed cold water in his face and washed out his mouth even as fresh waves struck his belly. He gripped his torso with his arms. Tomorrow he was seeing a doctor. There had to be an explanation. He staggered to the bed and collapsed.
“If you hit me …”
Lying sprawled, he tongued the corner of his mouth. All he knew about Todd’s dad was he’d killed a man in a bar fight and Todd wanted nothing to do with him. Had he beaten the kid when he got drunk? Sure sounded that way.
Morgan pressed a hand to his face, starting to sweat. He gripped the sheets with white knuckles. The bed felt like yesterday’s sailboat. Gripping his head, he curled off the bed and went like a penitent to once again pay homage to the porcelain gods.
Afterward, he stuck his head under the shower and braced himself against the stall walls. He’d frightened Todd just opening the door. Todd knew before it opened what condition he was in, or he would not have had his missile ready. He shut off the shower and hung his head, watching streams, then drops hit the shower floor. He straightened slowly, then dried his head and hung the towel over his neck. He should talk to Todd. But not now. In the morning. They’d talk in the morning.
J
ill woke to the drum and flow of rain on her roof and drains. Normally she loved the sound, the smell, the presence of rain—washing, nourishing, rejuvenating rain. This morning she lay still, wishing it could wash her clean of cowardice and deceit. Clandestine phone affair. How wrong was that, to call Morgan with her fear, her concern for him when all the while he knew she would not acknowledge what was in her heart?
But what was in her heart? The residue of a tragic union aborted without closure? Or an abiding love for Morgan in spite of his self destructive flaws. She had maintained a distance from Dan since he did not profess her faith, share her world view, understand her limits. No unequal yoke for her. But wasn’t that something like her cheerleading clique all over again? Only perfect people need apply?
Didn’t that rule her out? How precious it would be to have kept herself pure, to have married Morgan or even someone else and never fallen from the grace assured her by acceptance of her Savior. Salvation did not guarantee she would not fall to temptation. She was forgiven, but that did not stop all the ripples that spread even now from her rock in the lake.
She thought of the widower at Mom’s church. She could almost hear her mother’s whisper. “Now, Jill, he doesn’t need to know about that other business. That’s over and done.” Jill pressed her fingertips to one eye. It was not over. But was she willing to make that known? Secrecy had become a second skin to her.
It was Sunday morning. She was expected to teach her class, then sit among the faithful and worship. She had the right. They were all sinners sanctified by the blood of Jesus. But this morning the act just seemed too hard to perform. She groped for the phone and notified the coordinator she couldn’t make it, then rolled over and pulled another pillow onto her head as the rain played its rhythm on her roof.
Morgan raised himself slowly. His head would hurt more if he hadn’t purged the night before—some small consolation. The smell of chorizo sausage permeated the room, probably the entire house, but his stomach did not revolt. Oh no, it had the audacity to send a hunger pang to his brain.
He rose and washed himself thoroughly, brushed and gargled twice, then spritzed cologne. He dressed in shorts and T-shirt, slid on his Birkenstocks, then stood at the door of his room and prepared to face the dragon.
The dragon was thin and weary-eyed and hunched over a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage buried in shredded cheese. He looked up darkly when Morgan crossed the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Morgan rested his hips in the corner of the counter and eyed the boy back.
Consuela sliced a melon and laid a chilled green crescent on Todd’s plate. He bit it in the middle, leaving a wet smile on each cheek that did not reach his eyes. “Guess you’re not eating.”
“I’ll eat.” Though he was not generally a breakfast person, he would do it today.
Todd scooped a forkful of eggs into his mouth, pinching off the cheese connecting it to his plate. Morgan took his cup and sat down with a glance at Consuela. He sipped the coffee. She did make a perfect cup of coffee. Consuela set a plate before him with only a sprinkling of cheese but additional green onions Todd must have opted against. She set the bowl of homemade hot sauce beside the plate. He was actually tempted to use it.
He took a forkful, aware of Todd’s surreptitious attention, and stuffed it into his mouth. Flavor, texture, heat, he processed instantly. No rolling of the stomach, no warning signs. Of course, he had sweat and purged even the fumes of Cognac from his system last night, so there was no reason for his stomach to complain.
Todd took another bite of melon, working from the center toward one point. “We surfing today?” For a kid who thought his life was over last night, he seemed flatly unconcerned this morning.
“I thought we might.” He took another bite, all the while trying to get a bead on Todd. Had last night been a trick, some bid for attention? No, there’d been terror and rage in his eyes. Morgan washed his bite down with coffee and methodically finished his plate. Todd left a portion of his but had made a decent job of it. Consuela cleared the dishes and refilled his cup.
Morgan breathed the steam and sipped. “I guess we need to clear the air.”
Todd sniffed. “You cut one?”
Morgan fought a smile. “Metaphorically speaking.”
“Meta-what?”
“Talk about last night.” He met Todd’s eyes.
“What about it?”
“Why you thought I wanted to hit you.”
Todd pushed his milk glass away and scraped his chair back, getting up so quickly he banged his thigh. “I just did, that’s all.” He rubbed his thigh. “I’ll get my trunks on now.”
“What’s your hurry? We’ve got all day. Got all week. I cleared my schedule for you.”
“Consuela said the best time to find shells is early morning.”
Morgan glanced up at her. “She’s right. Especially after a storm. Get a rough sea overnight, you’ll find all kinds of things washed up.”
“Then let’s go.” Todd had mastered avoidance. Also confrontation, and you never knew which one to expect. Maybe he was embarrassed he’d overreacted.
Morgan took one last swig and stood. “Okay.”
Todd scurried to his room and Morgan changed into his own trunks, rummaged two beach towels from the closet, and met him in the hall. They walked down and stepped out into the balmy air.
“It smells different here.”
“You have an acute sense of smell.” Morgan led the way down the path.
“What’s acute?”
Didn’t they teach vocabulary anymore? “Sharp, strong, finely tuned.” At least he hadn’t told him he stunk this morning.
“Well, there’s no horse manure, for one thing.”
Morgan smiled. “True.”
“And all these flowers and orange trees and something else.”
“The sea. You smell the ocean.”
Todd passed him at the bottom of the path and ran onto the sand, then turned. “The beach is bigger today.”
“Low tide.”
“Hey, where’s the surfboards?”
“We’re not using boards today.”
“Then how’re we gonna surf?” He planted his hands on his hips, jutting out his pointy elbows.
“Bodysurf. Helps you learn the feel of the waves. If you haven’t swum in an ocean, you need to learn its rhythm.”
Todd slacked a hip. “I can swim. What’s the big deal?”
Morgan spread the towels side by side on the sand. “Walk out there twenty feet or so, where the waves are breaking thigh high.”
Todd walked to the water’s edge and splashed up to his ankles, then stopped. “What’s with the quicksand?”
“Keep going.”
He moved in up to his calves and the next wave splashed over his knees.
Morgan watched his surprise as the water pulled against him even while the new one rolled in. “That’s the undertow.”
Todd raised one foot, lost his equilibrium, and splashed it down.
Morgan had forgotten how disorienting it could be the first time, how the water rushing back out while you stood still fooled the brain and made you dizzy. He stepped into the cold water and plugged through to Todd’s side. “Feels strange, eh?”
“It’s sucking the sand out under my feet.”
“Come on.” Morgan battled the breakers. Normally he ran and dove low, but Todd wasn’t there yet. He was still turning his back to every wave that came. Morgan grabbed his arm when one breaker almost toppled him. He righted him in the lull. “Hurry now and we’ll get past the break point to the swells.”
Todd tried but couldn’t pull hard enough against the water to get far. Morgan saw the next wave cresting and grabbed hold of the boy. The force of the breaker tumbled Todd, but Morgan kept hold of his arm and dragged him up from the foam, laughing at the outrage on the kid’s face. The language was predictable.
“Better move. The next one’s coming.”
Todd twisted. “I’m getting out.”
“Just hold on.” Morgan tugged him. “Grab my arm.”
Todd put a death grip on his forearm, and Morgan clutched him when the next wave crashed. It splashed over Todd’s face but didn’t tear him loose.
“Now. Dive down and swim.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t swim when the water’s pulling and smashing me into the ground.”
The peak was over them already, sharpening into its curl. “Turn forward. Put your head down.” Todd’s arms circled him like a boa constrictor.
Morgan pulled them under before it broke. Todd’s feet left the ground with the swell and Morgan dove, pulling them both into deeper water. They surfaced a moment later in the relative calm where the water peaked and rolled. Todd still gripped him.
“Can you stand?”
“No.” Even as he answered a wave lifted him like flotsam and passed them by.
“Let go and tread.”
“I can’t.”
“I thought you said you could swim.” He was losing circulation in his arm.
“I can. If the water holds still.”
Morgan pried Todd’s hands loose and caught him around the chest. “Don’t fight it. Feel how it rises and drops?”
“But it’s pulling me, too.”
“You’ll be fine.” Morgan’s feet left the ground with the large swell that rolled by. He kicked them out a little farther and let Todd go. Immediately the hands clawed on to his arm. Morgan took hold of Todd’s wrists. “Let me see you tread.”
“I can’t. I only swim where I can stand.”
Morgan turned Todd to face him. “If you can stand, it isn’t swimming.”
Todd glared. “So sue me.”
Morgan caught him around the chest. “Make like you’re sitting and kick out slowly with your legs. Relax. The stiffer you are, the quicker you’ll sink.” They rose and dropped again. “Now use your arms in a breast stroke out and together.”
“What’s a breast stroke?”
Morgan showed him with one arm. “Cup your hand, you’ll push more water.”
Todd moved his arms.
“Now the legs. Bend up your knees like I told you. Pretend you’re sitting. Now you can either do a slow bicycle or just kick. Gently.” He caught a heel in the thigh. “That’s right.” He let go and Todd kept moving, riding forward a little with the wave.
“I’m gonna die.”
Morgan laughed. “You’re not gonna die.”
“I’m ready to go back now.” Todd’s arms jerked.
“You’ll have to get through the breakers.”
Todd spun his head to face him. “You mean get smashed again?”
“Unless you can ride a wave in.”
“I’m dead.”
Morgan splashed him. “What’s that talk? I thought you were here to surf.”
“I thought we’d paddle around on surfboards.”
Morgan stretched onto his back. “Who needs a board?” Water sealed his ears with a dull
woam, woam,
as the waves rocked him. He only rested a moment before squinting over to make sure Todd was still treading.
“My legs are getting stiff.”
Morgan righted himself and took Todd’s arm. “So get on your back and rest.”
Todd lay back with surprising ease. Someone had taught him that much at least. Morgan looked toward the shore. He was a little concerned about getting Todd back on solid ground. The kid was not physically strong and was a very weak swimmer. Not that they were in danger of a riptide or anything, but you could get beaten up by a good wave.
Todd’s float only lasted a moment, then he bent and jerked up, shivering. Morgan caught him, treading for them both. “Now, listen.
You can let the wave work for you, push you all the way in. But you have to swim strongly enough at the start or it leaves you behind. Do you know the front stroke?”
“Which one is that?”
“Front crawl.” Morgan demonstrated with his free arm.
“Kinda.” Todd looked away.
“We’ll work our way toward the beach, then when we’re in a good place, we’ll catch a wave and swim hard. It’ll carry you. Just stay on your belly until you hit bottom or start getting sucked back. Then get up and pull through to the shore.”
“I’m dead.” Todd nodded.
“I’ll be right by you. Ready?”
Todd rolled his eyes. Morgan held his elbow as they moved, then kept him steady when they’d reached a good spot. “Wait till I say.” He watched a good-sized wave rise, but it peaked right where they were. “A little closer.” They moved with the flow, and the next rose even higher. “Now!” Morgan thrust Todd forward and dove himself, feeling the rush, then at last the grate of sand against his knee.
