Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) Page 6

  “Hello, anyone home? Hello?” Vanessa said, rapping her knuckles on the screen door.

  From his position on the porch, Adam watched Vanessa knock again, this time opening the weathered screen door and hitting the thick front door harder, all while peering through the glass. She knocked again, calling out once more. What came back in response to her gestures and words were hollow sounds, an echo of her own self that rang inside the old home. If someone was home, they were deaf, a deep sleeper, or dead.

  “Nothing,” she said, turning back to Adam. “Got any ideas?”

  He shrugged. “Try the doorknob. Maybe it’s unlocked.”

  She tried it. The knob did not turn.

  “Got any other ideas?”

  “Break the glass, then turn the knob from the inside.”

  “Adam, I’m not breaking and entering into someone’s home.”

  “Hey, Vanessa, we’re not exactly criminals here.”

  “Still, I can’t do it.”

  Adam groaned as he stood up, hopping over to the front door while hoping to avoid getting a splinter in his exposed bare foot. He knocked loudly with his fist, calling out, “Hello, we need some help here, anybody home?” Waiting two beats and getting no response, he shrugged once in Vanessa’s direction, and seeing the anticipation cross her face, he used his elbow to crash through the square window. The glass shattered easily and fell to the floor in dangerous shards, unlike the window of his wrecked car. Adam stepped away from a nasty slice that nearly impaled his foot. Then he reached in, careful to avoid the lingering glass, turned the dead bolt, and then pushed open the door. It swung wide with a slight creak of age or neglect, letting a musty smell drift outward, as though the air inside had been trapped and desperate to be freed, now taking to the wind with a exhale of relief.

  Adam and Vanessa gave each other one last look before stepping inside the musty home.

  “Hello?” Vanessa called out.

  “I think we’ve pretty well established that no one’s home,” he said. “Come on, I don’t know about you but I could use a shower. Wash this mud off me.”

  “Let’s see about finding a working phone first,” she said, moving farther into the house. “The sooner we find help, the faster we’re back on the road. There is our reunion to attend. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  “The reunion—I think it’s already begun,” Adam remarked.

  Her eyes shot him a nervous look, fingers absently tugging at her damp, limp hair, before gazing back inside the house.

  Adam closed the door behind him, not bothering to turn the lock. Why bother? What were the odds someone else would stumble upon the house? As he followed behind Vanessa, he noted that the living room to the left of them was still furnished, albeit covered in clinging white sheets. Like only ghosts wafted about, living here beneath a coating of dust. They made their way toward the rear of the house, coming upon a sizable kitchen, obviously the heart of the home where family played, worked, talked, ate. Adam could almost envision the occupants, a kindly older couple making large, old-fashioned meals for their visiting children, grandchildren, distant relatives. He could see the woman of the house standing over a large pot, boiling the fresh corn she picked just that morning from the side of the road. Adam’s stomach grumbled loudly in the quiet of the room. He wouldn’t mind an ear of sweet, buttery corn right about now. Heck, he’d even eat the stalks.

  But what most interested him right now was what he found on a wall separating the kitchen from the pantry. An old rotary phone, complete with the twisting black coil that connected receiver to base, was mounted on the wall near the stove. Like something reaching out from the set of Mayberry. Where was Aunt Bee along with some fresh-baked cookies? Vanessa reacted first, picked up the hard receiver and putting it to her ear. Even had her expression not faltered, Adam could have guessed the phone wouldn’t work. Because in the silence of this house, even a dial tone would have been deafening.

  “I think that phone only calls the nineteen-fifties.”

  She frowned wanly.

  “Well, so much for that brilliant idea,” she said, leaving the receiver to twist in the air. The way it swung off its cord, Adam was reminded of the weaving porch swing and how it had given off false hope of life. This house seemed to embody the idea of souls having left the building, like they’d just missed whoever called this place home. The images in his mind were not unlike those depicted in movies about a full-fledged Armageddon, leaving the world empty. A hollowness pervaded the room. But nothing destructive had happened in the world, only a fierce summer storm had swept by, wreaking its vengeance on a small part of it, catching Adam and Vanessa in its wake.

  “So, got any fresh ideas?” Vanessa asked.

  “I’d like to go back to my original one of a shower. Might help clear my mind.”

  “Fine, you get cleaned up first, I’ll see about some food. Got any favorites?”

  Adam smiled. “Spam and baked beans, at the rate we’re going.”

  “Go shower, see about that cut on your side. Your shirt is sticking to it.”

  Adam had nearly forgotten about the streaks of blood on his side from where the seat belt had shredded both shirt and skin. The cotton material was probably caked into his skin, peeling it away would not be the prettiest of things. Hopefully the shower had hot water and could help melt away the pain.

  He started off, but quickly turned around. “Hey, Vanessa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is kinda weird, isn’t it?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I did.”

  She laughed at him, the sound filling the cozy room. “Thanks, Adam. After the stress of the accident, I think I needed that kind of release.”

  “I think we both did. We need to laugh. The other option is . . .”

  Vanessa quieted him by placing a finger to his lip, the physical act so quick but intimate. Adam nearly kissed her finger in return, but something held him back. “Go. I have a strange sense we’re not going anywhere for a while, so there’s plenty of time for talk . . . you know, later. Guess we’re going to have our own reunion.” She paused, and again her eyes glazed over with a faraway look. Then what came out next was but a whisper of emotion. “A private reunion, and one a long time coming.”

  “Our cars crashing like that, you think something else is at work here?”

  “Like what?”

  “Fate? Destiny? If you believe in such things,” he asked, his words like a question.

  “Do you?”

  A strange, uncertain look crossed over Adam’s face, his eyes darting around the spacious kitchen and homely feel of yesteryear. A chill hit him, despite the humidity floating through the house. “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

  “Well, we did grow up in Danton Hill.”

  “No, no, I mean this house.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so, at least, nothing strikes me as familiar. You?”

  Adam continued to look around at the old-fashioned country kitchen. What stared back should have been homespun, old-fashioned warmth. Instead, that chilling sensation remained, digging deeper into him. He shivered. “I guess not.”

  “You want to know what I think?” Vanessa asked. “You banged your head good and it’s making you think weird thoughts.”

  He wanted to be convinced. The uncertainty, though, was beginning to settle in.

  “Still, it’s like something brought us here.”

  She pushed him away. “Stop spooking me. Go, get cleaned up.”

  As Vanessa began to pour over the kitchen supplies to see about getting some food into their systems, Adam made his exit. He hobbled back down the hallway and, with a strong grip on the railing, began to make his way up the long wooden flight of stairs near the entrance hall. With sweat now mixing with the mud and blood, he at last came to the landing on the second floor, sensing that shower spray just down the hall. Opening door after door, passing bedrooms and, thankfully, a stocked linen closet. H
e grabbed a couple of clean towels, and then continued to the next door, where he at last found the bathroom. There was both a separate shower stall and a large, claw-foot tub, and while the idea of luxuriating in a bath was appealing, what he needed right now was the pelting spray of the shower to wash away all the mud and muck. As he adjusted the nozzles, he thought of the irony of going from outside rain to shower, how one had sullied him, the other would cleanse him like a baptism. Adam then began to remove his clothes, stopping short at the shirt, which still stuck to him. He left it on and stepped into the shower.

  “Ohhhh,” he said as the spray of heat hit his body. “Thank You, Lord, the boiler works.”

  He let the steam swirl around him until the stall was fogged up, and then he doused his body with hot water, stinging his side. He peeled the shirt off, grimacing from the pain. But at least he was free of it and he tossed it over the side. Time to clean up, dress his wound. He must have remained within the confines of the shower for a good twenty minutes, watching as the water turned to brown, only to return to a more favorable pink coloring as his body was rinsed clean. With the help of a stray bar of soap he found in a drawer, he washed his bloody side and for a second the water turned red; he’d reopened the wound. The sting from the soap made him cry out, but he was grateful to feel anything after the numbness his body had felt when he’d been trapped inside the upturned car. Setting about cleansing himself one more time, he made certain he wiped all the caked mud out of every nook and crevice. At last he turned off the shower nozzle, wishing he could have remained for hours. But who knew how long the hot water would last, and he didn’t want to deprive Vanessa of the same bliss he’d just experienced.

  Adam stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel, wrapping the thick terry cloth around his waist. Leaning into the mirror, his fingers probed his hairline where he’d just noticed a small cut intersected with his forehead. Blood had dried here too, and the gash remained opened. He peered in even closer and detected a miniscule piece of glass inside the cut that the water hadn’t washed out.

  So that’s where the blood had come from that had leaked down his cheek.

  “Oh, nice,” he said, wondering just what he should do about it. The wound didn’t hurt, but he was afraid if he jostled the shard of glass he might start to bleed again, or even worsen the injury. “Leave it alone for now,” was what he said to his reflection.

  The wound on his left side was far more in need of immediate attention. Looking down, he could see the red welt he’d received from the seat belt when it pulled at him when the car had overturned. Small droplets of blood still seeped from the streaks on his side. Guess the shower wasn’t going to be the easy fix he’d hoped for. Grabbing for a washcloth from the side basin, he dipped it into hot water, then gently pressed it against his skin. Immediate pain shot through his body and he pulled the cloth away.

  “Shit,” he yelled.

  Just then he heard a knock at the bathroom door. “Adam, you okay? I heard that . . .”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, I’m going to need some bandages . . .”

  “Well, you’re in luck,” she said.

  The door opened and in walked Vanessa, a package of white gauze in her hands. “I had a feeling you might need some aid . . . oh, sorry, I didn’t realize . . . I’ll come back . . .”

  Adam, still only wrapped in his towel, turned to her and smiled.

  “Vanessa, hey, it’s okay, come in. After what we’ve just been through today, I don’t think we need to stand on ceremony. Besides, you can play Florence Nightingale and help wrap the gauze around me. Did you find any tape with it?”

  Vanessa stood there, indecision taking charge of her brain. She’d just casually walked in on a semi-naked man and her instinct now was to back away. Yet her feet remained frozen on the slat between the hallway and the bathroom. She felt stupid for just barging in, and now she was embarrassed by her inability to just suck it up and help him. But here was the man she’d hoped to see at the reunion, Adam Blackburn, clad only in a towel. And he looked good in it . . . stop it, she said, he needs your help. Of course, Vanessa had seen him in far less clothing than what he was wearing now, but that was a different time, that was the past, a lifetime ago. He’d been practically a kid then, her too. But now, this feral attraction caught her by surprise. Was this something she’d had in mind when she decided to attend the reunion? Had she been hoping for a repeat encounter of their intimacy? Or was it just a natural response of seeing a man without clothes on? It had nothing to do with him.

  Him.

  She realized she had to do something, say something, because at the moment it appeared that all she was doing was staring, gawking. He looked good. Despite the grin he’d added to his wardrobe.

  “I . . . Adam, aside from the bandages, I was really coming to tell you that I found some food that we can actually eat, and surprise, surprise—how about a bottle of wine? Haven’t found the corkscrew yet, but maybe I’ll look again. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, I could use a drink right about now.” She paused, took a step back, then took one step forward toward him. She placed the gauze on the edge of the sink, stole a look at an obviously bemused Adam, and then made a bid for a hasty retreat. She closed the bathroom door with a bit too much force.

  As she walked away, she could hear a chuckle coming from inside the bathroom.

  “Jerk,” she muttered.

  Still, on her way back down the long staircase, clutching the wooden rail in an effort to steady her nerves, the picture of Adam in that blue towel kept popping into her brain. A reunion, a car accident, no phones, just her and him and alone in an abandoned farmhouse, and now she’d mentioned a bottle of wine. Now to top it all off she’d just seen him nearly naked and all she could think of was: Give me some of that. He’d looked sexy, for sure—sexier than she could have imagined. He’d aged well. Her pal Reva would have told her to make a play for that trim, athletic body, with well-defined muscles on his arms and a shock of dark chest hair to run her fingers through. Adam Blackburn had grown up a lot, both physically and emotionally, since high school. He’d been almost still a boy back then, and now . . .

  She almost missed that last step.

  “Focus, girl. That’s not what this weekend is about,” she said.

  But wasn’t it? What was her purpose in traveling all these miles—across an ocean for goodness’ sake—for the reunion? To see her old high school gang of Jana and Tiffany and Davey and Rich? She was in touch with them already, she spoke with the girls regularly and e-mailed with the guys, and so getting together with friends you still knew could hardly be considered motivation for going to your twentieth high school reunion. No, she’d thought about it in the car, and she was thinking it again now. She’d come purposely to see Adam, but she’d wanted to see him not so she could experience some kind of sexual reawakening. No, she’d come to settle the past with him, to talk, and he was clearly unsuspecting that there was anything to discuss. Her motives were hidden. His intentions looked quite apparent given that supercilious grin he’d adopted when she’d backed out of the bathroom. Though why he would suspect they had unfinished business, she didn’t know. She was the one with the secrets. Adam Blackburn knew nothing of what had happened to her.

  “The wine, must open the wine.”

  As she returned to the spacious kitchen, she looked at the plates of food she had prepared. Tomato soup, simmering on the stove, a tin of Vienna sausages that opened with the ease of a pull-top lid, and that bottle of red wine, standing like a sentry on the middle of the counter. With renewed vigor, she hunted again for the corkscrew; there had to be one, why else buy wine if you didn’t . . . maybe it had been a gift, maybe the wine was years old and had turned to vinegar. God, chicky, she hoped not, and then let out a laugh, realizing she sounded like her friend Reva. What would she think of this situation? Enjoy the wine, she’d say, and see where things go from there. Which, of course, was why Vanessa was jumpy, she knew herself. The soothing velvety feel of the
wine would go a long way toward settling her nerves.

  Rummaging around in one drawer, then a second, she found every possible utensil and kitchen aid possible—vegetable peeler, cheese grater, chip clip, everything except the damn corkscrew. She slammed the drawer shut, the lack of a bottle opener manifesting itself into frustration over this crazy, unlikely scenario. This was not the kind of high school reunion she had imagined when she’d answered yes to that e-mail. She was playing house with the one man she should not be doing it with.

  “Good afternoon, darling, what have you cooked up for us?”

  The sound of Adam’s voice coming up from behind startled her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Adam, don’t scare me like that . . .”

  “Who else did you think was coming? Did we invite the neighbors?” he said.

  “Gee, you’re funny.”

  “It’s obvious we’re alone, so I think we can relax. We’re fine, and given the storm is still raging outside, I’d say it’s going to be that way awhile. What they call an all-day soaker. Seems to me this old house is someone’s second residence and that at the present moment, well, they’re probably at their primary. Surely they can’t be summering in Florida in August, only to return and spend the winter in Upstate New York. What kind of masochists would they have to be to endure something like that?”

  Vanessa realized he was right, they should just relax and enjoy whatever was going to happen. When the world gave you a time-out, take it, enjoy the decompression. She turned to him, laughing at the unexpected sight before her. Adam was standing before her dressed in checkered pants and a striped shirt—looking very much mismatched and ridiculous. Like a Scotsman had thrown up on him. “You planning on going golfing?”

  “Yes, I know how silly I look,” he said, giving himself the once-over, “but the people who live here, whoever they are, have strange tastes.”