Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) Read online

  Adam was laughing, taking a drink of his wine, almost like he was back in college again reliving the experience. The bendable laws of time, suddenly transporting him back to halcyon days. He realized, though, he was the only one grinning. Vanessa had set her glass down and was staring with glazed eyes into the fire, lost in her own private thoughts. He could barely read the expression on her face; she was impenetrable.

  “Hey, Vanessa, did I say something wrong?”

  “Oh, oh no. Adam, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . will you excuse me?”

  As she rose from the blanket, she tripped over the uneaten bowl of soup, didn’t even notice that it spilled onto Adam’s checkered pant leg. She ran from the room and hastily made her way toward the front door, throwing it open with fierce determination. A strong gust of wind howled through the house, as though it had come to claim them. He watched as she struggled to draw deep breaths into her lungs. Running to her side, he placed his hands upon her shoulders, but she wrenched free and stormed out onto the porch.

  He didn’t know what to do. Should he follow her?

  Adam decided best to give her a moment alone. Which was a good thing, it gave him a chance to review what they’d been talking about and what might have possibly set her off. But he came up empty, just dumb, nonsense talk about high school and college. He went back to the fire, shaking his head with confusion. Taking a sip of wine, he stared at the room, at the white sheets that covered the furniture, wondering about the folks who lived here and of the ghosts that floated in the halls and the rooms and in the nooks and crannies of the old walls. These were the ghosts that caught memories, only to remind you of them when you least expected. Who lived here, what was the story behind this house and its original owner? Who had built it, and what had his life been like? Adam felt that same chill Vanessa had spoken about earlier, like he’d just walked over someone’s grave.

  As he waited for Vanessa to return, he had to wonder about the fickle hand of fate. It was clear to him that he and Vanessa were supposed to meet over that accident, that they were supposed to have found this house. Their story remained unfinished, but for a second Adam had to wonder, when had it begun? This reunion within a reunion, something had made it happen. What came after that, he couldn’t begin to suppose.

  “What’s going on?” he asked the room.

  The ghosts, this time, they said nothing, as though holding back. That sound he heard was still the wind, whipping through the open door. The fire flickered and the last thing he wanted was for the flames to disappear with an exhausted poof. They needed all the heat they could muster, to battle the cold and the ghosts and the memories, and perhaps to embrace some secrets the netherworld didn’t know.

  He had to wonder, were there secrets that Vanessa knew?

  Was that what had spooked her?

  The truth of the matter was this: Adam might have thought he was simply rambling about some musty college memory, but in reality he’d hit way too close to home for Vanessa’s comfort. She didn’t want to talk about it; God, she didn’t even want to think about . . . it. But how to explain her abrupt departure from what had been such a lovely moment, a crackling fire and warming wine and the food she hadn’t even touched? Could she explain herself without delving into things she didn’t want to? She was hoping the fresh air would help clear her mind.

  The rain had finally stopped, the storm quieted. Gray clouds still hovered and as a result she couldn’t guess at the time of day—end, beginning of night, or just a moment in time lost to the silent revolutions of the clock. A cool, hair-ruffling breeze rushed by her, taking her back to those early summer nights in Danton Hill when she had never felt more alive. Located on the shores of Lake Ontario, the chilled winds that swept down from Canada were as much a part of her life growing up as were school, friends, hanging out. It was the backdrop to her seemingly perfect life. She’d left them all behind right after high school, but here they were again, her friends only miles away, and the scent and the smell of sea and sand sweeping over her, awakening memories long dormant.

  They were inevitable, weren’t they? Those memories. Sepia-colored truths.

  But facing these buried memories, weren’t they her sole reason for coming home? Wasn’t that what she’d confessed to Reva? That no matter how far she had run, across countries and continents, Danton Hill still held her captive, keeping her soul tied to its shores while the rest of her thrived in worlds she could only have imagined as a child. She’d told herself too, on the long plane ride and even on the drive that had led to the accident, the truth was back home and so was she. Now she was in the company of an unsuspecting man who had no clue how much he’d impacted her life. The man who sat inside, no doubt perplexed over her actions.

  There was another truth here, one she freely admitted to. That grown man inside named Adam Blackburn, so gentle with her today, so caring, that was really all she knew about him. His name and how he’d treated her today. Not about his life, his loves, not his hopes and dreams and desires, the things he’d lost, the things never achieved. Was he as much a victim of Danton Hill, or had he been able to let go and be happy? Was this her chance to find out? Would it even matter, change how she felt?

  Finally rising from the porch, Vanessa strolled out into the driveway, under the protection of a leafy oak tree that trapped her in its shadows. The occasional leftover raindrop fell, dripping down the nape of her neck. She welcomed the cool, tingling sensation; it felt different from the consuming chill inside her bones. The raindrops made her feel alive. When she turned back to the house, she noticed a yellow light had been switched on, beaming down from the porch ceiling, a piece of the sun amidst a world of gray. Adam was rocking quietly on the swing, patient, understanding. When had he gone there? She hadn’t heard a sound, and only now could she hear the squeaking of the chains of the swing.

  “Hi,” he said.

  His voice was soft, lacking intimidation. That was a nice approach, taking away any hint of confrontation.

  “Hi, yourself,” she tried, not sure how steady her voice was.

  “Was it something I said?”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” She paused. “Not yet.”

  “You keep saying that. Not yet. Is there a better time than now?”

  “A better time is never.”

  “Okay, at least you’re not being enigmatic.”

  She suppressed a grin. “I don’t mean to freak out on you. Adam, you know what?”

  “Won’t know till you tell me, I believe is the phrase.”

  “Despite our . . . past, what happened that night between you and me . . . we really don’t know much about one another, do we? Seems that life throws us together for a limited amount of time, short bursts of experiences that we can either take advantage of . . . or deny the signals and move on, forget. And then life takes us away again. And the things we’ve done . . . shared . . .”

  “Weren’t exactly our shiniest moments.”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said. “So, you want to get to know me, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Is that a line?”

  “No,” he said, stifling a grin. “But this is: your swing or mine?”

  “Didn’t you use that with our cars?”

  “I did. Men are like that, we use the same tired lines until they work.”

  “How’s that working out for you?”

  He grinned. “There’s only one swing. Why don’t we call it ours?”

  “Smooth, Mr. Blackburn, very smooth,” she said. “Can we consider it neutral ground?”

  “This whole house is neutral. Doesn’t it feel that way?”

  She gazed back at the farmhouse, with its wraparound porch and swing, the picture like something conjured from Rockwell. Comfort and familiarity issued forth, at least it appeared that way for Adam. For her, she felt the chill again. “I’m not so sure about that. You seem to be adapting to our s
ituation better than me . . . you opened the wine and you started the fire. All I did was run. But right now, I think I prefer the swing. I prefer to remain outdoors.”

  He waved her back up the porch, and she found her feet moving without thought, almost as though he was guiding her, pulling her toward him with the surging power of suggestion. She effortlessly glided up the steps and sat down beside him on the wooden slats of the swing. No cushions. He’d brought the wine, and his inviting smile, for comfort.

  “Smart man,” she said, happily taking back the glass she’d left inside.

  “So, where do we start?”

  “With yesterday.”

  “Literally?” he asked.

  “Yesterday, your current life,” Vanessa said, thinking yesterday couldn’t be so bad. A day consumed, like hers, with anticipation for the reunion. It was easier this way. Rather than harken back to the prom and all that happened that night, she thought going backward in time would ease them into old worlds. “So, we’ll start with what you’ve been doing since we last saw each other . . . oh, how long ago was that, anyway?”

  “Eleven years,” he said.

  “You remember that quickly?”

  “I didn’t. But I’ve had time today during the long drive to reminisce about a few things,” he said. “Plus, it’s one of the reasons I didn’t return for our tenth class reunion. What happened, neither one of us would have been ready to face the other. I suppose I felt not enough time had gone by. How was it, by the way?”

  Vanessa nearly spit out her wine. “Excuse me?”

  “Uh, Nessa, the reunion, I mean. Numero Ten.”

  For a moment she was taken aback by hearing him speak such an unfamiliar name, one she hadn’t heard in two decades. “Wow, you called me Nessa. No one calls me that anymore.”

  “More of the reinvention?”

  She thrust her glass outward seeking a refill.

  “We’ll have to pace ourselves,” he said.

  “Just pour.”

  “As long as you do the same.”

  She retorted quickly. “I thought this was your turn to talk.”

  He nodded as he refilled her glass, then his. The bottle was down halfway. Silently they drank. Vanessa, though, could not help but look at Adam’s face as he drank. There was a tender grace to his actions, a gentleman’s sip where he appeared to savor the taste, and not just swig it down like a beer or a shot like some eager frat boy. Different from the last time they met, those eleven years ago. That night had been crazy, ridiculous; it was a miracle she even remembered it considering all she’d consumed. Now time had progressed, and so too had they, from innocent teenagers at the dance to drunken twentysomethings during a chance meeting to . . . what, well-heeled, behaving adults? That wasn’t exactly how she felt. She felt adrift, like she was floating in a sea that had claimed her as its own to the point where she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore. Which was a good thing, she surmised, knowing that Adam was going to tell his tale. The night wasn’t dark enough yet for her story; she wasn’t ready.

  Just then she saw Adam’s face leaning close, so much so she could smell his manly scent, a musky breath. She froze, unsure what to do. Was he really going to try what she thought?

  Just then she felt his lips touch hers.

  Yup, he was.

  Her body stiffened and her eyes closed, but surprisingly neither happened with her lips. She responded to the sweetness of his gesture, wondering what had sparked such a move on his part, acceptance on hers. She felt dreams open up before her, laced with colorful sparks.

  His lips lingered; they must have sensed a hint of approval.

  At last she pulled away, and of course she had to be the one to initiate the separation. His face remained inches from hers. She could smell the wine on his breath, taste the velvet bouquet on her own tongue, but other senses grew heightened, drawing her to him. A gentle sweetness hovered between them, as though ropey vines, entwining them in their ripening, fruitful embrace, connected them.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Should I apologize?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “You got anything else to say other than ‘uh’?”

  “Uh . . .”

  He kissed her again, quickly and more deeply, with more passion. The tentativeness of that earlier kiss was gone, replaced by confidence, or perhaps a sense of the inevitable unleashing before them, like a storm’s deluge. As he drew her closer to him, his hands caressed her face, her hair. As their lips parted, foreheads rested together. She could hear his breath, words forming out of whispers, his words a sotto symphony.

  “You are so sweet, Vanessa, and so beautiful, so much more so because someone greater than us put us here in this situation, throwing us together in this crazy moment. It’s like this meeting was something dreamed up by the stars, something meant to be, something years in the making. It’s something to be appreciated, treasured.”

  “Adam . . .”

  “I know, I know, this is lunacy. Like we’re teenagers, making out like it’s our first time.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” she said, pulling back, gazing about with wonder written across her open features. “This moment, it feels more like we’ve been married for decades, you and I, and for us to be on this swing on the porch of this farmhouse, there is no more natural feeling in the universe.”

  “So, what do we do about it?”

  She stared deep into his eyes. “Like we’ve done before, maybe we need to listen to the sky and allow the fates to tell us what to do. You and me, we’re not so good at those decisions. Let the demands of our reunion dictate what comes next.”

  He took her in his arms again, and this time he didn’t kiss her.

  He held her, making her feel as safe as she’d felt since the storm had hit.

  Since their cars had slammed into each other, jarring them out of the world they knew and into one filled with all the wonder and uncertainty and hesitant first steps, like a first dance at a prom called Forever Yours.

  Forever might have just finally arrived, leading two people beyond their tenuous bond.

  CHAPTER 7

  NOW

  The lights remained off as the early night fell like a curtain being drawn, closing them off even further from the darkened world outside. The fireplace crackled with a flickering glow cast upon empty, faceless walls. Yet despite the ever-present shadows they knew swarmed around them, in this moment and on this lone plane there existed only two people in the world, and they came together, standing, staring, wondering, waiting for whatever next step they took. The heat of the moment on the swing had deepened to something far more meaningful, and it was as though by recognizing such a connection existed, both of them had retreated, nervousness and tentativeness overriding building passion.

  From the moment he’d taken hold of her cool hand, lifting her from the swing and inviting her to join him back inside, his heart had been beating, his veins pulsing beneath heated skin. He’d been with women, and he’d even been under the mistaken impression that he’d loved some of those women, but also there had been this eagerness, this carnality that accompanied his journeys to bedrooms he’d known, those that were strange to him. Now, though, he felt a shift deep inside his soul, a feeling inside him long gone untapped. What was soon to pass between them, he knew there was magic dust swirling behind it, and he wasn’t one to question the driving passions of the body, not now, perhaps not ever. Sometimes the world handed you a gift and you had to be open to receiving it. Vanessa was his gift.

  He cupped her face in his hands, her silky skin soft upon his touch. Gently caressing her tear-reddened cheeks, a wide, knowing smile crossed his face, offering up anticipation, appreciation. The smile spread, from his lips to hers, and what she returned to him beamed in the closing twilight. As he leaned down, his lips touched, pressed against her cool forehead; they continued down, kissing her dancing eyelids, the tip of her nose. Brushing her lips with a hint of
what was to come, she reacted as though tickled.

  “Adam . . .”

  “Sshh, not now. No more words. Say it with a kiss.”

  She did, eagerly bringing her own soft lips up to meet his. Their mouths opened wide, tongues played, toyed; again the ripeness of the velvety wine wafted up, infusing their embrace, intoxicating them. They kissed more. Adam had known no such combination of tenderness and heat before. Not even when he made such declarations to others, he knew how false those words were, spoken in the moment, meant to intensify the exchange. This time it was different; he and Vanessa were truly connected. His body was alive with a wanting desire. He pressed against her body, letting her know just how she made him feel.