Hurricane House

by Sandy Semerad

  “Your husband is worried about you,” I said, wrapping my arms around Mrs. Fenland. Her husband Earl Finland, a U.S. Air-Force captain in Iraq, had reported the claim, I told her.

  She wiped her eyes. “He did?” “Yes, he e-mailed my employer. I work for a claims company. The lady who gave me your claim said your husband told her he’d talked with you during the storm.”

  Mrs. Fenland continued to sob. “I don’t want him to know about the baby.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re pregnant?”

  “Of course, he knows I’m pregnant. I just didn’t tell him the baby was sick, and now...” she sobbed. “Please, don’t tell him our baby’s dead. My husband isn’t well. They don’t know what’s wrong with him, a virus they think. I didn’t tell him about the last ultrasound. It showed Angelina, our baby, with a bad heart, without one of the ventricles. I still believed in miracles. I thought she’d make it, but then I got so sick before the storm hit, and I couldn’t get out. I waited too late.”

  “Maybe your baby will be okay.”

  “No, she’s won’t,” Mrs. Fenland sobbed. “She’s stopped moving and the doctor said two weeks ago, he didn’t expect her to live.”

  I cried with Mrs. Fenland and prayed for Life Flight to hurry and for baby Angelina to be okay, but when the medics arrived, they confirmed what the mother knew: Baby Angelina had no heartbeat.

  “Promise me you won’t tell my husband we lost the baby,” Mrs. Fenland said.

  “I promise,” I said, hugging her.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Drying my tears, I drove to my next appointment with Mrs. Prudence Levitas, a woman in her eighties. Like Cheryl Fenland, Mrs. Levitas had extensive property damage and she’d stayed during the storm. Unlike Cheryl, Mrs. Levitas appeared unharmed.

  I told Mrs. Levitas how lucky she was to be alive and soon after I finished noting the damage, her son from Baton Rouge came by to pick her up. By then, night had fallen on Paradise Isle. I almost didn’t see Victor’s wave as I drove past his Martian-looking house.

  I waved back.

  He motioned for me to stop.

  As much as I needed to vent, I felt too overwhelmed and pressed for time. “I wish I had time to talk, but I’m swamped,” I yelled out the window.

  A moment later, I approached Blue Heron Way. The floodwaters had evaporated so I parked in the driveway in front of unit five but I didn’t jump out of my truck right away. I needed to center myself, but I felt guilty when I heard Onyx barking from the side window. He knew I was out there. Might as well get out and go in.

  Reluctantly, I grabbed my heavy duffle and noticed Sean had his front door ajar. My heart hammered at the possibility of seeing him again, but I didn’t think I could face him. I needed to be alone to regroup. So I ran inside like a skittish rabbit.

  Onyx jumped up to greet me. He barked and barked, as if to say. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “Missed me, did you?” I squatted down to pet him. It felt good, focusing on Onyx and I decided my reports could wait until after I took care of this dog.

  I let him out back then refilled his food and water bowls. While he ate, I connected my laptop and the halogen floor lamp to the generator.

  Onyx started acting strange, pacing the living room, nervously.

  “You need to go outside again?”

  He walked to the front door and barked.

  I let him out before I realized I’d forgotten the flashlight and pooper scooper. “Stay here,” I said, but when I returned, Onyx had disappeared. I couldn’t imagine where he’d gone to in such a short time.

  Night shrouded the area, and it was too dark to see far. So I grabbed the flashlight and walked up Blue Heron Way. No Onyx.

  I walked over to Gulf Drive searching for him. I heard his barking in the distance, and I followed the sound. I wondered if Onyx was trying to find his owner Arlene. Or maybe Arlene had returned. Great for Arlene and Onyx, but I must admit I felt sad, losing the dog’s companionship. Onyx made me feel safer and less lonely. Not surprising. Dog owners feel more secure in their homes than dog-less folks, I remembered reading somewhere.

  “Onyx,” I called out.

  I walked one street over to Turtle Cove. My flashlight spotted a black streak disappearing under the wall of the Dolphin Mansion. “Onyx,” I screamed. No response.

  I continued to call Onyx until my voice gave out. I figured this wayward dog would return in time, but for now, I couldn’t let myself worry about him. Duty called. Storm victims depended on me. I needed to complete my claims. Yet, no matter how I tried to focus on my claims I couldn’t stop fretting about Onyx. Was he okay?

  The question haunted me. I kept getting up from the computer and going to the front porch, expecting to see Onyx’s golden eyes looking up at me. As a result, my claims took longer than usual. John Peterson’s was a nightmare and it didn’t look good for Sandra. Her renters’ insurance wouldn’t cover any items considered the domain of the landlord. Hopeless.

  My hopelessness transferred to Onyx. What if he never returns?

  I walked to the door and looked out. No Onyx, but I smelled the aroma of grilling food. Sean was cooking again.

  I peeked through Sean’s screen door. He startled me by opening it. Sean wore a white tee and jeans that showed off his masculine contours. “Wonderful to see you,” he said. He drove a hand through his dark hair. “Do you like grouper?”

  Self-consciously, I pulled at my hair. I hadn’t glanced in the mirror since that morning when I showered and dressed at the fitness center. I was sure I looked a wreck with my eyes swollen from the crying. “Where are you getting all of this food?”

  Sean picked up the end of my rope belt and played with one of the turquoise stones. He reminded me of a curious little boy. “I’m celebrating tonight, and I know of no one I’d rather celebrate with than you.”

  “Oh, really, what are you celebrating?”

  “I finished my book today. My agent wants to call it, ‘Hurricane House, Murder and Sex.’”

  “In that order?”

  He laughed. “Who knows? He believes anything with sex and murder in the title will sell. I told him I’m more concerned with getting the content right. I’ve been working on this book for many years, since ninety-five.”

  “You weren’t here then, were you?”

  “As a tourist only. The idea for the book percolated in my head for a year while I wrote short stories and finished up my second novel. I didn’t really begin the writing process on this one until I moved here.”

  “Congratulations on finishing your third book. Or any book, for that matter. Quite an accomplishment.”

  “I’m in the process of polishing it now, but if you’re interested, I’d like your opinion.”

  “You mean you want me to read it?”

  “When you have time.” He held his screen door open as an invitation for me to enter. “You’ve seen enough devastation to know if my book rings true. And, I value your opinion.”

  “But you hardly know me. Why would you trust me enough to read your manuscript?” I wanted to talk him out of depending on me, a person with zero time.

  “My instincts tell me you’re honest and conscientious, good at your job. Am I right?” He smiled, showing his dimples.

  I laughed nervously. “I try to be.”

  “Hope you won’t say no to dinner.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Sean. I’d love to, but I have so much to do and...”

  “I’d really like your company. I bet you could use the companionship, too. Even if you’ve already eaten we could sit and talk.” His blue eyes grew dark, as if sensing my distress.

  “I’d take you up on your offer if I hadn’t lost Onyx. He seems to have disappeared. I need to round him up before he causes any more accidents.”

  Sean touched my hair then felt the back of my neck. “You seem upset. Are you still hurting?”

  The crystal turned warm and I backed away in an effort to gain control. “I h
ave a headache. It’s probably due to stress, not the accident.”

  “Tell you what. After you find Onyx, come over for dinner. After dinner, I’ll adjust your neck. You need it.” He smiled and walked back inside his place, leaving me alone to decide if I wanted to have dinner with him or not.

  I thought about his offer while jogging over to Turtle Cove, calling Onyx. I didn’t see him or hear his bark. Would Martha the psychic know what happened to him? She was the one who said, “Your dog will help you.”

  On second thought, I didn’t think I could endure Martha’s spastic breathing or her doomsday predictions. Better to wait. Give Onyx a chance to come back on his own. Meanwhile I needed to ponder what do to about Sean. I had enjoyed the conversation last night. He’d served a delicious meal, relieved my headache. He’d given me an ice-sock and a hurricane lamp. He’d been thoughtful and generous, but...Did I trust him?

  Chapter Forty-five

  I walked inside unit five, climbed the stairs to the master bath, brushed my teeth and washed my face. My hair required only a finger combing. I straightened the black ribbon holding the crystal. The stone and my eyes looked the exact color of my tunic and turquoise ring.

  I lifted the stone to admire its sparkle when I heard barking. Onyx. I ran downstairs and found him at the front door in all his doggy glory, gnawing on a plastic water bottle. “It’s about time you got back.” I opened the screen door. “Get inside.” I knelt to stroke his head.

  He ignored me.

  When I tried to take the bottle from him, he growled. “Are you still hungry, or just sharpening your teeth? Whatever, I’m glad you’re here. I was worried.”

  Onyx stepped through the threshold of the town home with his mouth around that stupid bottle, chewing it. “That’s not a steak bone, you know.” “I see the wayward Onyx has returned.” Sean’s words startled me. I turned to see him standing on my porch with a filled champagne glass. He offered the glass to me and lifted his, containing water, I guessed, for a toast. “To fulfilling our dreams.”

  I sipped the champagne and glanced at Onyx who had plopped down on my living room floor with a paw around that stupid bottle. His eyes warned me: Don’t try to take it.

  Sean held the door open for me to enter his place. Onyx didn’t follow us.

  “November Rain,” a song from Guns and Roses played on the stereo. I swayed to the music and drank the champagne.

  Sean took the empty glass from me. He placed it on the counter, then slipped his arm around my back and laced my right hand in his left for a slow dance.

  My head met his chest. He smelled of soap and musk, warm and indefinably masculine.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “Couldn’t get you out of my mind today. Usually when I’m working, I’m in a zone. I have no concept of time. Not today. I don’t know how to explain it, except to say, I feel a special bond with you, Maeva. I felt it the first time we met.”

  When he said this, I thought I felt his sex harden against my stomach. The crystal became hot, probably warning me not to lose control. Regardless, I didn’t want to step away. I enjoyed being held in the warm arms of this attractive, sexy man, though his words seemed inappropriately intimate. However, my stomach had other ideas. It growled, loudly. “Hear that? I’m hungry.”

  He tilted my face up. “This definitely whets the appetite.” “I don’t hear your stomach growling.” He leaned over and whispered. “It’s not my stomach that’s involved.”

  I thought I heard Adam’s voice say, “Stop it.” Naturally, he’d disapprove.

  “Grouper smells wonderful,” I said, finally. “Aren’t you ready to eat?”

  “Whatever your pleasure,” he said, then kissed my forehead and walked out back to check on the grilling food.

  While he was gone, I noticed how the hurricane lamp in the living room radiated a golden glow near a massage table, covered in sheets. I saw a manuscript in a three-ring binder on top of a leather ottoman. The manuscript was turned to page 204.

  When Sean returned, I asked, “May I help you?”

  He shook his head no. “Relax, enjoy yourself. After we eat, I’ll give you another adjustment and a massage. That is, if you feel like it.” He put in another CD, Fleetwood Mac, “Your Love’s got a Hold on me.”

  I suddenly felt lightheaded and decided to sit in the lounge chair. Through the French doors, I could see Sean grilling skewers of vegetables, yellow squash, onions and broccoli with the grouper. Something about the way he barbequed reminded me of Daddy, before the ALS incapacitated him.

  My mind hyperlinked to those memories until Sean announced, “Dinner is served,” and handed me a wine glass and poured in chardonnay.

  “You have a lot of alcohol on hand for a recovering alcoholic.” I regretted my words when Sean didn’t reply.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Sean and I ate on the back patio while listening to the music, the wind and the gulf waves harmonizing. The grouper was the best I’d ever eaten, and I said so. Sean explained how he’d marinated it in soy sauce, lemon, vinegar and onion.

  Then he asked, “How was your day?”

  I gave him a brief run down. “That’s enough about me.” Tell me about your book.”

  “I don’t want to give the story away. I’d rather you read it for yourself when you’re ready.”

  “Truth is, Sean, I have so many claims to do, I can’t promise I’ll get to it right away.”

  He squeezed my shoulders. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m more concerned with how you’re feeling.” “Sad and pooped.”

  “I’m sorry. Head still hurt?” “A little, but time and sleep will take care of it, hopefully.”

  As Stevie Nicks sang “Landslide,” Sean said, “Let me give you an adjustment.” He walked behind me and grasped my head in his hands.

  I heard the crack and felt the blood rush through me. I took a breath of relief. My head felt better but dizzy, probably a combination of the adjustment, the wine and the champagne. “Whew, thanks.”

  “What about a massage?”

  “I don’t think I could relax and feel comfortable enough.”

  “You need one. It would help you.” He held up his hands, as if I’d pointed a gun at him. “Strictly professional. Why don’t I leave you in private and let you undress to your comfort level. When you’re ready, you can get under the sheet on the table.” He smiled, showing the dimples.

  “I don’t think I can undress to my comfort level.”

  He chuckled and waved a hand, an invitation to something other than a simple massage, I thought. “As I said, totally professional. Pick whatever music you like.” Sean pointed to the lower level of a bookshelf where he kept the CDs.

  I chose Nancy Veldman, a local musician who claimed her playing and her music were healing gifts from God. Nancy sold the tapes and CDs from her store in Grayton Beach. A few months ago, I shopped in there and met a woman who said Nancy’s music helped her recover from a divorce.

  After I handed Sean the CD, he got it going, filling the room with Nancy’s piano. “I’ll give you some privacy now,” he whispered. I waited for him to disappear up the stairs before I kicked off my shoes, untied my rope belt and slipped out of my tunic and tights. I kept my bra and bikini panties on. Being completely naked didn’t feel right. I was in the home of a man I’d known for only a couple of days. True, he was a well-known writer and a competent chiropractor. Many women would be honored by his attention, but I decided for my own safety I needed to keep my emotions contained.

  I hopped up on the table. A moment later, I heard Sean’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

  He lit a candle and snuffed out the hurricane lamp. “Are you warm enough?” The oil he dispensed smelled like lavender, a relaxing fragrance, and I started to feel tranquil, until he began to untie the crystal necklace.

  “I’d rather keep that on. I’ll lose it otherwise.”

  “Whatever you wish.” He began kneading my neck and shoulders.

&nb
sp; I soon fell asleep with my face between the horseshoe headrest, but I awakened with a start when Sean whispered. “Do you want to turn over?” The Nancy Veldman CD was still playing.

  Sean pulled the sheet up in front of his face, allowing me to flip over in privacy and position myself on my back. He then massaged my face, forehead, cheeks and jaw. He pulled my head toward him in a traction move. After the traction, he worked on my neck, my clavicle bones and my pectoral muscles before kneading my arms, hands, legs and feet.

  On my back, I stayed awake and when I was sure he’d finished the massage, I said, “Thanks, I feel as if I’ve had a night’s sleep.”

  He said nothing in response. I closed my eyes, waiting for him to leave the room, but rather than depart, he lingered. I felt his presence in the room like a heady perfume. I was unsure of what to say. Eventually, I sat up on the table with the top sheet wrapped around me and glanced at him.

  Sean’s eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “You’re beautiful, Maeva. I’d like to make love to you.” He moved closer.

  I could feel his sex against my bare knees. Even with his jeans on, he felt harder and bigger than the Italian Stallion dildo in the Surprise Catalogue I’d found at Huberta’s house. “You must be kidding,” I jumped off the table.

  Sean lifted me up in his arms and cradled me like a baby. The sheet fell away when he carried me upstairs.

  Shocked, I didn’t protest right way. I couldn’t seem to find the words.

  As soon as he put me on a king-size waterbed on top of a quilted spread of diagonal shapes, I finally came to my senses. Look,” I said. “I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea.”

  Sean said nothing. Instead, he undressed. His body reminded me of the statue of David. The hurricane lamp on his dresser, allowed me to see the urgency of his desire leaking from his knight’s head.

  The crystal turned hot, but not as hot as my smoldering need to make love.

  Sean looked like someone with a fever. His lips were hot when they found mine.