Holy, holy shit.
With some intense warm fuzzies, I lay down on her sofa and pulled the quilt up over me and Ivan. Keeping my hand securely on Ivan’s back, I stretched out my legs and put a throw pillow behind my head as another yawn hit me. The General mimicked my yawn and I told him, “I’m going to close my eyes for a minute. Wake me up if you need me. OK?”
He nodded. “OK!” he said and turned his attention back to the crabs.
I inhaled and relaxed. Tension I had no idea I was carrying around with me seemed to melt out of my shoulders. Lily was grateful for me, and I was damned grateful for her too. But then my mind drifted back to the way she’d looked right after I kissed her in the kitchen. She’d looked pretty terrified as she searched for the words for whatever it was she’d been planning to tell me.
Terrified of what, I didn’t really know. But she’d seemed worried long before I walked in the door for dinner. In fact, she’d looked pretty spooked even when I’d dropped her off at her house earlier that day.
The idea of her worrying that pretty little head of hers didn’t sit well with me. But whatever it was, I was positive we’d be able to sort it out.
We’ll be able to sort it out, I thought as I began to drift off to sleep.
Not just me anymore. We.
30
LILY
When I opened my apartment door, I was greeted by the cool blue light of the television and that was it. No baby crying, no bird screaming, no desperately shouted bungled rewrites of history to silence the General. All was quiet except for the murmurs from the TV. I switched on the lamp in the front entryway, and that was when I saw Gabe. He was passed out on the couch. He was bare chested and holding Ivan tight to him. The General was sound asleep in his cage, which had the door wide open.
I was hardly Agatha Christie, but I could piece together what had happened: The Case of the Nine-Month-Old on Solid Foods. There had been a poop incident, but it seemed as though Gabe had handled it like an absolute pro. It also looked as though the General had escaped—something he never did when I was home—but Gabe had handled that too without even a phone call or a panicked text to make me worry. What a love. I crept across the apartment and carefully closed the door of the General’s cage. I slipped the sheet over it and slid my phone from my purse pocket. I snapped a picture of Ivan in Gabe’s arms and sent it to Daisy. Within one second, she had replied.
Wake him up.
Why?
So you can go elope!
I tiptoed around my apartment so as not to wake Gabe. I moved his huge and muscular hand off Ivan’s chubby back and put Ivan down in his crib for the night. Changing out of my dress in the dark, I grabbed my stretched-out old cotton nightie with faded butterflies without thinking, but then I opted for a slightly nicer pink one that I had bought on an impulse but had never worn before. Slipping it over my head, I looked at myself in my bedroom mirror. It barely came down over my rear end, and the place where my thighs met my tush was hardly hidden by the lacy hem. It was a bit over-the-top, but too sexy had to be better than too frumpy. Using a trickle of water, I wet my toothbrush and brushed my teeth, keeping my lips tight around the brush to stay as quiet as possible. But all my creeping around was for nothing because just as I was rinsing, Gabe appeared in the doorway. Sleepy faced, hair sticking up every which way, in only his boxers.
In other words, absolutely delish.
“Hi!” I said around my toothbrush.
“Hey,” he answered, his voice about two octaves lower than usual. Morning voice at bedtime. Lordy.
He scratched his stubble and blinked against the bright bulbs of the bathroom. “You done in here?” he asked.
I wiped some minty foam off my mouth and nodded. I set my toothbrush down and turned off the faucet.
“Good.” He tugged me by my nightie into the bedroom. It pulled tight around my body, and I barely managed to switch the light off before he dragged me from the bathroom. He grabbed my hand, led me to bed, and crawled in beside me. As I was getting my pillow situated, he scooped me into him, spooning me from behind. I felt him hard against me, between my legs. He slipped his forearm between us and pulled down his boxers. I reached behind me and bunched up my nightie to get it out of the way, and he slid himself along my opening. I hadn’t been particularly turned on before, but now the floodgates were open, and he groaned when he felt me. With a small adjustment of his hips, he pushed into me, and I curled up instinctively, but he didn’t let me curl up all the way. He stayed as close as possible to me, the curve of his chest right against my spine and his strong hand cupping my breasts. He reached around me with his other arm and found his way to my clit.
We had been wild and noisy. We had been risqué and intense. But this time we were soft and quiet, and I loved that. I love the way he touched me, the way he held me, and the way he made me feel so cherished.
When I felt myself getting close, I gripped his hand to tell him where I was. He drove into me and stayed there, nestled his mouth against my ear, bit down on my earlobe, and whispered, “Come for me.”
I slid my hands over his and held on tight as I began to let go. I saw shimmering water and dappled light. As I was coming, I had this vision of a string that linked our hearts. Something bound us together that I felt but just didn’t quite understand yet. He came as I did, not with savage thrusts but with one deep drive and a rumbling groan.
As we finished, he pulled me into him even deeper. I snuggled down into him, my chest against his back, and our slowing breaths fell into rhythm.
I didn’t want to ruin this moment. But I didn’t want to stay mum and keep things from him either. And so, into the darkness of my bedroom, I whispered, “Gabe. I have my life here. I have my responsibilities here . . .” I swallowed hard and clamped my eyes shut. “Our lives are so, so different.”
His embrace tightened, and he pressed his lips to the crown of my head. “Is that a bad thing or a good one?”
I truly didn’t know how to begin to answer him. The feeling in my heart was indescribable—infatuation with a twist of uh-oh. But how was I going to explain that? By rattling off a series of hypothetical bullet points about things that he hadn’t even broached yet and that we might not even be headed for at all? By saying something like, All right, so think of an iceberg. Above the waterline is my fear of flying! Below, we have all other unknowns that could sink this ship too! Lemme start by telling you a cautionary tale about a turdmuffin named Boris . . .
He’d think I was out of my freaking mind.
So I decided to keep it simple and address the most pressing issue—the only thing he’d actually asked me about so far. “The thing is . . . about Brazil . . .”
He adjusted his embrace so that his forearm was diagonally across my chest, and his hand gripped my shoulder, making me feel tiny and safe. “Say yes. It’ll be fantastic. I promise.”
Oh, how I wanted to say yes. With all my heart, I wished I was stronger than my fears. But honesty mattered to me, and I was not about to pretend that we didn’t have something very real, and very scary, that might come between us. Yet again, I took courage from his strength and stared at the clock as the second hand ticked past. “I want to say yes, but I have to say no. Because I am absolutely petrified of flying.”
I braced for his reaction—disappointment, disbelief, incredulity. But it’s the safest mode of transportation and all those logical things to say. Instead, I was met by nothing but the sound of his steady, calm breathing. Very slowly, I turned my head, being careful not to move too much in his arms. His face was peaceful and his eyes were closed. He had already fallen asleep.
31
GABE
Even though I’d been right on the brink of falling asleep, I’d heard her. My first thought as I’d been drifting off was Well, shiiiit. But when I woke up, I was in Action Jackson problem-solver mode.
She’d obviously been worried about telling me, which made it clear that it wasn’t some small-potatoes thing. It wasn’t
like Markowitz and his ridiculous flailing afraid-of-bees dance that turned a lunch meeting on the patio at Chipotle into total pandemonium. This sounded legit. The word she’d used was petrified, and I’d heard her voice shake when she said it.
It sounded serious, and I took it seriously. I was falling for her hard, and I sure as hell didn’t need to take her to Brazil to prove it.
With as much stealth as a guy my size could have in an old house with seriously creaky floorboards, I crept out into the main living area. When the General saw me, he hopped up one rung in his cage, making the bars rattle. I pressed my index finger to my lips and said, “Shhh.”
“Whisper?” he whispered.
“Whisper,” I whispered back.
“OK!” he replied and then tucked his beak back into his chest feathers, lifted one foot, and closed his eyes.
I took a stack of blank paper from the shelf by her printer and sat down at her kitchen table. Using the notes I had on my phone as well as some searches online, I worked my way through all the places we could go for a start. Her role in the show, if she wanted to go with me, would be up to her. I wasn’t about to Idea Fart cohost into the situation first thing in the damned morning. If she wanted to cohost, that’d be awesome. If she had some cameos, that’d be great too. If not, and she wanted to be in charge of sound on the other side of the camera, that was also just great. Whatever she wanted was fine by me as long as I got to be with her. I wouldn’t be able to avoid planes forever, but at least for now—at least as we really developed a foundation—this would give us a chance to spend some more time together.
Because Savannah was about ghosts, Markowitz and I had decided the next few episodes needed to be about monsters, so I drew up five different options to share with Lily. Just as I was putting the finishing touches on the fifth one, I heard the floorboards creak way more softly than they had under my footsteps, and she came into the kitchen. Her hair was all tangled, one strap of her lacy nightie had fallen down her shoulder, and I could still see a hint of the hickey. It didn’t get any hotter than her.
I stood up and pulled her chair out for her. “Welcome to the pitch presentation for the next story line on The Powers of Suggestion.”
She rubbed her lips together and glanced around, looking coy, cute, and slightly confused. “Thank you?”
“Have a seat. Can I get you anything?” I gestured to the coffee maker. “Coffee? Tea? Leftover peach tart?”
She rubbed her eyes and snickered. “I think . . . I’m OK for now. But thank you!”
“Excellent. So given our travel limitations . . .” I paused here for effect, and she cringed when it registered what I was saying. “I’ve put together several ideas. All of them are in the US. No planes necessary.”
“Gabe.” She reached out one hand as if to stop me. But she didn’t look panicked. More like embarrassed. So I decided to keep at it. “We’ll have some Q&A time afterward. Lemme just get my presentation squared away.” I took my stack of pitches to the fridge and stuck them down with magnets shaped like slices of citrus fruits, blocking the fridge with my body. I heard her snickering behind me, and I smiled hard at the freezer. From the small ceramic crock by her stove, I grabbed a wooden spoon to use as a pointer and stepped to the side of the fridge.
She tucked herself up into a ball on the kitchen chair and watched me expectantly with her chin resting on her knee.
“Now, the first thing for you to consider is that Markowitz has suggested you become my cohost.”
Lily’s mouth dropped open. “Your what?”
“Just marinate on that awhile,” I said. “And forget about Brazil. Instead, here are some ideas that are a bit closer to home. First option is the Mothman, in Point Pleasant, West Virginia.” Here I pointed to the page I’d illustrated. I’d written down some info about the legend, the rough mileage, and the number of days it would take us. I’d done the same for all five. “Second option is the Wampus Cat in eastern Tennessee. Third, the Pukewudgie in Massachusetts. Fourth, the Beast of Busco in Indiana. And finally, the Ozark Howler. In the Ozarks. Obviously.”
With big and innocent eyes, I watched her scan the options, and then she glanced at me. “You’re serious?”
Serious as a goddamned lightning strike. I cupped my hand to my mouth and whispered, “I’m putting in a word for the Ozark Howler right now.”
Lily shook her head, laughing a little like she just couldn’t believe me. “Gabe. This is all very kind and very thoughtful. But I have all sorts of stuff that I’m responsible for here in Savannah.” She gestured to a calendar on the wall, which had events written all over it. I saw Ivan’s birthday and Help out at the library and all sorts of other things. Unlike my calendar, hers wasn’t all about work. Her life was about life, as I wished mine was too. “I can’t be going away with you all of a sudden, even if you are willing to drive to wherever it is we go.”
I grabbed the other kitchen chair and turned it around so I sat down straddling it. I put the spoon on the table and took her hands in mine. “Just think about it. I’m not going to push. If the world is the oyster, then you’re the pearl. And I want you to see that I’m willing to change my plans if that’s what it’s going to take.”
She nodded, studying me closely. She shifted her hand so we were palm to palm. She interlaced her fingers with mine and gave my hand a squeeze. Finally she lifted her chin and gave me a decisive nod. “Then I shall take your pitches under consideration, Mr. Powers.”
It was a relief, but I didn’t want her to think that her fear was something that I was simply trying to fix or solve or work around. She’d opened herself up to me. And I really wanted her to know that whatever she shared would be safe. I cared about what she went through, whether or not it was a problem with an easy solution. I gently turned her other hand over, so it was palm up on the back of my chair, and traced her love line and her heart line. “Can I ask you something?” I asked. “About the mode of transportation that will remain unnamed?”
Lily nodded tentatively, tucking her knees up even closer to her chest. “Yes.”
“Don’t want to freak you out.”
“It’s OK. Go ahead.” Her heels squeaked on the seat of the chair. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much. Safe word is engine fire.”
I wasn’t a guy who felt fear very often, but I’d been in a lot of situations that were dangerous as shit. I could understand how someone could develop a fear of just about anything. “Did something happen? Or have you always had it?”
“As a tiny kid I could fly,” she explained. “But once I was able to understand what was going on, it was out of the question. By the time I was three years old, my parents were trying to fix it.” She watched my finger as I traced her health line now, and then down along the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. “Spoiler alert. There is no fixing it.”
“Let’s get one thing straight. You definitely do not need fixing. I like you just like you are.”
She didn’t look convinced at all. “Well, that’s very nice of you. But I have tried to fix it. Virtual reality simulators, drugs . . . exposure therapy, even. My sister used to take me to the municipal airport, and half the time I ended up losing my cookies in the bushes. And I’ve tried lots of meditation.”
“Oh man,” I said. “I love meditation.”
“You?” She turned away slightly and smiled as she sized me up. “A big strapping buck of a guy like you? Counting breaths and clearing your mind? Don’t know if I buy it,” she said, laughing and tipping her head so her hair fell in a curtain beside her leg. “But maybe I do. You’re full of surprises.”
“Baby, I can om shanti with the best of them.”
Lily burst out with that wonderful giggle of hers, and from the baby monitor came the sound of Ivan starting to babble himself awake.
The chaos of getting a baby and a bird set for the day swirled around us. We worked together like a couple who had danced this morning get-ready dance a thousand times. We got Ivan and the General fed and
made breakfast together—I scrambled some eggs while Lily lined up English muffins in the toaster and got the coffee going. Together we sat down at her kitchen table with the sun streaming in. We caught up on emails, had our coffee, and read the news. We did all the things a couple would do. All the things I’d never done with any woman before.
“So,” Lily said, slurping her hot coffee and tucking her feet against my thigh on my chair. “What’s the plan for today?”
I dragged my eyes off her and refocused on what lay ahead of us for the day. I scrolled through the production calendar and landed on today’s date. “At one thirty this afternoon, Markowitz got us booked on a VIP tour of the most famously haunted spots in Savannah.” I took a sip of my coffee as I scrolled through the tour description. “The Marshall House, the Kehoe House, Sorrell-Weed, the Mercer Williams, Hamilton-Turner Inn, and the Davenport. Inside scoops, up-close access.”
“Ooooh, fancy! I’ve never even gotten to go inside half those places!” She clasped her hands together, which made her cleavage compress and made me forget every goddamned thing I was about to say.
She lowered her head, slightly cockeyed, and adjusted the lace, tugging it up by an inch while also pulling the satin tight over her nipples. “Still with me?”
I cleared my throat. “Doing my best. Then tonight,” I said, glancing down at the most recently arrived email message, which was, without a doubt, one of the weirdest things I’d ever received. “What do you say to this?” I spun my tablet around for her to get a look.
As she read, her face went from ordinary curiosity to now hang on one second to shut the front door! “Could that be . . . a prank?”
“Don’t think so,” I told her. Her eyes boggled a bit and she reread it, and I skimmed over it upside down.
To: Gabe Powers
From: Gen. Robert E. Lee
Dear Sir,
It has come to my attention through various official channels that you are a guest in our fair city of Savannah at this time. I thus humbly extend an invitation for you to visit our encampment at 20:00 this evening, upon which occasion we shall be communing with the Confederate dead in an effort to uncover a great mystery that has plagued our forces for 150 years. If you are amenable, I shall send you travel instructions via cellular telephone.
Do You Feel It Too? Page 20