Tropical Storm - DK1

by Melissa Good

  The warmth around her arm disappeared, and she pulled her jacket off as she 120 Melissa Good made her way into the bedroom.

  It hurt to even take her clothes off. She left them draped over the chair and pulled an old T-shirt over her head, leaning against the wall as the pounding made blood red flashes behind her closed eyes. “Ugh.” She started to go to the door, then paused and grabbed a pair of shorts. “Think. Think, think, damn it.” It had been a long time since she’d had anyone else in the condo who’d care what she was wearing, hadn’t it?

  “Hey,” she called out to Kerry, who poked her head in the room. “Listen, I…I think I’d better lie down until this stuff kicks in.” She leaned against the jamb, watching Kerry’s face. “There’s a terminal in the study, if you wanted to finish up that stuff.”

  Kerry studied the perceptibly swaying woman and sighed. She stepped forward again and put a hand on her arm. “Come on, don’t worry about me.

  Let’s get you settled.”

  Dar didn’t resist the touch this time. She let herself be guided over to the waterbed and sank down into it. “Oh, man.” She curled onto her side, clamping her jaw down on another wave of nausea. The pain tightened again and she wrapped an arm over her head, finding it hard to breathe, it hurt so much.

  “Here. Roll over.” The voice was quiet and familiar and she obeyed, feeling hands gently probing at the ache in her neck. The warmth of the touch was startling, and she inhaled sharply as the strong fingers worked at the tight muscles across her back. It was an intrusion she had no interest in protesting, and she wasn’t sure at all where it was all going except that it had been so very long since she’d known this kind of compassion, and it felt wonderful.

  “Easy…wow, that’s really tight. Hold on.” Kerry worked at the tense shoulders, feeling uncertain and very awkward. Dar’s skin felt nice and warm through the soft cotton of her shirt, and she was uncomfortably aware of just how inappropriate this all was. She was also uncomfortably aware of how much she was enjoying it. But Dar wasn’t protesting. In fact, she buried her face into the crook of her arm and exhaled, groaning a little under her breath.

  Definitely not protesting.

  It took a while before she could feel the knots release under her fingers, and by that time, Dar was edging towards sleep. Kerry stopped her massaging and removed one hand, but kept the other there, making gentle circles with just her fingertips, which only stopped when she realized Dar was deeply asleep, her breathing steady and even.

  She withdrew her touch, then stood and backed out of the room quietly, not stopping until she was in the center of the living room, where she let out a long-held breath. “Whew.” She ran a slightly shaking hand through her hair.

  “Okay, okay, just settle down, Kerry. It’s over now, she’s all right. Just relax.”

  Jesus. She folded her arms across her chest and tried to sort out the churning emotions she felt inside. “Okay,” she finally murmured to herself,

  “you did the woman a favor, so just chill.” Just a favor, like anyone would do.

  For a friend. Kerry tipped her head back and studied the plaster-swirled vaulted ceiling, breathing deep and slow, as she’d once taught herself to do before a big debate, to steady down her nerves.

  It worked. Curious now, she looked around, taking in the apartment with Tropical Storm 121

  an appreciative eye. “So this is where you live, huh?” She wandered around the large room, examining the soft leather of the couch. “Ooo, bet that’s comfortable to sit on.” She stepped up into the dining room and went to the windows, which were covered with slatted blinds. She lifted a blind up to expose the ocean view and sighed. “Man, that’s nice.”

  From there, she wandered into the kitchen, peering at the appliances, which showed little use, and the center food prep island, which showed even less. “You don’t spend much time in here, do you?” She peeked inside the refrigerator and shook her head. “Good grief, Dar. Do you expect me to believe you live on milk, chocolate chip cookies, and, ” she opened the freezer,

  “frozen pizza?” She slapped her head in disbelief. “I’m not seeing this.” She looked again. “Oh, excuse me…and ice cream.”

  She left the sadly ill-stocked kitchen and made another circuit around the living room. A door led off to the right, and she poked her head in, seeing a large desk complete with computer. “Ah, the study.” She glanced up the stairs curiously, then trotted up the carpeted steps, finding three rooms and two bathrooms there, one bedroom apparently meant to be the master bedroom from its size, and a wraparound balcony open to the sea. She wondered why Dar chose to sleep downstairs, then figured it was probably just easier for her to deal with one level, since she...

  Kerry looked around again, then went downstairs and took in the quiet living room. Since she lived here alone. Her eyes flicked to the entertainment center, then to the living room table, and she realized that other than the large picture above the couch, there was nothing personal in the room. No pictures.

  No clothes scattered around. No diplomas or quirky, knick-knack items.

  Nothing. It was as though the enigmatic woman who lived here was just visiting, afraid to put a personal stamp on the place.

  Kerry thought about that as she wandered into the study and sat down at the large, polished desk. And found at last, a small, framed photograph, which she picked up and brought closer. In it was a younger Dar, dressed in a white karate outfit, one hand resting on a tall trophy, the other arm wrapped around an older man who was grinning proudly at the camera and pointing to her. His bearded face was strongly reminiscent of Dar’s, and his eyes were the same pale blue. She turned the picture over and read the words penciled on the back. “Two of a kind. 1990.”

  “Hmm.” Kerry carefully put the photo back down, then considered what to do. She could just leave—Dar was sleeping, there was no longer a need for her to hang around here. The phone was there, she could call a cab. On the other hand, Dar had sort of said it was okay for her to stay, by telling her where the desk was, and kind of assuming she’d do something with it. On a third hand, the prescription had said to take one pill, and Dar had taken two, and wasn’t it dangerous to leave someone sleeping like that?

  Two hands to one. Kerry gave a brisk nod, and flipped on the computer.

  “I can finish up everything from here. In fact…” Her eyes found the HP

  Laserjet 4Si tucked against one side of the desk. “Heck, I can even reprint those dumb reports.”

  Satisfied, she waited for the machine to boot, then logged in with her own logon. The system hesitated for quite a while, then obediently gave up her 122 Melissa Good personal menu. She signed into a terminal session, then got to work.

  IT HAD TO be a dream, Dar fuzzily realized. She was in a large, open field, with the buzz of crickets all around her, and only the hiss of the wind beyond that. No traffic sounds, no airplanes—just this awesome, beautiful silence that filled her soul with peace. She was lying down with her eyes closed, absorbing the sunlight, and enjoying the soft, cool breeze that stirred the stalks of grass around her. She was naked, but that didn’t bother her, and she could feel the solid, warm weight of another human being draped over her, softly breathing against the skin of her neck. It was peaceful. She was happy and contented. It was perfect.

  And, as dreams do, it slowly faded, allowing the real world to nudge at her, and she reluctantly obeyed, dragging her consciousness back to the present, which forced her to open her eyes and see the soft light of her bedside clock, which told her it was eight o’clock and very dark.

  Dark, she realized, as her ears caught a howl of wind and the patter of rain against the window, and stormy. She rolled slowly over, gingerly moving her head, relieved at the lack of pain. Her mouth felt dry, and she blinked at the ceiling, then stiffened as her subliminal senses made her aware that she was not alone in the apartment.

  Then she remembered. “Ah.” A faint, worried frown edged her face, and she blearily remembere
d Kerry’s gentle touch on her as she went to sleep. For some reason, that called up the memory of her dream, and she shoved it back in irritation. Aw, chill out, Dar. The kid was just trying to help. She was probably uncomfortable as hell doing that, so remember to thank her.

  For a moment she paused in thought, acknowledging the fact that she was glad Kerry was still there. Then she sighed and smiled a little ruefully.

  “Ah, Dar, what have you done this time, hmm?”

  She rolled out of bed with a yawn and trudged to the bathroom, blinking at her disheveled look with a scowl. She raked her fingers through her hair to order it a little, then gave up and walked quietly into the living room, where she stopped suddenly. A faint smile touched her lips as she surveyed Kerry’s sleeping form, tucked into the corner of one of the couches, her hand resting on a pile of papers. Her head was resting on the soft, padded arm, and she’d thrown her jacket over her shoulders for warmth. Asleep, her face was open and innocent as a child’s, and Dar felt an irresistible affection brewing in her for the young woman. Silently, she padded back into the bedroom and pulled a soft blanket from the closet, returning to settle it gently over Kerry before she continued into the kitchen.

  The weather was lashing against the seaside windows, and Dar glanced out, surprised to see whitecaps traveling up and down the usually calm coastline. The barely visible buoys were bobbing right and left, their red and green signals waving wildly over the sea’s surface. “Huh.” She reached behind her and turned on the small, cabinet-mounted television, flipping through the channels rapidly. “Let’s see. Sensational local news, must be Channel Seven.” Seeing a weather map and a concerned-looking badly toupée’d weatherman, she gave the changer a rest. “Uh oh.” She turned up the Tropical Storm 123

  sound a little.

  “Rising suddenly in the straits of Florida, the low that had settled just north of Cuba has intensified, and a hurricane hunter plane from NOAA confirms a center of circulation and tropical storm force winds.”

  “Goddamnpieceofcrapstupid— It’s November, damn it!”

  “The National Weather Service in Miami has issued tropical storm warnings for the entire southern coast of Florida, from Cape Sable all the way around up to West Palm Beach. Interests in the area should be making preparations for tropical storm conditions within the next twelve to twenty four hours.”

  “Aw, nuts.” Dar sighed in exasperation. “I thought we were over this for this year.” A soft sound behind her made her turn to see Kerry entering the kitchen, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and a puzzled, somewhat concerned look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Dar gestured to the television. “Tropical storm.” She exhaled. “Out of nowhere!”

  Kerry peered at the screen, then up at her. “What does that mean?”

  A dark brow cocked. “Well, for one thing, it means you’re stuck here.”

  She picked up the phone and dialed, waiting with drumming fingers until someone picked up. “Hello, Rocky, this is Dar Roberts. What’s going on?” She listened. “I figured. Thanks.” She hung up. “Yep, the ferries are locked down for the duration. Only emergency runs are being made with the boats if people have to get off or on.”

  Kerry considered the unexpected development. “Hmm. Sorry. I guess I should have left when I had the chance. I just wanted to get those reports done, then I…I guess I was tired, so I just lay down for a minute…” She gave Dar an apologetic look. “How are you feeling?”

  “Well, my head didn’t explode,” Dar said. “And I can move around without wanting to puke, so I guess I’m better.” Her brow creased. “I’d better get candles and flashlights out. No telling how long we might lose power for.”

  She stepped to the edge of the window, and pressed a hidden switch. “Better get the shutters down now.”

  With a mechanical hum, protective aluminum shutters slid down over the huge, ocean-view windows, clanking down with a rattle and whining to a halt. Dar did the same to the kitchen window, then showed Kerry where the switches were for the other rooms. She left the blonde woman to do that, while she entered the laundry room and pulled out a covered basket, returning to the kitchen and putting it on the island. She opened it and peered down.

  Inside were neatly packed flashlights, candles, sterno cans, and other supplies. “Hmph.”

  “Okay, all done.” Kerry reported, as she came back into the kitchen.

  “What else can I do?”

  124 Melissa Good Dar gazed at her, then ducked back into the laundry room and came out, tossing her a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “They’ll be big on you, but a whole lot more comfortable than what you’re wearing if the lights go out,” she explained wryly. “It gets pretty warm in here without air conditioning.”

  Kerry had caught the garments and glanced at them, then she gave Dar a wry grin. “Makes sense.” She took the clothing with her into the small half bathroom near the study and quickly changed, stifling a giggle at the ungainly size that made her feel like a child. “Good grief.” She removed the belt from her skirt and belted the long T-shirt, then folded her clothing up and returned to the kitchen in her bare feet. The marble tile felt cold and the terra cotta of the living room wasn’t much better.

  Dar was still in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and studying the basket. She looked up as Kerry entered, and half grinned at her outfit.

  “Definitely big on you.”

  Kerry looked down at herself and returned the grin, shrugging her shoulders. “Beats the monkey suit anyway. Thanks.” She went over to the basket. “So, is this a hurricane party?”

  The dark-haired woman turned her head and regarded her. “More or less,” she said. “I…there’s canned stuff in the closet for storms. I don’t have much around here otherwise.” She indicated the refrigerator. “I mostly order in from the island restaurants.”

  Kerry leaned back on her elbows. “What kind of canned stuff?”

  Dar indicated the closet. “I have no idea. I had someone bring an assortment in. I was too busy to do it myself.”

  “Uh huh.” Kerry pushed off from the counter and explored the closet.

  “Well, I think I can make something interesting out of this.” She looked over her shoulder. “You don’t cook much, do you?”

  Dar shook her head. “Not at all. I have cereal for breakfast, and I can make coffee. That’s about it,” she admitted. “Why?”

  Kerry sighed, selecting some items and putting them on the counter.

  “Well, I’ve gotten myself stuck here in your face, so I might as well make myself useful. “ She went to the refrigerator and studied the contents. “Hmm, I like challenges. Ah…” She pawed in the freezer and retrieved several frosty boxes, which she also set on the counter. “Do you have anything, um, like a pot?”

  Silently, Dar pointed to the cupboard. “What are you doing?”

  Sea green eyes regarded her in mild amusement. “I’m cooking. I can do that, you know.” She grinned at Dar’s expression. Then she turned to the cabinet. “Let’s see, you said you had cereal.” She opened the door, then turned, and put her hands on her hips. “Dar Roberts, I am not seeing Tony the Tiger in your closet, am I?”

  Dar hung her head, then looked up at Kerry through dark lashes with a sheepish grin. “Corn and sugar are two of the food groups, right?” she inquired hopefully. “Let me guess, you do Grape Nuts.”

  Kerry glanced around, then tiptoed over to her, and whispered. “Cocoa Krispies, but don’t you tell anyone.”

  They shared a conspiratorial grin. Then, unexpectedly, Dar reached out and put a hand on Kerry’s shoulder. “Thanks for helping me out, Kerry. Sorry Tropical Storm 125

  it got you stuck here.”

  Kerry cocked her head a little, and a gentle smile appeared. “If I helped, then I’m not sorry,” she replied. “Besides, I’d rather be stuck here with you than by myself in this. I hate storms.”

  “Fair enough,” Dar answered. “Besides, I learned
something new about you.” Kerry’s brows lifted. “You give killer massages.” Dar grinned, catching her by surprise. “Wasn’t on your résumé.”

  Unable to suppress a grin of her own, Kerry said, “Glad my skills got put to good use.” They looked at each other in a lengthening silence until Kerry glanced at her culinary selections and cleared her throat. “Right. Well, let me get to it. You must be hungry, I know I am.”

  “All right, I’m going to log in and make sure they’re prepping the building,” Dar replied, still gazing at her. “I’ll be in the study if you need anything.”

  Green eyes lifted and met hers for a long, searching moment, then dropped away. “Okay. I finished up a bunch of stuff, and I reprinted those reports you were looking for.”

  Dar nodded and slipped out of the kitchen, leaving her to her thoughts and the seldom-used range.

  THE PAGE ON the screen was surely an important e-mail. Dar ran her eyes over it for the sixth time and still didn’t read it, her thoughts drifting off into some other realm with disgusting ease. Enticing scents from the kitchen kept distracting her, and she tried to remember the last time someone actually cooked something specifically for her, without her paying for it one way or the other.

  It had been her father—cooking eggs and bacon, his one and only specialty, on the morning she’d come home to find him saucily sitting in the living room, his freshly pressed fatigues almost blending into her furniture. “Just stopping through,”

  he’d said, “on my way out.”

  Out to Saudi Arabia, he meant. Out of life was what it had been. Dar glanced at the picture, and felt a hand clench her heart. It wasn’t that they’d even spent that much time with each other over the last several years. It was that he, alone among all the people she’d ever known, had understood her.

  Understood the competitiveness, and the fierce will, and the desire to conquer she’d inherited from him—and she had understood him, in all his complexity. His had been the only approval she’d ever needed. When that picture had been taken— her eyes flicked to the frame —he’d strode up after she’d won the tournament, and put his arm around her, and told anyone who cared to listen that “this is my kid.” It had filled her with a sense of belonging that nothing, and no one, had ever equaled. Then he was gone. And she’d sworn at his graveside she would never let anyone touch her heart like that again. Never.