Wait for the Rain

by Murnane, Maria

  She lay there frozen, literally paralyzed with uncertainty over what to do at that exact moment, not to mention how to act when Clay woke up. It had been more than fifteen years since she’d spent the night with anyone other than Brian. And while she’d had her share of make-out sessions before she got married, she’d never slept with a man so quickly before. Was there a next-morning protocol she was supposed to follow? She didn’t know it back then, and she certainly didn’t know it now. Does this mean I’m slutty? Or am I kind of cool? She smiled to herself. What she did know was that she’d enjoyed herself the night before. A lot. Clay had made sure of that. She flushed at the memory and glanced up at Fred again. My green friend, today I will consider myself cool.

  She hadn’t expected to sleep with Clay. When she agreed to bring him back to the beach house, she thought they’d continue what they’d begun at the Pirate’s Cove, make out a little bit, nothing all that serious. But things changed once he closed the bedroom door. At first she’d been nervous to be alone with him, but her anxiety didn’t last long. The intensity with which he’d kissed her lips, neck, and shoulders; the compliments he’d breathed into her ears; the gentle way he’d caressed her skin: one by one her inhibitions began to slip away, and then it just . . . happened.

  She’d relished every minute of it, especially the way he’d wrapped his strong arms around her and grazed the top of her head with his lips as they finally settled in to get some sleep.

  “You’re beautiful,” he’d whispered before drifting off.

  She closed her eyes, the hint of a smile still on her face. I slept with Clay Handsome.

  Just as she began to replay the steamy highlights in her head, she felt a tingling in her throat, followed by an uncontrollable need to cough. No! Not now!

  She reached her hand to her neck and squeezed gently, as if that might somehow prevent the inevitable. She knew what was coming, but she didn’t want to wake him up. She wasn’t ready to face him, not yet. She willed the sensation to go away, but it only grew more intense, and soon her eyes started watering. She thought about trying to exit the bed without making much commotion, but now it was too late. She sat up and grabbed the pillow, then coughed into it.

  She gently let go of the pillow and looked at Clay again, then slowly removed the comforter from her chest and—as quietly as she could—got out of bed. She desperately wanted to brush her teeth, check her face, and put something on! She choked back a laugh at the sight of her and Clay’s clothes—still damp—lying in a heap on the floor. She scooped them up, tiptoed into the bathroom and gently closed the door, then carefully hung them over the shower railing, remembering the lusty rush with which they’d been removed, and was delighted to realize she wasn’t the least bit disturbed by the mess. Apparently we had more important things to do.

  She pulled her nightie off the hook on the door, then quickly slipped it over her head. That’s better. As she reached for her toothbrush, she evaluated her appearance in the mirror. Besides a tiny smudge of mascara under one eye, her face looked pretty good, or at least as good as it could after only a few hours of sleep—and more than a few rum punches. She carefully removed the mascara with a Q-tip, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail and splashed cold water over her cheeks and forehead, hoping the noise of the running faucet wouldn’t wake Clay—and simultaneously wondering if there was any chance he’d sleep through the sound of a flushing toilet.

  She chuckled to herself at the absurdity—and unfamiliarity—of her behavior. She’d been married for more than a dozen years, yet here she was, acting like someone half her age. For not the first time this trip, she felt as if she’d gone back in time.

  When she was ready to reenter the bedroom, she reached for the door, took a deep breath, and mentally prepared herself to see Clay sitting up in bed, wide awake. Or worse, gone. Please don’t be gone.

  She felt a shudder of dread at the thought that he might have taken off once she left the room. Seeing him after their intimate night together would be awkward, of course, but returning to an empty bedroom? That would be much worse. She hesitated. He wouldn’t do that, would he?

  Holding her breath, she gently nudged the door open with what she hoped was a relaxed look on her face, or at least a seminormal expression, given all the thoughts running around in her head. Assuming Clay was still there, she had no idea what she was going to say to him. While half her brain was still reliving the feel of his lips on her skin, the other half reminded her that she’d just slept with a complete stranger. Her eyes immediately darted to the bed. Clay was sound asleep on his back, still breathing deeply. She exhaled. Thank God.

  She quietly walked toward the dresser and picked up her phone to see if there were any messages from Emma, but the screen was blank. She set it back down, then turned around and carefully approached the bed, watching Clay’s chest rise and fall softly with his breath. Suddenly a strange thought occurred to her, one that caught her by surprise and—momentarily, at least—trumped her anxiety about having just slept with a man she barely knew. I’m so glad you’re not Brian.

  Before she could ponder the significance of that thought, Clay slowly opened his eyes. He furrowed his brow as if registering his surroundings, then slowly turned his head and made eye contact with her. She gave him a shaky smile and waved. “Good morning.”

  He yawned and smiled back. “Good morning to you too. And happy birthday.”

  She put a hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot today is my birthday.” What a way to ring it in.

  “I’m that good?” He sat up and patted himself on the back. “Well done, Clay.”

  She laughed, grateful for the break in tension. “Glad to hear you’re not lacking in the self-confidence department.” Then again, he had no reason to. She blushed at the memory of how he’d made her feel, how attentive he’d been to her desires.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, then crossed her arms in front of her and leaned her weight on one hip. “Just after eight.” Is he planning to leave?

  “I wonder how your buddy KC’s feeling today,” he said.

  “Not great, I imagine. If she’s even awake, that is.”

  “That was quite a gymnastics expo she put on there.”

  “Yep.” Daphne had no idea what to do next, so she just stood there in front of the bed, her arms crossed. Should I climb back in bed? Would he want me to do that?

  She didn’t see any obvious signs of regret in his eyes, but then again, she was hardly an expert at reading the facial expressions of men, especially ones waking up naked in a virtual stranger’s bed. Should I bring up last night?

  Her mind raced for something, anything, to say, but she came up with nothing, so she remained silent, again wishing she had a guidebook for appropriate post-one-night-stand behavior. Don’t make this awkward.

  Clay glanced up at the ceiling. “Nice gecko. We have one in our house too.”

  “I named him Fred,” Daphne blurted, then immediately regretted having done so. Talking to a gecko was odd enough. Naming him was worse. But telling anyone about it? That bordered on peculiar, with peculiar being a generous euphemism for weird.

  Clay chuckled. “Nice. I named ours Gordon.”

  Daphne let out a tiny gasp. “You’re joking. You named a gecko too?”

  “Not joking. Isn’t Gordon the perfect name for a gecko? Doug wanted to call him Mervyn, but I won the house vote.”

  “Gordon is clever, better than Fred. I’ll give you that. But Mervyn is pretty good too. My neighbors in Columbus have a dog named Mervyn, and it always makes me laugh to greet him.” She smiled at the thought. Hi, Mervyn.

  He laughed, and she felt the tension between them soften a bit more. What was I so freaked out about? Just go with it.

  She decided to climb back in bed with him, but the moment she took a step forward,
he sat up and pulled the duvet cover to one side. “I’d better get going,” he said, swinging his legs onto the tile floor.

  She froze. “Oh yes, of course.” She felt the awkwardness come rushing back and pointed to the bathroom. “Your clothes are hanging in there. Just to warn you, they’re still a bit damp.”

  While Clay was in the bathroom, Daphne quietly poked her head outside her bedroom door and peeked down the hall toward the kitchen. Why am I so embarrassed? She wondered why it bothered her that her friends would soon know that Clay had spent the night. Unless KC had been the one drinking wine with Skylar, which Daphne highly doubted, Scott had probably slept over too. Stop worrying. They’ll be proud of you. So should you. She glanced back at the shut bathroom door and sighed. She knew what was really bothering her. Couldn’t he have pretended he wanted me to crawl back in bed with him? Even for just a few minutes?

  Yes, Skylar and KC would be happy that she’d spent the night with Clay, but there was no getting around how quickly he’d jumped out of bed and said he had to “get going.” No matter what her age, no woman wanted to hear those words from a man she’s just slept with for the first time. She winced. What if I was terrible?

  She took a deep breath, then stepped into the hall and quietly closed her bedroom door behind her. As she padded toward the kitchen, she braced herself for the inevitable encounter with her friends, but the spacious room was empty, the lights off, and the living room equally still. She turned around and looked back down the hall. Both Skylar’s and KC’s doors were closed. Maybe they were still sleeping? If Daphne had had as much to drink as KC, she’d be in a coma for at least half the day, but KC’s body operated on a different level. It wouldn’t surprise Daphne if KC were already out for a run.

  Skylar, on the other hand, was more of a wild card. How late she—and Scott?—would sleep was anyone’s guess.

  She decided to make some coffee and go sit out on the deck. She reached into the cupboard for a mug, and as she stood in front of the machine watching the liquid drip into the cup, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned around and saw Clay standing there, fully dressed, albeit in clothes that were decidedly more rumpled than when he’d worn them just a few hours earlier.

  “Want some coffee?” Daphne pointed to the fancy machine. She hoped it wasn’t superobvious how uncomfortable she felt, but there was no getting around the reality of her mood.

  Clay shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not much of a coffee drinker. I was thinking about hitting the smoothie stand.”

  “Did I hear someone mention the sweet nectar that is coffee?”

  Daphne looked to her right and caught her breath at the man she saw strolling into the kitchen . . . and wearing nothing but a pair of striped boxer shorts.

  “Doug, hi,” she said in a near whisper.

  “Mornin’, Daphne. Hey, Clay.” He yawned and scratched his cheek.

  Daphne felt her blood run cold. No! Doug knew how drunk KC had been last night. How could he take advantage of her like that? She quickly turned toward the coffeemaker, unable to look Doug in the eye, furious at him, at herself, at all of them. I shouldn’t have left them alone. How could Skylar have let KC do that? She didn’t know what she was doing. We should have protected her.

  “Daphne?”

  It was Clay speaking to her now, but she still couldn’t bring herself to turn around.

  “Yes?” she said in a strained voice.

  “Doug and I are going to sit on the deck for a few minutes before I take off, okay?”

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll bring his coffee out when it’s ready. You sure you don’t want anything?” she called over her shoulder, trying to keep her speech steady.

  “Water would be great, or juice if you have it.”

  “Okay, got it.” Acting on autopilot, she fumbled around for a second mug and a juice glass, then awkwardly pressed the button on the coffee machine. She opened the fridge and removed a carton of orange juice, then filled up a glass for Clay before brewing another cup of coffee. Her mind continued to race. What should I do? How could this have happened?

  When the second cup of coffee was ready, she set all three drinks on a tray with cream and sugar fixings and two spoons, then carefully walked toward the deck, with the tray visibly trembling. She prepared herself for how to address Doug. Don’t be rude to him. He’s not the married one here.

  When she stepped outside and looked toward him and Clay, she nearly dropped the tray. KC was on the deck too. She was dressed in workout gear and leaning against the railing, stretching her quads one at a time by pulling her heels up against her backside. Doug and Clay were seated at the teak picnic table.

  “There’s the birthday girl!” KC stopped stretching, then bounced over to Daphne and took the tray from her. She set it down on the table, then gave Daphne a huge hug. “Happy birthday, my friend!”

  Daphne hugged her back, bewildered by her positive mood given the circumstances. “Thanks. Um, did you already work out?”

  KC let go of her and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Had to sweat out all those cocktails. My body’s not used to alcohol cruising through the bloodstream like kids on a slip-and-slide.”

  “How do you feel?”

  KC adjusted her baseball cap. “I feel fine now, but I’m not gonna lie. When I woke up at six o’clock, I wasn’t feeling so hot. But Doug made me drink a ton of water before I went to bed, so that helped a lot.” She blew him a kiss. “Thanks, pal. I owe you one.”

  “No problem. After the show you put on last night, I felt I owed you a little TLC.” He picked up the coffee mug and took a sip, then lifted it toward Daphne. Thanks for the tasty cup of joe, it’s exactly what I need right now.”

  Daphne smiled as much as she could manage. “You’re welcome. All I did was push a button.”

  “Well, you did a damn fine job,” Doug said.

  “You also poured a mean glass of juice,” Clay said.

  “Thanks.” Daphne smiled at him too and tried her best to hide how rattled she was by the entire situation. Didn’t anyone else feel horribly awkward right now? Or was a casual morning-after scene like this par for the course for single people? Or was the correct word unattached people? Unmarried people? She’d been out of the game for so long, she didn’t even know the current nomenclature. Then again, KC wasn’t any of those things, and she seemed completely comfortable at the moment. What is going on? Why are they acting so normal? She felt as if she were watching a movie in a foreign language—with no subtitles.

  “Is one of those for me? I feel like I’ve just risen from the grave.”

  Daphne whirled around. Skylar emerged from the house wearing a short robe and slippers, her long auburn locks pulled up into a haphazard bun that somehow looked simultaneously messy and chic.

  “Hi, Skylar,” Daphne said, then pointed at the tray. “You can have mine if you want.” Right now all she wanted to do was go inside and escape this weirdness . . . and maybe go back to bed. Or back to Ohio.

  “On your birthday? Don’t even think about it.” She wrapped her arms around Daphne and squeezed her tight. “Happy birthday, sweets. I love you lots.” Then she added as a whisper into Daphne’s ear, “Good for you, by the way. He’s dreamy.”

  “I’m so confused right now,” Daphne whispered back.

  Doug stood and held up his mug. “Take mine, Skylar. You like cream and sugar?”

  “Right now I like anything that has caffeine in it.” She walked up to Doug, and Daphne’s jaw dropped at what happened next.

  “Thanks, babe.” Skylar stood on her tiptoes and gave Doug a quick kiss on the cheek before taking the mug and sitting down on a bench. “Mmm, come to Mama,” she cooed to the dark liquid.

  Daphne stood there, her mouth still slightly agape. Huh? She hoped her expression hadn’t telegraphed her bafflement, but she highly doubted it. Skylar and Doug? What?

&nb
sp; KC, who still didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed, proceeded to stretch out her calves against the railing of the deck. “Hey, Skylar, how would you feel about postponing our spa day?”

  “Please tell me you’re joking,” Skylar said without looking up from her coffee. “Why in God’s name would we do that?”

  KC jutted her chin toward Doug. “Because my bestie here just invited us to join him and his buddies on a catamaran!”

  Daphne stiffened. What did Clay think about this invitation? More importantly, what did she think about the invitation? Until now she’d assumed Clay would be gone with the juice in his glass.

  Skylar arched an eyebrow. “A catamaran? Tell me more.”

  KC pointed to Doug. “He’ll fill you in. I’m going to pop in the house for some water. Anybody else need anything?”

  Maybe an explanation of what the heck is going on? Daphne asked with her eyes, but KC didn’t seem to notice. While she was immensely relieved to know that KC hadn’t cheated on Max, she was still trying to process that Skylar and Doug had ended up together. And where was Scott? What had happened to him? Where are the subtitles?!

  Doug pointed toward the ocean. “We chartered a big one, includes drinks, lunch, the works. You’re more than welcome to join us, we have plenty of room.”

  Skylar sipped her coffee. “Okay, let’s do it. As long as I’m above the water, I’m good.”

  “Sounds like you’re more of a land person?” Clay asked her.

  “I’m a prefer-not-to-drown person,” she said as she gestured toward Daphne. “Ms. Thesaurus over there would know the correct word choice.”