Naked Hope

by Rebecca E. Grant

  “When I got home, I found Mother packing up Liv’s things. She filled me in and I agreed to move in with the family where they could help manage Liv’s care. But Vivienne refused to move.”

  Jill folded her hands in her lap. Although her heart ached for Olivia, she needed to appear neutral. “What did you do?”

  Gavin sat again and shrugged. “I left her. When she saw I wasn’t coming back, she joined us. But the marriage was over. I couldn't forgive her for neglecting Liv, and she couldn't forgive me for loving my daughter more than I loved her. Most of all, she couldn't forgive me my success.” His mouth pinched and he gazed out the window. “After that, we remained married but lived separate lives.”

  He grew quiet, lost in his own darkness. His body tensed. “Liv never knew the love of her mother. You said she grieves her but how can she grieve something she’s never had?” He shook his head. “It’s the music she grieves”

  The meter and pitch of his voice became broken and low. Jill leaned forward and placed a hand on his forearm, shocked at the rock-hard strength. “Oh, Gavin! Even in the worst of situations, children never stop giving up hope that one day their parents will love them. Your daughter demonstrates survivor’s guilt. In some way, she feels responsible for her mother's death. Survivor’s guilt is further evidence of her grief.”

  He leaned forward and stared at the carpet. “Around her third birthday—my career was well established by then—the miracle happened.”

  “You discovered her musical ability?”

  He nodded, a slow movement that moved his head only an inch or so. “She showed unbelievable potential. She’d hear me at the piano, and later pick out the exact same notes. Do you know how often that happens? Some musicians are born, some are made. Liv is both.” He turned and gripped her hands. “Don’t you understand? It’s the music she grieves. Helping her get it back is the only thing I live for.”

  Aware he was lost in memories, Jill freed her hands and studied him for several moments. In a low tone, she murmured, “I believe you.”

  He frowned. “But?”

  “You say she’s your priority, and you’ve asked for our help”

  He jabbed his finger toward her. “I’ve asked for your help.”

  “Yes.” She forced herself not to react. “And what you want me to help you with is to restore Olivia’s music.”

  His eyes darkened. “That’s part of it.”

  Jill crossed her legs and folded her hands. “The help Wilson can provide is very different from the help you want.”

  He jumped to his feet and stared into the empty fireplace. “On that point, we couldn’t disagree more.”

  Jill watched his frustration manifest in the rigid way he squared his shoulders. “How is that possible? You view your daughter’s inability to function as a musician as a failure”

  “Do I?” He glared over his shoulder. “Whose failure, do you suppose?”

  She paused, considering the question. What was he telling her?

  Jamming his hands into his pockets, he turned from the fireplace. “I suspect, Dr. Cole, you think I’m afraid to fail—that I somehow see all of this as my failure. But I assure you the only thing I’m afraid of is not trying hard enough to help Liv find her way back to her music. She drew a lousy hand—a mother who didn’t love her and a father who…who didn’t protect her, and look what happened.” He leaned a forearm against the brick.

  “What happened?” Jill prompted. Maybe now he’d reveal the real issue.

  After a moment, he twisted, his eyes clouded as if he’d lost track of the conversation. “What?”

  “What happened? Why would you say you didn’t protect Olivia?”

  When Baines announced himself with a brisk rapping, Jill jumped.

  Gavin didn’t react.

  “Excuse me, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of drawing all of the cars into the garage and securing the furniture on the terrace. Would you like me to do anything else? Do you think we need to batten down the exterior shutters?”

  Gavin’s wide-eyed gaze shot back and forth between Jill and Baines. “What’s going on?”

  “A three-country tornado warning is in effect.” Baines stepped closer. “Several have been sighted along the St. Croix just west of us. At least one touched down just outside LeClaire. We’ve been advised to take cover.”

  ****

  “How serious, are they saying?” Gavin asked, still getting his bearings.

  “Very. A series of outbreaks are expected with thunderstorms and flood warnings over the next four-to-six hours,” Baines reported, eyes dark. “We’ve gone from a watch to a full-scale tornado warning.”

  Gavin glanced at Jill who had turned quite pale. “Close the shutters. Baines, start on the west side, I’ll take the east. But first, I’ll move the family to the media room.”

  Baines nodded and walked away with swift strides, arms swinging.

  Gavin swiveled his full attention back to Jill whose large eyes and trembling bottom lip put him on alert. She’s afraid of storms. A savage determination overtook him. He hadn’t protected Olivia from the accident. He hadn’t protected his wife Vivienne from herself. He hadn’t protected his family from the ruinous rumors after the accident. But as he looked at the terrified, courageous woman who, despite his egregious behavior years ago, had set aside any animosity toward him to try to help Liv, he vowed the wreckage stops here.

  He grasped both of her hands. Her eyes popped wide but he didn’t stop. He pulled her close until their bodies were almost touching acutely aware of just how much he’d like to feel more of her generous curves and soft skin. “Jillian, I can see you’re afraid. You’re safe with us. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Gavin, Jill, Edith, and Olivia entered the media room on the lower level of the rambling estate which had no windows, no outside walls, soft lights, deep-cushioned furniture, and a large screen TV. He and Olivia used this room to review tapings of their rehearsals and performances. Tucked into the corner stood a small upright piano. How many times had Gavin stopped a tape only to approach the piano to demonstrate the correct technique, or to show Olivia what she might try instead? No one had been in this room for a long time.

  Although stowed, they could hear the fury of the wind as it twisted and tore at everything in its path. Reports of tornado touchdowns continued throughout the evening and into the night. But as the hours passed, Gavin became aware of two things. Jill’s success of courageously engaging Liv in word games, problem puzzles, trivia, and other methods of measurable play despite her obvious fear of storms—and the hope that flooded through him as he watched Olivia respond.

  Gleeful at besting Jill in one of their games, Liv came alive.

  In the flash of a moment, Gavin saw a glimmer of her former self—confident, capable, brilliant. For the first time in fifteen months, he experienced something other than despair. After seeing Liv like this, Jill couldn’t possibly recommend against her, could she?

  When the weather reports indicated the worst might be over, Jill, Gavin, and Olivia left Edith and Baines in the media room and stole into the kitchen to make popcorn and grab sodas.

  Gavin stepped outside to survey the sky. Although difficult to see in the inky blackness, he spotted another funnel cloud not far to the west. He scowled and blew back through the kitchen door just as the popcorn finished. He rested his hand at the small of Jill’s back and whispered into her ear, “It’s not over. There’s another one coming fast. Let’s get Liv back, now.”

  Jill nodded with a quick jut of her chin, tucking the sodas and popcorn into her arms.

  Keeping one hand on Jill, Gavin captured Olivia’s hand, and called out, “To the media room!”

  “To the media room,” Olivia and Jill echoed.

  Jill doled out bowls of popcorn and Gavin twisted the tops off sodas. Just as everyone settled back into chairs and sofas, the power fizzled out. Jill gasped, Olivia giggled, and Gavin wished he were sitting on the sofa between the two of t
hem. After candles were lit, Olivia begged her father to tell one of his stories.

  Gavin offered up a weak protest. “You just want me to talk so there’s more popcorn for you!”

  Popping a few kernels into her mouth, she giggled.

  He couldn’t remember the last time she’d asked him to tell her a story. He made his voice low and rumbly the way she liked it. “Long ago, there was a girl named Olivia. She was about ten years old, and her father was always telling her not to go into the forest. But one very dark night when not even the moon was shining, little Olivia crept from the safety of her bed deep into the dark woods. The night was so dark, she couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t even see her hands when she put them in front of her face…”

  Long before the story was finished, Olivia fell asleep with her head in Jill’s lap.

  He offered a rueful smile. “Must’ve lost my touch.”

  “Gavin darling, I haven’t heard you play in such a long time. The music would be so relaxing, and I’m sure Jillian would enjoy it, too.”

  Her request startled him. Fifteen months ago, he would have been happy to play. But music wasn’t something you do just because you can. Music was something you create over and over, fresh each time, because you must. He yearned to want to play, but since Liv’s accident, he’d remained detached. Still, his mother meant well. After a moment, he asked, “Any particular request?”

  “Anything your heart desires,” she replied with a proud smile.

  Gavin sat at the piano for long moments flexing his fingers and waiting. Waiting. And still waiting, hoping to be inspired. When at last he played, he had no melody or particular work in mind. He played because his fingers ached to touch the keys.

  He thought about the debris he’d seen strewn about outside by the storm when they’d stolen into the kitchen. People would lose their homes tonight. How do you heal lives that have been stripped to mere remnants of what they once were? Would Olivia’s life remain a mere remnant of what it once was? These images preyed on him as he played some of the most wistful strains he had ever created.

  When the last chord died, his mother was weeping. Baines’ eyes were suspiciously bright. Gavin couldn’t bear to watch Jill’s reaction. He didn’t look, hoping she couldn’t tell how vulnerable he was about his music these days.

  Moments after midnight, the air raid emergency siren signaled the all clear. Gavin scooped up a sleeping Olivia and carried her to her room. She awakened just long enough to smile, and then rolled over once again fast asleep.

  Gavin searched the house and found Jill in the great room. “I could use some fresh air. How about you?”

  When she agreed, he swept the length of her hair away from her neck and draped a nearby afghan around her like a shawl. He fought the urge to rest his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll need this.”

  The rain had stopped, but drips fell from the eaves. The wind had blown itself out, and the night air fell around them, cool and strangely mysterious. Even in the dark they could see the debris was knee deep in some places, but they’d been spared. The house stood, undamaged.

  With a hand at her mouth, Jill stifled a yawn.

  Gavin winced. He should say good-night and let her go to bed. But he couldn’t shake the fear that in the morning the harmony and hope they’d shared during the storm would be lost. “You’re afraid of storms.”

  She stiffened.

  He moved closer and caught a hint of her perfume, exotic, like jasmine or perhaps orchid. “Not an accusation. Merely an observation.”

  “When I was thirteen, I got caught in a tornado. Since then, they’re not on my list of favorites.”

  “No,” he agreed, staring at the outline of her face. Her skin appeared luminous in the moonlight. He’d have liked to reach out and stroke the dark hair that framed her face and shoulders. “My daughter is quite taken with you.”

  She smiled, lighting her blue eyes. Her full lips opened over her teeth. “She’s…”

  He stepped closer, hoping for a good word. “She’s?”

  “Joyful.”

  His felt his jaw drop. Joyful?

  “Troubled, confused, frustrated, often suspicious, certainly angry about being separated from what she loves to do most, and yet she has an effervescence of spirit. So often TBI robs kids of their joy, but Olivia’s sense of play, of fun, of appreciating things bigger than herself, is intact. I find her…”

  A playful wind brushed up against them as if apologizing for its earlier bad behavior. He saw a tendril move across her forehead and couldn’t resist smoothing it away from her eyes. His hand lingered. “Yes?”

  “Remarkable.”

  The stars blinked in symphonic harmony against the jet sky. Aware he hadn’t noticed such things in a very long time, he murmured, “As are you, Dr. Cole.”

  ****

  A sumptuous bed, cool sheets, yielding pillows and yet, Jill couldn’t sleep. The image of two pianos back-to-back, barren in their silence, would not leave her. No wonder he sometimes acted as if Olivia was a stranger. They were both so lost. She’d seen brain injuries turn families into strangers more times than she could remember. She never got used to it. But rarely were they as changed as Olivia appeared to be. Without her music, neither father nor daughter knew who Olivia was.

  Jill wrapped the borrowed robe around her body and made her way to the music room. She stood in the dark. The air was shrouded, heavy, as if every drop of joy had been wrung out. The thought made her shiver, and she moved over to the window. The clouds had passed. An August moon and a few summer stars provided the only light. If she were quiet enough, maybe the walls would relent and release the music that was so starkly absent. She curled up on the sofa, comforted by the afghan he’d placed around her shoulders earlier and allowed herself to think about Gavin, the man. Not Gavin the father, or her former music advisor, but Gavin the man. His dignified demeanor, his elegant grace both in the way he expressed himself and the way his body moved, and his sensual mouth. She shivered and cuddled deeper into the afghan.

  She awoke to find him in the room standing over the keyboard of Olivia’s baby grand.

  His body, no more than a shadow, jerked in broken spasms that tore through him like grenades. He fought it.

  She couldn’t bear to watch. On silent footsteps, she moved to his side. Her touch made him whirl. She smoothed the thick hair from his face. She looked into his watery eyes and felt his ache lodge in her heart. She watched as the ravaged look he wore turned hot.

  His hands rested on her hips, singeing her skin through the thin fabric of her robe. She stared into his smoldering eyes. He guided her to the sofa anchoring her back against the arm of the sofa. Her robe came lose. She made a move to cinch it closed but he caught her hands and covered her body with his. She rocked him like she would a child with his head at her breasts, providing what comfort she could. Awareness rooted in her gut. She was about to cross a line of no return—because he was anything but a child. Somehow, she knew the boy in him needed comfort, and the man needed to feel like a man.

  His gaze probed hers until she was sure he could read her mind and knew how much she wanted him. He shifted her in his arms until he rocked her, one hand supporting her neck, the other the small of her back. Her heart raced and her skin blazed as her breath caught in her throat unable to remember when she’d wanted a man as much as she wanted Gavin. When she could stand it no more, she claimed his mouth. His lips were vibrant—hungry. He drank her in like a man, starved as his need for emotional release merged with his physical need. She placed both hands flat against his chest and tried to think.

  He dragged his mouth away and drew back with a questioning look.

  She breathed deeply reclaiming his body. Every stroke of his tongue invaded and made her burn. She matched him stroke for stroke and arched her back. His arms held her effortlessly and his mouth traced a trail of kisses to the curve of her breast. She moaned, reveling in the sweet ecstasy of his mouth on her nipple, and gave up any tho
ught of resisting him.

  He caught the laces of her nightgown in his teeth and pulled until the gown fell open, then buried his lips in the concave between her breasts, and filled it with kisses.

  Some of the dampness from his tears still remained on his face. As he kissed her mouth, she could taste a trace of salt, his body hard and ready.

  “Jillian,” he canted, and carried her up the stairs. They fell onto the bed but not before he’d stripped off her robe and nightgown. “My God, Jillian,” he murmured, kissing the inside of her arm.

  She thrilled at the way he looked at her naked body and untied the belt of his robe, exposing the fact he wore nothing beneath. His body was perfect, with well-muscled shoulders and upper arms, a firm torso and his endowment every bit what a woman would expect from a man who looked like he did. He shrugged out of his robe and captured her lips as his palms flattened themselves against hers. They pulsated.

  “Come here.” He pulled her against him, hooked his ankles around hers, and spread her legs. His hands traveled the length of her body, caressing every inch but the most sensitive areas until she moaned for him to touch her.

  In answer, he kissed the back of her knees, her breasts, and caressed her belly with his tongue.

  Flames erupted everywhere his hands or mouth touched, fueling her need. She waited as long as she could, and then reached for his body.

  He caught her hand before she could make contact. “Me first,” he whispered and drew his fingers up the inside of her thigh. “I want to taste you.”

  The sensation in her body sharpened and isolated between her legs under his attention, each touch more gratifying than the next. His fingers were neither gentle nor rough, his mouth relentless as he read the responses of her body, and gave her more of what she wanted. She gripped the headboard and hung on as the tremors overtook her body like a volcano. Jill did her best to keep quiet but when he used his mouth to coax yet another orgasm, she cried out.