by L A Morgan
Michael sipped his own drink and then turned his attention to the moonlight as it was reflected on the waves. His thoughts carried him far away from the oceanfront balcony.
After a minute, Laurel asked, “What are you thinking?”
With a sad expression in his eyes, the man replied, “I was wondering about the words to that song you like to sing.”
“Crashing Waves?”
“Yes. Whoever wrote it must have felt very much the way I do.”
“I met the composer last Saturday,” Laurel stated with a feeling of satisfaction.
“Are you serious?” Michael asked in surprise.
“Yes. The song was written and recorded by Dave Bartlett. Have you heard of him?”
“No.”
“He’s a famous rockstar. I met him and his wife at the Castellanos’ wedding.”
“Did he happen to mention why he wrote that song?”
“No, but I can guess. He released a song this summer called Amber, Light of My Life. In the lyrics, he asks a woman named Amber to come back to him and apologizes to her for lying. Several weeks ago, he got married to a woman named Amber. I think Dave Bartlett wrote that to bring her back to him. It’s also possible he wrote Crashing Waves right after that, probably before she came back to him. The time periods would coincide.”
“That makes sense,” Michael agreed. In a thoughtful tone of voice, he added, “So his words did bring his love back to him. Those lyrics have a magic of their own, I guess. He’s a lucky man.”
“I think you’re right. His wife seems to be a happy woman. “
Michael nodded, looking out over the sea.
Suddenly, he asked, “Do you believe that life is like a circle? Do you think that a person who has reached the very abyss of pain can ever find a way out of his world of darkness?”
“Maybe I’m an optimist, but I’d have to say yes, Michael. I’ve never truly suffered, but I have observed others that have. From this, I learned that time has a way of dulling the pain and replacing the bitter memories with new experiences. Unless a person makes a really strong effort to hold onto his grief, something is bound to happen that has the power to brighten his life again.
“Life might very well be a circle. Just as the tide will always rush in and sweep out, life will always bring us chances of happiness, and if we’re not quick to seize them, they’ll be swept away.”
“Never to return,” Michael glumly concluded.
“Not necessarily. Some things may be washed way out to sea, but the currents may change or there might be a storm, and someday, whatever was floating around out there might find itself pushed up on the shore again. You can take that literally or metaphorically.”
“Some things can never return,” Michael countered, reluctant to give up his morbid obsession.
Laurel looked at him sadly and said, “People may not return, Michael, but the feelings of joy they inspired in us do not need to disappear forever. The tide can’t stay out forever and man was not created to stay eternally depressed. That goes against nature. If you don’t fight life or hope too much, you might discover something new and wonderful, but you have to take the time to recognize that.”
“Philosophizing is an interesting pastime,” Michael off-handedly commented, taking another sip of wine. He glanced at Laurel and continued, “You can talk all around a subject without ever pointing to specific details.”
“That can be a benefit or a deficit, depending on how you look at it.”
‘“Right now, I would call it a benefit.”
“Can you feel at all happy right now, Michael?”
The man rewarded her with a smile.
“I’m happy to be here with you. I’m glad to have someone I can talk with. As far as my life is concerned, I would not consider myself happy, but I’m learning to hope.”
“Hope is a good beginning,” Laurel assured him.
Michael sighed and stood up, saying, “I can use another drink. How about you?”
Laurel handed him her glass and remained on the balcony when he went inside. She wanted to reach out to this man, to help him come out of the shell he had built around himself. It would not be easy, and it would take a bit of time. She wondered if Michael would give her that time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Before Laurel went back to her room, she and Michael had planned to go sightseeing together the next day. She arose early that morning in order to prepare a picnic lunch for them to eat along the way. Luckily, the weather remained warm and sunny.
As Michael opened the car door for Laurel, he asked, “Are you interested in sculpture?”
“I enjoy looking at all different forms of art,” she assured him.
“Good. We happen to be near the Brookgreen Gardens, which has one of the largest collections of American sculpture in the world. We can start our day there.”
“That’s fine with me. “
It did not take them long to reach this beautifully well-designed historic site. Laurel and Michael walked into the grounds and were immediately captured by the aura of peace.
As they strolled leisurely about the grounds, he asked, “Did you read about this place in any of your tourist brochures?”
“You haven’t given me much of a chance to read,” Laurel replied with a laugh.
“Is that a hint that I should leave you alone more?” Michael asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Not at all!” she quickly corrected him. “Why should I read a bunch of dull pamphlets when I can experience the real thing with you?”
“You’ve got me there,” Michael conceded. “After you left last night, I skimmed through one of my guidebooks. Brookgreen Gardens has an interesting past.”
“Please, tell me about it.”
“All right. It was created by a married couple, Archer and Anna Huntington. Anna Hyatt Huntington was one of the foremost sculptors in the United States, and we’ll be seeing a lot of her work here. It’s also one of the world’s largest outdoor collections of sculpture. The grounds also include a 9,000 acre wildlife refuge and park.”
“The floral displays are gorgeous!” Laurel declared with sincerity.
The couple wandered about the park for two hours before they felt they had seen enough. This time, both of them had brought their cameras. Laurel nearly filled up her digital card on the exotic flowers and marvelous statues in their picturesque settings.
When they were once again back in the car, Michael mentioned, “We’re right next to Huntington Beach State Park. We could have our picnic there if you like.”
“Sure. Didn’t you say that the Huntingtons were the couple that created Brookgreen Gardens?”
“I did. They had the money and foresight to bring a great deal of beauty and culture to this area. Right across the road here is Atalaya, their summer home, which was built in the style of an 8th Century Spanish fortress with Moorish watchtowers. After Archer Huntington died in 1955, the area was first leased as a Girl Scout retreat, then to the South Carolina Forestry Commission. Atalaya is part of the Huntington Beach State Park property.”
“You see!” Laurel exclaimed in delight. “I don’t need to read the guidebooks at all. Did you ever think about becoming a tour guide, Michael?”
“Absolutely not,” he replied with a short laugh. “If you want, we can visit Atalaya Castle after lunch.”
“I’d love to. For now, let’s find a place to eat. I’m starving after all that exercise.”
“Your wish is my command,” Michael jovially returned.
The couple enjoyed a pleasant picnic on the beach, and then went searching for shells along the shoreline before visiting Atalaya Castle. Laurel was particularly enthralled by Anna Huntington’s sculpture studio. That was where she created her renowned sculpture of Rocinante, Don Quixote’s horse, provided Michael and Laurel with a new respect for that art form.
By the time they returned to the motel, they just had enough time for a quick dip in the pool before dinner. Laurel
insisted that it was her turn to pay for the meal, but Michael adamantly refused. Actually, she did not mind his old-fashioned attitude. She found that it made her feel special.
They went to a small Italian restaurant that was near the motel. The food was good and the atmosphere was pleasantly dark and intimate.
After they finished their meal, Michael asked, “Did you have fun today?”
“I certainly did. Thank you very much for everything, from the tour to this dinner. This is turning out to be a great vacation.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Michael warmly replied.
Impulsively, he reached across the table and put his hand over hers. Laurel felt a blush of heat spread throughout her body from this point of contact. Her eyes met his and their pleasure melted into a warmer emotion. The slight noises within the restaurant grew dim and vanished as Laurel sank into a silent world of concentrated emotion. For the first time, she realized she was starting to fall in love with Michael.
The man returned her ardent gaze. The candle on the table between them changed the colors in his irises as it wavered and flickered. No words needed to be spoken to capture the feelings that were being exchanged.
Michael tightened his grip slightly and then withdrew his hand from Laurel’s. As quickly as it had happened, the moment was over. Michael looked away in confusion and sadness. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, and then signaled for the waitress to bring them their check.
Laurel felt too shaken to move or to think clearly. Her head was still spinning with this new realization. She had never before felt this way. It was a totally new experience for her. The wisdom of falling in love with this particular person was something to be debated.
Michael had made it quite clear that he was not looking for a permanent relationship with anyone. Would he change his mind? Should she rely on this dubious possibility in a matter of such importance? She reasoned that it might be best to put all thoughts of love from her mind, but would she be able to do that?
Laurel toyed with her napkin and silverware, hoping to appear nonchalant until the waitress arrived to clear the table. She wished that Michael would say something to alleviate her anxiety, but he remained silent. Without speaking to each other, they left the restaurant.
The ride back to the motel seemed uncomfortable to Laurel. Michael appeared to be absorbed with his driving and his own thoughts. She was left to wonder if he regretted his impulsive gesture.
He had never taken her hand when they had walked together, nor had he made the slightest overture toward kissing her goodnight. Had his grief removed all of his affectionate impulses? Was it possible that she simply did not appeal to him as a woman?
She could not believe that, not after the way he had looked into her eyes at the restaurant. There was electricity in that gaze. Laurel had perceived a depth of emotionality in those blue-gray eyes that she had never seen before. If only they were intimate enough to speak openly, she mused regretfully.
Michael could sense her doubts. If he had not been disturbed by some overwhelming sentiments of his own, he would have laid some of her fears to rest. He, too, had been struck by that tender moment.
As they got out of the car, Michael said, “Let’s sit on that bench on the beach.”
Laurel agreed with a nod and followed him. He waited for her to sit down first and then sat about a foot away from her. They both looked out at the water, searching for the right thing to say. Michael spoke first.
He startled Laurel by saying, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
There was a long pause before she replied.
“I’ve been having a wonderful time with you, Michael. You certainly haven’t hurt me.”
He turned to her, and there was a painfully serious look in his eyes.
“I think you know what I’m talking about, Laurel. Something seemed to change between us a little while ago. I don’t want you to misunderstand my intentions. I’ve been a sad and lonely man for the past several years, and I don’t think I have the ability, or maybe the desire to change that.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything,” Laurel replied defensively, yet with sympathy. “I like you and I wish you weren’t so sad and lonely. If I can make you happy for awhile, that would make me very happy, too.”
“You’re a good person, Laurel. I like the way you talk so fast. It takes my mind off everything except what you’re saying. I like to hear you sing and play your guitar. I like your enthusiasm over simple things. I would hate to be the one who took that smile from your face.”
“You wouldn’t do that!”
“Not intentionally, of course. Some things just happen by themselves.”
The man cradled his down-turned face in his hands and whispered, “Sometimes, I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. I come home from work and sit on my couch to watch some TV, and an hour later, I realize I never turned on the television. The house could be all dark, and I’ll just sit there and not bother to turn on the lights.”
Laurel’s heart ached for Michael. He was not crying, but there were tears in his words. She moved closer to him and put her arm around his hunched shoulders. In a natural response, he turned to her with outstretched arms. They hugged each other fiercely.
“Oh, Michael,” Laurel whispered against his ear. “Please don’t torture yourself like this.”
“Just hold me, Laurel,” he pleaded.
She felt a shudder go through his body as he tenderly stroked her soft, dark hair. He held her, his eyes tightly closed, desperately fighting back the sobs that threatened to burst forth.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Laurel whispered soothingly.
Michael held her for a few more minutes, until he reclaimed control over his long-reined emotions. When he drew back, he kept one arm wrapped around her waist. His other hand was still twisted in her hair. Laurel wiped an errant tear from his cheek.
He looked into her eyes, and his expression plainly revealed the weariness of the pain he carried. Beneath the dim illumination of the moon, the couple appeared to be lost in time and space, having eyes only for each other. Lovers passed by hand-in-hand along the beach, but they did not notice the emotional torrent that stormed so close to them.
Michael’s breathing became deep and husky. Laurel’s lids were heavy as she brushed a lock of hair from his eyes without breaking the lock of their gaze. He grabbed her hand tightly and kissed her fingers.
Laurel had time to let out a small sigh before he pulled her into his arms in a violent embrace. They kissed with no thought for the world and its cares. Michael held Laurel to him as though she were a lifeline. His lips savagely ravaged hers in a turmoil of passion that exceeded the bounds of simple lust. He drank in her very essence and she returned his ardor freely and with a full heart.
Several minutes later, the rapture was spent. It was too heady and fantastic to continue in this manner without moving beyond the bounds of public decorum. At the same instant, they drew apart, breaking off their bodily contact. They turned to look out at the waves, fully aware that if they exchanged another soul-searching glance at this moment, they would once again become hopelessly entwined.
Gradually, Laurel’s breathing returned to normal. Her heart continued to pound rapidly within her chest. One thought played again and again in her mind . . . so this is love.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Michael ran his hand through his hair and attempted to relax. He could not believe what had just happened. His brain was a whirl of confusion as his pulse pounded loudly in his ears. This was something he had never expected to feel again. He was glad that Laurel had willingly broken the contact when he had. The man was uncertain how he might have reacted if she had not.
The waves crashed against the shore, but the couple remained silent and impassive for some time. A passerby would never have suspected the passion that had so recently passed between the two idle people that were sitting on the bench. A lonely seagull screeched as it winged majestically o
verhead.
“What are you thinking, Laurel?” Michael nervously asked her.
“About you,” she replied.
“I had no idea that was going to happen,” he tried to explain. “It’s been such a long time for me.”
Laurel smiled and replied, “Lack of practice hasn’t hurt you one bit.”
Michael fell into another thoughtful silence after she said this. It disturbed Laurel, and she felt determined to keep him from whatever self-recriminations might be passing through his mind. She had to be careful not to pry into his personal life.
“Would you like to walk on the beach?” she asked tentatively.
“No. I think the time has come for us to have a little discussion about me.”
This surprised Laurel, but she took care not to show it.
“What would you like to talk about?”
“I know that I told you I didn’t want to discuss--”
Michael broke off this sentence, then, after a few seconds, he started again.
“I was married, Laurel. I loved my wife very deeply. She died three years ago.”
There was a long pause during which Michael forced back the tears that had welled up into his eyes. Laurel waited for him to continue. After a moment, he did.
“I thought I was finished with the crying,” he finally stated. “I guess tonight is my night to let it all out. Do you want to hear this?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to ruin your vacation.”
“You won’t, Michael,” Laurel assured him, laying a sympathetic hand on his arm.
This gesture helped to rally his spirits.
After letting out a long breath, he continued, “She was only thirty years old when she got sick. At first, we didn’t think it was anything serious, maybe an iron deficiency. When the doctor told us it was leukemia, I felt like dying with her. It didn’t take long, less than a year.”
He had to break off before he could finish his sad story. Laurel’s eyes filled up with tears that ran freely down her face.