Good Nights

by Heather Grace Stewart

  “‘Idyllic island off the south of France,’ my rain-soaked ass! I’m going to have a strongly worded conversation with Value-Added Vacations about this when I get back. Gormless gannets.” I groan as I toss another sandbag onto the small pile that’s starting to collect beside what was once Béa’s garden.

  Hannah throws her head back, laughing loudly as she ties a green tag around the top of a sandbag, securing it with her long, perfectly manicured fingers. The sound of her laughter echoing along the shore is more striking than any bird song I’ve heard in my entire life. It feels like musical medicine for my aching back.

  “Value-Added Vacations, nice one. Did you ever think of this as a holiday? I thought your birding was a serious science. The kind of work where spoiled screenwriters weren’t welcome.” She winks.

  “I’m kidding, of course,” I say, digging my shovel further into the pile of sand that’s been created beside Béa’s house. I wish she hadn’t dug up her pretty little tulip garden last night. If I’d only known about her troubles, I’d have had my construction buddies deliver some sand earlier. “I have a confession about that.”

  “Oh, no… what is it this time? Bloody hell, you’re not British.” She feigns shock.

  I chuckle. “Well, I’m thirsty for a Guinness and salivating for mushy peas right now, what do you think?”

  “I think that sounds completely gross but authentic.” She drags another sandbag over to the heap and leaves it there for me to lift, purposefully hiding the pain she must be feeling in her knee. I never would have called her a ‘trooper’ the first day I met her. Now, she’s rightfully earned that name.

  “So, what’s the confession?” She blows on her cold fingers, rubs them together, then tucks them deep inside the pockets of her blue slicker.

  I stop working for a second, leaning half my weight on my shovel, and look at her. “When we first met, I didn’t want to have to explain to you how I started taking time off because of my mental health… I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. Now I can tell you—I’m on sabbatical from the museum. They say I can come back to work whenever I’m ready.” I exhale, and for a moment, I forget where we are. “Honestly, I’ve never felt more ready than I have with you, these last few days.”

  “I make you want to leave and go back to work? Gosh, I’m more high-maintenance than I thought!” She chuckles.

  “No, Numpty Gal, you make me feel healthy.”

  “Oh.” I can see her neck is a little mottled, and now her face is flushing pink. “I think you just inserted an insult into a compliment, but I’ll let it slide this time, since you’re currently breaking your back trying to save our friend’s home.”

  I lift her sandbag onto the pile and start to stack them in a pyramid shape. God willing, more muscles will be here to help me soon. I’m fit, but I’m no Thor.

  Twenty-two

  Tripp

  “There’s more. I was given three-hundred and fifty thousand pounds this year, because of Maggie’s death.” I look down at the overturned earth at my feet as I try to get the rest of my words out.

  “I was part of a class action suit that wore me down, physically and emotionally, by the time it was finally over. First, I lost Maggie, then I lost a piece of my pride in that bloody pointless lawsuit. I regret ever signing on. As well, all of the families of the victims were given a share of the money raised by charities like the Red Cross.”

  “Oh…”

  “It’s a lot of money, but it doesn’t bring her back.”

  “It certainly doesn’t. I’m sorry.” She swallows hard. I can see that she’s blinking back tears.

  “I don’t want the money. I need to move on. I’m using it all up, spending it all for good.”

  She looks up at me. “It’s so generous, gosh, what you’re doing, Tripp. I don’t know where this island’s mayor has disappeared to…”

  “Probably on holiday in the bloody Caribbean. Definitely not answering my calls. The government is too busy dealing with saving all the tourist areas along the shores of France. Those muppets aren’t concerned about the aging homes on this island.”

  “That’s shameful. If you hadn’t called that construction company, Béa and the others along this shore would have certainly lost their homes. Now they have a shot, at least.”

  “Helping Béa today, that’s just the beginning of my work on this island. I finally feel ready to go back, but I don’t want to return to work at the museum. I want to find the Skinks Babbler, to prove it’s still alive, and then build the special rare breeds exhibit I was telling you about—an interactive aviary here on the island, for the locals and some tourists.”

  “Tripp! What an incredible idea. I love it.”

  “I’m funding the research and the aviary on my own. I don’t want to keep working on it alone, though. Not just because there’s a colossal mess to clean up in the forest now.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “But also because of you.” I look her in the eyes and hope she understands what I’m asking her. I don’t want her leaving in a month; I don’t want her leaving the island at all. I need her here. We all do. Me, Coffee, Jughead, and Béa. All the puzzle pieces finally fit.

  “Wait. I thought they sent you here on a grant, you and Evan…”

  “Evan was actually just on holiday. He doesn’t know I’m on mental health leave—I’ve told no one but you. He simply wanted to bring his wife Sarah to the island and give me a hand until the weather decided not to cooperate. The museum knows I’m here trying to find the Skinks, but they don’t outright support it, because they think it’s a lost cause. I don’t.”

  “Even with all that’s happened; even with all the delays? It’s a little like believing in miracles.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and comes a little closer.

  “Some things just take time. Yes, I do believe in miracles.” I drop my shovel and put my arms around her waist, pulling her close to my chest. “Say it with me three times,” I whisper in her ear. “I believe in the Skinks…” I laugh at myself and pull away from her ear, looking her straight-on. “I’m sorry. I can be such a naff.”

  “Don’t apologize. I just need to know—do I click my heels as I say it?” She laughs, her body warm and relaxed against mine. “I believe in the Skinks, and I believe in you, Tripp.” Her voice softens to a seductive song. “I believe in you. And I’d love to…”

  “Hot tea! I have hot tea, Mr. Tripp, Miss Hannah!” Béa is standing on her rickety front steps holding up a wooden tray. Coffee, who we all decided should stay safely away from the shore’s edge, gives us a gleeful bark from behind the screen door.

  Blimey O’Reilly! I really like Béa and want to help her, but her timing leaves a whole lot to be desired, especially when I’ve got a whole lot of desire left to be discovered.

  Sigh. All of that will have to wait, once again. We have a house to save from flood waters, and then we have to make sure Béa has adequate heat and light.

  Hannah lets go of my hand to take a cup of piping hot tea from Béa’s tray. “Thanks sweetie,” she says, then hands me the other cup. “You got Tripp’s camping kettle working okay, then?”

  “Was easy. I love to cook like that always,” she says. “Simpler better, yes?”

  “It is, Béa, yes. Sometimes simpler is better.” Hannah nods, blows on and slowly sips her tea, then looks at me. Her expression tells me that she, too, wanted to stay locked in our embrace.

  Everything feels like it’s changing. Part of me wants to freeze this moment, this simple, ridiculously ordinary, rain-soaked moment, because in this second, I’ve realized I can’t carry on my future plans without Hannah.

  When I lost Maggie, I felt that the only way I was going to survive the rest of my life was to just stumble through the motions required of me; make my broken way from one major event to another. Get through her funeral. Get the therapy completed. Get promoted. Go o
n sabbatical. Find the Skinks Babbler. Build my aviary.

  Then, I met Hannah, and I learned that life and love can’t be scheduled. Perhaps social media has fooled us into thinking that life’s about rushing from one major event to the next, as quickly and as successfully as possible, with thousands of picture-perfect moments to post for every accomplishment. But these last few days of sipping tea, feeding a spoiled bird, walking with my dog and new friend in the woods, and sharing spontaneous dinners in the dark have taught me otherwise. It turns out that the moments between the events are as important as the events themselves.

  I’m about to ask Hannah outright if she’ll stay with me for the summer, when we hear a loud honking behind us. We quickly turn to find a large back hoe moving across the lawn, seemingly at full throttle. To my relief, it stops just in front of us and our mound of sandbags, and two burly men I recognize as my new friends and future work partners jump out of the cab, waving as they march forward to greet us.

  I am of two minds at the moment. One mind wants to help as many people as I can on this spectacular island. The other, and I’m quite sure, in actual fact, that we’re not talking about my mind—it wishes the whole world would sod off and leave us alone.

  Twenty-three

  Hannah

  It’s nearly dark by the time we pull up into the driveway, but the rain has stopped completely. The sun began setting as we pulled away from the little white cottage, and as we drove in silence, a storm circled over the shore behind us. We saw bits of far-away lightning whenever we looked in the rear-view mirror.

  As we get out of the truck, we look over at the eastern sky. Tripp assures me that this storm is closer to the mainland and heading east. The distant lightning is forming streaks of pink and orange-hued light across the sky. These flashes go on and off behind a thin veil of dark clouds.

  “It’s our own little light show.” Tripp smiles as we watch the last of it from the front walkway. “I got us the best seats in the house.”

  “This is it, then, eh? Sunny and drying up tomorrow?” If it’s finally nice, I’m going to want to spend time outside, maybe try a short walk now that the knee is on the mend. Béa and Tripp have unknowingly inspired me to get started on a writing project. Even though I’m nervous to try something new and different, it feels like the perfect fit for my life right now. I can’t believe I want to venture into documentary writing, but I think this is what I’m supposed to do next. It’s the type of writing that could actually make a difference. Once I get the chance to tell Tripp, I know he’ll love the idea, too.

  “Only God knows.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I’m waiting on the text that tells me to go build an ark.”

  “But you never have your phone on you, or it’s off. You’d miss the message,” I tease, starting up the stairs as Coffee contentedly trots along behind me.

  “Hey, Numpty Gal, enough, it’s on now.” He pulls his phone from his back pocket, holds it up, and follows me. “I don’t want to miss anything from Béa.”

  I wait for him under the one lamp lighting the front door, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’d better watch yourself with this new nickname you’ve got for me, or you’ll be called a Grumpet in front of everyone. Marcel and JF included.”

  “Grumpet?”

  “You’ve got your grumpy moments, and you love to bring me crumpets.”

  “Ha! The lads would love you for it. They admire a lady who swings her balls in their midst. They couldn’t get enough of you, today, and all the tea and sandwiches you brought us.”

  “I was swinging my balls? Didn’t know I had any.” I can’t stop chuckling. “I wish Béa had taken us up on our offer to stay with us here.”

  “She’s a feisty, independent girl. There was no changing her mind,” he says. “I’m relieved we managed to hold back the water and keep her safe.”

  “Marcel and JF are so strong and perfect gentlemen, too. I think they’ll be a real asset to your aviary project.”

  “Give them a few pints and they have their moments, though.” He shakes his head. “We had a few rounds over at JF’s place, a celebration of sorts, two nights before you arrived.”

  “Moments? I doubt their language compares. You don’t want to hear the kind of comments that come out of some construction worker’s mouths in downtown L.A.”

  “Oh, I can imagine.” He puts his left hand at my lower back and ushers me inside. The contact between us is electric. It’s a powerful charge moving up my spine—fuel for my neck, lips, breasts. I don’t know why here, why now, standing at the front door, waiting to get inside, but I cannot stop thinking about taking off my clothes and how I can get Tripp involved in that task.

  We both fall silent, kicking off our wellies, shaking out our wet hair. He puts his phone on the foyer table and takes off my slicker for me, hanging it on the brass hook by the door. Then, silence. We’re just standing here, staring at each other, and I forget to breathe. Finally, Coffee breaks the silence, and I remember to exhale.

  “Woof!” This noise, in turn, wakens Jughead.

  “Wazzup, peeps, wazzup?”

  Tripp laughs. “Is that one your fault as well, Hannah?” he asks. It is something I said back home a lot, but I don’t answer. I’m crouched down, busy feeding Coffee dog biscuits from the jar in the oak cabinet.

  “Well, at least he hasn’t called me a wankpuffin yet!”

  “Tripp! Now he’s going to say exactly that!” I stand and shake my head.

  “You’re moving better,” he says.

  “Thanks to your doctoring, it’s definitely on the mend,” I say.

  “Excellent. I just realized something.” Tripp walks over to Jughead’s cage and feeds him the special cracker pieces we’ve set aside in containers. “The power’s back on, but the lights are still all out in here!”

  “Leave them off.” I blurt it out, feeling bold.

  Our eyes lock. He sends me a smoldering look from across the room, and then, before I know what’s happened, he’s right in front of me, his arms engulfing me, his lips on mine.

  His kiss is strong, full of passion and desire. The warmth and surprise sensation of his lips finally touching mine makes me lose my balance a little, and my left knee buckles. He feels this and stops kissing me, but his hands keep caressing both sides of my face.

  “Are you feeling alright? Do you want me to stop?” He brushes a damp strand of hair off my eyes as he looks into them.

  “No, I mean, yes, I’m perfectly fine, and no,” I catch my breath, “don’t ever stop.”

  The second he hears this, Tripp reaches down, swiftly picks me up and begins to carry me up our wooden stairs. Our stairs. Funny. I keep thinking that.

  “Tripp,” I whisper, “watch your step, it’s so dark.” The darkness is heightening my emotions and desire and his, I’m sure, but I can barely see what’s in front of me. I decide to just trust in him and bury my face into that crook between his neck and shoulder, giving him little kisses along his neck and Adam’s apple as he pushes my bedroom door open with his foot.

  I was secretly hoping he’d bring us to this room, because it has the gorgeous, massive four-poster bed in it. At this point, however, having wanted him since the moment I set eyes on him, I’d have happily made love to him on a mound of sandbags in the rain.

  Tripp places me down on the bed and gives me a “one sec” sign as he fumbles around in the dark. I hear the sound of one match striking a matchbook, then see him lighting the kerosene lamp to my right and feel him crawl over my feet to get to the other side of the bed. He lights the other lamp, then blows out the match. A sexy, smoky scent penetrates the air.

  “You and your kerosene lamps.” I giggle. All of a sudden, I’m nervous. It’s been a while. I pull back the bed covers but stay on my back. He crawls over to me, placing his arms to either side of my shoulders, his knees astride my hips, and begins kissing m
e all over. My forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks, my lips, my neck, then my lips all over again. Over and over. I melt into his kisses and savor every bit of electricity building inside me, feeling more relaxed with each new sensation.

  “I never thought I’d be able to let love in again, but then you came along,” he says, his forearms firm with exertion. “I love you, Hannah.”

  “I love you too,” I whisper, and I know nothing else needs to be said. No talk of my fears or his loss or our future. It’s just us, here and now, our bodies coming together as one.

  I sit up, and he follows my lead, sitting back on his ankles. I lean in and kiss his mouth, nibbling his lower lip as I start to pull off his t-shirt. He raises his arms to help me, and my eyes take in the muscular masterpiece that is his chest and abs. Now I don’t have to just look to admire them. I glide my hands over his pec muscles and shoulders, back and forth and around, then bring my mouth to one nipple and lick it carefully, flicking my tongue in a circular motion.

  Tripp moans, his head back, eyes closed. Encouraged by this, I make my way to the other nipple, sucking it slowly, methodically, until his groans grow increasingly loud and impassioned.

  “C’mere, Sweetness,” he says, lifting my face up to his. He takes my mouth and covers it with his, his tongue flicking and probing mine. His hands tug at the bottom of my shirt, so I raise my arms until the shirt is over my head, off and away, tossed to the floor. I reach for the button on his jeans, release it and watch as he wiggles out of them and his boxers, tossing them to the floor. My jeans and thong quickly join the bundle of clothes. His eyes catch mine in the wavering light, and I see them crinkling up at the corners with amusement and anticipation.

  We’re facing one another, naked on our knees, and I can’t help but think: far from strangers anymore. He puts his hands on my waist, pulling my body tightly to his.

  “So bloody tired of sharing my space with you,” he says with an animalistic growl, no trace of a smile. “I want you out first thing in the morning.”