Chapter 33Rayne

B

efore sundown, we head back to camp, take showers, and dress for supper. Gage takes me to his favorite waterfront restaurant because according to him “you haven’t eaten shrimp until you’ve eaten fresh Edisto shrimp.” And he’s right. The seafood is phenomenal, buttery and tender, but we can’t help overhearing a couple local fishermen at the bar talking about a strong cold front pushing through with heavy storms by morning. When the food is gone and the bill paid, Gage and I drive back to the campsite, kick our shoes off inside the tent and walk out to the beach via the palm-laden access from the front of our site.

The heavy clouds are building, their inky blackness creeping over the millions of stars dotting the night sky. We pad through the sand, ending up just shy of the pier, holding hands and not saying much of anything, though my mind is flying ninety miles a minute. I love the way our fingers interlace, the way his skin is tougher than mine but tender at the same time. I love the fact we don’t have to talk—we can just be. I love him. I want him. All of him.

“Gage…” I say as a huge streak of lightning zigzags across the sky and fat raindrops start falling.

“Run!” he yells, but as I take off, the hem of my maxi-dress catches underfoot and nearly trips me. Gage scoops me up in his arms and sprints toward our campsite, the raindrops falling harder with every step. When we get there, he throws the tent flaps back and sets me down, then zips them tight.

He peels off his saturated t-shirt and tosses it in the corner. His v-lines cut diagonally down his body, and his hair, which spreads out across his chest, filters into a trickle that runs down the center of his abs and beneath the waistband of the black boxer-briefs peeking out from the top of his jeans. I’ve wanted him for so long, but tonight I know the wait is over.

He balls up a towel, patting the water off his shoulders and arms, when he looks up and catches me watching. I imagine myself looking like a dog whose owner is dangling a bacon treat over its head, eager eyes and tongue lolled out. “Whatcha thinking about?” he asks.

“You. Me. Why you’re way over there, when I’m way over here.”

“We can fix that.” He steps over and presses into me, his front to my back, so close, his tangible desire pushes into my skin. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to regulate my heart rate, which has surged to light speed. He takes the towel and blots the water droplets from my arms, then gathers my hair and pushes it to one side, sliding the towel down the side of my neck. “Hold on,” he whispers. “Still have a few in the hard-to-reach places, but don’t worry. I’ll get those.” He brings his lips to my bare skin, flicking his tongue before finishing off with light suction, in a trail down the curve to my collarbone.

“I’m ready,” I whisper. When he doesn’t respond right away, I look up. He’s staring at me, stroking the stubble on his chin. “Did you hear me?”

“I think so. Say it again.”

This’ll be a first for both of us and for that I’m grateful, because I want to give this part of myself to him, and I want his in return. “I’m ready. I want to be with you, Gage.”

“That’s what I thought you said.” He smiles and spins me toward him, tilting my head up to his. “I love you, Rayne. I want you to know that first. There’s no one else for me. Only you.”

“I love you. I’m yours, Gage. All of me.” The way he hovers in front of me, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. He sweeps his fingertips down either side of my jaw, and then down my neck to my shoulders, where he slips them under the straps of my dress, nudging them over the edge.

When he takes my arms, which are circled around his waist, and straightens them, the dress slips down and puddles on the ground at my ankles. He grins again, this time letting his eyes skim over my body, pausing at my breasts, and he runs his finger along my bra’s lace-and-ribbon edging, into the small void between the two. His hands reach behind my back, fumbling with the clasp, which he unhooks and allows the bra to fall away. I shiver, not sure if it’s from his touch or the bareness of my uncovered breasts. He palms both, kneading the flesh, rubbing the skin in circles.

When I think the intensity may kill me, Gage trails one hand down my stomach and fingers the lacey waistline of my panties before sliding his fingers underneath the silken fabric and down. I softly moan his name as my body arches toward him. I may have a heart attack. This might kill me, but I’ll die happy.

I could let his hands explore me all night, but I want him to know I want him with every ounce I’ve got. “My turn.” I stand on my tiptoes and whisper in his ear, then nibble the lobe and softly blow on it, a move that makes the hairs on his arm prickle against my skin. He shudders. “And I’m just getting started,” I promise with a smile, my lips now pressed to his cheek, grazing ever-so-softly as I form the words.

My breasts flatten against his chest, the skin-to-skin contact hot and wet as the sweat and leftover rain drops squish between us. I want to be bold, to physically show him my desperate need. I rub my hands, palm to skin, over his pecs, tracing the ridges of his ab muscles with my fingertips outward to the inked lettering. Tonight, no rules apply for us.

By the time I get to his jeans, his breathing is slowed, almost non-existent. He’s waiting on me, anticipating my next move, and I love the sense of power. We lock eyes, his brimming with smoldering heat, as my fingers find and unfasten the button and slide the zipper down. He leans in and crushes his lips to mine with tender force as he steps out of his jeans. We come to a standstill, taking a moment to look at each other, head to toe. He swallows hard and reaches for his wallet.

“Stop.”

Gage turns back quickly, eyes wide. “You’re not ready?” He can’t hide the disappointment.

“No, I’m absolutely ready. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“We don’t need that.” I point to his wallet. “I’ve been on birth control a couple years now… for my complexion and my cycles. The doctor’s idea… so, we’re covered.”

He closes his eyes and opens them, the fire renewed, as he looks at me and tosses the wallet over his shoulder, walks back and slams his lips to mine. They move faster now, furiously searching, his tongue jutting out across mine, stopping only briefly to nibble my lower lip. Suddenly he grabs me, his fingers burning like branding irons, and lifts me up, walking us backwards to the inflatable mattress on the tent floor.

“My God, you’re perfect,” he whispers. “I love you so much, Rayne, I can’t contain it.”

“Then quit trying,” I whisper back.

His kisses rain over me, and he presses his body into mine, a new level of intimacy that robs my breath, and in between the booming thunder and roaring waves slapping the beach, Gage and I melt into one another, salty lips and sandy skin, hot breath and soft touches, finding perfect satisfaction in our slice of heaven.

I awake the next morning with a smile on my face, but Gage is no longer beside me. Light streams in and the waves roar as if right outside the tent. I push up on one elbow and look around. He’s in the doorway, flaps thrown open as he watches the tide go out. The still-wet sand glistens in the morning sun.

I crawl on my hands and knees behind Gage, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and rest my head in the curve of his neck.

“Morning,” I whisper in his ear.

“Morning, beautiful.” He keeps looking out over the waves.

“I am, aren’t I?” I tease, pretending to fluff my unruly hair. Between the ocean air and last night’s rolling around, it’s about ten times puffier than normal.

“Yes.” He turns and puts his hand on the back of my head, pulling me in for a kiss. His blue eyes sparkle with the prismatic effect of the sun. “Last night was… God, I love you. I belong with you.”

“Then stay.” I climb onto his lap. “Stay with me and don’t ever leave.”

They say there’s a calm before the storm. We’re in its sweetness for only a couple more hours before Daddy’s call comes in. Mama’s worse, and we have to get home. Now.

Endless rows of pine trees swish by in a green blur outside the passenger window, hazy and shapeless, kinda like my head right now, which swirls with the sweet memories of last night wrapped up in the worries about what lies ahead. Daddy didn’t say much on the phone, but I heard the cracking in his voice, the long pauses of silence. In the side mirror, Edisto fades further behind us. I hate leaving. I hate being left.

I squeeze Gage’s fingers in mine. He’s not going anywhere, but Mama is—any day now. Daddy’s simple words struck my heart like an arrow. “It’s not good, Rayne.”

Gage pulls my fingers to his lips. “I got you. Whatever you need.”

“Just stay by me, Gage. I can face anything with you.”

Daddy’s slumped in the front porch rocking chair when we pull up, his eyes fixed on the slatted floor, not even acknowledging the crunch of gravel beneath our tires. Gage squeezes my hand, leans in for a kiss, and pulls back, his eyes roving my face. “Call me.”

I nod and slide out, running toward Daddy as the hum of Gage’s engine dissolves into background noise.

Daddy unconsciously runs his fingers along the arm of his glasses, something he only does when upset, but musters a small smile when I walk up. “Glad you’re home safe.” He pushes his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, and then grabs my hand. “She’s asking for you.”

I hug him and kiss the top of his head. It reminds me of how he used to tuck me in at night. It’s much too early for us to be having this parent-child reversal thing going on, but a part of me realizes how much he needs me to be strong.

The rhythmic beep-beep-beep of monitors surrounding Mama’s hospital bed echo in the otherwise silent den. Her head is turned, facing the triple windows. Only a few fringes of natural light filter in across her body.

“Rayne, honey.” Her frail voice startles me. I thought she was sleeping. “Open up the windows. Let in a little fresh air.” She gasps between the words as if there’s not enough air left in her lungs to string them together.

“Yes ma’am.” I raise each window halfway, never taking my eyes off her. She looks no more than a corpse already, all skin stretched over bone. It’s difficult to look at her, but I do. Because no matter how sick she is, she’s here right now, and we can’t waste any more time. “Need any water, pillows?” I move close to her bedside and pour water into her cup from a small pitcher on the side table.

“Answer a question,” she says, her voice wispy. I have to lean close to hear the words. “Does God forgive all sins?”

I spring back. The woman who’s always lectured me on all things holy is asking for my spiritual opinions, and for a split-second I wonder if it’s some sort of trick question—her testing me one last time. “If we repent, He forgives.”

She winces from pain or my answer, or both. “What if the sin… is too big?” She pushes the words out. “What if other people… get hurt?”

The thought of Mama’s involvement in some major, life-altering sin is laughable considering the woman is religious to a fault and has pretty much been paralyzed by her anxiety all these years. Her anxiety. Isn’t weakness of spirit some sort of sin? Maybe Mama’s apologizing for her “episodes” after all these years.

“Forget all this. Relax.” I take a cool washcloth from the bedside table and lay it across her forehead.

“No.” She grabs my hand, her eyes wide. “There’s something I need to tell you.” She gasps loudly and coughs. “Before it’s too late.”

“Mama?” My voice is high-pitched, almost squeaky. I wring my hands, massaging so hard the bones in my fingers ache from the pressure.

“Sit.” She nods toward the chair beside her. I do, but keep her hand tucked in mine. “You know it took us so long to have you… three rounds of in-vitro… so many failures… before you.” She gives me a weak smile as the screen door opens and Daddy walks in. He joins us and grabs Mama’s other hand before she continues. “That summer was so hot, so dry, but on the day we found out about you…” she pauses and takes a deep breath, “on July 26th, the rains finally came.”

“You found out you were pregnant on July 26th?” I laugh and clamp my free hand to my mouth. “How crazy is that? That’s Gage’s birthday!”

Her chest caves in and she’s struggles for breath. “I know.” Daddy’s hand squeezes into hers tighter. “There’s more to that day than I’ve ever told you… or anyone… except Daddy.”

Her words are ice chips in my veins. What could she possibly say that links my conception and Gage’s birth? She wouldn’t have even known the Howards then because Gage was over a month old when they moved here. Still, my stomach’s churning, and I don’t know why.

She continues, her voice wavering and broken. “I was driving home from my doctor’s appointment downtown when the rain started. So hard,” she whimpers. “Impossible to see.” Daddy grabs a tissue and blots the corners of her eyes, but she pushes his hand away. “There was something in the road… a horrible noise… the thump against the fender… I’ll never forget it.” She pauses and looks down. “I just knew I’d hit a dog, but it was too dangerous to stop.” She sobs, pulling her hands from mine and Daddy’s and collapsing into them. “I had to think of you. My baby…”

“A dog?” I move to the edge of my seat and touch her arm. “I don’t understand…”

“It wasn’t a dog, Rayne!” She grips her side and grimaces in pain. “It was a person. I killed someone!”

Suddenly I understand Mama’s anxiety. Surely I’m in its clutches now, my heart thumping hard against my ribs, my last meal rising up from my stomach, ready to spew. It’s like a million bursts of energy going off simultaneously in me, and I can’t keep still. I jump up and pace beside the bed, gripping my throat, trying to ward off the unseen force that’s threatening to collapse my airway. “What? I… I don’t…”

“That’s not all.” She takes the cloth from her head and drops it over the side of the bedrail. “The woman was eight months pregnant.”

Pregnant. July 26th. Gage’s birthday. “Oh my God.” I back away from her, my mind in overdrive. She couldn’t have hit Charlotte because Charlotte’s alive. So how does this all fit together? My gag reflex twitches as my throat spasms again. “The baby?”

“He lived. The woman was single, no husband, no family.”

“How do you know all this?”

“A contact in the NICU.” She closes her eyes and leans back in the pillow. Daddy leans down and whispers in her ear, but she shakes her head. “Let me finish.” She opens her eyes and motions me over. I walk to her and prop myself on the foot of the bed. “A father came forward after a few days, a high-profile businessman, married with a family. It could’ve been a major scandal, but he was close with the hospital administrator, so things were done hush-hush. Only the family, the administrator, and my nurse friend knew the truth. The media was told it was a private adoption.”

My heart slows to an unnatural pace, like minutes lapse between each beat. My head’s quiet as if separated from my body. Outside looking in. “So, the businessman is… the baby is…” I sputter.

“Gage is the baby, Jackson Howard the businessman. They moved to town shortly after taking Gage in, so people here wouldn’t know the truth.” She makes eye contact with me for the first time in a while. “Now you understand… why I am the way I am… why I wanted to keep you away from the Howards…”

I shake my head. No. It can’t be. She’s mistaken. So many things don’t make sense. “The police? If you killed her, why aren’t you in jail?”

“There was no evidence at the scene, no witnesses. And I,” she drops her eyes again. “I never came forward. I couldn’t. Because of you.”

Because of me. Mama has lived with this gut-wrenching secret for nearly two decades because of me. But what about Gage? He wouldn’t keep this kind of secret from me.

“Gage would’ve told me if he was adopted. He would’ve!” I insist, stomping my foot on the hardwood.

“He doesn’t know.” She says it solemnly. The three of us sit in silence until the screen door slams behind us.

I stand up quickly. “What’re you doing here?”

Gage’s cheeks are red, face stoic. He swallows hard a couple times. “You left your bag in my car. I was putting it on the swing out front when I heard you talking.” He looks at Mama. “I want the truth. All of it.”

Mama, so fragile, nods and motions Gage toward the empty chair by her bed, where he sits, leaning forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped together, while she tells him the whole story. When she finishes, when he knows his very existence has been a lie, he buries his head in his hands. He doesn’t cry. Doesn’t scream. He’s still.

Mama pulls her Bible from the side table and leafs through the front few pages before pulling out a yellowed newspaper clipping. She clears her throat. “Gage?” He looks up, and she hands him the article. “I’ve kept this since the accident.” She pauses, the words getting harder and harder, her strength failing. “Every day I pray for forgiveness. I hope you can forgive me, too, Gage… one day.”

He stares at the paper, his bottom lip trembling. I peer over his shoulder at the article in his hands. It’s a news report of the hit-and-run, the details we’ve just learned staring back at us in black and white. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, but he stiffens at my touch. He pushes my arms away, gets up, and walks to the door without a word.

I follow him. He twists the screen door handle as I grapple with his shirt sleeve. “Gage? Gage! Please… talk to me.”

He turns around, eyes hollow. “It all makes sense now. I feel like a black sheep because I am one.” We stare at each other. There are so many things I want to say, so many things I should say, but no words come. He slams his hand into the knob and the door flies open wide. “I gotta go.”

Before I can make it out onto the porch, he cranks the Scout and with a hard rev of the engine, peels out of the driveway and doesn’t look back.