Trilogy No. 101: Turning Up The Heat

Excerpt:
June in August

He unzipped his jacket and took it off. Wiley was wearing a white t-shirt underneath. It was drenched in sweat and clung to his chest. He was lean and hard, thinner than I remembered and his eyes were a bit duller. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, shook one out, lit it up, and inhaled deeply.

“Hoped I would see you today,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke. “When I came in this morning I saw that your Daddy had scheduled an oil change. Thought you might come with him.”

“Momma and Daddy are in Houston with Sam. His number came up yesterday. He’s getting his physical today.”

Wylie tossed his cigarette onto the ground. “Damn,” he murmured. “Sorry to hear that, Junebug.” Wylie fished the keys to the garage out of his front pocket and unlocked the door.

“No one calls me Junebug anymore,” I told him, stepping over the threshold.

He opened up the cooler that contained the Coca Colas, pulled out two, popped the caps off using the side of the countertop and handed me one. “What do they call you?”

“Just June.”

“Well, ‘Just June’, suit up. You can help me with the oil change,” he said, tossing a pair of greasy overalls at me.

I dodged them.

“Wiley! I’m wearing white linen for heaven’s sake!”

“Wouldn’t be my choice for changing oil,” he said, shaking his head. “But then, you’ve always been peculiar.”

“I am not peculiar and I’m certainly not changing the oil!”

“Forgot how?”

“No!” I said feeling exasperated. “Are you blind? Look at me. I’m-”

“All grown up, with thoughts…and feelings. I remember,” he said, taking a step towards me.

I felt myself start to blush.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you. Your letters were wonderful, June. They were all that kept me going sometimes. The war, it… it wasn’t what I thought it would be. ”

I was certain that I was going to faint. My heart was pounding so fast and so loud I half expected it to break my chest.

“You never wrote back,” I managed to say, my voice barely a whisper.

He glanced down at his boots then looked up at me and smiled. His long sandy blonde hair half hiding his eyes. “I wrote. I wrote all the time. I just didn’t mail any of them.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not the boy you knew anymore June. I’m not the boy you wrote those letters to. I haven’t been for a long time. I’ve seen things. I’ve done things. Everyone expects me to be the same ol’ Wiley…”

“But you’re not. We all change, Wiley.”

“You lightened your hair and your tits got bigger. I killed people. Lots of people.”

“Wiley!” I gasped, my arms folding, protectively over my chest. “They’re called breasts and you shouldn’t be commenting on them!”

He brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Sorry, my manners are a bit rusty.”

“Do you still have the letters?”

“Some.”

“I’d like to read them.”

“No. They’re…dark.”

“I want to read them.”

“I’ll think about it.” He held his hand out.

I looked up at him.

“Keys,” he said. “So I can pull the truck into the garage?”

“Of course.” I dropped the keys into the palm of his outstretched hand and yawned.

“Am I boring you?” he yelled over his shoulder as he stepped outside and sauntered towards the truck. He had the same smooth, confident stride that he’d always had. Graceful yet determined.

“No. I was up late last night with Sam. He tried to hang himself.”

Wylie had been climbing into the cab of the truck, but he stopped. He stood there, stock-still for a minute. Then he turned back to face me. His hand, the one that held my keys was shaking.

“Doc Lyons said he’d fix it. Sam’s not gonna have to go fight. It’ll be all right. Doc promised. Momma and Daddy don’t know. They wouldn’t understand.”

Wylie nodded, then stepped into the truck, started the engine, and drove it into the garage.

“Who’s Doc Lyons?” he asked as he stepped out the truck.

“He came right after you left. He’s a good man. Sarah Jane, she got in the family way a while back. He referred her to…someone.”

Wylie looked pointedly at my hand. “You said no.”

“Told you I would in the letters.”

“Bet your momma had a fit.”

“I’m not in love with Peter Johnson.”

“Course not, who in their right mind could love a man named Peter Johnson? He’d probably want to name your first child Richard and call him Dick.”

I blushed again. I could feel the burn down to the tips of my toes. I lifted the Coke bottle and pressed the cool glass to my cheek. I closed my eyes for a moment and licked my lips. Suddenly I didn’t know what to say or where to look. When I opened them Wylie was standing right in front of me.

“Do that again,” he said, reaching up and placing his hand on the back of my neck. His thumb began to trace a path from behind my ear to the crook of my shoulder. Instinctively I leaned into his touch.

“Do what?” I asked, sounding breathless.

Wylie bit his lower lip and in a voice rough with passion said, “Wet your lips.”

Suddenly I felt every bit as young and inexperienced as I was. I’d been kissed before, of course. But I’d never gone further. Never felt the need to. Never wanted to.

“Allow me,” said Wylie as he leaned down, ever so slowly.

He brushed his lips across mine. They barely touched. Then his tongue darted out and swept across my lower lip. He pulled back slightly and sighed leaning his forehead against mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath on the side of my cheek as he exhaled out through his nose. He reached behind my head and pulled out the comb that held my hair in place. The loosened curls tumbled down my back and he ran his hands through them. Wiley pulled me in closer, wrapping one strong arm around my waist.

“You should stop me,” he said as he turned me around and pressed my back against the side of the car.

I reached out and wrapped my hands around his biceps. “And why would I want to do that?”

“Because you deserve better than me. I don’t seem to be able to sleep at night anymore. When I do sleep, I have nightmares. That’s why I didn’t move back into the house. I didn’t want to keep everyone up, didn’t want to worry them.”

We were so close. I could feel the buckle of his jeans pressing into my stomach. He was aroused, I could feel that too, and the excitement it brought made me shudder despite the sweltering heat.

“You can’t possibly be cold,” he whispered into the shell of my ear.


Touch the Fire:

Flint handed her his shirt. “Did you clean the wounds and get all of the glass out?”

“You said to soak. I soaked,” she said, motioning for him to turn around. “Well, I also shampooed and conditioned. I hope you don’t mind. A near-death experience shouldn’t be an excuse to let one’s hair go.”

Flint turned his back on her and waited patiently.

“There. It’s safe to turn around now,” said Nicole as she finished rolling up the sleeves on his shirt.

Flint scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry about the interruption earlier. We’ve really been working on the knocking thing. She doesn’t quite have it down yet.”

“She’s beautiful,” said Elizabeth as she picked up a comb. “Do you mind?”

“No. Go on,” answered Flint, leaning against the doorjamb. “She looks like her mother,” he added softly.

Nicole’s eyes connected with his in the mirror. “She has your eyes.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Flint shoved his hands into his pockets and studied the floor.

“I should look at your foot.”

“You’re not going to put the stinging stuff on her boo boos, are you?” asked Sam as she approached wearing only a pair of panties. “Which is better, the pink or the yellow?” she posed as she held up two otherwise identical sundresses for Nicole to inspect.

“I like the yellow,” answered Nicole with a smile.

“Me, too! Can we play later? When I get back from the zoo? I’m going to meet the new panda,” she said, wrestling with the dress she’d placed over her head. “Dad, the dress is winning again! I can’t find my way-”

Flint knelt down beside her and tugged the dress into place and then guided her head and neck through.

“There you go,” he said, smoothing down her now mussed hair. “Go get your bag with your hat and your sunscreen. And no ice cream unless you have real food first. Got it?”

“Does popcorn count as real food?” asked Sam looking up at her father, hopefully.

Flint touched the tip of her nose with his fingertip and said, “No, but good try.”

Sam frowned and walked back down the hall towards her room.

“You’re good with her,” observed Nicole.

Flint looked up and grinned as he slipped his arm around Nicole’s waist to offer her support.

“You’re just buttering me up so that I don’t use the stinging stuff. You see I wasn’t born yesterday, Miss Brooks. I know this trick.”

“How’s it working?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid. We’ve got to get that glass out.”

“Maybe it’ll just work its way out on its on own?”

“Doubtful. Let’s go out on the back deck where the light is good. Then I’ll get the first aid kit.”

As they moved slowly down the hallway Nicole, walking gingerly on heel of one foot, was able to notice his house for the first time. Directly across from the bathroom was a small linen closet. To the left of that was the doorway to what appeared to be a fairly large kitchen. There were two bedrooms as far as she could tell, the one at the end of the hall where Sam had disappeared to and the one adjacent to the bathroom. The living room that they’d entered through was back down the hallway to the right. The walls of the hallway were covered practically floor to ceiling, in drawings.

“You have quite the budding artist,” observed Nicole as they walked towards the kitchen.

“You have a keen eye,” he teased.

“I should,” she answered. “My mother adored art. It was her passion.”

“What about you?” he asked as he unlocked the French doors to the back deck. “What’s your passion?”

Nicole stepped out onto the deck and limped over to the chair that Flint pointed to. The morning sun had already warmed the wooden floorboards beneath her feet.

“I don’t think I’ve found it yet,” she said, looking around the small, enclosed space and taking in her surroundings. Across from the table where she was sitting, tucked away under a massive vine-covered arbor, was an alcove. Under the arbor were a white wicker loveseat, chaise, and a small end-table. There was a rustic fountain in one corner and the space was filled with plants and flowers. To the right of the table was a set of three steps, which led to what appeared to be a built-in hot tub.

Flint emerged carrying a first-aid kit.

“You really have a first-aid kit?” she asked.

“Firefighter,” he replied, as if that should explain it. “Got an earthquake kit too.”

“Like with jugs of drinking water and cans of Spam? I thought those were just some urban legend.”

Flint set the first-aid kit down on the table.

“Spam? No. I went with Evian and cans of Alaskan King crab.”

“I’m moving in,” she declared matter-of-factly. Then added, “Your home is lovely.”

Flint smiled shyly. “I put a lot of work into this place. More than I should have,” he confessed as he watched her look around.

“Why do you say that? Everything’s beautiful.”

“Let’s just say that had I known then what I do now? Well, my priorities would have been a bit different. Let’s have a look, shall we?” He sat down in the chair across from Nicole, lifted her foot into his lap, then leaned forward to inspect her injury closely. “There are a couple shards of glass in there. That’s probably why it’s still hurting so badly.”

“Nurse Sam reporting for duty!” announced Sam as she bounced out onto the back deck.

Flint chuckled, “I think the patient’s going to live. Honey, can you go get Daddy’s glasses? They’re on the nightstand in my room.”

“Right away, doctor!” she yelled and took off, running through the house in search of his glasses.

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing doctor?” asked Nicole coyly.

“Yeah, well, I like a little variety. Candy Land. Candy Land. Candy Land. Doctor Flint and the Naughty Nurse. Candy Land. Candy Land,” he said dryly as his daughter ran back out onto the deck and handed him his glasses.

“I’m not naughty. I’m a good nurse!” she declared.

“Yes, you are, darlin’,” he agreed as he put on his reading glasses and picked up a pair of tweezers. “You’re aces, you are.”

“Those look dangerous,” said Nicole, staring warily at the tweezers.

“Here, you can hold my hand,” offered Sam.

Nicole reached out and took Sam’s little hand. “You are a good nurse,” she told her wincing slightly as Flint removed several small shards of glass that were embedded in the cuts.

“Here’s the bad part,” warned Sam. “I can help blow.”

“I think I’ve got it,” answered Flint as he sprayed on the antiseptic then pursing his lips together blew out a light stream of air onto the bottom of Nicole’s foot.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and his eyes looked up, connecting with hers.

“It burns,” she whispered.

He again lightly blew over the cuts.

“Better?” he asked while reaching for a roll of gauze and expertly wrapping her foot.

As he secured the bandage and began to return the supplies to the first aid kit Sam annouced, “Now for the best part.”

“Best part?” asked Nicole.

“Daddy will give your boo boos the magic healing kiss and then you get a spoonful of ice cream for being brave,” Sam told her.

“Sam,” began Flint obviously embarrassed, “I don’t think-”

“I was awfully brave,” teased Nicole, her eyes wide in a purposeful attempt to appear innocent. “I think I deserve the full treatment. Don’t you?”

Sam looked at her father, confusion across her face. “Don’t we want her boo boos to get better?”

Flint slid one hand up, over Nicole’s calf, placed his other under her heel, raised her foot, leaned down, and placed a soft slow kiss on her exposed ankle. “That we do, darlin’,” he said as he pulled back, looking intently at Nicole.

“Any other boo boos that need kisses?” asked Sam.

Nicole smiled a slow smile and watched as Flint, suddenly appearing almost flustered, broke off eye contact and stood up.

“I’m gonna grab a quick shower,” he said, and gently placed her foot back on the chair where he’d been sitting. He didn’t wait for a response. He walked into his house, through the kitchen, down the hall, into the bathroom and closed the door. Flint took off his shirt and tossed it onto the floor. As he looked up he noticed his reflection in the mirror and paused. Who was that man? He looked tired.

Through the closed door he could hear Nicole’s laughter, followed by the welcome sound of his daughter’s unrestrained giggles. Alone, in private, he slid to the floor. Flint closed his eyes let his head fall back against the door, and finally…finally released the breath that he had been holding for the past three and a half years.


Blackout:

The elevator doors swooshed close and there is was, right in front of her.

Attention:
Stage 3 Alert!
Electricity curtailment
anticipated for this grid
6:00-10:00 p.m.
Friday, September 1st

She glanced down and looked at her watch. It was almost six o’clock.

There was a slight audible clunk as the elevator engaged beginning it’s decent to the lobby. She looked up, anxiously, at the display of numbers and watched in rapt attention as they alternately lit up.

Ashley was only vaguely aware that there was someone else in the elevator. In typical fashion the couple stood on opposite sides of the small, enclosed space saying nothing, their eyes forward.

Just as they passed the eighth floor Ashley set her heavy briefcase down, then shifted her purse from her right shoulder to her left. At the same time, Curtis stuffed his hand in the pockets of his trousers to retrieve his keys.

Suddenly, they were surrounded by darkness. The cage swayed back and forth as its decent came to an unexpected, screeching halt. For a moment the silence was deafening.

“Oh, my God!” he heard her say. He could hear the sound of hands slapping against stone and imagined that she was on the floor, looking for something.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“What? Um. I think so. I was thrown off balance and stumbled a bit. I think I’m fine though. I seem to have lost the wall I was standing next to,” she said as she stood up and smoothed down her skirt. “And I think either I’ve gone blind, or-”

Curtis chuckled. “Blackout,” he said.

“Right. I knew the grid was scheduled for shutdown tonight. I’ve been staring at those bright pink neon signs all week! What an idiot!”

Curtis merely cleared his throat.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, ending her rant. “I, um, meant me. Not you. I didn’t mean to imply-”

“It’s alright,” he assured her.

A few seconds passed in silence.

“So, since you’ve been studying those signs all week, care to share how long this is going to last?”

“Four hours,” she said as she slowly and carefully stepped away from his voice until she again felt the wall of the elevator against her back.

“Four hours,” he repeated. He slid his back down the wall, and crouched on the floor.

“Aren’t elevators supposed to lower themselves to the bottom floor when something like this happens?”

“Only hydraulic elevators that have emergency return units automatically lower to the ground.”

“Huh. I’m guessing this isn’t one of those,” she said, disappoint evident in her voice.

“I’m afraid not. This building, charming though it may be, obviously has no generator backup for emergencies. We’re stuck until the power comes back on or until an elevator mechanic comes and manually lowers the damn thing.”

“Hence the importance of the signs.”

“Hence the importance of the signs,” agreed Curtis.

“It’s Ashley, by the way,” she volunteered.

“Curt,” he offered, automatically extending his hand and then retracting it. “Curtis Stone.”

“Well tell me your story, Curt.”

“My story?”

“What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” Then, suddenly a little panicked, she added, “You are a nice guy, right?”

“Well, I haven’t killed anyone…yet… Today, I came awfully close though.”

“You did?” Ashley asked, curious.

“Nah, not really, was just trying to appear interesting. I thought it might make the time pass more quickly.”

“I appreciate the effort,” she said.

“I can juggle too, want to see? Look! Three balls at once!”

Ashley laughed.

“You work here?” he asked.

“In litigation,” she said. “What do you do?”

“Architect.”

“Architect huh? Is that how you know about elevators?”

“Probably,” said Curt vaguely.

“Any exciting plans for the weekend?”

“Not really.”

“First time stuck in an elevator?”

“Yup.”

“Me too,” she said. “I had a dream about being stuck in an elevator once.”

“So, this is like a dream come true then?”

“Not exactly. In my dream Brad Pitt was stuck in the elevator with me.”

“Ah,” said Curt.

“Hey, would you mind if I called you Brad for the next couple hours?”

“Yes.”

“You’re no fun,” she told him amidst a great big yawn.

“Long week?”

“Long year.”

“I can relate,” he said while reaching up to unfasten the top buttons of his dress shirt.

“Did you hear something?”

“Not a thing,” he said. “It’s getting hot in here already.” Curt removed the jacket to his suit and then pulled the tie free of his shirt, its silk fabric making a high-pitched whooshing sound as it snapped free.

“Wh-what are you doing?” asked Ashley with trepidation.

“The temperature’s going to continue to rise in here. I’m already uncomfortable. If we’re going to be stuck for four hours I am not keeping all of these clothes on.”

“You’re undressing?” exclaimed Ashley. “I was joking about the Brad Pitt thing.”

“Relax. It’s only my jacket and tie,” said Curt.

They both heard the dull thud when he dropped the jacket onto the elevator floor.

“Hey! My cell phone! We can call for help!” he said kneeling down onto the floor to search through his coat pockets.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Ashley said as he flipped his phone open.

The display emitted a pale yellow-green glow. Although it lit the area around his hand, it wasn’t bright enough to illuminate his face.

“Damn it!” He flipped it closed again. “No signal. And, unfortunately, it seems to be running low on battery anyway. What about you?”

“What about me, what?” asked Ashley.

“Do you have signal?”

“Sorry, my battery died mid-way through the day. I never made it home last night to recharge. I worked straight through. I just couldn’t… It’s a long story. Christ, my head is pounding. I can’t…”

“What?” asked Curt in a hushed whisper.

“Nothing,” she said, so quietly that he almost missed it. He heard a soft gasp, followed by a ragged exhalation of air.

“Are you alright?” he asked gradually moving towards her.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice tremulous.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m fine,” insisted Ashley. “I’ll be fine. It’s just been a really hard week and I’m not feeling so hot.”

“It’s almost over,