She sighed, shuddered, eyes closed, her hair long and breasts hanging down as she began to lift and roll, her pubic bone moist and hard, seeking friction with mine. I heard her whisper, “The astronaut position. I like this.”
“Huh? Astro-what?”
“You’re the astronaut, laying back in your seat. You get to reach up and play with all the knobs and buttons you can find.”
More than an hour later, in the master bedroom by now, the sheets soaked with sweat, when we both thought we’d done everything possible to one another and given everything twice over, the girl, whose feet were beside my head on the pillow, removed her mouth from me, poked her head up with prairie-dog surprise and said, “Houston, this is Apollo. We’ve got liftoff again. ”
I haven’t had much experience with the morning-after awkwardness of a one-night stand for the very simple reason that I rarely, rarely do one-night stands. Fortunately, though, there was very little awkwardness. Not between Lindsey and me, anyway.
I walked her home in the silver, predawn dusk amid tittering birds and the seawind rustling of morning palms. We hadn’t gotten much sleep, but she was energized, full of fun. Seemed to be completely at ease. She kept her voice low, chatting about the modern ceremony we had to complete: exchanging phone numbers, cell phone numbers, e-mail addresses.
Guava Key’s paths are illuminated by moon-globe lamps that create little islands of light along the paths. In the light of one, she allowed me to see her theatrical expression of shock when I told her I didn’t have a cell phone. “My God! When you’re shopping, or cruising the malls, how can you make calls?” and shook her own cell phone at me.
She had that unusual gift for satire and self-deprecation. “Know something, Doc? Yesterday was a hell of a complicated day, but I feel better than I’ve felt in a long, long time. I’m not sure why. I’m glad we met, that much I can tell you. Not just because you saved our asses, either.”
I told her, “Why do I have to keep reminding you? I didn’t save anybody. That’s your official response, okay?”
Her laughter was a whispered sound and private.
“Whatever you say, Ford. But I’m glad you did.”
I was feeling much better myself. Our lovemaking had been unexpectedly comfortable; a mix of tenderness and passion that left us both panting, then laughing. Usually, when I do something that breaches my own code of behavior, I get a niggling case of the guilts. Not now, though. I felt energized and content. The gray, residual depression caused by my run-in with the kidnappers had been swept away.
I wrapped my arm around her, steering her down the dark path. For some reason, something she said came back; I remembered her telling me, Maybe you’ve got to experience your own death to realize how much you want to live.
Oddly, as if prompted by my own thought chemistry, Lindsey told me, “The reason I feel the way I do-it’s a kinda fresh start feeling, like nothing I’ve experienced before. I really could have died yesterday, but I didn’t, so this is like the beginning of my new life. Used to be, I always had this urge in me. Destructive, you know? It was like an itch, something I had to scratch or just go nuts. But I don’t feel it now. That weird urge to piss people off and fuck up my life. Anger, I guess. Contempt for everything, but now it’s gone. Like it was never there.
“Then being with you in bed, it was like, wow! Not because you were great-don’t get me wrong, you were just fine-but because it was like my first time, only better. What I felt, all those sensations, I really appreciated them, you know? They meant something. It was fun. ”
“I’m happy to play even a small role,” I said wryly.
She gave me a slap on the butt. “You did more than just play a role, come on. In fact, you may be a big part of the reason I feel so good. It’s more than knowing I coulda been killed. What it may be? It may be because I’ve had lots of lovers, and I’ve had a few really close guy friends. But I’ve never been with a guy who was both. I think that maybe, just maybe, you’re going to be the first.”
I thanked her, but was thinking, Slow down, lady. Slow down.
I got a couple hours’ sleep before the phone beside my bed rang. I picked it up to hear Lindsey say, “Hey, Ford? They’re making me leave already. Shit! We just figure out what parts go where, that they make a nice fit, and we’ve already got to say good-bye. I’d ask you to come along, but they won’t even say where they’re taking me. Bastards!”
She sounded disappointed but not surprised. Like that sort of thing had been a part of her life before. She told me the whole operation, chopper and all, had been arranged by her father, and would I mind meeting her at the helipad because the cops weren’t going to let her out of their sight even for a few minutes.
While I was brushing my teeth, the phone rang again. It was Tomlinson. It must have been a good night for him, too, because there was renewed energy in his voice. “Marion, holy moley! that sister of yours is something. Has an absolutely fabulous spirit, man, lots of heavy mojo vibes. No sex; didn’t even try. But she has a real godliness about her, plus she is built like a brick shit house! We got in the hot tub. She brought this little, tiny, tiny bikini, and we stayed up talking until five. Smoked a couple fatties, drank some wine-you know, really getting to know each other, exploring each other’s heads. That woman is smart, she’s funny, she’s unspoiled-got what we Zen folks call ‘the crazy wisdom.’ ”
I said, “Crazy, huh? Then at least the two of you have something in common. And Tomlinson? Please don’t refer to her as my sister.”
He hooted. “Lighten up, Doc! We need to get together so you can go over these papers Tucker left her. I’ve read through them a couple of times. Kind of interesting, really. Old Florida stuff, from back in the cowboy and rumrunner days. The feel of it I’m talking about. Hey, Doc, I don’t remember-when the old man died, did he leave a will?”
I said, “No. Tucker died intestate. His ranch, most of it he’d already sold off to residents of a trailer park down in the Glades. Nice people-you met them a couple years back. They’ve really fixed it up from what I hear. The ranch house and the barn went to me because I was his only heir. Supposedly his only heir, anyway. I’ve never even gone down to look at the place. The trailer park people take care of maintenance. In return, I pay them a fee.”
The tone Tomlinson used was as close as he can come to being businesslike. “Okay, then I think one of the letters Ransom received can serve as his actual will. If someone decides to get attorneys involved, I mean. It’s a handwritten instrument, and it’s kind of fun, really. What it amounts to is, Tucker left some money for you two, but you’ve got to find it first. He hid it because he was paranoid about this old enemy of his, an island dude named Benton, beating you to it. Sounds just like that wild old gunslinger, doesn’t it?”
Oh yeah. Trying to manipulate people from the grave-that sounded just like Tuck.
I told him, “Trouble is, Tomlinson, I don’t want anything to do with it. I think you know why. So do me a favor and tell Ransom that the money’s all hers. Whatever it is he left. And I’ll give her the house and barn down in Mango, too. You think we ought to take her word that she’s Tuck’s daughter? Or maybe I should ask her to do a DNA before I transfer the papers.”
“If those eyes of hers aren’t proof enough, the conversation I had with her last night was. Isn’t it weird how people from the same family have similar vocal inflections, move and walk and even write like one or both of their parents? She wrote her address for me-Cat Island in the Bahamas. Used Tucker’s sloppy, curvy block print.”
I didn’t think there was anything weird or unexpected at all about genetics determining characteristics and behavior, but I said, “Oh yeah, the similarities can be eerie.”
“Believe me, compadre, she’s Tucker Gatrell’s daughter.”
“Okay. Then she can have the house if she wants. I’ve got the deed in the fireproof box in my lab. But I’m not going on any of Tucker’s snipe hunts. I still have that fish count to finish up”-I glanced at my left arm; it was throbbing again, but not bad-“and I’m not in the best of shape.”