Chapter 8 – Storm #4
Robby looked up but continued playing. It was a tune she recognized from her parents’ CD collection, “I’ll Come Knocking.
” She sat in a recliner, listening. The next one sounded so familiar, she could almost hear the original playing in her head.
She couldn’t sit still. She started picking up the clothes she had dropped on her way to the shower.
Then she added wood to the fire. She was about to try the recliner again when she heard the rain, not on the roof like usual, but coming sideways, driven by the wind which was strong and sustained now.
Rain was pelting against the small, high windows on the west end of the cabin, on the far side of her bed.
She decided to check that all the windows were tightly closed.
For the ones up high, she had to get a chair.
She could feel air blowing in around the edges and hoped that wouldn’t mean leaks later.
She locked both doors, got a glass of wine, and sat down again.
Listening to Robby play ballads was a soothing distraction from the increasing vehemence of the storm.
He paused to take a sip of beer, and Grace said, “I love that song, “I’ll Come Knocking.” My parents had it on a CD, and I heard it a lot growing up.
That band was from upper South Carolina.
I’m surprised you know it. There was another you played that was so familiar, I could almost — wait!
It was a Wallflowers’ song, wasn’t it? My mother was a huge Wallflowers’ fan. ”
“Yes, Jakob Dylan wrote ‘Three Marlenas.’ I wondered if you might recognize ‘I’ll Come Knocking.’ Lyle Lovett knew that band after they left South Carolina.
He recorded the song after the man who wrote it was killed in a commercial plane crash.
I’m a big Lyle Lovett fan. Great singer. Were your parents musical?”
“My mother plays the piano — anything from the Beatles to jazz to classical, and she can sing. My dad would belt out songs in the shower,” she smiled. “I can’t even carry a tune, but I can read music, so I can play the piano.”
“This is the first time you’ve mentioned your mother. Is she still living?”
Grace took a deep breath. “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Okay.” Robby went back to playing.
After a while, he stopped, checked the woodstove, and laid back in the other recliner and fell asleep. Grace sipped her wine and looked at the flames till she drifted off too.
A deafeningly loud crack of simultaneous thunder and lightning woke them both from deep sleeps.
Grace grabbed the arms of her chair. Robby was on his feet.
“Jesus, that was loud! Really close! I’d go see if it struck anything, but it’s not safe to go outside when it’s that close, especially if you’re tall.
” He paced around the room, picked up his guitar, and zipped it into its case.
Lightning lit up the room repeatedly, accompanied by bangs of thunder, then the lights went out.
That’s when Grace stood up. The only light was the glow from the woodstove and the constant flashes of lightning.
“You’re closer to the lantern,” she said loudly, over the noise of the storm. “Turn it on!” She saw Robby cross the room in a lightning flash, then there was light. “Those things are a miracle,” she said under her breath, as Robby walked over and put the lantern on the table between the recliners.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Just trying to slow my heart rate down.” Grace laughed nervously.
Then there was a bright flash, a crack of a different kind, followed by a resounding thud, and the cabin shuddered. Grace lunged for Robby and said into his chest, “Tree?”
And he answered, “Yeah,” with his arms still around her, and then it was all over — no more holding back, just kisses, clothes on the floor, Robby carrying her, lightning flashes lighting up bare skin, and muffled words and sounds.
Lulls in the storm. Then more intensity.
Some sleep. Until a weak daylight slowly crept through the cabin and found them, still wrapped around each other, blankets dragged across them.
***************
Robby was drifting in a cloud of almond and gradually opened his eyes to Grace’s tangled hair across his shoulder and chest. He kissed her forehead, and she mumbled something he couldn’t understand.
He moved her arm that was draped across him, shifted out from under her leg, and got out of bed, stepping into a puddle of water.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. He found his boxers and jeans and put them on, then got a towel and dropped it onto the puddle.
One of the high windows had leaked. He could still hear rain, but the wind had lessened.
The storm sounded like it was moving away.
He found his shirt on the floor next to the recliner, poured yesterday’s coffee out — it was still on the stove from their early breakfast, and turned on the faucet to rinse the pot — nothing.
So he filled the pot from one of the containers, measured coffee, and turned on the burner — thank goodness for gas stoves.
He noticed the cabin was chilly. He fed the woodstove and stood in front of it, enjoying the heat.
He looked over at Grace, sleeping amidst a jumble of blankets and a patchwork quilt. He had noticed that quilt when he first walked into the cabin, a seven-point star. One of his grandmothers was known for her star quilts. And here was Grace, sleeping under an Ojibwe star quilt.
What a wild night — in every way. He had wanted to get her in bed since he first saw her, but getting her there had been a challenge.
It had taken so long, he had gotten to know her.
She might disagree with that statement, but he knew how well he knew her compared to most women he slept with.
He didn’t remember the last time he’d spent this much time with anyone outside the band.
It did take an act of God to finally get her there, but he’d been making progress .
. . Last night — well, it was one of those stories you can’t make up.
And worth the wait. He smiled, remembering.
More than agreeable. But now? . . . He didn’t want to stop yet.
Like everything else these days, he’d just let it unfold.
It was not like it was a hardship. It was not like he was unwilling.
But what about Grace? He knew she liked him more than when they first met.
And he knew she liked sex. But he couldn’t predict how she would be this morning.
When the coffee had perked long enough, he poured, stirred sugar in, and walked around the cabin, pausing at each window to look out.
The damage was bad, but not as bad as he’d feared.
No trees on the cabin. Most trees still standing.
A huge white pine on the ground near the cabin.
That must have caused that big thud. He would thank that tree.
It hadn’t fallen on the cabin, and it had gotten Grace into his arms. Maybe save a piece of it.
Another pine split by a lightning strike.
That must have been the one that woke them both up.
One window with a crack, likely from hail.
His truck was covered with tree debris, but he didn’t see any big branches.
Blown-out screens on the porches. And there would be countless trees down across the road to the lodge and across the Trail.
Days ahead filled with the constant whine of chainsaws and the smell of fresh sap.
He hoped Jim had more than one chainsaw.
“Robby, come back to bed.” He turned from looking at the porch screens. Grace was propped up on one elbow, the star quilt pulled up to her chest.
“Hmmm. You’re very tempting with all that hair and those bare shoulders, but unless I miss my guess, either Jim or Billy will be showing up here soon to check on you — us. Then, the cat will be out of the bag. That’s okay by me. What about you?”
She looked at him. “It is . . .”
“But?”
“I’m wary.”
“Of me?”
“Some, but more of me. I know I can’t control you, but now I know I can’t control myself as well as I thought I could. I hoped I’d learned something, but I’m not so sure. I’m not afraid, but I’d be better off if I were. I don’t want to screw up again.”
“Ohhh . . .” Robby leaned back against the sink and took a sip of coffee, thinking.
“Maybe you shouldn’t quit yet. I can tell you with a lot more experience that meaningful encounters are seldom found on straight and narrow paths.
Relax and explore the enchanted forest. You were doing that last night.
I recall a couple surprising side trips.
They were some of the most pleasurable parts of the journey. ”
“I guess, as a poet, you could put it that way. Whatever, I need to be careful.”
“Wandering off a path has its advantages.”
“I don’t want to get lost.”
“Lost is not always a bad thing.”
Grace’s eyebrows drew together. “How’s it not bad?”
“You might end up in a better place, and there may be interesting sites and beings along the way. Things to learn.”
“What if you end up in a bad place?”
“Then you get the hell out and don’t go back.”
“You make it sound simple, but it’s not.”
Robby smiled. “Don’t be scared. If we’re still talking about us, I’m here too. I don’t know where we’re headed, but I’ll do my best to make it a positive experience. Sometimes there’s a lot to be gained by taking a risk.”
“Or a lot to be lost.”
“We should focus on the positive.”
“Maybe you’ve had mostly positives. That hasn’t been my experience.”
“That’s not what I’ve seen, since I met you. Things have been working out for you. And, by the way, no Native person I’ve ever met has had ‘mostly positives.’ I’m one of the luckiest, but don’t kid yourself, I’ve had some bad, not pretty, times.”
“I’m sorry I said that. I wasn’t thinking.”