Page 47 of Dreamland

“You played the song,” she said softly. She placed a hand on my arm, her eyes glittering. “But it was different this time.”

Standing before her, I was about to explain why, but I was struck by the thought that she already knew. Over the water, lightning cut the sky again, followed by thunder, which came more quickly than it had only a few minutes earlier. The wind had a cooler edge now, but all I could think about was the warmth of her hand on my skin.

Searching for something to say, I asked, “How was Busch Gardens?”

She nodded toward the sky, an amused smile on her face. “Do you really want to talk about that now? Don’t you think we should leave along with everyone else?”

I reluctantly withdrew my arm. “Let me load up, okay?”

Morgan followed me past the now-empty tables. Ray and other employees had already cleared away most of the equipment, and as I reached for my guitar case, I felt the first drop of rain. I moved quickly, but even before we started for the parking area, that first drop turned into a sprinkle, followed by an almost immediate downpour. I opened the door for Morgan as the clouds unleashed the deluge that had been building all day.

I rounded the truck at a run and hopped up into the cab, my shirt and pants already drenched. Even with the windshield wipers on high, I might as well have been in a car wash. I navigated almost blindly through the parking lot. On Gulf Boulevard, a number of cars had pulled over with their hazard lights blinking, while others simply inched along. Lightning flickered overhead like strobe lights.

“I think I need some dry clothes if we’re going out.”

“We’re not going out in this,” she said. “Let’s just go to your place, okay?”

Figuring that I was already wet and having driven through hurricanes in North Carolina, I rolled down my window and leaned my head out, trying to spot the upcoming turn. Rain pelted my face and blew into the truck, but eventually I was able to turn off Gulf Boulevard onto a quiet side street.

My face stung in the driving gusts of rain; lightning flashed again, this time almost directly overhead, thunder cracking like a gunshot. All at once, power went off on one side of the street as far as I could see, knocking out the lights. I guessed that my condo, directly ahead, must have been affected, too.

The road was already beginning to flood when we finally reached the condo. I was soaked, with water from the lowered window pooling in my lap. Shrouded in darkness, the entire complex appeared strangely deserted.

Knowing it was pointless to try to avoid the rain, Morgan scrambled and ran to the stairs. I jumped out, as well, key in hand.

Inside, the only light visible was the steady flicker of lightning beyond the sliding glass door. Despite the storm, the air was already becoming stuffy. Morgan came to a stop in the living room, and I stepped around her, leaving small puddles as I walked. In the kitchen cabinet, I found the candles and matches I’d purchased earlier, thankful to have them on hand.

Once the candles were lit, the living room was cast in shadows. I placed both of them on the coffee table, then pulled open the sliding glass door to let in some air. The wind was blowing hard across the small porch, the rain moving almost horizontally.

In the dim yellow light, I noted a smudge of mascara on Morgan’s cheek, the slightest hint of imperfection on someone who seemed almost flawless in every way. Her wet sundress clung to her skin, outlining her curves, and the dampness was causing her long hair to return to its natural riot of waves. I tried not to stare, wondering again how she could have come to preoccupy me so fully in such a short period of time. I had barely thought about the farm or my aunt or Paige, and even the music that I loved was focused entirely on her. I was suddenly sure that I would never love another in this way again.

Morgan was frozen in place. The candlelight pooled in her eyes, calm and knowing, as though she understood exactly what I was feeling and thinking. But she remained cloaked in mystery, even as I approached her.

I leaned in and kissed her then, wanting to believe that she could feel the crackling intensity passing through me. When I gently moved to pull her closer, I felt her hand touch my chest.

“Colby…” she whispered.

I slowed then and simply wrapped my arms around her. I held her for a long time, reveling in the feel of her body against my own, until she finally began to relax. When I felt her arms twine around my neck, I closed my eyes, wanting the moment to last forever.

In time, she loosened her embrace and took a small step backward.

“I’m going to change into something dry,” she murmured. “I brought extra clothes, just in case.”

I swallowed, barely able to speak. “Okay,” I managed.

Picking up one of the candles, she retreated to the bathroom off the hallway. When I heard the door click shut, I realized I was alone in the living room, unable to imagine what might happen next.

From the linen closet, I grabbed a towel and headed to the bedroom, candle in hand. As I stripped off my wet clothes, I tried not to dwell on the fact that a few feet away, out of sight, Morgan had slipped out of her own clothes, as well. I dried off, then pulled on a pair of jeans and my other button-up shirt. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and, peeking in the mirror over the dresser, did what I could with my hair. Picking up the candle, I made my way back to the kitchen.

With the power out, the stove was useless, but the chocolate-covered strawberries and wine would still be cool in the refrigerator, along with some of the cheese left over from the picnic. After retrieving it, I sliced the cheese and arranged it on a plate, along with crackers and the strawberries. I had to fish through the drawers to find a wine opener but finally found one and opened the bottle, as well. Taking a pair of glasses from the cupboard, I brought everything to the coffee table. Nervous, I poured myself a glass of wine and took a sip. I wondered whether Morgan would want any.

Beyond the windows, the rain resembled diamond slivers in the unending flashes of lightning. Shadowy palm fronds danced in the wind like puppet figures while I settled onto the couch. Absently rotating the wineglass in my lap, I thought of how Morgan had sounded when she’d whispered my name and wondered what was going through her mind right now. She knew now how I felt about her, but had she known when she arrived at the show? Had she known last night? I didn’t know, and though part of me was nervous at the thought that my feelings might not be reciprocated, I also understood there was nothing I could do to change the way I felt about her.

I wondered, too, if I could have fallen in love had I not come here, to this small town in Florida. Not only with Morgan but with anyone. I hadn’t fallen in love with Michelle, but deep down I knew that our conflicting schedules were only part of the reason. It had more to do with the farm and the all-encompassing nature of the work. Because there was always something to do, I’d somehow lost the ability to simply relax and enjoy life or to make time for someone special. As an excuse it had been a good one, so subtle as to render me unaware it was happening, but as I took another sip of wine, I understood that I had to make changes unless I wanted to end up like my uncle. I needed to allow myself a break now and then—to write songs or go on walks or simply sit and do nothing at all. I needed to catch up with old friends and open myself to new possibilities and people, and the time I’d spent here only underscored that importance.

There was, after all, more to life than work, and I realized I no longer wanted to be the person I’d recently become. I wanted to embrace those things that were important to me and worry less about the things that were beyond my control. Not sometime in the future but starting as soon as I got back home. No matter what happened with Morgan and me, I knew I would reinvent myself as the person I wanted to be. I’d done it before, I reminded myself, and there was no reason I couldn’t do it again.

Rising from the couch, I walked toward the sliding glass doors. Back home, I knew, a storm like this would make me worry about the crops or the chickens or the roof of the greenhouse, but here and now I found the spectacle inspiring in an almost foreign way.

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