CAYMAN SUMMER (Taken by Storm)
Read CAYMAN SUMMER (Taken by Storm) Online
Authors: Angela Morrison
Michael and Leesie’s Saga:
Taken by Storm
Unbroken Connection (Taken by Storm Book #2)
Cayman Summer (Taken by Storm Book #3)
Meet Beth, Scott and Derek—they’ll break your heart next!
Sing me to Sleep
Cayman Summer
Published by Angela Morrison
Mesa, Arizona, USA
Copyright 2011 Angela Morrison
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Please direct rights inquiries to Erzsi Deak, Hen & Ink Literary.
ISBN: 978-1461090793
E-Book ISBN: 978-1-4392-8165-9
Printed in the United States of America
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
To all my readers at
http://caymansummer.blogspot.com
!
Contents
JOURNEY
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #74, FLIGHT
Michael pushes the wheelchair
down the chilly jet-way.
SEA-TAC pre-dawn,
no midnight escape flights
from the Spokane airport.
He drove all night to make this
6:00 AM AA flight to Chicago,
while I rode wrapped
in a hospital blanket,
a gift from my nurses—
who all had a crush on him—
my seat tipped back,
my broken hand elevated
on a pile of pillows
to reduce swelling,
more pillows to keep my feet up,
my right arm in a sling
with a complex web of bandages
doing figure eights around my body—
collarbone stabilization.
Pumped full of morphine,
I slept. First time
without dreams.
He greeted me with a yawn stifled
into a smile, when I
opened my eyes to discover
we’d roamed to the other side of the state—
bays and islands, seashells and tides,
gulls in the distance like the ones we fed
at Grand Coulee dam
the first time we talked
back when I was lonely but not alone.
“You okay?” He touched my arm.
“I’m fine,” I lied despite the
undrugged reality of pain,
as desolation lapped like waves
against my heart.
Alone. Lost. Forever fallen.
My eyes sought his.
At least, I won’t be lonely—
not with his ring glowing
on my finger. My glance
slid down his face and arms,
dropped to my hand, searching
for that reassuring gemstone.
My fingers purple, puffy,
empty.
He patted the pocket
of his saddle-brown leather
jacket that matches the coat
draped over me. “It fell
off. I’ve got it safe.”
He pulled over for gas,
slipped the ring on the chain
he used to wear,
fastened it around my neck,
and gave me a double
dose of pills.
“The nurses said not
to let the pain get out of hand.”
I wanted to protest.
I needed the hurt,
something real to suffer,
not like the ache in my spirit,
the divine hole that will never heal.
But I swallowed for him—
for his fingers touching my lips
as he placed capsules on my tongue,
for his hands holding up my water bottle,
for the kiss I demanded as reward.
Now, he lifts me from the wheelchair,
settles me in cushy first class,
front row, window seat.
He sinks beside me, lightly
touches my garish fingers sticking
out of my cast, closes
his eyes. “Just give me a minute.”
I stroke his hand with my fingertips.
“I love you.”
His mouth corners turn up
as he drifts away.
I analyze the minute contractions
of his nose when he inhales.
His chest lifts, fills, falls
as the air silently escapes.
I close my eyes and trace the vision—
jeans, jacket, his hair getting long again,
curling along his neck like it was that day
on the bus when he rescued me from Troy—
cementing it in my mind,
in case he evaporates
again.
I catch my reflection
in the pre-dawn dark window
beside me, ignore the black eyes,
the scarf that doesn’t camouflage
my shaved, wounded scalp,
focus on the ugly white
gauze holding my nose in place,
wince when I try to use it,
force air in through my mouth,
slow and steady,
like Michael taught me.
“Max the 02,” I imagine he says.
“It’s good for your head.”
The surgeon said I’ll snore.
Poor, Michael. I’m such a freak.
The doc also told me to breathe deep.
Pneumonia attacks in hurt rib
territory. A sharp twinge, dulled
but perceptible, accompanies
every breath. In. Out.
Deeper. Deeper.
Michael sleeps the whole flight.
An attendant reaches across him
to hand me a soda that I can’t hold.
“Wish I could snooze like that.”
I direct her to set the cup on my armrest
table thing that blocks my knee from
touching his. “Shhh. He deserves it.”
Every minute.
Three hours I watch.
It isn’t enough.
He wakes when we land.
“You surviving?”
I nod. “You?”
“I’m great.” He smiles,
but it’s thin.
How can I say I love him?
I high-jacked his life.
Kidnapped his destiny.
He says all he wants is me.
What if he’s lying?
What if I’m not enough?
What if he gets sick of being
my hero?
What if he can’t love me
this ugly?
I force a smile. “Where to next?”
“Miami.”
“Your condo?”
He shakes his head. “Too easy.
That’s the first place they’ll look.”
“Didn’t know you were that into
this evil mastermind gig.”
He doesn’t laugh. “We can go
there if you want.
Gram would fly out—
stay with us awhile.”
My heart pounds.
“She’d tell my dad.”
“Yeah. He could come, too.”
He combs his fingers through what’s
left of my hair. “Just like old times.”
I close my eyes—thankful
that my face is masked—so
he can’t see what I
desperately desire.
He sees anyway. “I can
take you home, babe”—
his whisper holds hope—
“just say the word.”
I inhale again and the pain
from my ribs
knifes to my heart.
“I can’t
ever
go home
again.”
He shakes his head.
“When you’re ready,
I’ll take you.” His lips
imprint the promise
on my mouth.
“I’m ready for you.”
My kiss says it better.
“Only you.”
O’Hare is packed. He says
it’s always like this. But—
he’s got a shiny white cart
waiting that whisks us like
magic through the masses.
I get to board our plane first.
We don’t bother with a wheelchair.
I start to hobble through the gate,
but Michael sweeps me in his arms
again.
“The doctor said I should walk.”
“Walk tomorrow.”
His breathe tickles my ear.
“Aren’t you tired of this?”
I let him into my eyes
where all my fears hide.
He cradles me close. “I’ll
never get tired
of
this
.”
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
Dive Buddy:
Leesie
Date:
04/27
Dive #:
first night
Location:
Grand Cayman
Dive Site:
Summer Breeze Resort
Weather Condition:
clear skies, full moon
Water Condition:
choppy
Depth:
way, way, way over my head
Visibility:
I can’t see anything but her
Water Temp:
steamy out
Bottom Time:
all night long
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