In Search of Tennessee Sunshine: Excerpt
Erica Lorraine Simpson looked out from the balcony of the Exquisite Oceanside Beach Hotel. As she watched the aquamarine waters of the Atlantic Ocean play tag with the soft pink sand on the beach below, and stiff dry leaves of the palm trees rustled in the tropical breeze, she had one thought: I’m not supposed to be here.
There was so much to this moment that was unbelievable; so much that her mind could not fully take in, consider, be a part of. But I’m here, right? Here, in Bermuda at a $425 a night hotel, 1500 miles away from home, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, right?
There was no answer to her question, just the rustle of the palms, the whisper of the ocean, and the sun that beat a hot consistent drum on her forehead. No answer, save for the far away laughter of the people in the pool below, the noises of the hotel workers going about their jobs, their clipped British accents punctuating the air, and the pain that still jabbed her in her heart, because, in truth, she wasn’t supposed to be here.
She wasn’t supposed to be in a luxury hotel on the island of Bermuda in the middle of the week. She was supposed to be sitting at her cramped desk, in her cramped office, doing her file reviews and dying for a cigarette break.
She was supposed to be, right now, eyeing the clock, waiting for the magic hour of three, when she would go to the office galley, make a cup of coffee, grab her cigarettes, exit the office building, go to her car, light up, sip her too hot java and sigh for the first time since lunch.
She would spend exactly thirteen minutes enjoying her smoke and caffeine break, not caring about anything, except what she would make for dinner later on that evening. Maybe pork chops or chicken breasts which she’d share with her wonderful husband Louis, afterward winding down, feet up on the sofa that they had purchased years ago from Furniture Warehouse on Rockaway Boulevard.
They would dream of that final move, out of the two-story three-bedroom home they had purchased twenty years ago, for a house that wasn’t in Queens, New York, but Upstate or Long Island.
But a day in January took it all away, a day that hadn’t seemed special, specific or any different from any other January. Neither Erica nor Louis had planned on his heart stopping right before lunch time and Erica was certain Louis hadn’t known that when he kissed her goodbye that chilled winter morning, and headed off to work, that he would take his last breath just a few hours later.
The coroner’s report said heart attack, but those words couldn’t sum it up for her. They were, after all, just words, relaying nothing about the wonderful life she’d shared with Louis for twenty-six years.
So here she was, forty-five, widowed and in Bermuda. After months of debating, endless bouts of guilt, and numbing depression, she was going to start living again, or, at least, try.
*
It wasn’t that he was the funniest man she’d ever met, Erica would decide later. It was simply that her soul was hungry for some joy. That and the fact that the second virgin Pĩna Colada she’d ordered hadn’t been ‘virginal’ at all.
The second Pĩna Colada had contained just a splash of rum, something she had emphasized emphatically to the waiter who came to take their order. Her face had been serious as she took two of her fingers and brought them close together. “Just a little,” she had stated.
No, Marcus wasn’t the funniest man she’d ever met, but he was the first man she’d spent time with, who hadn’t had a wife by his side, a girlfriend, or was simply a co-worker pouring out sympathies because her husband had died so un-expectantly.
He was male and she was female and the energy of him made it easy to laugh loud and hard and not care that her voice was skipping like pitched stones across a pond up and down the beach.
And he was nice looking too, with thick thighs and full calves, and no body hair, just skin that held his age, which she didn’t know, but suspected to be at least in her category of mid forties.
And God had deemed that he was, in the barest analysis, her counter part, a yang to her yin and she was greatly in need of balance. So when the second drink came and she sipped it tentatively, and she couldn’t taste the rum, just sweet pure, fresh coconut cream and pineapple juice, she didn’t hesitate to take a big sip, sighing as it slid down into her belly, cooling her.
“Good?” he asked, his own concoction, something lime green, thick and icy, in his hand.
“Yes, very good. My first,” she confessed, unable to hold his eyes. She looked off toward the shore, hearing the low murmurings of diners out for an early meal at the beach-side restaurant where lit torches flickered like tiny stars against the glow of the setting sun.
“Not much of a drinker?” he asked, forcing her to be civil and look at him.
“No, not much,” Erica managed.
“So, do you have plans for dinner?” He wanted more of her time.
Even as her answer, “Eat?” left her tongue, she felt the turmoil swell up inside of her. Was eight months too soon to go to dinner with another man? Was it supposed to be twelve month? Nineteen? Two years?
No one had coached her on just how long she was supposed to remain committed to a husband who was no longer there, though she sensed everyone had their own calculations.
But her body was setting its own course. Her body wanted the man who made her laugh and had eyes of amber in the most basic, primal way.
“Yes, I figured that much,” he was saying, catching her off guard, her head and her body in a serious debate. “But, do you have specific plans. Room service? One of the restaurants here? Going to town?”
It was in that moment that Erica knew she should have gotten more information from him. It was in that moment that she remembered the list of things she didn’t know about him. But she was on a movie set now and the set designer had gotten everything right.
She was on a beach in Bermuda, the sun was setting, the drink was good and the man beside her, luscious and interested. Steel drums piped from the speakers, people were engaging in life around her and the pleasure she was feeling at that moment was long overdue.
To ask questions would disrupt the fantasy. So she didn’t. Simply told him, “No, no real plans.”
“Would you like to join me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Erica said quickly. “Yeah, I would.”
