'Pearl,' he finally began, 'I don't want you to think that—'
'Don't' I pressed my finger to his lips. 'Don't you dare explain anything.'
I could see his look of surprise.
We made love passionately, both sure of what we wanted. Without timidity and hesitation, it was a long, flowing stream of passion that climbed higher and higher until it burst in a waterfall, pounding rocks below again and again and again, each time punctuated with a bigger, happier Yes.
Exhausted, we separated and lay next to each other, waiting for our breathing to slow, our hearts to stop pounding. I felt a warm glow over my body and closed my eyes.
Jack found my hand and held it. 'You were born in a hurricane all right,' he said, and I laughed.
As my passion receded, however, my reason and logic returned, bringing with it the baggage of guilt. What was wrong with me? How could I behave with such abandon? I knew if I said one word, Jack would be filled with guilt, too, and I didn't want that.
Yet in the midst of all this turmoil and unhappiness, I had found such pleasure. It wasn't right, was it? I turned my back to him and bit down on my lip.
Jack, as if he were listening to my thoughts, turned to me and whispered, 'It's all right. It doesn't mean you care less about your family or you're not trying hard to help them. You can't drive yourself at top speed without taking a break to recharge your batteries. You're human, Pearl. I think maybe you forget that sometimes.'
I turned to him slowly and smiled.
'I won't forget it anymore, Jack.' He smiled, too. He kissed me again and then cradled me in his arms, and I closed my eyes.
Sleep came rushing in as hard and as fast as the winds of the hurricane. I could no more keep it away than I could the wind. In moments I was drifting.
When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was pouring through the windows. It was hard to believe we had endured such a vicious storm the night before. In fact, the whole night seemed like a dream. Had Jack and I really enjoyed a romantic dinner? Did we really make love? When I turned to him, I found he was already gone. He had scribbled out a note and left it on the pillow.
I sat up and looked at my watch. I had slept until almost ten. Panic seized me. I should have risen early and gotten to a telephone. I had to see how Pierre and Daddy were doing.
I rose quickly and tried the sink in the bathroom. To my happy surprise, after a flow of brown water, clean water appeared. I had no warm water, but I was able to wash my face and go to the bathroom. Afterward I dressed and went downstairs. Jack had cleaned everything up from our dinner, but I saw the results of the storm's invasion everywhere: shattered plates, broken windowpanes, soaked drapes and floors.
It was terrible of the Tates to let this beautiful mansion fall apart, I thought. Why was it that people who had everything could be so wasteful and vicious? What possible revenge did Gladys Tate enjoy from watching her son's pride and joy deteriorate? Did she just want to make sure no one else ever enjoyed the house? Even from the little I remembered about Uncle Paul and from what Mommy had told me, I knew he wouldn't have wanted this.
I started when I heard footsteps behind me.
'Jack? Is that you?' I called. There was no response, but a floorboard creaked in the corridor.
Slowly I turned. It's Mommy, I thought. She has finally returned. My heart pounding with expected joy, I hurried down the corridor toward the kitchen. I would surely find her sitting there, waiting for me.
'Mommy!' I cried as I burst through the doorway; but instead of Mommy, I found a tall giant of a man. His face was bloated so that his thick nose had nostrils big enough to inhale three times the air he needed. He had heavy jowls and a round chin with thick purple lips. He was unshaven, and his three- or four-day beard of gray and brown stubble was thicker under his lower lip. When he smiled, I saw he was missing a lower tooth and some back teeth. All the rest were nicotine-stained yellow.
He was dressed in knee-high boots and torn jeans with a T-shirt that had a tear in the shoulder and looked as if it had been washed in rusty water.
He smiled, the curve in his soft, thick lips cutting deep into those bloated cheeks and narrowing his dull brown eyes over which his thick, heavily wrinkled forehead protruded.
'Who are you?' I asked.
'It's true,' he said. 'You are Ruby's daughter, ain' tcha?'
'I am Ruby Dumas's daughter, yes. Who are you?' I demanded more fervently. He stopped smiling.
'Name's Trahaw, Buster Trahaw. I'm a friend of your mother's,' he replied. 'Friends of mine told me you was here lookin' for her, so I come to see for myself.'
'Have you seen my mother?' I asked. I didn't remember her mentioning a Trahaw, and I couldn't imagine why she would ever be friends with someone who looked like this, but as Jack had said last night, there were people I never knew and Mommy could have gone to see them or stayed in their homes while she was here, especially if she had gotten caught in the storm.
'Sure, I seen her,' he said. 'Why do you think I'm here?'
'Where is she? How is she?' I asked quickly.
