Distant Shores

Clutching the wood, she inched back into the kitchen, where she found yesterdays newspaper. At the fireplace, she arranged everything in the hearth. Then she felt up the stones for the tin matchbox holder, found it, and struck a match.

Within a few moments, she had a great fire crackling in the hearth. A red glow spilled across the center of the room, and just that easily, her fear dissipated.

She waited awhile, with her hands outstretched before the heat. When she was sure it was a good, solid fire, she went in search of supplies. In the pantry, way in the back, beneath a stack of area phonebooks, she found a box full of emergency candles and out-of-date calendars. She placed the candles along the mantel and on every windowsill. When she was done, the house was bathed in a beautiful golden glow.

She felt like Tom Hanks in Cast Away.

I . . . have made . . . fire.

She grabbed the sleeping bag shed recently purchased, unzipped it, and wrapped it around her, shawl-like. Then she went out onto the porch to watch the storm.

Shed never done anything like that. Always, shed been afraid of natures furies. It was another trait she wanted to shed. In the past days, shed come to understand the importance of upheaval. The tallest mountains were created by violence and chaos; like them, a womans independence was born of fire.

Out to sea, thick gray clouds rolled ominously across the sky; their passing was reflected in a kaleidoscope of shadow on the waters turbulent surface. Wind whistled through the tree limbs, scattering dead leaves and pine cones.

It was all so loud: crashing waves, howling wind, rattling glass, hammering rain. Now and then a limb would crack away from its tree and fall to the ground with a thwack.

She loved every moment of it. Watching it from here on the porch, instead of burrowed in the safety of her house, made her feel changed, somehow. Stronger.

After a while--shed lost all track of time--a strange sound came into the storm. At first Elizabeth couldnt place the noise, it was so out of place and her musings had gone so deep. Then she looked up and saw two headlights in the darkness and recognized the roar of a cars engine.

She stood up, wrapping the sleeping bag more tightly around her as she stepped into a corner full of shadows.

The driver was probably lost . . . would turn around in the driveway and disappear.

The car stopped. The headlights snapped off, and the yard was plunged into darkness again. The porch was a small oasis of orange light.

The car door opened. Someone got out.

Elizabeth realized sharply, suddenly, how vulnerable she was out here. All alone. No phone. No one to come looking for her . . .

The stranger crossed the yard and stepped into the light.

Jack.

Rain flattened his hair and dripped down the sides of his face. He tried to smile, but it was tired and didnt reach his equally tired eyes. "Hey, Birdie. "

She felt smaller somehow, just standing in front of him. She wished she were surprised to see him, but she thought maybe shed been expecting him.

Still, she felt an odd reluctance to let Jack in. It was theirs, this house, but in the past few days it had become hers, and shed become surprisingly possessive of her new solitude. "Come in before you drown. "

He followed her into the house. Inside, she saw him look down for the rag rug that belonged in front of the door. It wasnt there.

Rain sluiced down his pant legs and formed a puddle.

"You better get out of those wet clothes. Youll catch a cold," she said matter-of-factly. It had always been her pattern--take care of him. "Ill get you a robe. " She turned away from him and went upstairs.

She opened the closet door and pulled the robe off its hanger. Then she spun around and slammed into Jack.

At the contact, he stumbled backward. "Sorry. I thought you knew I was behind you. "

They were like a couple of fourteen-year-olds on a first date. Nothing but nerves and emotions hanging out of their suddenly too-small sleeves and collars. "Ill make you some tea. "

"What Id really like is a Scotch on the rocks. "

"Sorry. "

He took the robe and went into the bathroom to change, closing the door behind him.