Storm Read online

  How did I go from needing to address an important matter to totally tongue-tied for the first time around this guy as he also sat in silence, breaking off squares of a chocolate bar while I sucked on Skittles?

  I swallowed. Was I actually nervous? Why? Okay, society can be super judgmental about alternative relationships—that are none of their business—but so what? I knew months ago that I couldn’t let that get under my skin if I wanted to explore poly romances. Why did it matter so much now?

  Because I cared too much what Ramak thought. Because this wasn’t society. This was an individual who, all at once, I seriously did not want to lose or alienate.

  I swallowed again, scrunching my Skittles in the bag, looking at the dying bit of fire just outside through the broken wall.

  Ramak cleared his throat. “So, what’s up with you three?”

  I looked over sharply and he glanced at me. “What?” So taken aback that he was the one to broach the subject, I couldn’t catch up.

  “You three? You’re all … what? Girlfriend and boyfriends?”

  “Oh … yes. I guess so.” My face burned. He brought it up, so this should be awesome, but he was also giving me that laser stare and I felt totally judged. “I met Jackson last December, but mostly online. We were mutually interested in pursuing plural relationships. Trent got involved… It just… Yeah…” I shrugged. “How about you? Seeing anyone … before all this?”

  The question worked to make him look away, back to the fire. “I was.”

  I waited. “You can do better than that. Just met? Currently married? What?”

  “In between.” He looked at me. “I was engaged. To someone who rightly had other priorities.”

  “Rightly? Are you just being noble?”

  “All her family is on the East Coast. We’d had preexisting issues, and I knew ever since I’d met her that she wanted to move back—only a job, and then me, keeping her in Bellevue. We were with her family for the holidays in Upstate New York. At the same time they got the first sign of the virus in Seattle, when we started talking about travel restrictions. I flew home, she didn’t.” He paused, pursing his lips, wanting to say more, or not wanting to but feeling like he should.

  “I bet the breakup was as peaceful as you make it sound,” I said.

  One corner of his mouth turned up as he looked at me. “We were already on thin ice. Her family didn’t like me; she didn’t want to stay here; I wouldn’t move there. The arguments were volatile before we even got to a wedding. We’re two very…”

  “Intense people?”

  “Yes. We wanted to be together. But we needed to be apart.”

  “I’m glad she was able to be there then, for her family. Even if you had to be alone here. That part sucks, but better figure out that sort of thing before any vows. Is she okay?”

  “Last I heard. It was the right thing for all involved. Odd how difficult ‘right’ things can be sometimes. And you, you’re … what? Twenty-one? And have yourself all figured out.”

  I grinned. “I’m twenty-three, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Comfortable in two relationships at once? Calm about all this? You don’t complain, don’t eat more than your share, keep everyone talking and forward-thinking. You’ve been getting us through this.”

  “Wild exaggeration, don’t you think?” Chuckling, I put another Skittle in my mouth. “What’s the point in bitching about anything out here? Of course we push on and share. So we don’t have touchscreens or lipstick—big freaking deal. We’re alive and we’re going to get out of this and, hell, we’re together. I’m so lucky to be with you three.”

  He just looked at me, watching my eyes for so long it made me squirm and look down to my bag to pick out an orange one, able for a moment to imagine fresh fruit.

  “Maybe that’s what I mean,” he said softly.

  “What is?”

  “A young woman in your circumstances able to look me in the eye and say how lucky she is. You must realize that’s something special.”

  “Because everyone goes around feeling sorry for themselves? Don’t think I don’t. It’s just…” I shrugged again. “What else are we going to do? I really do feel blessed to be with you all. Are you religious? Like your upbringing even?”

  “No, yes. My family is Muslim. I left the faith.”

  “Well, I don’t follow any particular Christianity or anything else either, but I know there’s something bigger than us out there. I know we have spirits besides just bodies. That there’s more than this world and our own eyes. Science has proved there are dimensions beyond our everyday reality. That being the case, what is there to give up on? I don’t know if it’s God or Zeus or guardian angels, but I know we’re here to do the best we can. We push on and work with those powers, not against them. Sometimes that means struggling to see what’s left to work with, much less take one more step, but as long as we’ve got that one step, or crawl, or single breath left in us, shouldn’t we go for it? Isn’t that what life is? Living? Loving each other? Saying yes instead of no every time we get a choice to do more or less?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m going all preachy or weird on you. I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that you’re seeing something different in me. I only mean we’ve all got to be in on this life thing, no matter surviving in isolation or supporting our community or getting through floods and volcanos. I think that’s why I started getting curious about plural and open relationships. It’s like … why not? If you find the right people—that’s the biggie—and you can live more and love more and try more, and you’re not hurting anyone else…? I once thought polyamory was the wave of the future. Hard lately to see past sickness and social distance as the future. But, well…?”

  “This too shall pass?”

  “There you go.” Laughing a little. “I hope you don’t think we’re crazy. We just want to be together. That’s all.”

  Coughing and voices sounded from back in the motel lobby, making me think of my own stinging eyes and scratchy throat.

  “Hey, Ramak? Has anyone tried a faucet? The Pass didn’t, but North Bend had running water. Or what about a pool?”

  “I didn’t smell chlorine.”

  “I can’t smell anything but smoke. We’d have to put our heads on a pool to smell chlorine right now.”

  “Fair enough.”

  As one, we stood to join the exploration of the motel.

  Chapter 12

  Not only did the tiny motel have a swimming pool the size of a small bedroom beside a hot tub, that the guys had overlooked, but it was indoors. Yes, “indoors” was relative given the mauled state of the place, with plaster dust, ash, and plenty of dead and live bugs on the surface of the water. Still, all things considered, that water looked pretty clean under the top layer and did smell of chlorine.

  I was already finding soap and razors in my bag, Jackson stripping off, Trent shaking out ashy towels for us, while Ramak walked calmly to pull the long-handled net off the wall and start skimming.

  “That shit’s not gonna hurt us, man.” Jackson laughed as Ramak lifted away plaster and tiny carcasses.

  “Dibs on the hot tub,” I said, starting to heap clothes on a plastic chair beside it. Flashlight on the ground with the camp lantern, reflecting off walls and water.

  Trent threw me a towel and I had another in the bag.

  Ramak skimmed the hot tub for me, muttering, “You know that’s not going to be warm?”

  “What difference does it make? Pretty sure it’s not killing anyone so it’s making me stronger.”

  He shook his head as he turned away.

  Jackson jumped into the pool. He blasted up gasping and cursing. Ten seconds later, stripped, my back to the men, I hopped down into the hot tub, mindful that it wasn’t that deep.

  I screamed: bloody murder screamed.

  “Brook?” Might have terrified Trent, maybe thinking there was a giant squid in there.

  “Holy crap! Oh, my God
!” I yelled, lungs flat, muscles rigid, so viciously blasted with cold I thought for a second I would suffocate.

  I just heard Ramak’s soft, “Told you,” as he secured the net, all neat and tidy like it mattered when the building was totaled. But he didn’t just say it. He was laughing. A hint only, sure, but laughing.

  I hammered both palms into the water, sending a splash at him. He only chuckled more and pulled off his coat.

  “Give me a break, man. You serious? Jump in.” Jackson was belittling Trent while the latter, having observed the two of us, chose to inch rather than spring into the bathing experience.

  Wash fast. One way to warm up, right?

  I worked up that soap into a lather like my life depended on it, skim-shaved over goosebumps, ducked my head, scrubbed my face, ducked again, yelled in agony, and winged the bar of soap over to the three guys now in the pool. Jackson was telling them how to do water aerobics and work out muscle soreness. No one was buying it. Wash and get the hell out.

  I grabbed the shampoo next, tossed that over once finished, and clawed out of there as soon as I was de-soaped. Wrapped in towels, scrubbing hair, hopping to get my feet dry and into shoes so I could move freely, I next took off running. There was no other way I was going to warm up. I burst into the corridor, up and down, from lobby to back door. Knees and ankles were beat up after thirty or forty miles downhill on pavement, but it was all worth getting circulation flowing.

  Ramak emerged through the shattered glass door in towels, with soap, razor, and flashlight. He dodged as I dashed past.

  “Plenty of mirror fragments in the bathrooms,” I called, puffing. “Take one back for all of you guys.”

  Instead, he stood and watched me on several passes, his smile growing.

  “Don’t mock me!”

  “I’m not mocking you.” He was all out grinning by then. “You’re very … creative.”

  “You’re very condescending!” I flew past.

  “I’m not meaning to be.”

  “No … I’m sure it’s a natural born gift the way you exude it.”

  He laughed and finally went to a room. Many door frames were so broken, bent in, or warped one way or another, that the doors had burst open, no room key needed.

  “It works,” he called in a moment.

  I jogged to find him in the bathroom among shards of glass and towels on the floor. Our shoes crunched and slid over them.

  Ramak had the faucet on. “Just as cold, but flowing water. You were right.”

  I beamed at it, cupped my hand, took a drink. “Nice. Tastes sort of … I don’t know. Earthy?”

  “We might want to boil it before refilling the bottles.”

  I stepped back, holding the cramp in my stomach and bending over as I panted, the other hand keeping my towel secure. A second towel draped across my shoulders. Wet strands of too-long hair dangled past my face, tangling and getting stuck all over with.

  “What’s that they say about not swimming after eating?” I panted.

  “Interesting conclusion. I’m pretty sure track meets are discouraged after dinner also.”

  “Hey?” I looked up, still pressing a palm to my stomach. “Think there are scissors around here?”

  “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

  “What? That’s not funny. I want to cut my hair. And now it’s wet, so perfect time. Why are you looking at me like I’m growing horns?”

  “I’m not looking at you like that. There must be a kitchen area off the breakfast room, and there’s a tiny pair in the pocket knife. But why do you want to cut your hair?”

  “It’s not doing anything. Except getting dirty and tangled and full of ash and smoke and grease and mosquitoes and rain. If I could cut it off chin-length … that’s how I wore my hair for years. I didn’t actually mean to let it grow out past my shoulders.”

  Still he looked at me, pausing—starting to feel like an uncomfortable pause.

  “What is it?”

  Ramak shook his head. “If you can find a pair, bring them back here with that hairbrush, and I’ll cut it for you.”

  “Yeah? That’d be great. Thank you.”

  While he cleaned off the counter with a towel and used the remaining bit of mirror on the wall to shave, I went hunting.

  Jackson and Trent were splashing around like kids. I couldn’t believe it, but Jackson had him doing the exercises.

  “You guys are nuts!” I called into the pool room as I went to get my brush. Not really mine, but I’d taken a disused hairbrush from under the sink, plus half a bag of pads and other toiletries, from our North Bend rambler. “How are you not frozen?”

  “Mind over matter!” Jackson called back.

  “It’s not bad once you get used to it,” Trent said, teeth chattering.

  “I’ll throw another chair on the fire,” I told them and went on.

  It took a few minutes to find scissors because they were on the floor, with tons of other mess, in plain sight. Then I returned to Ramak.

  Chapter 13

  He was just wiping down his face with a wet corner of towel when I returned. I brushed my hair, fighting through knots, now brittle from the chlorine, while holding my flashlight at the same time.

  “Ever cut hair?” I offered the scissors.

  “Not yet.” Ramak took them.

  “Me neither. But I figure … right around like this.” Slicing with my hand. “One swoop. Got to be better than if I did it.” I stood sideways to him, as if looking in the vanished mirror, wondering if this was “a moment.” Ramak knew what was going on now in my love-life. It was on him if he wanted to make anything of this or not. Sounded like he’d been through a nasty breakup not so long ago, plus I didn’t even know if he was interested. Sometimes I was sure he was, but other times it seemed like wishful thinking.

  On the last occasion I’d been wrapped in towels, I’d walked right into Trent and Jackson, or them into me. My face heated as I looked ahead, trying to think about hair. No way Ramak could see. The light was too shadowy in here, even with his flashlight on the counter.

  He lightly touched my hair, feeling to the ends with his fingertips as if it might shatter. His silence kept me quiet while he delicately snipped off ragged edges around my shoulder.

  Each breath began to feel uncomfortably intense, aware of him shifting to my back, hands slow and careful in the gloom.

  “What are you doing?” I pulled forward a cut strand on the right. “This is way too long. Chop it off up here.” Gesturing at my ear.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” I was incredulous both from the question that I’d already answered and from his inability to follow orders. It wasn’t his hair, after all.

  “If you have ash and mosquitoes in your hair, it implies some that’s not getting to your skin,” he said. “We don’t have hats. How long will we be walking in ash or sunlight or rain? Would you rather all that get in your hair or burn your neck and settle in your ears?”

  Ramak stepped around so we could look at one another.

  I had to think about that. “It’s a mess, but … yeah, I guess it doesn’t need to be that short.”

  “Trust me?” He tipped his head, watching my eyes.

  I didn’t have to think about that one. “Yes.”

  Again, he moved to my back.

  I stood still, silent, while he smoothly snipped behind my neck.

  Splashing and voices sounded distant, leaving us in our own bubble. Rest after a hard week? Calm before the storm? I didn’t know what this was, only now sure what I wanted it to be.

  Ramak smoothed down my hair, took the brush, and brushed it back before making several more adjusting cuts.

  I had to smile at his neatness, so unnecessary under the circumstances, like the pool net, but didn’t comment. A touch of humanity in a world of wild beasts. Thinking of which, I hoped we didn’t have anymore unexpected encounters with the dangerous sort out here. We hadn’t seen another mountain lion, or bear, but even a spooked deer cou
ld be perilous in this smoke and with all animals and humans confused and disrupted.

  I was distracted, thinking of those watchful dogs at the Safeway parking lot, when Ramak touched my chin, making me start.

  He’d moved around beside and in front of me, turning my chin with two fingers to see if my hair looked even. I shifted to face him, powerfully aware of that touch as if his skin burned. He looked at my hair, each side, set down the brush, and kept looking into my face, every little bit, as if he might have to draw me from memory.

  “You just like my hair longer,” I said. One of those blurting out the truth as I saw it moments that I tried to curb as I grew older and, hopefully, wiser. I bit my tongue, shouldn’t have put him on the spot.

  Ramak didn’t even blink. “Yes.” He met my eyes.

  The breath entering my lungs felt impossible again, crushed out. My two towels felt tiny, as did his, wearing one around his waist and, like me, one across his shoulders. The impulse to reach out and feel down his chest was akin to the speech, driving me to something that was more honest than it needed to be—more than was comfortable. Maybe even intimidating?

  “I don’t really scare you, do I?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t say scare. You’re … different. Refreshingly so.” He still didn’t move, just watching me, way past the leaning in for a kiss moment or anything like that.

  I grabbed the hairbrush. “I feel lighter already. Although…” Feeling my hair. “Not much.”

  “Brook?”

  I looked up.

  “Why multiple boyfriends?”

  Oh… Another sort of breath loss, like a balloon with a slow leak. He didn’t like it. Uncomfortable, or maybe rooted in religious or family background, any general traditionalism. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking something pointed like that after we’d just discussed the matter in a vague way and I’d thought the case was closed. That was okay. Not everyone had to be all on board with alternative lifestyles. But it sure narrowed the pool. Especially when humanity was shrinking fast.