Dreamland: A Novel (19 page)

That night I didn’t fall
asleep for hours. I told myself that I couldn’t have fallen in love, that real love required time and a multitude of shared experiences. Yet my feelings for Morgan grew stronger by the minute, even as I struggled to understand how something like that could even be possible.

Paige, I thought, could probably help me make sense of it. Even though it was late, I called her cellphone, but again there was no answer. I suspected she would tell me that I was suffering from a wild infatuation, not love. Maybe there was some truth in that, but when I thought about my previous relationship with Michelle, I realized that I’d never experienced the overwhelming emotions I’d felt with Morgan, even at the beginning of our relationship. With Michelle, there’d never been a time when I felt the need to make sense of what was happening between us. Nor had the world ever faded away when we’d kissed.

Assuming what I was feeling was real, I also wondered where our relationship might lead and whether anything would come
of it. My logical side reminded me that we’d be going our separate ways in just a few days, and what was going to happen after that? I didn’t know; all I knew for sure was that I wanted more than anything to spend as much time with her as possible.

After finally drifting off in the early hours of the morning, I slept in for the first time since I’d arrived in Florida, waking to a morning sky that seemed almost ominous. Already, the heat and humidity were oppressive—the kind that promised thunderstorms later—and sure enough, a check of the weather on my phone confirmed it, right when I was supposed to be performing. A quick text exchange with Ray let me know that I should plan to come in anyway. They’d be monitoring the weather, he assured me, and would call the show when they needed to.

I went through my normal morning routine, even though nothing else was normal at all. My thoughts were dominated by Morgan; when I ran past the Don, I couldn’t help but look for her; when I stopped to do pull-ups on some scaffolding near the beach, I conjured the smoothness of her skin. After my shower, I swung by the grocery store and pictured Morgan rehearsing in the conference room or screaming with delight as she rode the roller coasters at Busch Gardens. Putting some chicken breasts in my shopping basket, I wondered what she had told her friends about the day we’d spent together, or if she’d said anything about it at all. Mainly, though, I tried to figure out whether she felt the same about me as I did about her.

That’s the part I couldn’t work out. I knew there was mutual attraction, but did her feelings for me run as deep as mine for her? Or was I simply a way to pass the time, a fling to add spice to her vacation before her real life began? Morgan was, in many ways, still a mystery to me, and the more I tried to figure her out, the more elusive understanding seemed. Uncertain what the evening would bring, I bought two candles, matches, a bottle of
wine, and chocolate-covered strawberries, even though I knew she might want to go out instead.

Back at the condo, I put everything away and took a few minutes to straighten up the rooms. With nothing left to do and Morgan on my mind, I reached for my guitar.

I plucked out the melody of the song that I’d played for Morgan on the beach the other night, still nagged by the knowledge that it wasn’t quite right. The lyrics needed more dimension, a specificity that I hadn’t quite nailed.

Crossing out bits and pieces of what I’d already written, I thought about the way Morgan made me feel—not only the emotions she inspired but also how differently I saw myself through her eyes. There had only been a handful of times in the past when a song almost seemed to write itself, but that’s what I started to experience. New lyrics felt effortlessly resonant, anchored now with details plucked from our day together. Meanwhile, I ramped up the driving energy of the chorus, already envisioning a multilayered recording that would give it the sound of a gospel choir.

A glance at the clock warned me that I was almost running late. I didn’t have time to scribble the new lyrics into my notebook, but I already knew it wasn’t necessary. I tossed on a clean T-shirt, hurriedly collected what I needed for Bobby T’s, and scrambled down the steps. Overhead, clouds were rolling and twisting as though gathering energy before exploding. I made it with only five minutes to spare, noting that the crowd was less than half the size of my previous show, though every seat was still taken. I didn’t expect to see Morgan in the crowd but nonetheless felt a jolt of disappointment at her absence.

I played my show, filling the extra hour mostly with requests, while the clouds continued to grow even darker. Halfway through, the breeze picked up and started to blow steadily. For the first
time since I’d been performing at Bobby T’s, some people began to rise from their seats and head for the exits. I didn’t blame them—in the distance I could see dark thunderheads forming on the horizon, and as they approached, I expected Ray to cut the show short at any moment.

Shafts of sunlight occasionally broke through the roiling clouds, creating prisms of color and a glorious sunset. Beyond the audience, the beach had emptied, and as more people continued to leave, I wondered whether Morgan would even show up. Nonetheless, just as the last rays of sun were vanishing, Morgan finally arrived. She’d come in from the beach and was dressed in a flattering yellow sundress; over her shoulder was the Gucci tote I recognized from the day before. Backlit by the shifting light, she appeared like an otherworldly vision. She offered a small wave, and I instinctively found myself launching into the song that I’d been working on, the one I suddenly knew I never would have finished without meeting her.

Even from a distance, I could see delighted recognition on her face as the first notes filled the room. Though I typically sang to the audience as a whole, I couldn’t help focusing most of my attention on her, especially as I sang the new lyrics. When the song ended, the audience was quiet before suddenly exploding into a longer-than-usual wave of applause, interrupted only by a bright long streak of lightning that split the sky over the water. Seconds later, a deep growl of thunder rolled down the beach like a slow-moving tumbleweed.

The applause died out as most of the remaining crowd rose from their seats. I could already see Ray walking toward me and making a slashing gesture below his chin. I immediately set my guitar aside as Ray stepped up to the microphone, announcing that the show was finished. By then I was wending my way toward Morgan.

“You made it,” I said, unable to hide my delight. People streamed past us onto the beach with an eye on the sky; others hustled in the opposite direction, toward the parking lot. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“You played the song,” she said softly. She placed a hand on my arm, her eyes glittering. “But it was different this time.”

Standing before her, I was about to explain why, but I was struck by the thought that she already knew. Over the water, lightning cut the sky again, followed by thunder, which came more quickly than it had only a few minutes earlier. The wind had a cooler edge now, but all I could think about was the warmth of her hand on my skin.

Searching for something to say, I asked, “How was Busch Gardens?”

She nodded toward the sky, an amused smile on her face. “Do you really want to talk about that now? Don’t you think we should leave along with everyone else?”

I reluctantly withdrew my arm. “Let me load up, okay?”

Morgan followed me past the now-empty tables. Ray and other employees had already cleared away most of the equipment, and as I reached for my guitar case, I felt the first drop of rain. I moved quickly, but even before we started for the parking area, that first drop turned into a sprinkle, followed by an almost immediate downpour. I opened the door for Morgan as the clouds unleashed the deluge that had been building all day.

I rounded the truck at a run and hopped up into the cab, my shirt and pants already drenched. Even with the windshield wipers on high, I might as well have been in a car wash. I navigated almost blindly through the parking lot. On Gulf Boulevard, a number of cars had pulled over with their hazard lights blinking, while others simply inched along. Lightning flickered overhead like strobe lights.

“I think I need some dry clothes if we’re going out.”

“We’re not going out in this,” she said. “Let’s just go to your place, okay?”

Figuring that I was already wet and having driven through hurricanes in North Carolina, I rolled down my window and leaned my head out, trying to spot the upcoming turn. Rain pelted my face and blew into the truck, but eventually I was able to turn off Gulf Boulevard onto a quiet side street.

My face stung in the driving gusts of rain; lightning flashed again, this time almost directly overhead, thunder cracking like a gunshot. All at once, power went off on one side of the street as far as I could see, knocking out the lights. I guessed that my condo, directly ahead, must have been affected, too.

The road was already beginning to flood when we finally reached the condo. I was soaked, with water from the lowered window pooling in my lap. Shrouded in darkness, the entire complex appeared strangely deserted.

Knowing it was pointless to try to avoid the rain, Morgan scrambled and ran to the stairs. I jumped out, as well, key in hand.

Inside, the only light visible was the steady flicker of lightning beyond the sliding glass door. Despite the storm, the air was already becoming stuffy. Morgan came to a stop in the living room, and I stepped around her, leaving small puddles as I walked. In the kitchen cabinet, I found the candles and matches I’d purchased earlier, thankful to have them on hand.

Once the candles were lit, the living room was cast in shadows. I placed both of them on the coffee table, then pulled open the sliding glass door to let in some air. The wind was blowing hard across the small porch, the rain moving almost horizontally.

In the dim yellow light, I noted a smudge of mascara on Morgan’s cheek, the slightest hint of imperfection on someone who
seemed almost flawless in every way. Her wet sundress clung to her skin, outlining her curves, and the dampness was causing her long hair to return to its natural riot of waves. I tried not to stare, wondering again how she could have come to preoccupy me so fully in such a short period of time. I had barely thought about the farm or my aunt or Paige, and even the music that I loved was focused entirely on her. I was suddenly sure that I would never love another in this way again.

Morgan was frozen in place. The candlelight pooled in her eyes, calm and knowing, as though she understood exactly what I was feeling and thinking. But she remained cloaked in mystery, even as I approached her.

I leaned in and kissed her then, wanting to believe that she could feel the crackling intensity passing through me. When I gently moved to pull her closer, I felt her hand touch my chest.

“Colby…” she whispered.

I slowed then and simply wrapped my arms around her. I held her for a long time, reveling in the feel of her body against my own, until she finally began to relax. When I felt her arms twine around my neck, I closed my eyes, wanting the moment to last forever.

In time, she loosened her embrace and took a small step backward.

“I’m going to change into something dry,” she murmured. “I brought extra clothes, just in case.”

I swallowed, barely able to speak. “Okay,” I managed.

Picking up one of the candles, she retreated to the bathroom off the hallway. When I heard the door click shut, I realized I was alone in the living room, unable to imagine what might happen next.

From the linen closet,
I grabbed a towel and headed to the bedroom, candle in hand. As I stripped off my wet clothes, I tried not to dwell on the fact that a few feet away, out of sight, Morgan had slipped out of her own clothes, as well. I dried off, then pulled on a pair of jeans and my other button-up shirt. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and, peeking in the mirror over the dresser, did what I could with my hair. Picking up the candle, I made my way back to the kitchen.

With the power out, the stove was useless, but the chocolate-covered strawberries and wine would still be cool in the refrigerator, along with some of the cheese left over from the picnic. After retrieving it, I sliced the cheese and arranged it on a plate, along with crackers and the strawberries. I had to fish through the drawers to find a wine opener but finally found one and opened the bottle, as well. Taking a pair of glasses from the cupboard, I brought everything to the coffee table. Nervous, I poured myself a glass of wine and took a sip. I wondered whether Morgan would want any.

Beyond the windows, the rain resembled diamond slivers in the unending flashes of lightning. Shadowy palm fronds danced in the wind like puppet figures while I settled onto the couch. Absently rotating the wineglass in my lap, I thought of how Morgan had sounded when she’d whispered my name and wondered what was going through her mind right now. She knew now how I felt about her, but had she known when she arrived at the show? Had she known last night? I didn’t know, and though part of me was nervous at the thought that my feelings might not be reciprocated, I also understood there was nothing I could do to change the way I felt about her.

I wondered, too, if I could have fallen in love had I not come here, to this small town in Florida. Not only with Morgan but with anyone. I hadn’t fallen in love with Michelle, but deep down I knew that our conflicting schedules were only part of the reason. It had more to do with the farm and the all-encompassing nature of the work. Because there was always something to do, I’d somehow lost the ability to simply relax and enjoy life or to make time for someone special. As an excuse it had been a good one, so subtle as to render me unaware it was happening, but as I took another sip of wine, I understood that I had to make changes unless I wanted to end up like my uncle. I needed to allow myself a break now and then—to write songs or go on walks or simply sit and do nothing at all. I needed to catch up with old friends and open myself to new possibilities and people, and the time I’d spent here only underscored that importance.

There was, after all, more to life than work, and I realized I no longer wanted to be the person I’d recently become. I wanted to embrace those things that were important to me and worry less about the things that were beyond my control. Not sometime in the future but starting as soon as I got back home. No matter what happened with Morgan and me, I knew I would reinvent
myself as the person I wanted to be. I’d done it before, I reminded myself, and there was no reason I couldn’t do it again.

Rising from the couch, I walked toward the sliding glass doors. Back home, I knew, a storm like this would make me worry about the crops or the chickens or the roof of the greenhouse, but here and now I found the spectacle inspiring in an almost foreign way.

Fate, it seemed, had conspired to make this evening unlike any other I’d spent here, and while there was something perhaps romantic about that notion, I suspected I was reading too much into it. Paige, I knew, would agree with that, but as I continued to take in the thunderstorm, I knew it was something I nonetheless wanted to believe.

Still, I wished that I could have spoken with Paige, if only to ask if what was happening to me was normal. Did love carry with it the power to make a person question everything? Did love make a person want to become someone new? When I thought about Paige and her experience, I wasn’t quite sure. She’d been in love once, but she seldom spoke about it, other than to tell me that love and pain were two sides of the same coin. I understood why she’d said it, but I sometimes caught her reading romance novels, so I doubted she was that jaded. I suspected she would understand what I was going through now. I remembered that once she’d met her husband-to-be, she suddenly wasn’t around much in the evenings, and in the rare times she was, she seemed buzzy and lighthearted. At the time, I was so wrapped up in my own world, I didn’t think much about it, other than to be happy that she and my aunt were getting along. It wasn’t until she announced over dinner that she was leaving the farm that I realized how serious things had become with her boyfriend. A phone call followed not long after she moved away, announcing that she’d been married by a justice of the peace. The whole thing struck me as dizzyingly fast—I’d met the guy just once, and only for a few
minutes, when he picked up Paige for a date. One day she was the Paige I’d always known, and the next I questioned whether I’d been living with a stranger my entire life. Now, however, I had an inkling of what she was feeling back then; I was starting to grasp that love followed its own timeline and made even radical changes almost inevitable.

I wished I’d brought in my guitar from the truck. Playing something—anything—would have helped me sort through it all, but given the storm, I decided to leave it where it was. Instead, I found my phone and pulled up a playlist of the songs I had written, the ones I thought were my best. I set the phone on the coffee table and had another drink of wine, then returned to the glass doors, reliving the memories that had inspired each of the songs and wondering what would have happened had my uncle not passed away. I wasn’t sure that I would have stayed on the farm, but would I have attempted to make music a career, in the same way Morgan was trying to do? At the time it didn’t seem possible—and maybe it wasn’t—but I couldn’t shake a newfound sense of disappointment that I’d never given it a try. Morgan’s ambition had ignited something long dormant in me—even as I accepted the idea that she was far more talented than I.

I heard a noise behind me and stole a look over my shoulder. Morgan had returned to the living room with the candle cupped in her hands. She wore a different sundress, with a low scooped neck, and I couldn’t help but stare at her. Her hair, like mine, was still slightly damp, the thick waves glinting in the candlelight. The smudge of mascara on her cheek had vanished, but I saw that she’d applied a little makeup that accented her dark eyes and gave her lips a deep, glossy sheen; her arms and legs glowed like satin. I felt my breath catch in my throat.

She paused a few feet from me, as if basking in my gaze.

“You’re…beautiful,” I said, my voice almost hoarse.

Her lips parted as she exhaled, and I suddenly saw in her unguarded expression that her feelings mirrored my own. Open and hungry, her expression told me everything I needed to know: Like me, she had fallen in love with a stranger, upending both of our lives. Moving to the coffee table, she wordlessly set her candle next to mine. She surveyed what I’d set out, then took a moment to focus on the music drifting from my phone.

“You?” she asked.

“Me,” I said.

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one.”

I swallowed. “It’s not one I usually play at my shows.”

My voice sounded strangely distant, and I watched as she sat on the couch. As I moved to take a seat next to her, her sundress lifted slightly, revealing a flash of her smooth thigh, a sight that struck me as intensely erotic. I motioned toward the wine. “Would you like a glass?”

“I’m fine,” she answered. “But thank you.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry.”

“I had something to eat right after we got back. But I might have a strawberry in a minute. They look delicious.”

“I bought them. I didn’t make them.”

“I’m still impressed.”

I knew I was talking around the edges of things, but it seemed to be all I could do. With my throat going dry again, I took another sip of wine. In the silence, I had the sudden sense that she was just as nervous as I was, which I found oddly comforting.

“The changes you made to the song were beautiful,” she offered.

So are you,
I wanted to say, but didn’t. “You were my inspiration,” I said, trying to sound casual but knowing that I failed.

“I wondered….” she whispered, allowing her hair to fall over her face. Then: “I thought about you all day. Missing you.”

I reached out to take her hand and felt Morgan’s fingers interlock with mine. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

I sensed the expectant tension in her hand as she held mine, and I thought again about kissing her. Her eyes were half closed, her mouth partly open, but just as I leaned toward her, a phone began to ring, faint but insistent. When she realized it wasn’t my phone, she let go of my hand and rose from the couch. After disappearing into the hallway, she peeked out, ringing phone in hand. She seemed uncharacteristically flustered.

“It’s my mom,” she explained, her tone sheepish. “She’s called a couple of times and I haven’t gotten back to her.”

“You should probably answer, then.”

She reluctantly hit the appropriate button and put the phone to her ear.

“Hey, Mom,” Morgan said. “What’s up?…Yeah, sorry. I know I haven’t called, but we’ve been having a fantastic time…. Nothing much. What’s that?…Is he okay?”

Turning to me, she mouthed something like
Our dog got sick.

“What did the vet say?…Okay…Yeah…That’s good to know. How’s Heidi doing with it?…Uh-huh…Uh-huh…”

She said nothing for a while, then: “Well, let’s see. We rehearse in the mornings, then usually hang out at the beach or the pool. We’ve been going to hear some live music and checking out downtown St. Pete…. Yeah, they’re having a great time. It’s Holly and Stacy’s first trip to Florida, so it’s been fun showing them around….”

I remained silent on the couch, not wanting to distract her.

“Uh-huh…No, we haven’t been there yet. Maybe in a day or two. We went to Busch Gardens, though. Over in Tampa?…
Yeah, it was fun. The lines were short, so we were able to ride just about everything…. No, not tonight. We’re going to order room service and watch a movie. It was a superlong day,” she said, making a guilty face at me.

I stifled a smile.

“Yeah, they’re here. We got some photos from the beach right after we arrived. Oh, and I also saw two manatees…. At one of the parks, but I can’t remember the name…. We rented kayaks and went through the mangroves, and they were right there when we turned around…. No, actually, they didn’t go. I went with someone I met here….”

My ears couldn’t help but perk up.

“Yes, Mom. He’s nice…. He’s a farmer from North Carolina…. No, I’m not kidding…. Colby…. Twenty-five…. We heard him singing at Bobby T’s. He’s here on sort of a working vacation….”

She turned her back to me, lowering her voice. “No, he didn’t go to college, but why does that matter?…Mom…Mom…It was just kayaking. Don’t make a big deal about it. You seem to forget that I’m an adult now….”

I could hear a hint of frustration creeping into her tone. On my playlist, one song ended and another began. I watched as she ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the roots.

“I haven’t had time to check that yet. I’ll call the apartment manager as soon as I get home, okay? I’m sure it’s not a big deal getting utilities turned on. I can figure it out…. I haven’t had time for that, either…. How many times have I told you that I’m not interested in a job teaching music?…Yeah…Uh-huh…I know…Sorry, I’m tired and I should probably go. They’re motioning to me that they want to start the movie…. Tell Daddy and Heidi that I love them…. Love you, too.”

She hit disconnect and simply stared at the phone. Rising
from the couch, I walked over to her and placed a hand on the small of her back, caressing the smooth skin beneath the fabric.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. But sometimes she interrogates me—it’s not always a conversation, you know?”

“I’m sure she was just checking to see if you were having a good time.”

“And making sure I’m not getting into trouble.” She sighed. “But I don’t know why her mind even goes there. Especially when compared to other college kids. It’s like she can’t accept the fact that I’m an adult and am old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Parents worry.” I shrugged. “It’s in their DNA.”

A brief but uncertain smile flashed across her lips. “It’s so much easier speaking with Dad sometimes. I mean, he’s nervous about me going to Nashville, and I’m sure he’d prefer that I get a job teaching, too, but at least he understands why I want to go, and he’s always been my biggest fan. My mom, though—she always reminds me about how tough the music business is, how thousands of people have the same dream I do but never make it….”

When she trailed off, I used a finger to brush the hair from her eyes. “They want to protect you from disappointment.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have answered. It’s why I didn’t answer the first two times she called. She keeps talking about this opening at one of the private schools in Chicago, and it doesn’t matter how many times I tell her that I’m not interested. It’s just…hard sometimes.”