Free Again by Sharon Cullars Page A

leave.
     
     
     
    He and Sherry left shortly after his dance with Tyne.
    “You’re quiet tonight,” Sherry said midway during the ride.
    “Don’t feel like talking.” He had barely spoken since leaving the reception, and he felt his mood going from bad to worse.
    “She shot you down, huh?”
    His throat tightened at the told-you-so tone. She had that damned lilt, which irritated him.
    “Like I said…” an edge in his voice. His fingers tightened around the wheel, as though closing around someone’s neck.
    Sherry shut up for the rest of the ride. Though, at times, she peeked over, trying to read him. But even if she had asked what was going on, he couldn’t have told her because he didn’t know himself. Disparate emotions fought for prominence. Dissatisfaction. Frustration. Anger. Not least of all, desire.
    He had been denying the desire from the moment he saw her. From the moment when his dream and reality seem to merge. Yet he didn’t believe in predestination, kismet.
    When he had held her, pieces of the puzzle seem to come together. The only explanation was that after seeing her months ago, he had incorporated her into his dreams, and seeing her tonight had triggered the memory.
    At least now he could put a face to his dream lover. The one he touched at night. Who writhed beneath him, whose musk filled his nose, whose skin and sex he tasted. She saturated his senses, haunted his nights. Yet they were strangers.
    After he dropped Sherry off at her apartment, he kept going up Lake Shore Drive to the Gold Coast until he reached Oak Street Beach. He parked in the almost empty lot where only a couple of straggler cars remained. The beach closed at 9:30 and it was after 10 o’clock now. But sometimes couples came to stroll along the beach after hours, even though if they were caught they would get a ticket. The police didn’t like stragglers, who were either at risk of committing or being victimized by any number of crimes. As he got out of the car, he noticed the moon was full tonight, suspended like a centerpiece jewel above the lights from the highrises silhouetted across the drive. The nocturnal setting of sky diamonds usually dazzled him. But not tonight.
    Often he gravitated to the beach when he didn’t want to go home, when he just wanted to think. He found walking along the quiet shore restorative to his soul. Tonight though he wasn’t dressed for a walk on the beach. Sand was already seeping into his Prada slip-ons as his feet sank into the surface. The May evening was warm, humid, and he took off his double-breasted jacket, swung it over his shoulder as he continued along the crescent-shaped beach. He spotted a few couples, some walking hand in hand. Tonight was a night for lovers, and he was an intruder in this place of love, lust, or at least, affection.
    His first date had ended on this same beach. He’d been fourteen with a desire to impress. Delana—he couldn’t remember her last name. He just remembered how beautiful her first name was, how it fit an angelic face with dark curls. They had come here after hours, too, after seeing a movie. They had missed their curfews so, of course, her parents had balked. His mother hadn’t seemed worried though. Growing up, there were times when she was inordinately calm despite circumstances, as though she knew everything was going to be all right. She was uncanny that way.
    Damn! He had forgotten to return her calls from last week. She probably thought he was trying to avoid her. He’d have to stop by for a visit by way of an apology.
    He was trying to remember something. A name. He stopped, and it came to him. The Clarion . No, the Chicago Clarion. He would look up the number when he got home.
    Though he didn’t know what he would do with the information. She obviously didn’t want to hear from him. But he was up for the challenge.
    As he walked, a breeze shored up. He thought he heard a whisper on the wind. Rachel?
     
    New York—June