Someone Else's Ocean(52)

Living in St Thomas, away from the life I knew and being disconnected, actually helped me become more in tune with those around me. I haven’t always been a person’s person. In fact, the New Yorker in me had grown immune to brushing shoulders with millions of other people, indifferent to the presence of other wandering souls. I was completely apathetic and I was positive the old Koti Vaughn might have shied away from the hug Kelli gave me earlier. My hope was I had evolved from that narcissistic New Yorker.

Even if my involvement with her elation was small, the smile on her face was my reward.

Saluting me, Kelli squinted from the bright sun as she spoke. “Thank you, Koti.”

“You deserve to be happy.”

She laughed and gripped her arms. “You know, I was just thinking that the other day. I looked in the mirror at the woman who used to run a 5k in twenty minutes and asked myself—what if there comes a time when I only have twenty minutes left. The answer was so simple.”

“And what was it?”

“Be simple and do whatever the hell it is you have to do to make yourself happy.”

“I think you’re right.” Except I knew she was, I’d been living as a simpleton for months.

She gave me a knowing grin. “And I’m not the only one who deserves it. New York lost a gem. Thank you again.” I may have overshared a little when she called. It was cheaper than therapy and more rewarding when we shared the common bond that reality, sometimes sucked.

But sometimes reality shifted the clouds and let in a light so bright, it was impossible to ignore.

My island was that light for me, and I had a feeling it could be hers too.

She winked at me before she slipped into the light blue, double-wide doors.

On the drive home, I meditated on her words. I’d been so nervous about the prospect of having feelings for Ian, I’d nearly lost sight of the fact that our newly rekindled friendship was a gift. The truth was, being with Ian made me happy. And I would enjoy it for as long as we had.





I CLIMBED MY PORCH STEPS and paused when I heard the first few keys of the piano sound. The baby grand that sat in the living room hadn’t been touched in years, well, not by the fingers of an experienced pianist. My dad used to play when I was a little girl, often entertaining our friends in the penthouse. Opting to see if any more music would come, I stood waiting at the front door. My jaw dropped when a melody began to fill the air. I couldn’t put my finger on the song, but it sounded familiar. After a few bars, I managed to slip into the house unnoticed. Mesmerized by the sight of him, I picked Disco up before she could make a sound. He missed a key or two, but quickly recovered, his timing was that of a practiced musician. It took every bit of strength I had to remain idle as he blew me away with his talent. While watching him, my new ‘live for the moment’ confidence was being obliterated away note by note.

Don’t overthink this, Koti!

No matter how hard I tried to forget Ian Kemp once he left me, I knew no matter how much time passed, or how our relationship ended, I would never forget how I felt watching him play that piano.

Thunder sounded in the distance and rain began to hit the roof of the house and trail down the windowpane next to me while the rest of the afternoon sun faded under the cover of the clouds. With the room dimmed, I smiled at the sight of lit candles. Ian had created his own bubble.

Inwardly sighing, I sat back on the arm of my sofa and admired my view. He grimaced, once or twice and then sank into the music, his posture relaxing slightly while his chest flexed under the white T-shirt that covered him. When the last note was played, he sat back, rubbing his hands on his thighs before he looked up and spotted me. I was sure I looked insane gawking at him, but he just grinned.

“Hi. I know that was horrible.”

I shook my head. “Hi, back. That was beautiful. I know that song.”

“I played it in my last recital, it’s “Clair de Lune” by Debussy.”

“Accomplished pianist too, huh? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Lots of things,” he said, standing before he glanced at the large wall clock past my shoulder. “You’re home early.”

“Slow day. The boss told me to take the rest of it off. How long did you play?”

“Just through grade school.”

“That was grade school level?”

“I was a bit advanced.”

I harrumphed. “You think?”

He ignored my compliment as he stalked toward me, his eyes darkening.

“So lucky me,” he said moving to stand in front of me before he took a squirming Disco from my arms to grant her freedom. “You’re home early and it’s raining,” he murmured leaning in, “what shall we do?”

I swallowed. “I was thinking we could start our book club?”

“Sure,” he said with a smirk, pulling my purse off my shoulder and tossing it on the couch behind me. “After.”

“After?”

“After,” he whispered, crushing me to his chest before capturing my mouth.





Hours later, I lingered next to a hot running shower, my whole body vibrating as I stood in a daze, my hair a sex afro. My abdomen was screaming, and I winced at the pinch I still felt from his size. The man fucked like Tarzan.

“Hey,” he said in a raspy voice behind me. I turned to see him darken my doorway and took a step back. “I, uh… I can’t do it again, sorry.” I jumped into the shower and ducked under the stream as the door open and he joined me. He chuckled as he turned me to face him. “What’s with the brush-off?”