Waking Up Gray Read Online Free Page B

quite a walk to the water through marshlands on the other trail. She pedaled another half a mile up Highway 12, left the bike at the airport, and walked the remaining quarter mile to the beach. The surf was choppy with waves swelling to six feet at times. The wind gusted occasionally, but overall, it was a beautiful day on this stretch of sand, once named “Best Beach in the U.S.” by Dr. Beach. Lizbeth spent the entire afternoon alternately walking the beach, lounging in the sun, and watching the waves. She ventured in only deep enough to splash water on her body when she grew hot, because the sea did not look welcoming, as predicted.
    Lizbeth returned home around six o’clock, spent and a bit sunburned, even with the sunscreen. She took a shower, applied lotion to her reddened skin, and climbed the stairs to dress. She put on her loose fitting gray Duke tee shirt, to avoid much contact between clothing and skin, and added a pair of blue cotton shorts. She combed the tangles from the wind out of her dark hair and let it hang down around her shoulders to dry. She peered in the mirror at the single strand of gray hair she discovered yesterday, grabbed it between two fingers, and promptly yanked it out of her scalp. She didn’t feel like being gray, yet.
    She ate another salad for supper. Soon the weather would turn and the fresh vegetables, handpicked from local farms, would be gone until next summer. She couldn’t seem to get enough of them, as she crunched a cucumber slice drenched in ranch dressing. Store bought vegetables in winter just didn’t have the same taste. After supper, she poured the remainder of the wine from last night into a glass and went to sit on the porch. She took a book with her, but never opened it. She became enchanted with the people walking in front of the cottage. Tourists wearily dragged toward their cars after a hard day of sightseeing. Locals walked toward home at the end of their workday or headed toward the docks to begin the evening shift.
    Smells of frying seafood and grilling beef mingled in the air. A breeze blew steadily through the trees, bringing the aromas of suppertime from the restaurants where it mingled with home cooking in the village. Lizbeth sat listening to the different accents as the people passed her house. Two French Canadians’ elegant flowing romance language drifted in the air, before being drowned out by a young woman. Most likely from the Jersey Shore, she complained loudly in her sharp accent that there weren’t any hot nightclubs on the island. Lizbeth was most fond of the southern drawl in all its varieties. Southerners expressed themselves not so much with the words they used, but with the cadence and inflection of how they said them. Once again mesmerized by language, she did not notice Fanny had also come out on her porch until she heard her voice calling out to her from across the street.
    “Lizbeth, come on over, sit a spell.”
    “Thank you, Miss Fanny. I believe I will,” Lizbeth said, standing up and setting the still unopened book aside. She carried her wine glass with her as she crossed the street to sit with the older woman.
    “You got a might bit a sun today, there girl,” Fanny said.
    Lizbeth looked at her lobster pink legs. “Yeah, I guess I’m going to have to go up a few notches on the sunscreen.”
    “Nothin’ like the beach sun, I tell ya’.”
    “Oh, but it was worth it. It was a gorgeous day. I enjoyed myself, being tourist, sightseeing, and playing on the beach,” Lizbeth said with such enthusiasm it made the old woman smile.
    “Well, I hope so,” Fanny said -- an islander way of applauding someone’s statement -- followed by a hearty laugh.
    “Granfanny, who you up there cacklin’ with?” The voice snapped the old woman’s head around.
    “Well, look what the cat drug in,” Fanny said, smiling at the blonde approaching the porch steps.
    Lizbeth immediately recognized the blond head. It was Gray, Fanny’s