When the Smoke Clears (Interracial Firefighter Romance) (7 page)

“So you’re big on pink?”

The little woman said nothing else as she waddled to her car. Her long dreadlocks swung around her tiny body. “Hurry, before the water gets cold.”

“What water?” I rushed to my own vehicle and pulled out the keys.

Mama Ganga spoke no more words, climbed into her convertible, started it, and sped off without waiting for me to pull out.

“Awesome. The old lady’s a racecar driver. I owe you one, Sam. You’re so going to get it.”

After a good ten minutes of speeding through Sarasota’s lazy streets and swerving in and out of lanes, we arrived at Siesta Key. Miles of white powdered sand greeted my eyes. Water flowed crystal blue. Sea gulls and other birds squawked and soared above in a perfect sky. Pale blue winds moved among sun-tipped clouds. Salt clung to the cool breeze.

Damn. I must come out here more often.

Usually, I went to the public part of the beach. This side had to be private access. There were no sidewalks or parking spaces, only huge residential homes and vacant sand. Mini-mansions made up most of the block. Mama Ganga had parked in one of the driveways, making me think that she knew the owner and might have been staying there during her visit.

How does she know these people?

Unlike the public part of Siesta Key, no one walked the beach here. Only a few yachts cruised by. No footprints decorated the sand. It all appeared untouched and smooth.

Mama Ganga joined me at my side. “Beautiful day. Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready to swim?”

I raised my eyebrows and gestured to my jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. “I don’t have anything to swim in.”

“You were born in a birthday suit.”

I opened my mouth and again, said nothing.

“Take off your clothes.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “You’re crazy.”

“Have you ever heard of Salena Gothmere?”

“Of course. She won a noble prize for her book,
Shattered Lands
.”

“Before she wrote that novel, she’d lost her son.”

“I read that in an article.”

Mama Ganga tapped her cane in the sand. Something hit me. I stared at the tip and it looked completely different. Instead of demons, witches danced around the entire length of wood. Beautiful women with their hands stretched out to the sky and their breasts full and lovely. They had to be witches, but they could’ve been something else. I had no idea just that power existed in their eyes. Each pair was made of crystals and other lovely gems that glittered in the sunlight. And even the handle was no longer silver, but ivory. Bright and white, like a full moon.

I looked up at her. “You changed canes?”

“No, you did.” She tapped it again. “When Salena mourned her son, I was there, helping her get through it. Her publisher had contracted me to help her cope and get back to writing as soon as possible.”

“That sounds harsh.”

“You know as well as I do, the book business isn’t a friendly art village. It’s a money machine. Most of the time the contraption pumps out readable entertainment-- other times it forces out quick books. Some authors become slaves to the industry. She was one. But, that’s not important. What’s significant is that I helped Salena heal from her son’s death and return to writing.”

“And you did that by having her skinny dip in the ocean?”

“There were many layers to the solution.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I didn’t give answers to Salena, and she had many decorated awards on her wall, when I worked with her. You can barely afford me. Calm your ego and do what I say.”

“It’s not my ego. I just don’t do public nudity.”

“You’re scared.” She smirked. “How’s fear helping your writing?”

“How’s nudity helping it?”

“Again, I don’t answer questions.” She headed for the ocean, using her cane with each step. “Your agent paid for me. Whether you get in this ocean or not, I have a whole week of wages. Let me know if you quit now so I can go on to the other side and get me a young boy to spend time with.”

“Excuse me?”

She continued toward the waves and paid me no further attention.

A cool breeze blew through my locs as I trotted after her. “Look. I’m down to try other things, but I’m not comfortable with getting naked.”

“Good. This is about getting uncomfortable. Art is not about comfort. It’s about taking chances, diving off the cliff, and screaming out that you’re the victor.” Only a few feet from the ocean, she sat down on the sand and grinned at the sky. “Don’t waste the day. Make me earn my money. Get naked and run out there, into the water.”

“And then what?”

“Scream.” She tapped her hand against the cane. “Once you do that, then we go to the next part.”

“What’s the next part?”

“There are layers to this. You’re only on a need to know basis.”

“Okay, but—”

“Do you want a Nobel prize?” She pierced me with her gaze.

“At this point, I would be happy with a cracker jack prize.”

“People don’t get prizes for standing in the sand and hiding in their clothes.”

“They get it for skinny dipping?”

She pointed back to the ocean and said nothing else. Quiet ensued. Minutes passed. At one point, I sat next to her and tried to start a conversation. She wouldn’t even look at me. Her lips remained closed. Her eyes continued to drink in the space. Her cane lay dangerously next to her.

Minutes of silence went by, and I wondered why the hell I still sat out there with her. Was it because Sam had spent money on this? Our money? Or, did I really want to cure my writer’s block and was just scared?

More time passed. No one walked on the beach. Every now and then, a boat sped by. A small airplane flew above us in the sky, dragging a banner advertisement announcing
half off bar drinks at Loco’s.
Other than that, our area stayed quiet and undisturbed.

Get naked and run in the water? That’s it. What if I do it? What would happen? People would think I’m stupid. I don’t like that. Who would know? Not many. Who cares? No one knows me here. But naked? Really?

I sighed. A half hour passed, and Mama Ganga lounged there as if it had only been ten seconds.

“Okay.” I stood up. The entire time, I repeated
it would be okay
in my head. I pretended I was doing this all for Sam and my career, not ready to deal with the fact that I yearned to be the sort of women that was free enough to shed her clothes and run into the ocean.

“You are
that woman
.” Mama Ganga interrupted my thoughts.

“You can hear what I said in my head?”

“You’re being crazy. I’m just that good with reading people. Plus, the desperation is all over your face. You wish you were wild and free. Instead, you stand there hugging yourself and shaking in those dingy jogging pants. Take control of your life! Run toward your destiny!”

I mumbled, “Take control.”

“Yes. Go ahead. Let go of all that fear and take a risk for once.”

“Take a risk.” I slid out of my sneakers. My bare feet met the cool sand.

“You’ve got this,” Mama Ganga said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could get arrested for public indecency, while I’m already on year probation for shooting my ex-husband.”

She didn’t even flinch. “You’ll be fine. As humans, we lose touch with nature. Sometimes we have to go out into the wild, run in the grass, or roll down a hill and laugh. Sometimes we have to jump in the water with nothing on and whisper praise in the wind.”

“Maybe we could do the running in the grass part.”

“Because you’re scared.”

“Because I don’t want to get arrested.”

“This is about your craft. Now get in the water!”

“You’ll be fine.”

She must smoke some serious weed.

Mama Ganga frowned as if she heard me. “Are you serious about being a writer?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know.” She sucked her teeth. “Right now you look like a scared little girl. You know what’s the difference between a regular person and a writer? They write! They remain dedicated, even when none of the pages makes sense. They write because they would die if they didn’t. They write! Even when the dialogue falls and no one cares what they’re talking about. They write. They do the things that others fear. They write when people hate their books. They write when people love them. They write during the rain and even on a sunny day. Now get in the water!”

Jesus.

I blew out a long breath, slowly pulled down my pants, and scanned the area around me. No one had shown up.
I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this.
I slipped off my panties and squeezed my thighs like I could hide my special place from the world.

“Get rid of that fear,” Mama Ganga said. “Take a risk. Be free. Be fearless.”

“Be fearless.” I yanked off my shirt and spilled out of my bra.

Hugging everything that was jiggling and bouncing, I jogged toward the ocean.

Hurry. In and out. You got this.

A yacht, filled with people, sped by and I dove into the water shrieking, “Jesus!”

Cool water swallowed me whole. The sting of salt hit my eyes. Every inch of my body rippled in cold waves. Bits of sand and seashells tickled my toes.
I fucking did it!
Never had I experienced this sort of sensation at the beach. Usually, certain parts of me were covered. This time, I felt every inch of the sea with my body.

My head rose from the water, and instead of rushing back to my clothes, I swam. Sunlight warmed my skin. Adrenaline soared through me. My stomach bubbled a little with uneasiness and then relaxed when no cop or weirdo came out to see my nakedness.

I’m already here and naked. I might as well check it out. When in the hell will I ever do this again? Never.

I don’t know how much time passed. It might’ve been several minutes. No other boats floated by and still, I swam and even laughed a little.

“Don’t forget to scream!” Mama Ganga raised her cane in the air as she continued sitting in the sand.

“What should I scream?” I called back to her.

“Anything.”

The ocean’s surface rocked against me. I looked up at the blue sky and let out a long and loud shriek. My voice rose high in the air. Seagulls scattered. Then, more giggles spilled from my throat. For some reason, I yelled out again. This time I shook my head. My locs splattered water everywhere.

God, this feels good.

I roared, over and over, rang my fists in the air, and splashed the water around me. “I got this! I got this!”

Mama Ganga shook her head. “Alright. Alright. No one told you to make all of that noise. I said one scream. You’re going to end up getting us arrested.”

“What?” I hugged myself and hid my breasts. “I thought you said that wouldn’t happen?”

She slowly rose and gestured for me to come her way. “That doesn’t mean you purposely draw attention to yourself.”

“What?!” I rushed out of the water and back to my clothes. “I’m naked. Of course I’m going to attract attention.”

As I bent over, a boat sped by and blew his ridiculous siren behind me. Men hooted from the deck.

Awesome.

Thankfully, they moved on. After that, it took barely two minutes to put on my clothes. I was sure that my panties were on inside out.

Mama Ganga returned to me as I pulled on my sneakers. She held a notebook and pen in her hand and dropped both of those items in front of me.

Where the hell did she get those? I don’t remember her holding them. She’s like a. . . magical negro or something.

She glared at me.

“What?”

She shook her head and handed the notebook and pen to me. “Write something.”

“What am I supposed to write about?”

“Anything.” She stuck the end of her cane into the sand and proceeded to draw a large circle around me. “You don’t leave this spot until you’ve written two pages.”

I tucked my dreadlocks behind my ear. “Okay, but—”

“You talk too much.” She signaled for me to sit down.

I did. “I’m just trying to say that I have writer’s block.”

“You don’t have writer’s block. You have fear. It’s gripping at your heart and won’t let go until you claw at it. It’s eating away at your passion. You’re terrified. You deny yourself from writing because you think you failed at life, and so you’re scared you’re going to fail as an author. What else do you stop yourself from?”

“I don’t—”

“You do. Now write. Think about something and put it all on paper.

“But—”

“Write! Write! Write!”

“Well. . .I’m thinking you would like me to write.” I blew out a long breath of air.

Ocean water drenched my locs. Salty drops spotted the first page of my notebook. I flipped through a few blank pages until I arrived at a clean and unmarked sheet.