Naked Hope by Rebecca E. Grant Page A

thought about the debris he’d seen strewn about outside by the storm when they’d stolen into the kitchen. People would lose their homes tonight. How do you heal lives that have been stripped to mere remnants of what they once were? Would Olivia’s life remain a mere remnant of what it once was? These images preyed on him as he played some of the most wistful strains he had ever created.
    When the last chord died, his mother was weeping. Baines’ eyes were suspiciously bright. Gavin couldn’t bear to watch Jill’s reaction. He didn’t look, hoping she couldn’t tell how vulnerable he was about his music these days.
    Moments after midnight, the air raid emergency siren signaled the all clear. Gavin scooped up a sleeping Olivia and carried her to her room. She awakened just long enough to smile, and then rolled over once again fast asleep.
    Gavin searched the house and found Jill in the great room. “I could use some fresh air. How about you?”
    When she agreed, he swept the length of her hair away from her neck and draped a nearby afghan around her like a shawl. He fought the urge to rest his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll need this.”
    The rain had stopped, but drips fell from the eaves. The wind had blown itself out, and the night air fell around them, cool and strangely mysterious. Even in the dark they could see the debris was knee deep in some places, but they’d been spared. The house stood, undamaged.
    With a hand at her mouth, Jill stifled a yawn.
    Gavin winced. He should say good-night and let her go to bed. But he couldn’t shake the fear that in the morning the harmony and hope they’d shared during the storm would be lost. “You’re afraid of storms.”
    She stiffened.
    He moved closer and caught a hint of her perfume, exotic, like jasmine or perhaps orchid. “Not an accusation. Merely an observation.”
    “When I was thirteen, I got caught in a tornado. Since then, they’re not on my list of favorites.”
    “No,” he agreed, staring at the outline of her face. Her skin appeared luminous in the moonlight. He’d have liked to reach out and stroke the dark hair that framed her face and shoulders. “My daughter is quite taken with you.”
    She smiled, lighting her blue eyes. Her full lips opened over her teeth. “She’s…”
    He stepped closer, hoping for a good word. “She’s?”
    “Joyful.”
    His felt his jaw drop. Joyful?
    “Troubled, confused, frustrated, often suspicious, certainly angry about being separated from what she loves to do most, and yet she has an effervescence of spirit. So often TBI robs kids of their joy, but Olivia’s sense of play, of fun, of appreciating things bigger than herself, is intact. I find her…”
    A playful wind brushed up against them as if apologizing for its earlier bad behavior. He saw a tendril move across her forehead and couldn’t resist smoothing it away from her eyes. His hand lingered. “Yes?”
    “Remarkable.”
    The stars blinked in symphonic harmony against the jet sky. Aware he hadn’t noticed such things in a very long time, he murmured, “As are you, Dr. Cole.”
    ****
    A sumptuous bed, cool sheets, yielding pillows and yet, Jill couldn’t sleep. The image of two pianos back-to-back, barren in their silence, would not leave her. No wonder he sometimes acted as if Olivia was a stranger. They were both so lost. She’d seen brain injuries turn families into strangers more times than she could remember. She never got used to it. But rarely were they as changed as Olivia appeared to be. Without her music, neither father nor daughter knew who Olivia was.
    Jill wrapped the borrowed robe around her body and made her way to the music room. She stood in the dark. The air was shrouded, heavy, as if every drop of joy had been wrung out. The thought made her shiver, and she moved over to the window. The clouds had passed. An August moon and a few summer stars provided the only light. If she were quiet enough, maybe the walls would