Lorraine wasn’t terribly surprised that Griffin wanted to get away for a few days. He always seemed to be drawn to that and he had good reasons every time; sound, practical reasons. But, Lorraine could remember her own days of fearful hiding and denial, all the reasons and justifications, excuses she now realized that she could manufacture. But, in truth, it was a way to hide from the dangers of the world she lived in, and more and more Lorraine couldn’t help but wonder if Griffin wasn’t behaving in much the same way without even realizing it.

It hardly mattered. When Griffin put his mind to something, there was just no talking him out of it. So Jeremy and Anton were camped out at the penthouse with Ashe and Kayla while Lorraine was with Griffin in their private jet heading for the U.S. Virgin Islands.

After a night of insane love making in an open-air hut at the end of a long pier, during which Lorraine felt as if she was having sex right on the surface of the water, they took a different view of those gorgeous, pale blue Caribbean waters.

* * *

The next day their rented speed boat raced over the Caribbean waters, bouncing on the waves. Lorraine and Griffin were strapped into a bench seat side by side with a long, colorful parachute spread out behind them. Once the boat hit the right speed, they lifted up off the water, no longer sitting floating on the surface, but floating above it and getting higher fast.

Lorraine’s stomach rose up to the bottom of her lungs, then dropped down to the pit of her bowels as they sailed upward, the boat and the ocean and the islands themselves getting smaller fast.

The wind got stronger the higher they rose, pushing Lorraine back into the seat as the boat dragged them through the sky. Lorraine’s skin was covered with goosebumps, blood rushing in her veins. Lorraine’s head went light, dizziness threatening to pull her head forward, but she fought the sensation.

Don’t let the fear in, Lorraine told herself, don’t let it back in!

Griffin reached out and held Lorraine’s hand, and she was glad of it. It didn’t bring her too much comfort, but it didn’t hurt. That gaping spread of empty air stretched out beneath her, higher and higher as they ascended, the boat speeding along the water’s surface, the only thing keeping them alive.

Exhilaration pushed her fear aside as Lorraine’s experience stepped in to replace her old, lingering insecurities. She’d soared above New York in a helicopter, nearly drowned on an errant flyboard, sped along zip-lines and stood before hundreds of people, risking her life and almost losing it in the bargain.

They sailed above the colonial buildings, colorful and antiquated; light blue, red, orange, yellow, uneven rows of ramshackle squares that could not disguise their turbulent past, difficult present, and nearly nonexistent future. From that elevated perspective, the ugliness melted away and only the beauty shone through. Gazing out over those jagged island mountains and pretty boats on the white tips, Lorraine felt as if she was not in danger; in fact she felt miles removed from any danger at all.

Nothing can touch us up here, Lorraine realized. Down there is where all the peril and duplicity is. Up here it’s me and Griffin, the endless blue sky, the most gorgeous patch of Earth spread out beneath.

There in the breezy heights, Lorraine felt elevated, delivered by Griffin into a different strata, where few enough people dared to tread. Lorraine knew that a scant few years before she would never have taken such risks or enjoyed such rewards, seen what she had seen or done what she had done, been whom she’d become, won what she had won.

So instead of fearing a fall to her death, Lorraine savored the security of the straps, enjoyed the freedom of her naked legs kicking idly under the bench seat. This is where I am now, Lorraine told herself, this is where I belong, this is what I deserve.

This … and more.

And there was more. Griffin hired a private car to drive them out to Virgin Gorda, a popular beach. Griffin was withholding a smile, as if he had a secret he wouldn’t divulge. Lorraine was happy to let him have his secret. She knew he’d share it soon enough, and she couldn’t wait to see what it was, or to find out how long she’d be able to endure it.

Once on the beach, Lorraine followed Griffin past the tourists and sunbathers, not too many of them during that off-season week, to a small opening in a rock bank. Griffin stepped through and then reached out to help her in, her feet carefully feeling the way into the unknown, mysterious cavern.

Once inside, natural light leaked in through crevices to illuminate the amazing bath caves. Huge granite boulders were stacked upon one another, magnificent formations carved out by eons of tidal erosion to create works of art God himself had put his unseen signature to.

The cavern was filled with the salty mist of the Caribbean Sea, water leaking in with the pulse of the waves, Lorraine and Griffin holding hands as they walked through the labyrinthian cave.

“It’s gorgeous,” Lorraine couldn’t help but say.

“It was until you stepped into it,” Griffin said. “Now, compared to you, it’s just another hole in the wall. I don’t doubt that the cave is somehow reeling at your natural beauty, Lorraine.”

She smiled at how sweet Griffin was, words couldn’t find their way through the lump in her throat. Tidal pools collected between the rocks they climbed over, colorful creatures seeking refuge from the chaos of the oceans beyond. There were predators out there, gliding monsters with teeth like sharpened steel.

Lorraine had to wonder, How different am I? Is this the way I was living, sheltered and afraid? Maybe it wasn’t so bad, huddled up with my family, my tribe, letting the rest of the ocean solve its own problems. And it would have to, at least for the time being.

Lorraine and Griffin went from Dead Man’s Beach to the St. Thomas port town of Redhook. Island music leaked out of every street corner and every bar; electric reggae with guitars bending chords, drums rolling along in that rickety rhythm, steel drums floating in the humid breeze.

They strolled down the main drag, the smells of spicy jerked pork and fresh, robust ganja filling the air and her nostrils. Lorraine almost began to feel lightheaded, a feeling she knew well in her college days but not since.

Brightly painted shops sold t-shirts with the ever-present face of national hero Bob Marley, the familiar five-leafed marijuana plant, and, of course, the tricolor wool hats so popular among those who practice that lifestyle and religion.

Children sold fruit to pedestrians, police strolled around as if their mere presence might have some effect on the teaming criminal element which barely bothered to hide beneath the surface of the tourist town.

Lorraine and Griffin dined on fresh shrimp and oysters, Lorraine unable to deny the fabled rush of aphrodisiac ecstasy that taunted her senses, tickling her imagination … among other parts of her body. With the lemony tang of the lobster tails, the heady taste of the banana daiquiris, her body was indulged with flavors and sensations she knew she just couldn’t find in New York. Looking around that beautiful and exotic island town, surrounded by the peak of God’s natural creation, Lorraine knew what Griffin had been talking about. It truly was important, even vital to partake of these experiences, to travel to the greatest distance and spend the countless dollars to achieve and enjoy them. This is a part of life, Lorraine had come to truly understand, it revitalizes and rejuvenates and it relaxes, it broadens the mind and the heart and the soul.

And it feels so good, especially after the stress and strain of daily life in New York, even Denver; anywhere in the hustle-bustle world I know and have always known.

But there is a choice, Lorraine knew then without a doubt, there is another way, if only I can muster the strength to embrace it and give up my presumptions of myself, of my community, of my government. What do those things really matter to me? I’ve got my husband, my awesome kids, my fantastic friends and parents. The rest is just distraction, isn’t it? How much does any of it mean against the majesty of that Caribbean sea, those tree-caked mountains, joy abounding that most people can only dream of and will never enjoy?

And there was still more to enjoy. Willy T’s was a two-decker boat anchored in the nearby British Virgin Islands, where middle aged women did shots and young, shirtless men jumped off the top deck into the water to the joyous shouts and applause of their frat brothers and traveling companions.

Bob Marley tunes blared into the starry night’s sky, the slinky rhythms finding their way into Lorraine and Griffins hips as they relished a corner of the deck for themselves, Griffin leaning against the metal pole that supported the canopy over the upper deck.

Their bodies molded against one another, grinding to the beat of the music, a slow and sumptuous push that said all they needed to say and told each other all they needed to know. Lorraine smiled as she felt his massive cock growing under his linen pants, her tingling heat of her own pussy, already hungry for it, driven to greater heights by the drink, the music, the salty ocean breezes.