Dorothy E. Miller

       The River Boat would stop at Key Biscayne and Bayside to pickup passengers. The community loved Elizabeth's writing and singing, she had autographed so many books for all people , Black, Haitian, Jamaican, Italian, and, Caucasian, Elizabeth's professor was Italian and would come along with others to hear Elizabeth sing.
         On Orchid Island the  morning fog was heavy but beginning to lift. The workers left the table and went outside. Elizabeth went back to her place at the table. Rebecca brought Patrick a slice of fried ham, hot bread, rice and red beans, a country breakfast, she slid the plate in front of Patrick.
           Patrick was deeply troubled something was happening. He lowered his head.The flame of desire inside him was beginning to scorch his iron control. Kissing Elizabeth would only be the prelude to satisfying the need building within. He wanted to strip away the layers between them and discover every delicate inch of flesh hidden beneath, but he couldn't. Not now with the girls as an audience,not only in the restaurant but outside also, there was an audience from the River, folks passing by in their boats. Frustrated, choking sounding escaped his lips. 
           Patrick wanted to literally drop into her lap, but that would be the wrong place at the wrong time. Slowly he circled by confusion. Intuition warned him of this. He was being quietly but relentlessly tracked by a disaster which refused to assume a shape. Angrily, impatiently, he reached out for it,and his fingers closed on nothing.