The Best of Me

by Tina Wainscott

  Liberty poked his head out of the water as if to second Chris’s words, or probably to get the shiny fish he held. Her heart twisted when she saw the bruises on Liberty’s snout. Then she realized that Chris thought she was the one who had been running this park all along.

  “I haven’t done anything to this dolphin.”

  “You said you were the owner.”

  “I just inherited it from my father, Sonny Boland. I didn’t even know he owned this park, or where he even was for most of my life.” Why was she telling him all this? Stick to the facts, Lucy. “Anyway, I arrived today, and Bailey told me about a man stealing a big fish.” He rolled his eyes, and she added, “I know, I know, it’s a dolphin.”

  He reached out to touch Liberty, but the dolphin shied away. Another fish lured him close again, but Chris didn’t try to touch him this time. He was again immersed in his world, and she had faded into oblivion. If she had any dignity whatsoever, she would walk away. Just get up and hold her soggy shoulders high. Unfortunately, her curiosity overwhelmed any shred of dignity she’d managed to maintain.

  “Why do you call him Liberty?” She glanced up at the banner. “His name is Randy.”

  “Calling dolphins by human names encourages people to humanize them, so I renamed him Liberty.”

  “What are you going to do with him?” she asked after a few awkward minutes of silence. She wanted to change into dry clothes, but she couldn’t leave without his acknowledging that she wasn’t an evil person who abused dolphins. Though she didn’t explore why that was so important.

  “I have to untrain him, teach him how to catch live fish and to live in the wild again. He’s come to depend on humans and their language now. He has to learn to be a dolphin again, to use his sonar.”

  He hadn’t glanced up at her even once as he’d spoken. She wanted to see something other than disdain in his eyes. She ran her hands down her pant legs, squishing water out of them.

  “What do you mean, his sonar?”

  His fingers made circles on the water’s surface. “Dolphins use echolocation sonar to map out their surroundings the same way we use our eyes. They send out signals that bounce back to their lower jaw, telling them where they are and where their prey is. Here in this shallow pool, the signals bounce crazily back to him, so he stopped using them.”

  Sonar? It sounded so high-tech, so…advanced. She watched Liberty circle, trying to imagine what he saw down there. White walls. Chris’s legs. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  The sun glistened off his wet curls as he shook his head. “Just leave me and Liberty alone, and we’ll be fine.”

  He hadn’t even thanked her for offering. Still hadn’t looked at her. He reached for Liberty, and again the dolphin shied away. As she watched Chris, she wondered if her father wasn’t like him, other than the dolphin-saving thing.

  “Is this what you do for a living? You said something about a free dolphin society.”

  “I am the Free Dolphin Society. I travel around to different abusement parks and work on freeing the dolphins trapped there.”

  “Abusement parks? Is that what this is?”

  “For this dolphin, yes. I don’t know how the other creatures are treated.”

  She looked around, but couldn’t tell from where she was crouched. The park looked clean, if old. “Do you think my father was being cruel or just thoughtless?” She was surprised to find him looking at her when she turned back to him. More surprised at the effect that gaze had on her.

  “I only met the man once, when I first came to investigate claims of neglect. It was probably a little of both. Liberty here eats about fifteen pounds of fish a day, so Sonny bought the cheap stuff. He didn’t want to mess with filtering in fresh seawater or even making phony salt water, so he put chlorine and copper sulfide in the pool. Your father was upping the profit margin, and Liberty was paying the price. Now I’m pumping in seawater, and hopefully he’ll be able to open his eyes all the way soon.”

  “Will he bite? I mean, was I in any danger when I fell in?”

  A smirk tugged at the edges of his mouth, and she bet he had a great smile, if he ever did smile. Of course he was probably laughing at her expense, remembering how she must have looked, all arms and legs and terror.

  “The only thing in danger was your dignity. Dolphins are pretty docile in captivity.” He tossed Liberty the last of the fish in the bucket and rubbed his hands together under the water. He lifted an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t your spirit be broken if you were held captive?”

  She shivered at the thought, watching Liberty as he waited patiently for more fish, his head bobbing. “Probably,” she answered at last, meeting Chris’s gaze across the sparkling water. “Dolphins are your life, aren’t they?”

  “Yep.” Chris lifted himself from the pool and grabbed a towel. “How long are you here for, anyway?”

  “A week. It’s all I can get away with.”

  He nodded, rubbing the towel through his curls. Then she realized he only wanted to know how long he had to put up with her. When he stopped near her, he looked down at the clothing plastered to her body. She wasn’t sure if she imagined the gleam of appreciation, but he offered her his towel before she could consider it further.

  She lifted the soggy towel with her fingertips. “Your chivalry touches me, to be sure, but I think you’ve just about used up all the saturation.” She handed it back.

  He shrugged in a suit-yourself way, removed a pair of shorts and a cotton shirt from his duffel bag, and shoved the towel inside. “I’m just a gallant kind of guy.” He stepped into the shorts and slid his feet into leather sandals. Golden hair sprinkled his long, lean legs. The muscles in his arms moved intriguingly as he shrugged into the button-down shirt, though she was trying hard not to look. She met his gaze and found that smile she’d been wondering about. Yep, heart tickling all the way down to her toes. “Take it easy.”

  Like a fool, she watched him go, watched what might possibly be the cutest derriere in the world walk away. He walked through the gate and mounted a moped. Never once did he look back. Not even a furtive side glance while her gaze was glued to him.

  Well, what was she in a snit about? Because he’d been as clear as the sky that he didn’t want her around? Not a man of subtleties and courtesy, that one. She could take a hint. Lucy Donovan did not go where she wasn’t wanted. She hadn’t hung around in her marriage once it was old and stale and she wasn’t about to hang around Chris Maddox, either.

  Lucy had a feeling it went beyond that, though. Chris Maddox simply didn’t want people around. And now she had to wonder why.

  2

  CHRIS WEATHERED the rocks and dips in the narrow road as he sped toward The Caribe Plantation. The other drivers were the biggest hazard. His clothes flapped in the wind, the tips of his shirt snapping against his skin. The Caribe was just down the road from the park, a mere fifteen life-threatening minutes away. The plantation wasn’t in the touristy area of the island, something Chris was grateful for.

  The plantation’s driveway was crushed shell, pristine white for those times when the Eastor family vacationed at their Colonial mansion on the ocean. Luckily they weren’t there, and even luckier, they had offered their grounds and lagoon to his cause. He wasn’t impressed by the flowering gardens and trees; what mattered was the private slice of azure water where Liberty would learn to be a dolphin again. He barely glanced at the mansion as he headed to the hut perched over the water that doubled as a boat dock—and constituted his accommodations.

  Through the traffic and roar of wind in his ears, it was Lucy Donovan’s face he had seen and tried to exorcise. Lucy with her brown hair plastered to her cheeks and framing her dramatic features. He caught himself smiling at the terror in her face when she’d fallen into the pool. He shook his head as he parked the bike and made his way over the boardwalk that led out to the boathouse. Lucy with her brown eyes that shadowed when he’d accused her of her father’s neglect. He knew she had nothing to do w
ith Liberty’s plight, because he’d investigated the park and found no Lucy anywhere. He’d only wanted to rattle her—and get rid of her.

  The last thing he needed was a woman hanging around. Women didn’t take being ignored for long, especially a woman like Lucy Donovan. He could tell she was a lady who required care and attention. In her fancy suit and nice jewelry, she reeked of class. He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, and he wasn’t going to bother exploring why he’d even looked. She wasn’t going to go for a quick fling with the likes of him. Besides, she wasn’t the type of woman he’d think about having a quick fling with.

  But he was.

  His body stirred as he walked around to the back of the boathouse and stripped out of his shorts and swimsuit. The freshwater shower faced the open ocean, which was free of anything but clouds piling up in the distance like whipped cream on a sundae. He rubbed the shampoo through his hair and focused his thoughts on the weeks ahead.

  And again his thoughts settled back on Lucy. What was the point? He’d snubbed her but good, and tomorrow she’d return the favor. That’s how women were. Besides, she was no great beauty. Pretty, definitely, with a heart-shaped face and thick eyebrows. Full breasts molded by the wet shirt, the peaks of her nipples evident even through her lacy bra. A mouth that could have a man fantasizing in no time. And that derriere of hers, soft and shapely and fitting perfectly in his hands. He’d been going for the economy of the move; the rest was a bonus.

  Forget about that derriere and the woman it belongs to. He directed that to his male member that obviously thought he was on vacation—and forgot that he was thirty-six. He thought of those few hello-goodbye affairs with women who lived by the ebb and flow of the islands. Lucy was a city girl. City and island didn’t jibe.

  A seagull shrieked as it hovered nearby. Creatures of nature were his only friends. He found them easier to understand than people. Easier to live with. His passions didn’t leave room for a woman in his life. He knew he’d never find a woman who would share his dedication to saving dolphins, who would sacrifice a secure, stable life for the cause. A woman who would be okay with coming second to it.

  It was easier to be alone.

  He had grown up in a world that lacked compassion. His mother died when he was too young to remember, leaving his father bitter and cold. He’d lived only for his fishing charter business. He catered to his guests and criticized them later. All he cared about was having enough money to continue living on the boat and buying the beer he subsisted on…the beer that would later claim his liver, and his life. Chris had been a means to that end, a hardworking employee who found his only joy in the sea life around him.

  After his shower, he stretched out on his lounge chair. He’d flown in that morning, found the Caribe, then went to the park to work on phase one: gaining Liberty’s trust. He should be exhausted, and lying down doing nothing sounded wonderful.

  Exactly two minutes later, he was up again.

  Restlessness ran through him. He walked to the beach, measured out where Liberty’s pen would go, and stretched out nets and floaters along the beach like some sea monster washed up on shore. When it was too dark to work, he took a ten-minute ride farther south down the winding road that followed the coastline to Barney’s Happy Place for a Red Stripe beer. Maybe that would purge Lucy and her incredible derriere from his mind.

  LUCY HAD finally wrenched herself away from watching Liberty, changed into dry clothes, and found Bailey hosing down the cement walkways.

  “You didn’t chase the wicked man away?” he asked.

  “No, and honestly, I don’t want to.”

  He shook his head. “I see the way you look at him. What a crosses! Our only hope, and she fall for the wicked man!”

  “What are you talking about?” She’d only looked at his eyes maybe once or twice. Only been slightly bewitched by them.

  He shook his head. “Everyt’ing gonna go down the drain now dat your pupa is gone.” He nodded toward the drain the water swirled down.

  Guilt nagged at her when she thought of his six—no five kids. “What would my father—pupa have done?”

  “He would have punched the wicked man out who tief the big fish.”

  “He’s not a fish,” she said.

  “Cho, now you even sound like the tief!”

  She rolled her eyes, glad not to have to put up with such insubordination back home. “My father would have been arrested for punching him out. Besides, Chris Maddox says he has authority. Is that true?”

  “He must have tickled dere noses with a bit of cash.”

  Somehow she doubted that. “Well, why don’t you show me the books? Let’s see if my father had a head for business.”

  The books did not look healthy, she soon found out. No wonder Sonny only had two employees. When she propped her chin on her hand, she caught sight of a small photograph on a shelf. She walked over and picked up the dusty frame, surprised to see her own childish face smiling at her. Something tightened inside her. Sonny hadn’t forgotten her after all.

  “Miss Lucy, I be ready to leave now. You want me to take you where Sonny live?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Bailey drove her south on a winding road in need of some repairs—and police supervision. The drivers were crazy, regularly crossing the centerline or stopping for no apparent reason.

  “The rich people buy the fancy places and only live in them a few weeks a year,” Bailey said, pointing to some elaborate entrances on the ocean side of the road. “Everybody else live over dere.” The housing to her left was lower- to middle-class. People sat out on rickety front porches watching the traffic while goats grazed on weedy front yards. She shifted her gaze to the right side and caught sight of an entrance proclaiming The Caribe Plantation in discreet lettering.

  Bailey turned shortly after that and pulled up to a pink three-story building with thick white balconies. Sonny’s apartment was a one-bedroom efficiency, a hot, stuffy one at that. She turned on an air conditioner unit installed in the window. She was beginning to regret her decision to stay there while she packed up his belongings, practical though it was.

  If she’d hoped to find traces of her father here, she was out of luck. Against one wall were shelves of broken tanks and pump parts he’d obviously intended to fix. The furnishings were sparse, old, but clean. The junk food that had been behind his heart attack filled the shelves. She found a stack of wrinkled, water-stained Caribbean maps covered in notations. She ran a finger over his small, neat script. He’d found pleasure in nature, apparently, noting various reefs and abundant water life.

  It was after eight-thirty when she dropped onto the old green sofa. Her foot pushed in a drawer in the coffee table, and she pulled it open. Yellowed newspaper clippings were piled up inside. She sifted through them, her throat tightening. They were all of her, graduating college, getting married, opening the advertising firm.

  Sonny had kept up with her life from a distance. She felt like crying and smiling at the same time. If he’d known about her wedding, why hadn’t he written? At least he hadn’t known about her divorce.

  Lucy peeked out of the listless curtains and watched people come and go at the nearby store. She had to get out for a while, breathe some of that fresh, salty air, and think things through. Bailey had said the neighborhood was safe, so Lucy pocketed some cash and walked into the starry night air. The muggy, starry night, she amended, as moisture wrapped around her. She’d been so busy fighting with Chris, and then with the numbers, she hadn’t begun to appreciate the island.

  She walked along the ocean side of the road and headed south to a place Bailey had recommend for “da best ribs on the island.” Her stomach gurgled at the aroma of spices and hickory smoke emanating from Barney’s Happy Place. She paused, trying to judge the clientele by the exterior. Barney’s was right off the road, perched several yards from the ocean, or what she guessed was the ocean beyond the sandy shore that turned to inky darkness. The place looked like a large shack, wit
h its faded wood and half walls. Reggae music tainted the night air with a festivity punctuated by the red, yellow and green Christmas lights strung outside. Palm trees rustled in the evening breeze, cast in the glow of those lights. Her parents and ex-husband would be horrified to know she was going into a place like this. She smiled and walked up the ramp.

  She almost walked back out again when she saw all the people. Many looked like locals, dressed in colorful garb, their heads adorned with dreadlocks and cornrow braids. Barney’s was not a tourist hangout, to be sure, except for one couple that sat at a corner table with froufrou drinks and burned noses. Music rivaled the laughter and conversation that flowed out the back, which was entirely open to the beach beyond.

  A long bar stretched out to the right where a bartender was telling a joke, using his hands and face for expression. The people sitting on the stools laughed in unison. She took a deep breath. Be adventurous. You can tell everyone you went into a real island joint.

  Yeah, like they’d believe her.

  She made her way to the bar. At least she had brought her one pair of shorts and a tailored shirt with short sleeves. She slid onto the padded stool.

  The bartender flopped a red napkin in front of her. “And what have you, miss?”

  What was it with the “misses” around this place? First Bailey, then Chris’s mimicked version and now the bartender. She realized that she’d been ensconced in her own little world where she was in control. No one there would dare call her Miss Lucy, nor would they ignore her. “I’ll have a frou-frou drink like that couple is having.” She watched him splash several liquors into a glass with the grace of someone who loved his job.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Miz Lucy herself hanging out with the locals.”

  Her heart lurched at the sound of Chris’s voice, but she attributed it to surprise and turned to the man at her left. She let her gaze drop from his curly hair to the tank top and jean shorts he wore. To cover what she hoped wasn’t appreciation in her eyes, she said, “So that’s what you look like with clothes on.”