“Let’s get you a clean goblet, mate,” Dunk says in the most patronizing way possible.
The Penfolds Shiraz is heavier on the tongue, thicker; it’s the consistency of ink. Everyone is watching Cash as he tastes. Even Tilda has swiveled toward him.
“Notes of goose fat,” Cash says. “And the rain in Spain. And Russian interference in our elections.”
“Now, now,” Granger says. “No politics at the table.”
“It’s a joke, Dad,” Tilda says. She rolls her eyes. “An old, tired joke.”
Is it old and tired? Cash wonders. Because he thought it was their joke.
As soon as their entrées arrive and they all toast “to the next step,” Granger says, “I guess it’s time to talk particulars about what that next step is. Cash, you need some background about the meetings that Tilda and Lauren and I have been holding with Dunk.”
Dunk has the short rib in all its gorgeous, umami glory in front of him but he makes no move to eat. “I bought Lovango Cay, the island just across the way from Cruz Bay, and I’m partnering with Granger, Lauren, and sweet Tilda here to build an eco-resort. We’re thinking of selling off a number of lots for private homes, and then we’ll build both hotel units and glamping tents. We’ll have a world-class restaurant and a beach club with an oceanfront pool.”
“That’s ambitious,” Cash says.
Tilda bubbles over like a glass of champagne. “It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted. And Lovango is the perfect location. We’ll run ferries to Red Hook and Cruz Bay, but because it’s a separate island, it’ll have built-in exclusivity.”
“A boaters’ paradise,” Granger says.
“We’ve needed a destination like Lovango for a long time in the USVIs,” Lauren says. “Just think about all the people who spend their money at the Baths and Jost and the Willy T.”
“Yeah—I mean, you’re right,” Cash says. Tour stops in the USVIs versus the BVIs is another topic he knows something about. “I had a woman the other day who booked a trip on Treasure Island with her husband and their kids but she forgot her passport and couldn’t go.” Cash drinks some wine; he wonders if he has blue teeth like everyone else at the table. “We offer our USVI itinerary only once a week, and it’s never as popular because there aren’t as many destination stops.”
“You work on Treasure Island?” Dunk says. “I guess I should apologize. I make a bit of a habit out of bouncing you blokes around in my wake.”
“What’s the name of your boat?” Cash asks, though he fears he already knows: the Olive Branch.
“Olive Branch,” Dunk says.
Yep, it’s the sixty-five-foot Sundancer that not only routinely buzzes by at top speed but also cuts Treasure Island off. James, the captain, hates the Olive Branch.
“The boat is named for Dunk’s dog,” Tilda says. “He has a harlequin Great Dane.”
“We love Olive,” Lauren says.
Cash turns to face Lauren. She loves Olive? Is this the woman who doesn’t do dogs? “Harlequin Great Danes are…quite a breed,” Cash says.
“It’s not a dog,” Granger says. “It’s a horse!”
“She’s so sweet,” Tilda says.
“That face,” Lauren says.
They have obviously all met Olive and fallen in love with her—after casting Winnie out onto the street. Cash stares at his mahi. It’s a beautiful piece of fish, and the pan sauce is probably heaven, but Cash can’t eat. He’s furious with Tilda for not telling him that Duncan was coming to dinner. This is why she was being so extra with her outfit and sparkly makeup—it’s all for Duncan. She has already met with him, maybe with her parents or maybe alone, but when Cash asked about her meeting last week, she claimed it was top secret.
Dunk says, “I guess my question for Cash is, what position are you qualified for? Do you have any management experience? What do you do on Treasure Island?”
“I’m the mate,” Cash says. He holds Duncan’s gaze, just daring him to smirk. Cash wishes he’d chosen a different shirt, one that makes him look less like Gilligan. He’s tempted to throw his napkin on his plate and leave. He doesn’t belong here. But he likes the idea of an eco-resort on Lovango. Treasure Island passes Lovango Cay every day, coming and going. It’s just sitting there, beautiful, lush, undeveloped, filled with potential. What a great opportunity to build something from the ground up.
“I’m a Colorado guy, actually,” Cash says. He nods at Dunk’s T-shirt. “I saw the Revivalists at the Mission Ballroom before they hit it big.”
“Cool, cool,” Dunk says. “I saw them in Austin. Great show, probably best show I’ve seen in a while.”
“Duncan, eat something,” Lauren says. “You haven’t touched your food.”
Tilda glares at her mother and mouths, Mom, stop!
“I’m a people person,” Cash says. “I enjoy the interface on Treasure Island, and I’m good at it. Before I moved down here, I taught skiing in Breckenridge.”
“Love Breck,” Dunk says. “We’ll have to talk about that after we get into the whiskey.”
Cash relaxes enough to take a bite of mahi. His mother might have caught this fish.
“We’ll find a place for Cash,” Granger says. “I’m already conferring with engineers about the desalinization plant. We greased the palms we needed to grease for the permitting.” Granger leans forward. “How much time can you take off work, Til? Will the restaurant shut down if you’re away for a week?”
“Ayers owes me a bunch of shifts, so, yeah, I can probably take a week. Why, are you flying me to Napa?”
“I’d like to send you on a reconnaissance mission,” Granger says. “Island hopping. Three high-end resorts. I want a report on everything from the kind of ice they serve in their cocktails to the brand of toiletries in the bathrooms to the temperature they keep their fitness centers.”
“Oh my God,” Tilda says. “Can Cash come?”
“Obviously your mother and I would feel more comfortable if you weren’t alone,” Granger says. “And we have to be in LA next week for work.” He pours Cash the last of the Shiraz. “What do you say, Cash? Can you swing it?”
A week away? Cash thinks. He would be a fool to turn the opportunity down, but he’s the only crew member on Treasure Island right now. Whitney in the office and the boat’s owners, who live on St. Croix, are desperately looking for someone else. Any warm body will do; all they need is someone without a criminal record who can pass the required drug test. But even if they do miraculously find someone, Cash won’t be able to leave for a week. Ayers is too sick and exhausted to come back, and she has seniority; she shouldn’t have to come back because Cash wants to skip like a stone across the Caribbean.
“I can’t,” he says.
“But—” Tilda says.
“I just can’t leave them in the lurch, Til. You know that.”
“Dedication,” Granger says. “Personal integrity. Frankly, if you’d said you could go, I would have wondered if you were the right person for our project.”
Cash drinks what’s left of the precious wine. He’s passed a test.
“I can go,” Dunk says. “I have zero personal integrity.” He laughs. “Kidding, of course. But I am free and I would love to put my eyes on a few places, gather some intel.”
Cash opens his mouth to protest. Does Dunk understand that Cash and Tilda are dating?
“Great idea,” Granger says. “Til, is that okay with you?”
Say no! Cash thinks.
“Sure,” Tilda says.
The drive home is tense. Cash isn’t sure what to say. He and Tilda have been together a couple of weeks. They haven’t said I love you; they aren’t even close to that. They’re still in the gaga-infatuation stage, which was, admittedly, rushed along a bit by Cash’s circumstances. But he likes Tilda. A lot. They’re exclusive. They’re living together. So what will happen while Tilda’s gone? Is Cash going to just stay in her villa as she’s gallivanting around the Caribbean with another guy?
; “Thank you for being so cool about this,” Tilda says, which is rather ingenious of her because Cash is not feeling cool at all. “If it puts your mind at ease, I’m not attracted to Dunk—like, not even a little bit. He’s too intense.”
Intense. She’s making this sound like a flaw, but is it?
“Who is he?” Cash asks. “How does he have the money to buy an island? He’s my age. Do his parents have jack?”
“He hasn’t mentioned parents,” Tilda says. “He was born in Australia, moved to the States when he was twelve…”
“Twelve?” Cash says. “Wow, he really milks that accent.”
“I believe accents develop when you learn to talk,” Tilda says. “Why are you being ungenerous?”
“I’m not,” Cash says, though he is.
“Dunk is self-made, he’s built and sold a couple of companies, and now he does real estate down here. He has a palatial home out in the East End. It’s bigger than my parents’ place—six buildings, including a pool house, two guesthouses, a gym, a theater, the whole enchilada. But as far as I know, it’s just him and Olive.”
“So he’s single?” Cash says. “No girlfriend? Aren’t guys like him required to run around with the supermodels from Fyre Festival?”
Tilda doesn’t laugh.
“Is he…gay?” Cash asks. If Dunk is gay, Cash can relax. Somewhat.
“No idea,” Tilda says. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in him. I’m interested in you.”
Cash finds little comfort in these words. It sounds like Tilda has been to the villa in the East End. When did that happen and why didn’t she tell him? And how to explain the makeup and sexy outfit? She didn’t get all dolled up for her parents.
“Did you notice he didn’t eat his dinner?” Cash says. “Not one bite. He asked Jena all those questions and then he didn’t even touch it. He told me he was taking it home for his dog. That short rib cost forty-five bucks. Who does that?” Out of all the uncomfortable moments at dinner, the worst was when Jena dropped off the check and Dunk and Granger fought over it. It felt like a test of manhood, one that Cash couldn’t even pretend to compete in. He’d just looked on with Tilda and Lauren while Dunk and Granger threw down their credit cards, which were radioactively glowing with money.
“He fasts,” Tilda says. “I mean, he drinks, obviously, but he goes for days at a time without solid food.”
“What?” Cash says. He thinks about living in the East End, which is within shouting distance of Lime Out, and denying himself the pleasure of a rum rib taco.
“It’s a willpower thing.”
“He sounds like a sociopath,” Cash says. “Be careful while you’re away, please.”
“I’ll text and call and we’ll FaceTime every morning and every night, and when I get back, we’ll skinny-dip at Hawksnest and go to the pig roast at Miss Lucy’s and get drunk one night at Skinny Legs and do all the things we haven’t done as a couple yet.”
“I’ll miss you,” Cash says. Tilda is a beacon for him, and a buoy. They have gotten so close so fast, he can’t imagine a week without her.
“Awww,” she says. “You’re sweet.”
Cash perks up a little. “The project sounds amazing. I’m honored your parents are including me.”
“They would do anything to make me happy,” Tilda says.
Cash doesn’t love the implication of this statement—that Cash’s involvement on Lovango is due solely to his relationship with Tilda. If Tilda comes home from St. Lisa or St. Roger and announces that she’s fallen in love with Dunk, Cash will be heartbroken, but will he be out of luck on the project as well?
Yes. If the whole mess with Cash’s father has done nothing else, it has prepared him for the worst.
Baker
Every now and then, when Baker is sitting by the pool at the Westin watching Floyd play with Aidan/Nicholas/Parker/Dylan/Maddie/Eli—it’s a revolving cast of best friends for the day when you live at a hotel—he wonders if things are really as bad as they seem. The room—garden-facing with two queen beds and a balcony that is off-limits to Floyd—is five hundred bucks plus tax plus resort fee plus service charge, which is obviously a lot. But if Baker can ignore his mounting bill, he’s able to appreciate the fine weather and all the amenities on offer—the pool, an excellent gym, daily housekeeping, the playground, kayaks and paddleboards, a private beach featuring a water trampoline, and a plethora of organized kid-centric activities, like movie nights and ice cream socials. Temporarily, anyway, Baker and Floyd are living the life.
The villa is gone. Russ was laundering money using offshore accounts and shell companies to hide profits for some of the most evil human beings on earth. According to Irene’s lawyer, Russ’s is the name that shows up most often on the incriminating paper trail, and his boss, Todd Croft, is claiming Russ and the third principal, Stephen Thompson, masterminded the illegal underbelly of his legitimate business without Croft’s knowledge. This assertion is outrageous. And yet, what does Russ have to recommend him in the way of personal character? Zero, zip, and zilch. He had a second family—a mistress, a love child. Plus, he’s dead and not able to defend himself.
Baker’s determination faltered for a moment when he and Floyd arrived and he heard the news. He checked into the Westin thinking he would have to turn tail and run back to Houston. He couldn’t make a life here without a place to live and without a car. Anna had agreed to let him bring Floyd down only because she had seen the villa—and even then, she had expressed reservations.
The second Floyd fell asleep their first night at the Westin, Baker had taken a cold beer (thirteen dollars for a six-pack of Island Hoppin’ IPA at St. John Market, which was nearly the same price as a single beer from room service) out to their balcony and called Anna. She was, technically, still his wife, and she would forever be Floyd’s mother, and Baker couldn’t hide their reduced circumstances from her. He figured Anna would insist they return to Houston or else make a plea for Baker and Floyd to move to Cleveland, where she and Louisa would be living.
But Anna surprised him. “First of all, you need to know it wasn’t me who sent you that text,” she said.
Louisa and I have some concerns about you uprooting Floyd.
“Louisa stole my phone,” she added.
“Sounds like you’re finally in a healthy relationship,” Baker said.
“Please stop,” Anna said. “Weez was concerned. Once I tell her the villa is gone, she’ll go ballistic.”
“You do realize that Louisa isn’t Floyd’s parent,” Baker said.
“I do realize that,” Anna said. “Which is why I’m not going to tell her.”
Baker took a nice long pull off his beer. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was talking to his wife. “Thank you.”
“I never expected you to move to Cleveland with us,” Anna said. “But the job offer was too good to turn down. It’s the top job in my field in the whole country.”
“Anna, I get it. I’m proud of you. Floyd is proud of you.”
“Since I’m chasing my dream, you should too,” Anna said. “Give it a try down there. You have a lot of potential, Bake, and it’s gone untapped for a while now. Put Floyd in school, then follow your passion.”
“I’m supposed to be coaching,” Baker said. “Which pays approximately five dollars an hour. So I’ll need to find something else.”
“I believe in you,” Anna said. “You’re a hands-on, involved father, an eleven out of ten. Maybe I didn’t tell you that as much as I should have.”
You didn’t, Baker thought.
“You’re incredibly smart and you’re wonderful with people.”
“Not as wonderful as Cash…”
“Every bit as wonderful,” Anna said. “The two of you always claim to be polar opposites, but you do share similar strengths—and shining in social situations is one of them. You both have a magnetism. People gravitate toward you. All those mothers at Floyd’s school, for example. They love you.”
“Well, thanks,” Baker said. He was surprised at how this little bit of validation boosted his spirits. He’d assumed Anna left him because she thought he was a slacker, weak and useless, good for nothing except taking care of their child, a job that she felt was beneath her.
“Just remember that this isn’t the end of the world,” she said. “Ischemic heart disease—now, that’s the end of the world.”
“You’re right,” Baker said. Anna saved lives every single day. Losing a villa that wasn’t his to begin with fell into the no-big-deal category.
“I’m getting an absurd signing bonus at this new job,” Anna said. “I’ll wire you half in the morning. Buy a Jeep. And rent a place, something comfortable.”
“Oh, Anna, I can’t—”
“Sure you can,” she said. “You helped me get where I am. You were the wind beneath my wings.” She cracked up in a way that was very unlike her. “And, yes, I have just had a glass of wine.” She sighed. “Kiss Floyd for me.”
The next morning, there is a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in Baker’s bank account.
The wind beneath her wings, he thinks. Hot diggity dog.
His first order of business is to buy a Jeep. Why not ask right there at the Westin? They have a rental-car concern that must have turnover. And yes, sir—he scores a 2017 four-door soft-top bluebird-colored Jeep Wrangler with 1,200 miles on the odometer for half its original price.
Next up is getting Floyd settled in school. Floyd had loved the Gifft Hill School when they’d visited and Maia was there to show him around, but this, of course, is different. This is for real. Floyd is now the new kid; he doesn’t know a soul, and it’s the middle of the school year.
Floyd takes getting ready in stride. He protests about the shower but submits and then eats four bites of Cheerios. (They have been eating like paupers. Baker bought Cheerios and milk, a carton of OJ, a loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter, a package of hot dogs, and a twenty-four-pack of ramen noodles at St. John Market, and even those low-end groceries had cost him thirty-five dollars. It has been a week in his life that he’s not anxious to repeat.)
Troubles in Paradise Page 11