Caribbean Crossroads

by Connie E Sokol

  Megan scooted in her chair so that he couldn’t readily see her behind the small service counter and began making phone calls. She fought to cling to reason. Couldn’t make it to the wedding? Couldn’t call or connect during the past two weeks more than a hello? Couldn’t call her now to let her know that he was coming?

  He could wait.

  Megan repeated this in her mind like a mantra, trying to focus on paperwork and keeping a functional attitude, but finding herself sneaking looks into the foyer. He busily completed the application, the math problem expression on his face. Several times she fought the urge to run to him, hold him, tell him how ecstatic she was to see him. But deep down she knew this set the future precedent. How she handled his broken promises and poor behavior today would determine how he respected her down the road.

  Right?

  A full half hour later, Megan walked to the service counter and yelled out to the still empty waiting room, “Next,” and sat back at her desk.

  Bryant stood, stared at her, then stepped through the swinging door next to the counter and sat across from her at the desk.

  Megan reached for the clipboard and perused his papers. Okay, pal, I’ll play along until I figure out just what you’re doing.

  “So, why are you really here?” she said.

  “I told you, I’m looking for a job.”

  “That’s slightly humorous.”

  “I’m serious.” He still retained that knowing I-surprised-you look around his eyes, like a little boy who had scored something good. “What incredible job opportunity could I expect to experience, I mean, with your fantastic placement abilities?”

  “I’m not sure.” Megan fought again between reaching across and hugging him, and yelling at him for dissing his promise and making her worry like crazy. Was he really here for a job or was this a joke? And he had left the yard? For how long?

  As if in answer to her question, he sat forward, his blue eyes intense. “I’m here for one week, Megan—one week to see if I can make it work here.”

  “You mean, find a job?”

  “To make it work on both fronts.” He looked at her meaningfully. “If we can see this is real, outside of cruise ships and curtain calls, then we’ll know where to go from there, right? One week here. Then you can take a week off and come see how I live.”

  Megan stared, thinking through it. “I don’t know what to say. What about the yard, did you decide anything?”

  Bryant’s face darkened. “It’s taken care of. For now.”

  So he hadn’t decided on anything yet. Megan breathed slowly, trying to calm herself. Yes, he was here, showing how he felt about her. And it was a romantic and sweet gesture. But then again, what did one week do? It seemed more of the same, an unrealistic situation. Just like the cruise ship, being here for a week was temporary. Nothing solid, nothing solved. She wanted steady, sure, a plan. He’d had weeks on the ship to figure out a solution and still nothing. Then he canceled his first big commitment to her, unable to leave the yard. Then suddenly he up and leaves the yard in a grandiose gesture but without even talking with her about it. She wanted to think happy thoughts but Jackson was too fresh for her to ignore. This wasn’t the kind of steady relationship behavior she was looking for. Sandy beaches and Vista Decks were over, it was time to knuckle down to real life. But could he?

  She pursed her lips, tapping her fingers on the desk. “Well, let’s take a look, shall we? What exactly are your skills?”

  “I make a mean breakfast.” He raised his eyebrows playfully. “And give great Valentines.”

  She kept a straight face. “Fabulous. I’m sure the girls in hometown Channing, California, could tell me all about it.”

  His eyes narrowed but he only shrugged, missing her opening for him to apologize, or further explain.

  “Well, with those skills certainly there are loads of jobs perfect for you,” she continued. “However, the Chippendales calendar is already out, so let’s look at something a bit more challenging, shall we?” She scrolled her computer lists, passing up exec jobs, media prompter, etcetera.

  Bryant leaned back with his arm resting on the top of the chair, the arrogant smile on his face. “I think I can pretty much handle what little Harperville, Nevada, might have to offer.”

  In the blink of an eye, the way he sat in the chair, his confident air, Megan felt transported to those last moments with Jackson. Intuitively, she knew it was unfair, that the comparison wasn’t real. But it still stuck to her, gnawing at her doubts.

  Her cursor passed over a particularly unpleasant job title. Megan felt the beginning of an idea. “Aha, I think I have the perfect fit. Just fill out this paperwork.”

  “More paperwork?”

  “The blessing of honest toil.”

  Yes, she would give him the week, definitely. But not fluffy temp jobs and homemade dinners. She’d give him the reality of what “little Harperville” had to offer, and see if he could hack it, day in and day out. Deep down she desperately needed to know he was in it all the way, not just when it was pleasant or convenient, but when real life waited. He had said let’s see what it’s like outside of cruise ships and curtain calls. She couldn’t agree more.

  Megan realized he was waiting. “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Motel 6.”

  “By Lucky D’s casino?”

  “That’s the one.”

  She whistled softly. “You might want to pack something. I mean other than clothes.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He seemed aware she was softening, and did the wrong thing by smiling that I-know-how-to-get-you grin. “Better than a wedding reception, don’t you think?”

  “We’ll see.” She was back to business. Yep, that was men. Blow off not keeping a promise with a bit of boyish charm and a ride in to save the day.

  “Okay, be at this address by 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.” She handed him the paper. He took it without glancing at it, steadily smiling at her. Then nodding his head, he turned to go.

  Megan watched him leave, fighting not to run after him.

  We’ll see if you’re still smiling tomorrow.

  ***

  “Is this the right address?” Bryant said to the old woman at the door, surveying the decrepit street.

  “Oh yes, indeed,” she said, warbling cheerfully. “We’ve needed some insulation now for, oh, I don’t know how long. It’s right up here in the attic.” She opened the creaking door and told him, as they slowly trudged upstairs, that a “few things” needed fixing before they could begin the insulation.

  Walking into the five-foot-high attic, he realized at once he was in trouble. Chairs, boxes, trunks, and knickknacks of every sort filled the space. Add “moving man” to the job requirements, he thought wryly.

  “I don’t see a blower,” said Bryant.

  “Oh no, we don’t use those kinds of new-fangled things. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.” She smiled and patted his arm. “I’ll have some lemonade for you in a few hours.”

  Already the sweat broke out on his forehead. It was going to be hot, back-breaking work, all by hand. He thought of Megan, shook his head, and started moving the closest boxes.

  ***

  At 5:30 p.m., Megan pulled up to the old house. Bryant was covered head to toe with sparkling bits of insulation, obviously wrapping up a conversation with the homeowner at the door.

  Megan waited by his truck.

  “Hey, boss, a personal visit?” Bryant strode over to her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  She willed the flutters in her stomach to be still. “You need to turn in your time card each day. I thought this being your first day I would save you the trouble.”

  Annoyingly, his eyes sported an arrogant bring-it-on look. “Aha. Well, isn’t that nice, the boss thinking about one of her lowly workers. Well, seeing as you’re down here, wanna catch a movie? For employee morale and all that.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t date employees. But I’m sure other plans won�
��t be hard to find.”

  “What, around here?” Bryant gestured expansively at the broken down neighborhood. “This is a great place. There’s like one movie theater with three whole movies, it’s great. And if I get really bored there’s a Piggly Wiggly down the way—ice cream sandwiches, three for a buck.”

  “Sounds like your night is made.”

  “Oh, I’m set.” He stared her down, the challenging air still present. “Right after I pick out the small, burrowing pieces of insulation glass in the numberless pores of my skin. If I rub my arm just right, it feels really good, like a piranha is eating my limbs.”

  Megan kept a straight face. “Gee, that sounds like fun. Well, I’d better get going. I’ll put you down for eight hours, and here”—she tore off a white sheet and handed it to him—“is the address of your next assignment. Be there at—”

  “—7:00 a.m.?”

  “You got it. Thanks, Bryant.”

  “Anytime, Megan.”

  She felt him watch her leave, knowing he still wore that ingratiating smile.

  The next afternoon, although her work was finished, Megan found herself hanging around the office, just in case Bryant dropped by his time card. It was crazy to even think about it—literally crazy. She was giving him the worst possible jobs available in the greater metropolis of Harperville and Wells, Nevada, and still she was hoping he’d come by to see her? Yes. Because she had to know his staying power, his ability to commit.

  And deep down she knew it wasn’t just that. This was buying her more time to figure out where the two of them could go from here. With no signs of any major changes in his life—no settling down, no clear plan—it was just the same situation as on the cruise ship. What exactly was she looking for, then? She had no idea. Just something solid, decisive—something that said he had his life figured out and not just a quick fix or placating people.

  And yet, the Old Megan part of her knew she was being hard on him. It wasn’t his fault she’d experienced Jackson. Or her dad leaving. It wasn’t right to make him go through these emotional tests just to make her feel more secure. But, at this point, she didn’t know how else to do it. Trusting her instincts alone wasn’t working, hadn’t worked. She needed something solid to hold onto, something that said he was a sure thing before going any further.

  Sighing, she closed down her computer just as the doorbell jingled. She scooted out of her chair but smelled him before she saw him. Megan came from around her desk and saw Bryant standing in the reception area. His body was soaked in something all the way to his chest where an irregular horizontal line delineated the dry. Within minutes the stench completely permeated the room.

  “Just came to turn in my time card,” he said, holding out a piece of paper. Megan walked through the swinging door, holding her nose, and gingerly took the time card from him. She could have sworn he had smeared it on purpose.

  “I’m sorry, Bryant, you’ll need to leave. What you’re wearing is not clean office attire.”

  “Oh, okay.” In one smooth motion he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Still holding her nose, and without even acknowledging his ripped bare chest, she slowly walked to the hat rack and grabbed a large pink sweater with an even larger crocheted daisy on the front and tossed it to him.

  “A shirt is also required office attire.” She nodded for him to put it on. He stared her down for a few moments then swung it around his shoulders leaving his bare chest clearly seen.

  She deliberately folded her arms. “And how was the job satisfaction today?”

  “Oh, definitely a 10.” He stamped his foot, leaving a brownish residue on the carpet. “Sorry, there was something on my boot. Busted pipe in the sewer main, so Harvey and I went down in through the manhole, the two of us working on it, when it completely broke loose. Was a great day. Maybe even an 11.” He smiled and tipped an imaginary hat and walked out, pink sweater and all.

  Through the half-closed blinds, Megan watched him get into his truck and pull away, a smile tugging at her lips. Day two of worst possible jobs and he had stuck it out with no complaints. So far, so good. She grabbed the air-freshener and still holding her nose, used the other hand to spray a five-foot radius, trying not think about how much she missed him, and how ready she had been to say yes to a movie.

  ***

  Bryant arrived at 7:00 a.m. on the dot, exited his truck and groaned, deeply. Dozens of men in bright orange vests swarmed the US 93 like ants. The asphalt truck was already running, smoke and steam billowing from its enormous yellow belly. A bearded man with a sizable gut whistled to Bryant who was now walking in that direction.

  “Hey boy, are you the temp? Get your butt over here. You’re two hours late.” The man sported a wad of chew in his lower lip and spit flew each time he spoke. “You ever done this afore?”

  “Well, one summer we put in—”

  “Good enough. See that big guy over there, the one with the pants hanging off his butt? That’s Doley. He’ll get you raking the asphalt, and don’t give him any lip. Lunch is at two.” The man turned and hollered to the operator of the huge yellow asphalt paver.

  Bryant did as he was told, taking the orange vest and contemplating how much he cared for Megan.

  ***

  At five o’clock, Megan stepped out of her car and scanned the roadway for Bryant. Finding him, she walked toward the cluster of construction workers. A few whistled, which made Bryant glance and return to his work, then, on recognition, stand upright to look at her again. More whistles came but she remained impassive behind stylish sunglasses. She could have sworn Bryant turned and gave the guys a dirty look.

  He thoroughly watched her walk toward him.

  “Thought I’d pick up your time card,” she said.

  He stared at her. “It’s not 5:30.”

  “I know. I wanted to close up early today.” They both knew it was an excuse.

  “Carl, hold this, will you?” The man with a semi-toothless smile tipped his hardhat to Megan and said something to Bryant that made him shake his head.

  Bryant took her by the elbow and guided her to the side of the road. “You’d best stay out of the way. It’s mighty dangerous for dainty boss ladies such as yourself.” He knocked his hardhat.

  Megan smiled at him then surveyed the scene, her feelings soft, like her old self. He’d done the jobs she’d given him without a fight, and she could feel him showing he would do whatever was needed, and that he was sorry about his no-show presence the past few weeks. On the one hand it was ridiculous to put him through this and she hated needing so many reassurances. But she had promised herself not to get swept up in the emotion of loving against her better judgment. Living through the domino effects from her parents’ divorce was a constant, piercing reminder that love was better viewed realistically.

  “So, how was work today?” She looked up at him, taking in the blackish sweat rivulets running down his face.

  “This was a fun job. In fact, maybe my favorite. The toxic fumes, the way my eyes burned, and that warm, grilled feeling of being a chunk of barbecued chicken.”

  She bit her lip. “I wanted—we wanted to say—that you’re doing wonderful work. Sylvia—my boss—is really pleased with how, um, diligent you are. How dependable.”

  “Sylvia says, huh? I’m thinking that might mean a bonus is in order?”

  “Maybe.” A small smile escaped. “Something at the Piggly Wiggly. My treat.” She was officially extending the olive branch.

  Bryant tipped his head—grinning, understanding. “The Piggly Wiggly, huh? That’s what I call a class-act company.”

  He stood still, taking her in—she could feel his look almost drinking her up. Combined with his sweaty face and tall rugged frame—and knowing he was doing all this for her, making it up to her—made her feel attractive and womanly. Involuntarily, she smiled bright and full. Without hesitation, he reached down and kissed her generously.


  “Ew,” she said, finally laughing and pulling away from the tar and sweat.

  “That’s from a working man.” He winked and trudged back over to the roadway. “I’ll pick you up at 7, that’s p.m. And it’s an ice cream sandwich, so wear something pretty.”

  Megan couldn’t help smiling the entire drive home. It didn’t answer where to go from here, but that would come tonight.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Zucker’s Pond was famous for its man-made pool and nature-made 100-year-old oak tree. Under the sprawling branches overhead, Megan and Bryant ate sub sandwiches and laughed about childhood pranks. As he talked she watched his face—animated, relaxed, happy—despite the horrible jobs she’d sent him on. Megan sighed inwardly. He was amazing, so good, and yet something still held her back from fully trusting him, committing to him. What was it that didn’t sit right? Was she doing what Jillian had said, “sabotaging her happiness”?

  “What, do I need a car chase in here somewhere?” Bryant had been talking. He teased her but his face was serious.

  “No, I’m sorry, just thinking about—about life.”

  “In other words, I should have gone with the car chase.” He balled up his wrapper and tossed it in a big garbage can about 10 feet away.

  “Nice.”

  “That and $40,000 will get you a scholarship.”

  “So what happened with basketball?”

  “Sore subject.” He rested his arms forward on his bent knees. “My senior year, Dad kept me at the yard. My stats stunk—not enough practice time, not enough sleep, too much arguing with him about the whole thing.”

  “That was a long time ago, Bry.”

  “Of course it was, but he’s still back there,” Bryant said. “It’s all about the yard, like it’s another child or something. Although, to be fair, he’s hardly been there since I’ve been home, not that I’ve been home that long. He’s traveling a bunch, up to my Uncle Pete’s and some different places. Big surprise to me.”