“And are you expecting a band of merry pirates to invade anytime soon?”
“Probably not,” Holly admits, taking her hair down and shutting off the bathroom light. She’s wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of underwear as she carries her phone out to the lanai and sits down in the dark.
“Okay, I don’t want to downplay your distress, Mayor, but what’s the big deal here?” She can hear River’s doorbell in the background. “Sorry, it’s only eight o’clock here, so I’ve still got trick-or-treaters,” he says.
“Awww, I used to trick-or-treat when I was a kid,” Holly remembers fondly. “Emily and I would dress up together, and my grandpa would drive us from house to house to collect cookies and cupcakes and stuff from everyone on the island. One year we dressed up like princesses, which was basically just us in oversized ball gowns and as much costume jewelry as we could wear on our wrists and around our necks. Emily’s mom put lipstick and mascara on us, and we thought we were movie stars.”
“I bet you two were adorable,” River says, his words slightly muffled as he opens the door and hands out candy. Holly can hear small voices shouting “thank you!” before he shuts the door.
“Any cute costumes there?” She puts her feet up on the table, listening to the sounds of the night in the thick trees around her house.
“Let’s see: fireman, a bumblebee, and some sort of superhero.”
“Batman? Wonder Woman?”
“Nah, someone with yellow face paint, goggles and a blue cape. I lose track of what’s cool.”
“Are you sure it was a cape? It sounds like a Minion.”
“Huh. I guess I’m a little behind on this stuff, because I have no idea what a Minion is.” He pauses and they sit in silence for a few seconds. “So what else is happening on Gilligan’s Island? All of this anxiety can’t be just because of the show.”
Holly chews on the inside of her cheek. “Today I was checking everyone in at the B&B, and when I looked out the window, I saw Cap hanging a sign on the cigar shop.”
“I’m listening,” River promises. “I’m just handing out candy again while you talk. Go.”
“It said: CAP DUNCAN FOR MAYOR—VOTE FOR THE MAN WHO HAS NO PLAN,” she says flatly.
“What does that mean? Is it time for you to run again?”
“I ran uncontested the first time, and no one has challenged me in the three years I’ve held office. But Cap’s made no secret of the fact that he hates having the reality show filming here, so I’m guessing his disapproval is what’s behind this.”
“But ‘the man who has no plan’? How is that supposed to entice voters?”
“I’m not even sure he really wants to win. I think he wants to stir things up while the crew is on the island. Or maybe my mother talked him into it. I don’t know.”
“Your mother?”
“She still wants to sell the island, and I wouldn’t put it past her to cook up some plan to make me look bad in front of the TV crew and the rest of the islanders.”
“Hmmm, maybe. But how would her getting Cap to run against you work in her favor?”
“She’s a master manipulator—the grand poobah of the mind game. She probably thinks that if I feel like people are against me, it’ll ruffle my feathers and I’ll give up. Trust me on this one—it’s a real possibility.”
“That seems like a long shot, but…I guess you know her better than I do.”
“Don’t kid yourself. I’ve probably spent less than an eighth of my life living under the same roof as Coco—her mailman knows her as well as I do. I just know how she operates.”
“Huh.”
“Huh, what?” Holly stands up and walks into her kitchen from the lanai.
“It’s just foreign to me, but I’m not judging.”
“My relationship with my mother?” The light from the open fridge is the only light in the room. Holly peers at the paltry display of contents on the shelves before closing the door again. “I’d judge the hell out of it if I were anyone but me, so don’t worry about it.” Holly opens and shuts the cupboards in quick succession, making a face at the lack of anything edible in her cabinets. “Listen, I didn’t eat lunch or dinner today, and I’m starving. But I have exactly zero morsels of food in my kitchen right now, so I might need to drive over to the B&B in my pajamas and raid the fridge.”
“How do you have no food?”
“Things have been crazy this week and I forgot to order groceries.”
“Maybe the triplets will open the store for you and let you grab a few things,” River offers. There’s the rustle of paper on the other end of the line, followed by chewing.
“I’m sorry, are you eating right now? My cupboards are bare, my stomach is growling, and my boyfriend is eating in my ear. Unbelievable.” Holly stands in the laundry room, sifting through the clothes in the dryer that she hasn’t had time to fold in the past three days.
“I’m eating a mini Snickers bar so I can turn off my porch light and put an end to these goblins ringing my bell for the night.”
“You’re eating the Halloween candy so you don’t have to give it to children?” Holly’s words come out choppy as she bends over to dig through the dryer for a pair of shorts.
“I am. And I’m also wondering if I heard you right. Did you call me your boyfriend?” he asks around a mouth full of candy.
Holly is holding a pair of faded yellow running shorts. She slams the dryer door with her bare foot, realization dawning over her. “I think I did.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “I think I like it.”
She smiles, clutching the shorts to her chest as she resists the impulse to do a happy dance in her t-shirt and underwear. “Okay. I mean…okay.”
“Okay. Then I guess we have that settled.” There’s another awkward pause. “So let me check my schedule and see when I can get down there again. I’ve got a fishing competition in Montana in November, and my kids are playing a baseball tourney in Seattle right after that, but I’m sure I can squeeze something in.” River is a former minor league ball player for the Mets, but since a career-ending shoulder injury a decade ago, he’s made his living in fishing competitions around the country. In his spare time he volunteers for a non-profit organization that sponsors and coaches sports teams for foster kids, an endeavor that warms Holly’s heart.
“I’m ready for you to get here right now,” she says, pulling her shorts on over her hips and tying the waistband while she holds the phone between her shoulder and ear.
“You got it, girlfriend.”
“Wait,” Holly holds the phone with her hand again while she searches the living room for her flip-flops. “Is that ‘girlfriend’ as in girl-who-is-a-friend? Or ‘girlfriend’ as in, you know…”
“I think I hear the doorbell again. Call you tomorrow?” There’s amusement in River’s voice as he dodges her question.
“Oh, fine. Go give them the rest of what’s in your candy bowl and then turn off your light. I’ll be down at the dock camping out until your boat arrives.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you later.”
Holly is still holding the phone in her hand when she hears a knock at the door, and she opens it without even looking through the window.
“Hey,” Fiona says. She’s standing on Holly’s porch in a tank top and a skirt, face washed clean of make-up, hair pulled back from her forehead. “You’re still up. Good.”
“Of course I am. It’s Halloween and I’m waiting for trick-or-treaters.”
Fiona barges through the front door and pulls her best friend into a concerned hug. “We didn’t really get to talk at the bar. Are you okay?”
“I’m starving, but other than that, I’ll probably live.” Holly gives Fiona a squeeze and lets her go.
“Don’t you have anything to eat?”
“No, I’m headed to the B&B on a food extraction mission. Wanna come?”
“You’re going to rob your own business?”
“
I like to think of it as borrowing against future revenues. Or like I’m being paid in dinner rolls and Perrier. Kind of reimbursing myself for unpaid time and labor, you know?”
“Hey, you had me at dinner rolls. Let’s go.”
The pink paint of Holly’s golf cart is so bright and shiny that even in the dark it gleams hotly under the moonlight. She unplugs the cart from its electronic docking station and they climb in.
“Were you at Buckhunter’s?” Holly clicks the accelerator pedal and releases the park brake.
“I just came back with him so that I could see you. I wasn’t going to stay over there.” Fiona places the bottoms of her flip-flops against the dashboard.
The warm night air blows through their hair as they pull onto Cinnamon Lane, and the sound of cicadas singing in the thick trees and bushes surrounds them. Holly’s headlamp cuts through the dense black night, casting a soft glow for a few feet in front of the cart. The island feels so much more desolate and remote when the sun goes down, in spite of the major infrastructure work that Frank and Jeanie Baxter accomplished in the twenty-five years they owned the island. When they’d moved Holly there as a toddler, Christmas Key had been no more than a mound of dirt with palm trees and a mosquito problem. But with love and perseverance, they’d managed to pave and gravel several roads, run electricity, schedule phone service, a mail boat, and bi-weekly supply deliveries for the island. It had been a massive undertaking for two middle-aged people—and even more work as they’d aged and their health had failed—but Frank and Jeanie Baxter had done it, and in the process, they’d created a home and a paradise for their young granddaughter.
Holly snaps her fingers. “I know, let’s make pancakes!” she says, her body arched forward over the steering wheel as she squints into the darkness.
“Ooooh, breakfast! Do you have bacon?”
“I think we have sausage. And we need to scramble some eggs.” Holly swerves around a pothole she can’t see but that she knows from memory is there.
“I didn’t even realize I was hungry,” Fiona says. “Maybe all that rum masked my hunger.”
“Or it’s after midnight and we’re already craving hangover food.” Holly slows down as she crosses over from the sand and gravel of Cinnamon Lane onto the paved road of Main Street. The B&B is on her left, and she turns into the lot carefully, driving under the street lamps whose posts are wrapped in orange and black tinsel for Halloween. Soon the fall decorations will come down, and the usual Christmas ones will go back up.
“Do you think the crew is asleep?” Fiona whispers as they park.
“Maybe. Let’s sneak in through the side door just in case.” The gate to the pool deck opens with a metallic squeak, and both women wince like cartoon burglars trying to break into a bank vault.
“Shhhh!” Fiona hisses, slipping off her flip-flops and holding them in one hand. “Don’t wake them up—I’m not sharing my pancakes with anyone.”
Holly holds one finger to her lips as they tiptoe down the short hallway that leads past the B&B’s back office. The darkened lobby is lit from the outside where the street lamps from Main Street spill in through the huge picture window, bathing the wood floor and the bamboo of the front counter in light.
The wide hallway that leads to the kitchen is dark, save for the dim wattage coming from the conch-shaped wall sconces. Holly and Fiona eke their way through the swinging door to the kitchen, letting it settle on its hinges before Holly finally turns on an overhead light. They stand there in silence for a beat, watching one another as they wait to see if anyone stirs.
“I think we did it,” Holly whispers gleefully. “Let’s pillage and plunder.”
“You are a true pirate, my friend. A rebel. A rogue,” Fiona says. “I admire you.”
They work quietly and in sync, moving around one another with ease as they pull metal mixing bowls from shelves. Fiona grabs a carton of organic eggs, a vacuum-sealed package of spicy breakfast sausage, and a quart of milk from the industrial-sized refrigerator.
“Will you turn on the griddle?” Holly calls across the kitchen in a stage whisper, pointing at the flat plate nestled beside the gas range on the stovetop. “The cooking spray is in the cabinet.” She flings her hand to point at the cabinet while she’s still holding a spatula dripping with batter. “Oops.”
“You can’t leave a trail of batter, Hansel,” Fiona laughs quietly. “They’ll know we were here!”
“Okay, Gretel,” Holly says. “But we might never find our way home.”
“Or it might not matter, because we’ll eat until we can’t breathe and then pass out on the dining room floor anyway.”
“Good point. How are the eggs coming?” Holly asks, nodding at the bowl Fiona’s been cracking eggs into.
“Fine and dandy. I can handle the eggs, Baxter. You focus on the pancake batter.”
They work together in companionable silence, piecing together their midnight breakfast.
“Should we eat in the dining room?” Fiona asks, holding her plate and a bottle of maple syrup.
“It echoes when it’s empty,” Holly whispers. “We could eat in the office, I guess. It’s far enough away from the guest rooms.”
“Do you think Bonnie would take kindly to finding dried syrup on her desk in the morning?” Fiona points out.
“I think she would not.”
They look around the kitchen, hands full of food and silverware. “We could hit the lights and sit over there by the window?” Fiona nods at a giant rectangle of moonlight covering a section of the tile floor. She walks across the room and uses her elbow to turn off the light. “See? That’s a good spot.”
Holly looks at the hard floor, unconvinced. Finally, she shrugs. “I’m too hungry to care. And I’m exhausted. Let’s eat.”
They sit on the clean floor and make an imaginary table between them by setting up the syrup, salt and pepper shakers, and a bottle of Tabasco sauce on top of a red-and-white gingham kitchen towel. The light from the bright, full moon is broken only by the palm trees swaying beyond the window pane.
“So how did today go—other than the Cap thing?” Fiona spears a three-layer bite of pancake that’s dripping with syrup.
“It was pretty good. They crew is here. They’re settled. We’ll see.”
“You don’t sound overly confident, friend.” Fiona looks down at her plate as she holds a sausage in place with her fork, using the other hand to cut it with her knife.
“I’m just worn out, Fee. Cap caught me off guard, and Jake joining the cast of this reality show is messing with my head.”
“But why? Cap will get maybe two votes if he goes through with this, and we’ll survive without a police officer for a while. I mean, let’s be honest: it’s not like Jake has a full schedule of cop duties to attend to everyday. He mostly drives around and drinks coffee with everyone on Main Street.”
“True. But I’m nervous anyway.”
“What’s to be nervous about?”
Holly jabs at her eggs so hard that the tines of her fork scrape across the plate. “All of it. Strangers on the island. The filming process. How they’ll make us look on national television. Whether or not it will actually help us in the long run.”
“Oh, is that all?” Fiona picks up the syrup, unscrews the cap, and pours it over the remnants of pancakes and sausage on her plate.
“And the Cap stuff is annoying, too. He made a crack a couple of months ago about me being a kid—something about me running off and playing Barbies instead of being mayor. It was dumb, but it stuck with me.”
“Oh, honey, he’s totally gas-lighting you. He’s making you doubt yourself. Trust me—I’ve been through this.”
“When?”
“Remember the ex-boyfriend I never want to talk about?”
“Yeah.”
“He used to buy me drugstore perfume when he could have easily afforded to spend a few more dollars. He’d tell me that if I finally became a doctor someday, the lab coat would cover up all of my
best assets. And one time I asked for a subscription to a medical journal for my birthday, and he got me a subscription to Us Weekly instead.”
Holly drags her fork around in the puddle of syrup on her plate, listening.
“Do you see my point? He was telling me I wasn’t classy enough for Chanel No. 5. He wanted to make it clear that my brain wasn’t my best asset, my boobs were, and I was a woman and therefore should have been more interested in gossip than medical journals. But he was very stealth about it—sometimes I didn’t even realize he was beating me down. Classic gas-lighting.” Fiona puts a huge bite of pancake and sausage into her mouth.
“I see what you mean,” Holly says, thinking back to the things Cap has said to her recently. “Remember the time Cap came to the village council meeting and reamed me in front of everyone? That kind of shook me, too.”
“Exactly my point. You’re letting him rent space in your head for free, so knock it off.” She puts a forkful of eggs into her mouth and chews. “Hey, are you gonna eat that sausage?”
Holly holds out her plate; she isn’t as hungry as she thought she was.
Fiona eats the sausage and then takes the plate and stacks it on top of her own empty one, setting both aside on the tile floor. “I think we need to kick back and enjoy the moon.”
“Right here?” Holly glances around. The floor is shiny and smells like lemons and soap, but…it’s still the kitchen floor.
“Sure.” Fiona stretches out her short, muscular legs. She’s about five inches shorter than Holly, and her small frame is compact and toned. Freckles cover all of her extremities, and her strawberry-blonde hair falls in waves around her shoulders as she leans back on the cold tile. “Oooh, chilly.” She smiles at Holly. “Come on. We need to let this food settle for a minute anyway.”
Holly hesitates before putting her legs in front of her and rolling her spine out slowly on the cold floor. She takes a deep breath and gazes out the windows at the huge, glowing moon.
“You miss him, huh?”
“Who?”
“Silly girl—River.”
“Oh, yeah. Him.” Holly turns her head so she can see Fiona’s face. “I called him tonight and asked him to come for a visit soon.”
Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two Page 4