by Kirk Adams
“Do what you can and I’ll finish the job,” Heather said as she looked to Jason. “Better yet, take Deidra and Joan two buckets so they can plant, then tell Sean to bring the rest. Between these guts and the sh ...”
“I mean,” Heather paused to rephrase her sentence. “between these guts and the dung in the woods, he can finish his makeup hours.”
“That’s a lot of malice,” Jason said with a frown, “from such a gentle lamb.”
“Beware the wrath of the lamb.”
“Can I take a bucketful to my garden?”
“Do the food fields first,” Heather said, “then feed your weed.”
“Thanks,” Jason said. “I owe you a bag.”
“You know I’ve never touched the stuff,” the teenager said, shaking her finger in front of Jason’s face.
“But it was a genuinely insincere offer,” Jason said as he picked up a dirty towel and started for the west village while Heather and John continued to work their fishing nets—catching nearly a hundred fish during the next two hours. It was a good run and only when the lengthening shadows cooled the water did the nets come up empty. Only then did John dump all remaining buckets of flopping fish into live storage traps for killing and cleaning the next morning.
It was as Heather and John folded nets and stored bait that Sean arrived to fill four empty buckets from fish guts heaped in the grass. As Sean departed carrying a full load of stirred offal (whose stench drifted toward the beach), Heather held her nose and shook her head.
“What he did to you stinks,” Heather said after Sean was gone. “You must hate him.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“I would,” Heather said.
“Deidra’s no innocent,” John said. “She’s more to blame than him. She’s the married one.”
“I hate what he’s done to Ursula.”
“I agree he’s been heartless to her.”
Heather looked at John. “Do you hate her?”
“Deidra?”
Heather nodded.
“I don’t understand her,” John said.
“Some women get desperate over children.”
“She knew a long time ago she’ll never give birth. I’m not the problem and Sean’s not the solution.”
John moved to a palm tree and Heather sat beside him. It was the young woman who broke a long silence.
“Would you take her back?”
“If it’d work,” John said, “I’d try. But it won’t.”
“You seem calm,” Heather said. “I was worse when I found out my parents were having affairs.”
“Only because ...”
John let his words die out and Heather didn’t press the point. There was silence between them—only birds chirped and gulls squawked.
A minute later John spoke.
“This isn’t the first time,” John said. “She cheated our second year of marriage. That was really tough; it killed something that never really came back. Everyone told me to give her another chance. It was a hard time for us from the first. Her family rejected her for marrying a white man and mine were upset I hadn’t married Presbyterian.”
After a long silence, Heather asked how they’d met.
“We were seniors,” John answered, “at a National Park Service internship. We lived together a few months to make sure, then married after grad school”—John wiped his face with outstretched hands as Heather put a hand on his shoulder—“but trouble came soon enough.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Heather whispered.
“You’re a nice girl, Heather. Maybe we should’ve adopted someone like you.”
“There are times when I’d like to be adopted. Can you divorce parents in Paradise?”
“You can’t escape your own flesh and blood.”
“Sometimes I wish I’d never been ...”
John cut her off mid-sentence. “None of us have been conceived in ideal circumstances or perfect families.”
“But I hate that ...”
John put a finger to Heather’s lips. “Hush,” he whispered, “or you’ll wilt before you bloom.”
Heather said no more as she watched John stow nets—his thick neck and thinning hair showing that a number of years had passed since he was a young man. She looked to her young breasts and narrow hips and blushed. She wasn’t old enough for him, good as he might be. When John told her to return to the village and keep peace with her parents, Heather did as she was told.
Kit dropped a bundle of grass sheaves and picked up what was left of her Saturday morning breakfast—a half-filled cup of coffee and a misshapen fruit pastry—as she watched Linh scoop hot coals into an antique iron. Linh blew away some ashes and latched the lid before putting the iron on a towel-covered oak plank sitting atop two stumps.
“I found it at an antique shop.”
“Very Amish,” Kit said.
“The Amish use cutting edge technology compared to us.”
“It is clever.”
“And it works well. I prefer permanent press but this’ll do for a wedding.”
“Just don’t burn a hole in the skirt,” Kit said with a laugh. “It’s my only one.”
Linh ironed out the wrinkles in a white skirt, then traded it to Kit for a blue blouse—which she ironed while Kit folded the white skirt over an improvised hangar made of a whittled stick and corded vine.
“Now for the honeymoon,” Linh said, setting the iron to the ground.
“Two expense-paid days,” Kit said, “on Big Motu Island. Only two hundred yards from Paradise.”
Both women searched through the bundle of loose grass.
“Find the thickest strips,” Linh said, “at least an inch wide.”
Kit and Linh each selected strips of grass and folded them over a cord of twisted green vines, each woman working from an opposite end. The grass was tied to the cord of vines and cut so that it stretched no more than the length of a forearm. Both women worked without talk until the final strips of grass had been joined.
When Linh asked Kit to try it on, the latter slipped behind a tree and soon returned wearing both the grass skirt and a sheepish grin—her left thigh was exposed. The skirt sat low on Kit’s hips, slipping below her belly button and dangling down her thighs.
“We need to add a few more strips,” Kit said.
“Turn around,” Linh replied.
Kit turned.
“It covers your hips completely,” Linh observed.
Kit faced Linh.
“Look,” Kit said, “at the opening on my left side. I’m able to tie the belt, but the grass falls a little short.”
“It looks like a slit dress,” Linh said. “I like it.”
“I don’t,” Kit said as she looked at the grass skirt. “I wore gowns to the Academy Awards that showed more skin than this, but it seems indecent here. In front of our neighbors and their children instead of strangers and cameras.”
“You’ve changed.”
“Or the style has. I’ve always been a slave to fashion.”
“Swing your hips.”
Kit rolled her hips and the grass swished around her thighs. Linh adjusted some of the grass strips before giving further instructions.
“Raise,” Linh said, “your arms over your head. Now do it again.”
This time Kit moved more rhythmically and let the skirt dance around her hips before asking how it looked.
“If Ryan jumps the altar,” Linh declared, “I might marry you myself.”
“Stop it, Linh!” Kit screamed a little. “Don’t say that!”
“Don’t worry,” Linh laughed. “I like men. Especially Viet.”
“I should hope so. He’s given you two children.”
“But it does look good. You look good. I wish I had your shape. Viet wishes I had your shape.”
“He ought to be pleased with who he has. Your hips haven’t an inch on mine—and you’ve given birth. Twice.”
“Still,” Linh said, “even nursing I’ve only half t
he bust you do.”
Kit turned red.
“The blushing bride,” Linh teased. “That ought to tempt Ryan long enough for a renewal of vows.”
Kit looked away.
“What’s wrong?” Linh asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re a bad liar,” Linh said. “Lies don’t suit you.”
”Ryan’s eyes,” Kit whispered as she crossed her arms across her breasts, “aren’t on me.”
“Viet’s are,” Linh said. “I guess they all look around too much.”
“Does Viet flirt?”
“Not if he wants to live to see our girls grow an inch taller.”
“There’s yet another reason to have children.”
Now Linh put her arm around Kit and asked what was wrong—though the former actress spoke only after a long while.
“It’s as if,” Kit said, “I’m not beautiful enough for him out here.”
“You’re the most beautiful of all,” Linh said, “even if every one of us could use a long day at the spa. Every woman on the island is poorly dressed and in desperate need of a perm. And a few need a shave.”
“Not me. I’ve got razors left.”
“For goodness sake, give one to Lisa. She has more hair under her arms than my husband.”
“Maria doesn’t.”
Linh said nothing.
“Ryan flirts with her too much,” Kit said.
“Have you talked to him?”
“He said,” Kit replied with a nod, “he’d tone it down, but he doesn’t really see the problem.”
When Linh asked what really was the matter, Kit observed her friend was more perceptive than Ryan—and Linh replied that mothers learn to prod for information while husbands strive not to notice anything amiss.
“I wouldn’t know,” Kit said with a shrug, “anything about mothers.”
“You’re still bickering with Ryan over a family, aren’t you?”
“He just won’t admit,” Kit said as her eyes tightened, “I’ve a right to my own children. I was as much to blame for what we did, but I wish he could see how much it hurts.”
“He’s not a woman.”
“That shouldn’t matter.”
“We all know it does,” Linh said, “and it’s silly to pretend otherwise. How can they know about the need for babies? For sons and daughters born of our own womb? They’re only men. The whole lot of them don’t share a single ovary. I’ve never met a single man who wanted to give birth.”
Linh gave Kit a hug before the actress slipped behind the tree to change back to work clothes. The women then added two strips to the grass skirt and set it aside before designing a matching grass top and a bridal wreath of shells and feathers. When their work was done, they collected their tools and returned to the supply tent—where they chose food rations and a bottle of liquor to stock the honeymoon tent that Viet had pitched between the camp and the beach. After carrying the food and clothing to the tent, they took a break that involved several swigs of peach schnapps.
When she returned home, Kit made Ryan promise to keep from the tent until they’d married since she didn’t want him to see her dress before the wedding—only two days away.
21
Love Lost—and Found
On Sunday morning, several neighbors sat in the mess hall watching Tiffany prepare a breakfast of pancakes and omelets—served with juice and biscuits dripping with toppings from the remaining bottles of honey and maple syrup. After first helpings were eaten, villagers hurried back for seconds. Even Ursula had a healthy appetite and drank an extra glass of goat milk. While their wives assisted Kit with wedding preparations, Brent and Viet talked with Ryan. Only Maria sat alone, frequently looking toward Ryan as she sipped her coffee and listened to the men talk.
“My second wedding,” Brent said, “was over before it began. No exaggeration. I said I do before I knew what I’d done.”
“Kit wanted the same,” Ryan said, “a quick fix she called it. But I insisted on giving her a proper wedding; it’s the only theater available on the island.”
“You ready for the big day?”
“I’ve got my best clothes pressed and Deidra’s giving me a haircut and shave after I finish here. Sean said he’d fetch my last bottle of champagne.”
“One bottle for all of us?” Brent groaned. “Is Paradise a dry county? We might as well be in the Bible Belt.”
“Not to worry,” Ryan said. “The champagne’s for me and Kit. We’ve saved vodka and rum for the rest of you. Along with half a bottle of good scotch. From my personal supply.”
“That’s more like it,” Brent said. “By the way, Tiff says Kit’s honeymoon dress is stunning. She says you’re marrying a goddess.”
“It won’t be the first time.”
“Are you taking a honeymoon?” Viet asked.
“John’s gone to bring a sailboat so we can cross to one of the motu for a little surf and sun.”
“How long?”
“A couple days. We can use the rest. And the privacy.”
“Very nice,” Brent said.
Ryan sipped his coffee—as did Brent and Viet.
“You nervous?” Viet asked after a time.
“Not really. I’m marrying my own wife.”
“Good point,” Viet said with a grin. “It’s like kissing a pregnant girl.”
Now Maria moved a little closer to the men.
“Technically,” Maria said as she looked at Ryan, “you’re not marrying your own wife.”
“Whose wife is she?” Ryan asked with a laugh.
“She’s single,” Maria answered, “and so are you. Your marriage is already dissolved.”
“No,” Ryan looked puzzled. “Today is the last day for renewals.”
“Actually,” Maria said, “yesterday was.”
“Kit and I went over this twice,” Ryan said, his voice a little strained, “and the decree was ratified Sunday afternoon. The fourteenth day comes between lunch and dinner today. That’s why we’re marrying before noon. To be sure.”
Maria turned to a circle of neighbors scattered around the campfire, most of them eating. She motioned toward two women. “Come here, Hilary,” she shouted. “Lisa, you too.”
Now the two single women joined the conversation.
“We’re talking,” Maria said, “about the marriage decree. To decide whether or not Ryan and Kit are making new vows or renewing old ones.”
“Of course they’re married,” Lisa said. “The renewal period is still in effect.”
“Is it?” Maria said. “That’s the point.”
“Let’s see,” Hilary said, “counting calendar days ... Sunday was the first day ... and Saturday makes day seven ... times two is fourteen.”
Hilary let out a little shriek.
“She’s right,” Hilary said, looking at Ryan. “I’m afraid you’ve been living in sin since midnight.”
Several villagers laughed, though Ryan wasn’t one of them.
“No,” Ryan said. “We passed the law Sunday afternoon and it’s still Sunday morning.”
Hilary shook her head. “Don’t you remember the by-law vote on committee service? We agreed to use calendar days for enforcing laws. That’s how we send delegates to committees. We couldn’t really have terms of service end at 2:58 p.m. on the mark, could we?”
Ryan’s eyes opened wide.
“Legally,” Hilary said, “your marriage dissolved at midnight. Last night.”
“That means we can’t marry for a month.”
The laughter stopped.
“Kit will be heart-broken,” Tiffany said.
“I’ve already announced we’re married,” Ryan said as his face reddened. “This wedding is just the celebration.”
“You announced,” Hilary noted, “your intent to marry. You made future promises, not present vows.”
Ryan threw his drink to the ground. Hot coffee hissed as it splashed against cool earth.
“Everyone,” Ryan declared, “
knows our intent. We can’t get tripped up on a technicality.”
“The will of the people is not a technicality,” Hilary protested.
“But you don’t understand?” Ryan said. “Kit refused to live with me before we married. Some damned promise to her dying grandma.”
“She’ll understand,” Maria said, “we all know you’re married in the States and you’ll be married here in a month. No one’s going to judge her.”
Perspiration beaded on Ryan’s face and he ran his hands through his hair. He looked panicked.
“If we don’t tell her,” Ryan said, “she won’t know. I’ll have a month to explain. We have to go through the ceremony today. Nobody says a word.”
“Secret adultery with your own wife?” Hilary said with a scowl. “I don’t think so. You’re free to do anything you wish with her. Nobody cares. But the law is binding—you can’t call yourself married for the next thirty days.”
“And what if we do?” Ryan said.
“Probably nothing,” Hilary said with an edge to her voice, “but it’d need to go to Executive Council for adjudication.”
“And perhaps the General Will of the People,” Lisa added.
“You helped to set the rules,” Hilary continued, “and you need to be a good model of sticking with them even when they’re inconvenient. If you of all people don’t, who will? The rules have to be played out. No changing horses midstream.”
“Listen to the girl,” Lisa said. “She’s become Katherine Harris.”
Almost everyone laughed.
Ryan took a straw poll of those at breakfast and found that the majority accepted Hilary’s interpretation of the law. Leaving an uneaten omelet at the table, he set out for his own tent.
“Wish me well,” Ryan said with a wince, “or I’ll be sleeping with one of you. I mean, in one of your tents.”
A couple men told him it’d go well, though none of the women spoke. Maria folded her hands in her lap and said nothing.
It didn’t go well. Within ten minutes, anger echoed through the camp. Neither Ryan nor Kit shouted too loud, but both pressed their case without fear of being overheard. Kit complained Ryan was stalling and Ryan protested his only motive was to provide a nice ceremony. His now ex-wife wasn’t placated and the distraught ex-husband soon returned to the campfire alone, announcing Kit intended to go away for a couple days and asking for help pitching a spare tent since he couldn’t live with her until they remarried. Sean volunteered to help, though he also asked if the party was still on. When Ryan agreed the food shouldn’t be wasted, Sean quipped that he’d sponsor Ryan’s bachelor party that night—though he was the only one to laugh at his joke.