Providence p-1

by Jamie McGuire

  Jared was all business. He seemed at ease giving orders and organizing the details of our flight, arrival and return. The men loading the plane worked fervently on each of his specific instructions, seeming to be afraid to make a mistake. When Jared spoke to one or a few, they listened with nervous obedience. He exuded control and leadership, and my heart raced in my chest.

  Jared turned around once to look at me, and I waved. His mouth turned up into a warm smile before turning away from me with the no-nonsense expression he used with the crew.

  I counted one large crate and three smaller crates. The luggage had been loaded, including an entire set belonging to Cynthia. My mother had never been one to pack light.

  I tried to suppress my excitement when Jared finished and began to board the plane. He trotted up the stairs in a crisp white button down shirt and jeans and walked down the aisle, breezing right past me.

  My expression compressed into a disappointed frown. Jared was going to insist on just being my protector during this trip. My first inclination was to cross my arms and pout, but I restrained myself so I wouldn’t have to listen to Cynthia lecture me on Jared’s priorities.

  Jared plopped down in the empty seat beside me and fastened his seat belt. He let out an exhausted sigh and leaned over to kiss me on the forehead.

  “It’s a lot more work when I’m by myself. I should have brought Bex,” he chuckled.

  I stared at him for a moment, concentrating on keeping my heart rate at a normal pace and my smile polite. I didn’t want him privy to the fact that I was giddy about him being as much my boyfriend on this trip as protector.

  “I’m impressed,” I smiled.

  “Is that what it was? I wondered why you were so keyed up. I thought you had developed a sudden phobia of flying.”

  I felt the blood rush to my face when the realization came as to why he had turned around and grinned at me from the tarmac. He could sense what I felt as I watched him.

  I feigned insult. “I’ve never been afraid to fly.”

  Jared’s expression turned dubious. “Impressed with what, exactly?”

  I shrugged. “Just watching you give orders and how they reacted to you. I haven’t seen that side of you. It was very…appealing.”

  “That’s what impresses you? Interesting,” Jared said, considering that for a moment.

  “Oh, it’s more than that. You impress me all the time,” I said, scanning his face.

  Jared leaned his head against the seat, staring into my eyes. He was clearly amused by the conversation. “Really? And here I thought I needed to work harder,” he smiled, leaning toward me.

  I leaned in for a kiss, but he took each piece of my seat belt and fastened it snuggly across my waist.

  I smiled and sighed, gazing out the window at the various crew members on the run way. I could feel Jared’s warm breath on my neck; he was looking out the window over my shoulder. The exhilaration I always felt before a trip mixed with the elation of being virtually alone with Jared for five days made it almost impossible to sit still.

  “Are you all right? Your heart is going to take off before the plane,” Jared whispered into my ear.

  “I’m just happy,” I said, still looking out the window.

  The pilot came over the intercom and spoke directly to my mother, telling her our position in line for take-off, the expected flight time and the current weather in Nicaragua.

  The plane pulled forward and we taxied to the runway. Jared grabbed my hand and interlaced his fingers with mine. He leaned his head against the seat and watched me with his light blue-grey irises, a content grin spanning across his face. I smiled and closed my eyes as the plane suddenly gained momentum. The fuselage shuddered and then transformed into a weightless, graceful vessel the second we left the ground.

  Jared informed me that from the big island, there would be a water taxi that transports guests to Little Corn, but the small boat wouldn’t be possible with the crates of expensive surveillance equipment. He’d contracted a larger water craft to take us over and arranged for a car to take us to Casa Iguana, where we would be staying.

  “Just a head’s up, you won’t see me for several hours when we first get there. I’ll be setting up a perimeter and situating the equipment. Cynthia’s reserved three cabins. She has the grand casita…”

  “Of course.”

  “…and you and I have deluxe casitas. They’re not bad for little cabins nestled in the side of a cliff.”

  “A cliff? Where’s the beach?”

  Jared smiled his patient smile. “Close. Just a two minute walk. The cliff cabins are more private. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “My guardian angel is with me. What could I possibly be worried about?” I grinned, kissing the corner of his mouth.

  He smiled at my words and continued. “It will take some time for me to get set up, so that should give you time to get unpacked and settled into your room.”

  “Three cabins seem wasteful to me. Why don’t I get settled at your place while you set up?”

  Jared shook his head, amused by my idea. “My place will be full of monitors and computer equipment. Not exactly a romantic setting.”

  “Aw,” I lilted, my voice sickeningly sweet. “You’re going to be romantic?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t say ‘aw’.”

  I giggled and leaned my head on his shoulder, settling in for the rest of the flight.

  We arrived on Corn Island in the early afternoon, and I began peeling layers. Two men, one shorter than I and the other as tall as Jared and twice as wide, met us just yards from the plane. Several other locals stood behind them, ready to work and a bit intimidated. I looked at Jared and couldn’t fathom why they would regard him in such a way. I had seen him look far more menacing than he did now.

  I quickly discerned that the two men standing in the front of the others were our drivers, and beyond them and the small workforce were their two waiting vehicles. A car that might have doubled as a taxi cab sat with open doors and a rusty, white moving truck waited for the crates.

  I waited for Jared to demonstrate his fluent Spanish, but to my surprise he and the driver conversed in the only language I understood.

  Once again Jared took charge, issuing orders and getting the crates and our things secured in the vehicles. I stood next to him this time, and I was more than pleased when he took my hand.

  “We’re ready, Mr. Ryel,” the short man said with a thick Spanish accent and a discolored smile.

  “The boat is waiting, correct?” Jared asked in a commanding, dispassionate tone he’d never used with me.

  “Yes, yes. The boat crew will take you to the Little Island and has been given instruction. You will be quite satisfied, Mr. Ryel. You and the wife will have a happy time.”

  I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as the small man nodded to both of us with a grin so wide it made his eyes close. Jared squeezed my hand, pulled it up to his mouth and pressed his lips to my fingers, keeping my hand against his chest. His eyes turned a bit softer as he thanked the man and handed him several American bills.

  When we went on holiday during my formative years, I loved to pretend. I felt I could be whoever I wanted when we left Providence, and of course Jack encouraged my fantasies. Mostly I was a princess; a few times I posed as a famous ice skater, and once I was even an up and coming young actress. With my father keeping drivers and assistants, it was easy to appear as someone important. Letting the locals think I was Mrs. Jared Ryel was by far the best role I’d ever played on vacation. I righted my posture; I was flattered by what was being assumed and wanted to portray my part to perfection.

  Forty-five minutes after we left the wharf, our boat pulled next to another dock, and the fresh hands of the boat crew went into action. Instead of pacing back and forth, they walked down the sand-covered pier to a trail, continuing around a corner past the thick, lazily bent trunks of native palm trees.

  We followed the same path the crew had taken to
another set of aging vehicles. Jared informed me these were two of just a handful of automobiles on the island. That fact came to light when I noticed some of the inhabitants straddling their bicycles and staring at our caravan with minor curiosity.

  The morning had disappeared and evening quickly approached by the time I had settled into my room. At first glance, I was wary of what I would find inside, but once I climbed up the steps of my whimsically painted bungalow, the inside was spacious and clean. Palm trees surrounded my temporary residence, and I noticed Cynthia’s casita peaking out of the trees to one side of me, and Jared’s on the other.

  I splashed my face with water and changed into the turquoise maxi dress I had bought a week before just for the trip. I tied the halter around my neck and chose a pair of sandals from my newly organized closet.

  I plodded over the dirt trail to Cynthia’s cabin and found her already on her spacious veranda reading one of the many books she’d packed. She wore a large brimmed hat and square shaped sunglasses, her legs stretched across an adjacent chair, properly crossed. Even in her remote casita, she remained a lady.

  “Hello, Dear,” she said, laying her book pages-down in her lap.

  “Hi, Mom. How’s your cabin?” I asked, taking a seat beside her.

  She leaned toward me and smiled. “It’s beautiful. And yours? What do you think about the island?”

  “My room is great. I’m not sure about the island, yet, but I’m sure it’s going to be… interesting. No cars, no jet skis, no phones, no Wi-Fi, collected rain for water…not exactly what I imagined when you said you wanted to vacation in the Caribbean.”

  “I’m sure you and Jared will find something entertaining to do. There’s snorkeling, fishing, and so on. Take care not to burn,” she said, returning to her book.

  I took that as my cue to let her be. I strolled back to my cabin and decided to continue my walk, following a trail that led me to the beach in minutes. I gasped at the sight of it. The fishing boats on the horizon, the clear water and the Technicolor clouds were beginning to glow blues and yellows from the descending sun; it all would have been the perfect shot for a postcard.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” Jared said from behind me, folding his arms around my waist.

  I leaned my head against his chest and stared out onto the ocean. “I think it’s the company more than anything,” I said, relaxing into his arms.

  He pressed his lips against the bare skin of my shoulder and I smiled at the warmth left behind. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

  I turned around and slipped my arms under his and tightened them around his middle. He was still in his crisp white shirt and jeans, but his sleeves were rolled up and he had changed into a pair of casual sandals.

  “Why didn’t you correct the driver when he called me your wife?”

  He grinned. “I guess I just liked the sound of it so much I couldn’t tell him he was wrong. Did it offend you?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. I’ve always liked to pretend on vacation.”

  Jared raised one eyebrow, amused. “Are you royalty this time or an award winning actress?”

  “Neither,” I laughed. “Apparently this trip I’m Mrs. Jared Ryel.” The words rolled off my tongue like I had spoken a beautiful foreign language. It felt strange to say the words together, yet it was familiar somehow.

  Jared’s eyes brightened. “Well…pretend if you like. There’s only so much longer you can do that.”

  I frowned. “Don’t remind me. Only five days left and we haven’t even started, yet.”

  “I didn’t mean for the remainder of our trip, sweetheart. You can’t pretend to be Mrs. Jared Ryel when you are Mrs. Jared Ryel.”

  “Oh,” I said, processing his last sentence.

  He looked down at me with the softness in his eyes that he reserved only for our sweetest moments. I took in a deep breath and let a broad grin spread across my face. As talented as I had become over the years at false impersonation during vacations, I couldn’t pretend not to be overwhelmingly besotted by his sentiment.

  “What do you say we walk down to the village?” Jared suggested. Sliding his hands down my arms, he took a few steps backward and pulled me along with him.

  “I say yes,” I chirped, still high from the euphoria I had felt just moments before.

  At a leisurely pace, Jared and I walked hand in hand down a dirt road — it wasn’t even a road, really, more like a double path that had been worn by bicycles, scooters, and the occasional vehicle.

  We approached a fork in the path that bore a sign directing us to the nearby village.

  It wasn’t long before the small huts and aluminum buildings of the village came into view. There were clusters of locals at each one conversing and watching us walk past. Some were smiling at us and some were eyeing us indifferently before returning to their various conversations.

  I didn’t see a single tourist shop, although there were craftsmen selling various items.

  We entered a hut that appeared to be a combined blacksmith and jewelry stand. Jared watched me look over the rings, necklaces and ear rings, some with shells, some with gems, although roughly cut and not one of them held with prongs or soldered. One ring in particular caught my eye. The band was silver, and at first glance there seemed to be tiny shells fastened to it in decoration, but when I looked more closely, I could see the two dozen or so miniscule gems appeared to be rough, uncut diamonds fastened to the ring with a tiny wire.

  “You like that one?” Jared asked.

  “It’s very unique,” I said, still staring at the indentations of the band.

  The man held it closer for me to see. “This is real silver,” he boasted proudly. “We hammer it…see here?” He pointed to the indentions in the band. “Polished by hand and hardened in the tumbler. The diamonds are hand-fastened with the wire. Ten gauge wire, see…?” He made a show of rotating the ring to show how secure the diamonds were. “Made right here,” he beamed. “Very beautiful. You try on?”

  Jared smiled patiently to the vendor and held out his hand. The man placed the ring into Jared’s palm and he lifted my hand, sliding it on my left ring finger.

  “It’s a little big, but it fits,” he approved, looking up at me from under his brow.

  “It’s beautiful….” I trailed off, eyeing it for a brief moment before taking it off. “Thank you. Have a nice day,” I said, nodding.

  I wasn’t sure what expression was on my face, but Jared chuckled and shook his head. His arm hooked over my shoulder and he pulled me affectionately to him, kissing my cheek. He was remarkably different in this place than in Providence. The clouds in his eyes had been noticeably absent since we’d boarded the plane in Rhode Island, even while he dealt with organizing the crews and getting us and our things to each point in the journey. It was a nice change from the turmoil and angst he usually dealt with concerning our relationship. If it were even possible, I had fallen in love with him all over again.

  We meandered to the end of the road, which consisted of four more brightly colored sheet-metal huts, two on each side. Some of the locals had congregated on one side playing their various instruments. The music was a lively blend of Latin and Caribbean, and it seemed to float in the air perfectly with the heat and humidity. Jared led me to where they were gathered and we watched them clap and play. They smiled at us as we approached, and then the man strumming the guitar gestured with a nod behind us. We turned to see an older couple from the other side of the street march to the beat until they were in the middle, and then they danced together.

  Another couple joined them and then the guitar player cleared his throat to draw our attention. He nodded again to the street and spoke again, this time to Jared.

  “You dance? Take your wife to dance!” he urged with a smile, gesturing again with a nod out to the other couples.

  Jared smiled and looked down at me. “Would you like to dance?”

  A sudden feeling of nervousness came over me, but the eager expressi
on on Jared’s face made it impossible to say no. He pulled me to the center of the dirt street and twirled me around to the beat of the music. We danced for several songs, laughing as the people around us clapped and cheered. Jared effortlessly spun me around the improvised dance floor. My dress fanned out with every turn and my sandals kicked dirt against my legs. Soon I was breathless, but Jared didn’t seem to be remotely tired.

  As the sun set the music slowed, and Jared pulled me close. My mind flashed back to the first time we danced at the pub, and I remembered what it felt like to be that close to him when he was all but a stranger to me. Just a couple of months later, we were in a foreign country, on a tiny island in the Caribbean Sea, dancing together in the middle of a dirt laden street among strangers, posing as husband and wife. Although both instances would be moments I would forever regard as precious, Corn Island was magical.

  Once the song was over and the beat picked up again, Jared pulled away from me with an apologetic smile. “It’s going to be dark soon and you’ve had a long day. We should head back.”

  I heaved a resigned sigh, pulling my mouth to the side in disappointment.

  “We’ll come back,” he assured me, lacing his fingers in mine as we waved goodbye to our new friends.

  “Yes! You come back! We’ll play more music for you!” the guitarist said.

  Jared walked over to him, shook his hand and pressed a twenty in his palm.

  “Thank you. We had a wonderful time.”

  “No problem! You come back anytime!” The man smiled, even more animated than before.

  We waved again before returning the way we came. Once we passed the fork in the road, Jared scooped me up in his arms.

  “You don’t have to carry me,” I said.

  “New shoes?” he asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “They’re rubbing against your toes. You don’t want to get blisters your first day here. We have a lot to see, yet.”