“You’re right.” She wanted to tell him he was right for her, but the words just stopped. She kissed him passionately, convinced that loving an American man was much better than ever falling for a Spaniard.
“Tell me this,” she said as she picked her bag up and started walking toward the boat. “Do you still want to travel?”
“At this point in my life, I don’t want to go far. I want to stay put in my comfortable world, where I’ve already established close friends. That happens after one spends their growing-up years living with tribes in South America,” he said, and laughed. “I’ve had my share of adventure. Believe me, I was content when my parents decided to settle back in Mississippi. They reached a point in life where they needed to find a home. We’ve all left enough friends and family, moving from one place to the next.”
As she stepped onto the boat, a woman with a huge sword only half hidden in her partially open suitcase stepped off the boat.
“Evelyn, I didn’t think it was time for your days off just yet,” Vicki said. “It is, babe” replied Evelyn. “I’ve got swimming lessons.”
“You’re going to learn how to swim?”
“Something like that. You know the window in my room? The one that totally spooked me?”
“Yeah, the west window, the one facing the water,” said Vicki.
“Yep, that’s the one. I walked right up to it and dared myself to look out.”
“And?”
“I saw something new, something I never noticed before.”
“What?”
“Opportunity and desire.”
“So you’re going to learn to swim.”
“Sort of, babe. I saw a bunch of water, and now I’m ready to do something with it. I don’t have the time to stand here chatting. I gotta get going. Bye.” She rushed off.
“Bye.”
Vicki took her seat on the boat and blew a kiss to Ben. He waved, then turned and started walking toward his car. He didn’t wait for the boat to leave.
The Mississippi steamboat left. Every time it picked up a load of passengers in life and got to know them, it would have to drop them off again. She felt tempted to stay with it, to become the longest-lasting passenger it had ever had, but she knew she couldn’t. Soon she would be leaving for Spain, and the steamboat couldn’t make it to the Mediterranean Sea. Sure, steam-powered vessels do indeed cross the ocean, but the operating costs were high. The owner of this steamboat wasn’t willing to pay those costs. Only the submarine could go this time, and it would go solo. It needed to go much further than the rivers at this stage in its life.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CONNIE REPLACED EVELYN, WHO never returned after her days off. The others said she spent her last day on the island staring out her tiny attic window at the water for hours. The new waitress arrived on the island carrying an enormous, pale blue suitcase, the shade women wore on their eyes in the sixties. Denver was busy unloading new kitchen plates off the staff boat so Vicki showed the new woman to her room.
As Connie opened the trunk before her, Vicki paused in the doorway and stared at the contents. There was a condensed stack of T-shirts, each shirt identical but for its color, twelve pairs of rainbow socks tucked and rolled into balls, like cookie dough carefully placed on a pan, first aid supplies, including a box of smiley face Band-Aids, as well as perfectly folded dresses. It looked as if the woman spent days—perhaps months—planning, preparing, and packing the suitcase, as if drafting a will.
“I have never seen underwear folded that neatly,” Vicki said in awe. “It looks like you’ve brought nearly forty pairs.”
“Can’t go anywhere without clean undies.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what my mom used to tell me.”
“Then just call me Mom,” Connie answered as she unfolded navy-striped sheets and began tucking them into the mattress on her floor.
“Is that your teddy bear?” asked Vicki in amusement, as a worn, torn, stuffed animal fell from the folded sheet. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve got a tiger.”
The woman quickly picked the bear up off the floor, brushed sand off its nose, then held it close to her face, smelling it and rubbing its head. “Snuffy, oh Snuffy!! How did you get in here?”
“Either he felt left out when you were busy packing, so he hopped in when you weren’t looking, or you put him in there yourself but are in complete denial,” teased Vicki.
“Bedtime without Snuffy is awful,” Connie admitted.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, because you won’t get much sleep around here with or without Snuffy.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You are presently looking at the world’s most sleep-deprived woman. Believe me, I bet I’ll get more sleep out here than I’ve had in the last ten years combined,” Connie said, pulling a torn flannel nightgown from her suitcase and placing it under her pillow. “I’d love to talk more, but I better get myself to the restaurant. Ruth wants me to get started right away.”
It didn’t matter that Connie’s hips and behind carried a good fifteen pounds of extra weight and that she wore no make-up except for lip gloss. As she ran from table to table, she had every male customer falling in love with her the moment she laughed, and almost anything triggered her laugh. She had the resonant sort of sound that echoes across a room, making everyone wish they were over chatting with her. Her laughs exploded as uninhibited outbursts from the gut, and they were contagious. A single laugh ranged from high to low tones and came out sounding so friendly that it made Vicki re-evaluate her own laughing style.
Goodness, if only I could laugh that boldly, that boisterously, she thought. Every bit of stress shot right out Connie’s body every time she laughed. She used her forefinger to delicately wipe tears from her eyes, tears of laughter. Men laughed with her, even if they were sitting across the room.
“I can’t believe I’m out here,” she would tell every table. “I can’t believe I’m actually waiting tables on an island. Pinch me, someone. Am I really here?”
“Either you’re here, or there’s a ghost carrying that tray with our burgers,” one man joked.
“You pinch me first, and I’ll pinch you,” teased another.
“I like you. You’re certainly not taking paradise for granted,” noted another. “My rich, spoiled girlfriend went to the bathroom to powder her nose again. How about we leave her there, and you and I take off in my yacht? Something tells me you’d appreciate the beauty out there more than she does.”
Connie didn’t mind getting dirty and wore more food on her T-shirt than she carried on her trays. It didn’t matter. She had fifteen more shirts just like it, all primary dark colors. In the course of the day and into the evening she helped the cooks, several times, smelling the potato salad for spoilage and tasting the lemonade for sweetness.
“She is a well-balanced individual,” commented Ruth. “She handles a zillion tasks at once without slacking on anything.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Denver as he filled the kitchen basin with hot water. “She’s bobbing up and down, barely surviving. Buoys never sink. They bob. Yep, she’s a buoy. You just don’t see it.”
It was only her first day on the island, and Connie could take drink orders within one minute of customers sitting down. Even with a table of fifteen, she smiled her way through their shouting demands, as if she were a professional demand handler. She delivered appetizers in a timely manner, before delivering the lunches, and she picked up excess straw or cracker wrappers, dirty plates, and any other items cluttering the tables as the customers ate. The thing that amazed her coworkers the most was Connie’s ability to carry on a stimulating conversation with the guests she served, and she did so with a look in her eye, the kind that says “this woman has been sitting in a silent library one hour too long and is now absolutely craving discussion, the louder the better, with anyone.” People liked Connie and, like a boomerang, she liked them right back.
“Well, you’ve survived your first day and evening waitin
g tables on this mangrove out in no-man’s-land,” said Vicki. “Nice job.”
“I’ve done it. I’m actually here. I can’t believe it,” laughed Connie. “I think I like no-man’s-land.”
“Well, it sure likes you. Do you always have so many men flirting with you?”
“No, no. Oh, absolutely not,” she replied in an offended manner. “I have no intentions with these men, none at all. I’ll have adult conversation with anyone who feels like talking. Although, I admit, the attention does feel kinda nice.”
“Well, if you’re up to it, why don’t you join me on the chairs out in front? I’ll just be sitting out there catching my breath from the hectic night. It’s a nice way to unwind,” said Vicki after her last table walked out the door and into the darkness. “I’m taking a mug of hot chocolate out there with me. It feels a bit breezy tonight. Help yourself to some.”
“That sounds great, but maybe I’ll add a dose of Bacardi,” answered Connie. “I haven’t had a drink in, gosh, how many years? Do I dare? Should I have a drink?”
“I don’t know. Do you have a problem with it?” asked Vicki.
“Do I sound like I do?” asked Connie. “Because no, I don’t. I’m just a woman in need of a drink who has gone too long without, nothing more. Don’t make me laugh again. Gosh, last time I almost peed my pants.”
“Please, refrain. When your last guest is gone, meet me outside.” Vicki waved to the few stragglers hanging out at the bar as the aroma of prime rib from the kitchen followed her outside.
The white wooden chairs felt cold against her bare legs, and the night wind kept stubbornly blowing her hair wildly across her face, interrupting her view of the navy blue water with its bobbing boats. There were no stars, no clouds, and the moon was barely visible. Just black outer space and serene surroundings.
Vicki loved being outdoors, but she had never enjoyed it the way she did here, under the stars and on the water off the coast of Florida. She couldn’t remember ever closing her eyes while standing outside in Michigan, in the yard, or anywhere. Why didn’t she do this before? What does Michigan’s air smell like? What does it feel like? Do its stars differ from these stars? Does the moon look different from Michigan than it does here in Florida?
She regretted never taking the time to savor her own state’s environment and longed to stand outside in her yard in Saugatuck: to close her eyes, to smell, to feel, and to tear a leaf off a tree and hold it in her hand. She would do that when she returned. She promised herself that she would notice all of nature more, feel it and enjoy it. Even if it meant doing an angel in the snow, she would do it. She tasted the salty tang of the air as she took in a breath and felt the warmth of the night’s temperature on her arms. She looked up, saw no stars, then closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She could breathe.
“Vicki, that prime rib smell is like an aromatherapy treatment. My pores are eating it up.” The wooden screen door slammed behind Connie, then a second later it slammed again.
Two male guests left the bar in trail behind and took it upon themselves to join the women.
“We hope you ladies like history,” said one. “We love it,” said Connie.
“Speak for yourself,” Vicki said. “I’m more of a language buff.”
“Hi, I’m Hank, and this is George. We’re history professors, sailing for the summer, trying hard to keep our conversations off the subject of world wars, the Declaration of Independence, and the Great Awakening,” said the man, whose skin made him look as if he had spent the last thirty years swimming in a slow cooker.
“That’s right. Maybe you two can help divert our endlessly long discussion concerning the French Revolution as portrayed in a recent Hollywood movie,” chimed in George.
“Yes, you do need rescuing,” joked in Vicki. “So, which boat is yours?”
“It’s out that way about fifty yards. It’s a forty-foot sailboat.”
“We took a small inflatable dinghy here for dinner, and we’re anchoring right where we’re at tonight,” said the other as he downed his drink. “Hey, have you ladies heard of Spook Island?”
“Oh yes, actually, my customers talk about it all the time.” Vicki sipped her hot chocolate. “From what I hear, everyone who has ever tried getting there has run into difficulty.”
“Well, we think we know where it is, not too far from here. What do you say, would you two like to venture out and give it a try?”
“Stranger danger,” Connie whispered to Vicki.
“What did you say?” Vicki glanced at the woman sitting beside her. How could a woman who packed a bear named Snuffy and said things like “stranger danger” make it out to an island like this in the first place?
“On second thought, we’d love to discover Spook Island,” Connie stated loudly, with no fear. “Yes, we accept your invitation!”
“Are you crazy?” asked Vicki. “It’s black out there tonight.”
“Not with this flashlight,” offered Hank.
“How are we going to get there?”
“Our dinghy. It’s durable enough. Come on,” said George, setting his drink on the grass, then standing up to offer his hands to Connie. “Let’s not waste any time.”
“I’m game,” said Connie as she let the man pull her up from her chair.
“I don’t know, Connie,” said Vicki. “It’s late. Shouldn’t we find it during daylight?”
“Vicki, it’s called Spook Island. Any place with a name like that requires a night search,” laughed her newfound friend. Again, her laughter got completely out of control, and all four adults were totally engrossed in hysterics for about five minutes. The chorus of laughter allowed Vicki a moment to study and imitate its style, and no one noticed as her laugh started blending with that of her new friend.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Am I crazy? Am I really here?” Connie asked the others, now cramped in a rubber life raft made for two.
“You’re here, you’re here, for real,” three voices chimed together. Their flashlight lit only a small circle of the dark, rippling water ahead, and they had paddled about one hundred yards from Tarpon Key when the sky god, Zeus, tossed wind and rain at them. Cold waves splashed their faces and awoke Vicki to the realization of where she was and what she was doing. She felt a moment of panic as she glanced down at the black water that housed all creatures great and small, toothless and non-toothless, full and hungry, all down under.
“My toes are cold,” she said. “I’m thinking of dipping them in my hot chocolate.”
“Mind if I lick it off?” asked Hank, who, perhaps on purpose, but hopefully by accident, had just squeezed her behind.
“Ugh,” replied Vicki, glancing over at Connie to see if she had found that gross as well. The night was too black for facial expressions to be visible, and the gusty wind carried droplets of saltwater into their now burning eyes.
“Ugh,” she said again, in part because she wanted to clearly send the signal that she wasn’t at all interested in the history professors, and because she now felt cold, tired, cramped, and nervous about the men and the weather, which was like an unpredictable, unknown beast that showed up out of nowhere. How could she have been so stupid as to actually set sail for, no, to actually set dinghy for Spook Island with these two strangers, or as her new friend, Connie, initially referred to them as, “stranger dangers”?
“Connie?”
“Yes, Vicki.”
“Is your first opinion of people usually accurate?”
“Yes, always. My problem is that I never go with my gut reaction. Why do you ask, Vicki?”
“Never mind,” she said. “Too late now,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I think we had better reroute to our sailboat,” stated George. “Not because her toes are cold, but these waves are starting to hit us. Where did this come from?”
“I’ve got an idea.” Vicki massaged her toes where they stuck out of her sandals. “Let’s return to Tarpon Key and call it a night. Great attempt, but, h
ey, looks like our quest to discover Spook Island is triggering a mysterious storm.”
“We’re closer to the boat,” said Hank. “We’re not going to make it much longer in this dinghy, not with these waves and this wind.”
It was true. The sky had started out navy blue and progressed into black. The water had also started out as navy and now looked like wet tar.
“Take us to your boat, then. Safety is number one,” said Connie, still nursing her mug of hot chocolate with Bacardi.
“You’ve still got that drink? If it was a to-go cup, I’d say keep it, but that heavy mug is going to weigh us down,” said Vicki, only half teasing. Her other half didn’t like the ride any more.
“Toss the mug,” shouted Hank. “Take your last swig and toss.”
Despite the waves, the water splashing in their faces and weather arriving in an unknown manner, the group laughed as Connie downed the last of her drink and threw the ceramic mug overboard into the blackness. “I’m queen of the world,” shouted Connie with her arms up. “I can’t believe I’m here. What a change in routine.”
They made it to the boat, but, according to the radio, the winds gave no indication of dying down. “You’re history experts, so tell me,” said Connie as she sat cuddled in a blanket on the couch. “Did Pocahontas really save John Smith’s life?”
They discussed the fearless leader of the Jamestown colony captured by Powhatan’s Indians for a good hour as the waves swayed the sailboat, and it tugged and strained on the lines to its anchor below. With no sign of the wind calming, the men opened a bottle of wine, drank it, then opened another and another. The women each had one glass, but turned down the continuous offers after that.
“Let’s have fun now,” slurred George as he reached over and kissed Connie’s neck. “There’s not a whole lot of privacy here, but you women don’t mind.”
“You’ve got that wrong,” said Vicki.
“You sure do,” added Connie. Her tone became more authorative. “We’d like to go back to the island now. We both have to work early, and it’s well after midnight.”
Sanibel Scribbles Page 20