“Hey, I forgot about the long knee socks with the Bermuda shorts. It’s a good look,” Abby said. “Maybe you should get a pair of socks, Sam?”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he teased. “I might buy a whole case of them in different colors.” Lee laughed and tried to picture her friend’s husband in knee socks, unsuccessfully. Even professorial Sam wasn’t quite that nerdy.
Eventually Lacey came up to join them. Lee noted the small constellation of freckles that had taken up residence on her daughter’s nose. It reminded her of when Lacey was little and they’d spent hours at Folly Beach, Lacey piling sand into her pail, her fair skin turning darker by the minute, her hair bleaching in the sun. Those had been blissful days. Lee turned to her now.
“Doesn’t it seem like you have to be happy if you live here? Almost like it’s required?” She fanned an arm out around her daughter. “I mean, look at this place. How can you be depressed when the stores are the color of sherbet?”
“I think you’re right, Mom.”
Lee glanced at Abby and grinned. She was secretly thrilled by her daughter’s affirmation and mentally filed it away as a win. After the college discussion, when Lacey had clomped off, they seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement. So long as Lee steered clear of college and careers, her daughter was willing to remain in her company. Sometimes (it depended on the hour, of course) Lee even allowed herself to think Lacey might like her again. That it could be like old times. Still, Lee knew she shouldn’t hold her breath. She was like one of those comic book characters with a little bubble floating above her head. One that inflated or deflated depending upon her daughter’s fickle moods.
“So,” Lacey began, unlocking her arm from Lee’s, “when do you think we can find an Internet café?”
Lee sighed. Such a fragile bubble.
She knew her daughter had been living in adolescent purgatory, severed from the Internet and her boyfriend for four excruciating days. Every time Lacey complained—about a million so far, if Lee had to guess—Lee had pointed out that people used to write letters to each other. You know, the kind on paper, she’d amended when Lacey had stared at her blankly.
“I don’t know, Lace. As soon as we see something,” she said, trying to hide her irritation. “Why don’t you grab a postcard while you’re at it? You know, reach out to Tyler the old-fashioned way?”
Lacey groaned. “That is so lame, Mom.” And she scurried off to join the boys ahead.
Abby cut a sideways glance at Lee. “Stop being so lame, Mom,” she mimicked.
Lee smiled but felt a skewer of longing. She didn’t like to think of herself as one of those parents who struggled to fill the hours in the day when her only child went off to college. In truth, though, Lacey’s leaving had been harder than she’d expected. The days went by quickly enough—her job kept her busy. But the nights were lonely, and Lee had been looking forward to spending some quality time with her little girl this week. Easier said than done.
She and Abby crossed over to the shady side of the street, where a souvenir shop with a wooden sun nailed to its front door lured them inside. Thanks to a blasting air conditioner, the store was an icebox. Lee made her way through the rows of assorted island bric-a-brac. There were miniature bottles of rum with recipes for rum cake; conch shells, their pink insides polished to a fine sheen; dish towels stamped with pictures of the beach; and woven baskets filled with wooden pirate swords.
A number of their fellow cruisers seemed to have stumbled onto the tourist haven as well, and Lee squeezed past a small crowd to reach the books along the back wall, where she pulled out a photo journal of the island and thumbed through its pages. Gorgeous pictures of the water and pink beaches stared back at her. The album, she decided, would make a nice addition to her coffee table back home.
As she wound her way through the aisles to pay at the register, a familiar voice called out.
“Lee!” When she turned, she recognized him immediately. His face was more boyish than she’d remembered, one eye slightly more narrow than the other. “Hello, there,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t expect to bump into you off the ship.”
It was Thomas. Thomas, whose room she’d slunk away from without so much as leaving a note. Whom she’d avoided seeing on the boat since. She’d been embarrassed to think how blithely she’d followed him back to his room. And, if she were being completely honest, she didn’t remember a whole lot about that night. There had been drinks, heavy petting, followed by sex. She was pretty sure it had been good. But now here he was, standing before her fully clothed, with two young women who appeared to be his daughters.
Lee tugged at the hem of her shirt self-consciously. She felt exposed, a similar feeling to the time she’d gone to bed one night and had mistakenly left the garage door open, all her junk and trash in plain view for the neighbors to see.
“Oh, wow. Hello,” she said. “Funny running into you here.” Her eyes darted to the girls, who looked from her to Thomas and back to her, their foreheads pulled into tiny lines. “These must be your daughters.” She held out her hand.
“Yes, let me introduce you to Tyra and Heather.” Thomas’s eyebrows knitted together, as if he were trying to get a read on Lee’s takeaway from the other night. His girls were pretty, tall with long dark hair, around the same age as Lacey. Lee noticed a small tattoo darting around Tyra’s shoulder.
“I’m Lee. Very nice to meet you. Your dad couldn’t stop talking about you two the other night.”
“Dad, we told you not to bring us up when you’re on a date!” scolded Heather.
Thomas chuckled. “The girls insist I have a knack for scaring women away.”
The taller daughter nodded. “It’s true. He isn’t used to dating. We apologize for whatever he might have said. He usually talks too much about himself.”
Lee laughed. “Don’t worry—he wasn’t that bad.” She winked at Thomas, unsure why she was pretending to share a secret camaraderie with him. Her eyes skimmed the store for Lacey, who appeared to have vanished into thin air. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My daughter was here just a minute ago, but I’m afraid she’s gone off to look for an Internet café.”
“Oh, I don’t blame her. We almost died without it on the ship,” Tyra said.
Thomas folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “Almost died? Such hyperbole from this generation.”
Lee smiled, wary of entering into another family’s generational fray. “I’m pretty sure my daughter feels the same way.”
The cashier rang up the book and handed Lee back her credit card. “Well, it was nice bumping into you,” she said.
“Yeah, it was great to see you again. Hopefully, I’ll see you back on the ship.”
Lee offered a wave over her shoulder. It was all she could do not to tell him that hopefully, in strict usage, meant “in a hopeful manner.” It would have been better to say, for instance, “I hope I’ll see you back on the ship.” But Lacey was constantly telling Lee to stop correcting people’s sloppy grammar. Apparently, it wasn’t an attractive quality for a single, out-of-shape, fortysomething mom. Still, old habits died hard for a reason, didn’t they?
Later, she and Abby caught up with Sam and the kids, a block further down at the Color of Joy Café. It struck Lee as a fitting name for an island café, and if it was meant to convey the look of adulation on her daughter’s face when they walked into the store, then the color of joy was spot-on. Lee approached Lacey, who clutched her phone.
“Finally! I feel like I’m living again!” exclaimed Lacey. Sure enough, tiny fluorescent bars danced along the top of her phone. It occurred to Lee that her daughter was like a drug addict who’d been denied meth for too long. She was finally getting her fix.
“Sweetie, you have been living these past four days.” Lacey’s eyes flitted to her for a split second, then back down to her cell. “This other stuff?” Lee continued, undeterred by her daughter’s disinterest, “it’s all an illusion.” She teleg
raphed a look at Abby, who shrugged as if to say What’s the point? while Sam went to order their drinks.
Was the irony really lost on her daughter? Lee wondered. Here they’d been sailing the seas, feeling every brush of wind and slip of sunshine, living in the moment, and only now, in this dinky café while she checked her texts and e-mail, did Lacey feel truly alive? It verged on the comical. No, there was a better word for it—shameful. That’s what it was. Had Lee done nothing to teach her daughter the value of experiencing the real world?
Abby pulled Lee aside to help with the drinks. “Hey,” she whispered at the counter. “Don’t be so hard on her. Remember when we were her age? Remember what it felt like to be in love?”
Lee shook her head. “Not really, I’m afraid.”
Abby’s eyes fluttered. “Oh, yeah? What about Tim Coughlin? Remember him?”
At the mention of the name, Lee felt her face grow warm. She hadn’t thought of Tim in years. He’d been her first crush in college, during freshman year, and she’d made Abby stalk him to ask if he’d go out with her. Turned out he already had a girlfriend. “I totally forgot about him,” Lee said. “You’re right. I was crazy in love with him.”
Abby shrugged again as if to say, See? “Don’t worry. It’s just puppy love.” Lee nodded and gratefully accepted the iced coffee that Sam handed her. She hoped her friend was right. As her mom had been fond of saying, If the creek don’t rise . . .
“Speaking of which.” She grinned wickedly at Abby. “Guess who I just bumped into at the souvenir shop?”
13
Caroline kept reminding herself that maybe this was it—maybe the moped adventure was part of a larger undertaking. Though, she’d assumed that if a proposal was forthcoming today, it would have already happened at the Swizzle Stick Pub or in the depths of the Crystal Caves. Now that would have been a proposal to tell her roommates about. And then we were walking across a bridge surrounded by these stalactites that have been growing for hundreds of years—it looked like a cathedral of organ pipes—and Javier got down on one knee . . . Except at the moment, Javier was driving around the island like a lunatic, and Caroline was clutching her arms around his middle, holding on for dear life. They were headed back to the ship. It was hard to imagine when or where he might squeeze in a proposal now.
She dug her fingers into his stomach. She’d never liked motorcycles—or any of their brethren, for that matter. Every time she shouted to slow down, though, Javier screamed that he couldn’t hear her. Caroline wasn’t sure if it was the actual words he couldn’t make out or if he just didn’t care to listen. She was beginning to worry it might be the latter.
Their waitress and bartender at the Swizzle Stick had plied them with all sorts of information about the island, and if Javier wasn’t going to propose today (which was looking more and more likely), then Caroline wanted to tap out some notes before she forgot everything they’d told her. She was confident that she had the beginnings of a strong story in her Bermuda piece. Now if they could just make it back to the ship alive.
After endless zigs and zags, the ship’s hull came into view. Javier pulled up alongside the booth where they’d rented the moped earlier this morning and, as if to signal a victory lap, gave the engine a final rev. Caroline allowed herself to breathe. Javier held the bike for her while she unstuck her bottom from the sweaty leather seat and hopped off. She felt as if she’d been riding a horse for the last half hour. Her stomach rocked. Her hair was a witch’s nest of tangles, and she worked to shape it into a ponytail with the spare elastic that was twisted around her wrist.
On the pavement she did a funny little dance, stamping her foot up and down.
“Foot fall asleep?” Javier asked.
“I guess.” But Caroline couldn’t bear to look at him. The truth was—she was mad. Mad that Javier had insisted on renting a moped rather than hitching an air-conditioned taxi ride like any normal tourist would have done. “It’ll be fun,” he’d promised her, the same refrain he’d used when he wanted to go snorkeling. Mad that she’d been fooled again into thinking that today might be the day. She could kick herself! For a smart woman, Caroline was amazed by how incredibly gullible she could be.
Javier took her bag and amiably slung it over his shoulder, while she rested her hands on her lower back and began to rotate her trunk in a slow swivel, not caring how she looked. She twisted a second time, left to right. The thing was, when they were in New York and Javier suggested doing something outside her wheelhouse, it was almost always fun. But here on this sun-soaked island, she was starting to feel as if Javier and she were experiencing two separate vacations. The “space in togetherness” that she’d been coveting earlier had tilted toward pure separation. He was clearly enjoying the adventure of their getaway while Caroline was so focused on getting a proposal that she could barely think about anything else.
She made a final swivel and exhaled. Javier grinned. “Better?”
“Not sure.” She wasn’t willing to give him even that much. Maybe she was just tired and dehydrated, but it felt like something more. She’d been beyond patient with him. If these last few days were meant to be a tease leading up to a proposal, then she’d had enough. She felt deflated, completely defeated. “Please don’t make me ride on one of those things ever again,” she snapped.
Javier stared at her, surprised. “Okay? I thought it would be fun.”
“I know you did,” she said. “And it wasn’t.” They walked back through check-in, and Caroline gratefully accepted the cool, damp towel and small cup of water that the porters offered her.
“You look like you might want to rest?” Javier was still holding her bag while they waited in line for the elevator.
“Yeah, I think I’ll head back up to the room.”
“All right.” He hesitated, as if uncertain whether he should follow. “Maybe I’ll go look for the others, then?”
“Fine.” She held out her hand for her bag just as the elevator doors pinged open. “I’ll catch up with you later.” She was only too happy when the doors slid shut.
Back in the room, Caroline showered, changed into her sweats, and stretched out in her favorite yoga position—child’s pose. The cabin was so small that there was barely enough space, but if she angled her body just so—her arms reaching under the desk—she could manage. Deep breath after deep breath. Wasn’t there at least one fight in every happy vacation? It was good for her to let off steam, she reasoned. But she was done with tiptoeing around the marriage topic. Enough! She resolved to talk to Javier later today. Either he was in this relationship one hundred percent—or he was out.
Armed with a plan and a steady breath, she felt her blood pressure drifting back toward normal. She lifted her head and pulled her body upright into a sitting position. After a few more soothing breaths, she climbed onto the bed, turned on her notepad, and began to write.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. “Hi, do you mind if I come in for a minute?” Lee asked when Caroline propped it open.
“Of course not.” Caroline stepped aside. “What’s up?”
“It’s Abby.” Lee went over and sprawled out on the bed. “I’m worried about her.”
“Huh.” Between Javier and her article, Caroline hadn’t given a single thought to Abby. After all, they were on the cruise to celebrate Abby and Sam’s anniversary. Aside from the fact that Abby appeared to have lost some weight, what was there to worry about? “You think she’s getting cold feet about the ceremony?”
Lee shook her head and tugged at a loose thread on the bedspread. “No, but doesn’t she seem—I don’t know—a little off to you?”
Caroline fell onto the bed and replayed the last few days in her head. “Not really. I mean, I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. How so?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. But she’s been awfully quiet.” Lee hesitated. “And obviously she’s lost a lot of weight. Too much, if you ask me.”
“Come on—we’d all want
to look our best if it was our twentieth wedding anniversary. We can’t fault her for that, can we?”
“I know, but then there’s that bruise on her thigh.”
“And? So she banged into something.” Caroline stretched out on the bed and slid her elbows under a pillow. “I bang into stuff all the time.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but then there’s other stuff. Like have you noticed she’s forgetting things?”
Again, Caroline searched her mind. “I know she was upset when Chris lost his room key for the second time in a row. But that wasn’t her fault.”
“Right, but the other day we were talking by the pool, and she didn’t remember that she’d already ordered lunch. I had to stop her from ordering another tuna sandwich.”
Caroline shrugged. She thought Lee was making a big deal out of nothing. “That seems pretty normal when you’re on vacation. Maybe she’d had a few cocktails.”
“No! That’s just it. I don’t think she’s had a sip of alcohol since we’ve been on the boat.”
Caroline had noticed Abby wasn’t drinking, but since when had turning down a glass of wine meant something was wrong with one of them? She said as much.
Lee nodded, but Caroline could tell she was still concerned. She watched while Lee worried the stray thread a minute longer, then snapped it off with a tug. “I suppose you’re right. It just seems weird to me. And Sam’s been acting strange, too, now that I think about it. He’s been pretty somber for a vacation that’s supposed to be a raucous celebration.”
“Look at us,” Caroline said, reaching over to squeeze Lee’s arm. “Did you ever consider the possibility that we’re just getting older? We can’t party like we used to, and, hey, my memory isn’t what it used to be either. Half the time I go searching for something and then can’t remember what it was.”
The Summer Sail Page 12