Island Promises

by Connell, Joy

Just then the blue boat was on them, so close they could see two figures in the pilothouse.

  Riley groped behind her for a handhold and felt her chest tighten. Breathe, she told herself, but it felt like no air would go into her lungs.

  “Well, ain’t this nice meetin’ out chere in the middle of this big, ole ocean. Who would think it?” A gold tooth caught the sun. He wore cut-offs, too, and his long hair blew in wisps around his face. In the sunlight, Riley could see his arms were covered with tattoos.

  “What the hell do you want?” Joe asked.

  The sea calm, their voices were carrying without bullhorns. Reprieve was heaved to, effectively stopped. Trying to outrun the powerful speedboat would be useless.

  “Your girlfriend there has got some explainin’ to do,” Scully said.

  Riley tensed. Joe and Anthony, so trained, so disciplined, never took their eyes off the pirates but Mitchell looked at her and mouthed, “What the hell?”

  “Where I come from, we don’t fight women,” Joe said. “We settle things man to man.”

  Anthony had steadied himself against the seat, the gun held by his side. Mitchell stood back, one hand on the sheet, the other holding a portable radio.

  “She started it.”

  The high whinny voice of Candy, the skinny guy she had seen on the beach that night, caused Riley’s hands to shake. He sounded like a grade schooler in a shoving match on the playground. Sweat glistened on his skin, which was raw and peeling. Apparently he didn’t believe in sunscreen. With his mouth open, he chewed on one of the rubbery candies, which Joe had explained had given him his name and rotted several of his teeth.

  “We ain’t gettin’ into all that. I done tole you that before,” Scully told Candy, who melted back into the wheelhouse. He turned his attention back to Joe. “I got a problem your girlfriend there caused. She’s snooping where she shouldn’t ought to.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” The shotgun dangled from Joe’s fingers. Behind the mirrored aviator glasses, Riley couldn’t see his eyes but his body was rigid.

  “I don’t want no trouble, like I say. But if it comes, well, I have to meet up with it. Tell your girlfriend to quit askin’ questions. Quit stirrin’ things up and making life hard.”

  Mikah, built like a cement block, appeared on deck with a knife, a long, shiny blade that could have been mistaken for a sword. He sat down, never looking at them, and began to methodically polish it with a grimy rag.

  “People can get hurt pryin’ into things that ain’t none of their business.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” Joe growled. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

  “That weren’t no threat. Hell, no.” The grin showed the gold tooth.

  “It sure wasn’t,” Candy, back on deck, chimed in.

  He couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts to himself, something Riley could relate to.

  “It’s friendly advice. That’s all this is.” The motor started, barely a whisper, and the boat drifted away.

  “What the hell have you been doing?” Joe asked her over his shoulder.

  “Nothing. I haven’t done anything,” she shot back at him. “All I did was ask some questions, checked him on the Internet.”

  “Are you crazy?” Mitchell asked.

  “I told you not to get involved in that.” Joe was still watching the boat, which was pulling farther away.

  “You don’t get it.” Riley was talking to their backs because their eyes were on the boat and the sea. “I’m a reporter. I ask questions. It’s what I do. I keep telling you.”

  Suddenly they were all in motion. Mitchell was spinning the wheel, Joe and Anthony were tugging on lines. The blue boat had turned in a tight circle and was heading right for them, fast.

  “Hold on,” Joe yelled.

  The boat cut close in front of them, so close Riley could see the expression on skinny Candy’s face behind the wheel. He was laughing and whooping with joy. Mikah heaved something and it landed in the cockpit of Reprieve. A large, rotting fish, ripped open, its eyes gone, the stench almost unbearable, lay there. The blue boat tore away, their shouts still ringing over the water. The smell was so overpowering, Riley headed for the lifelines, afraid she might heave.

  “Hold on. Jesus. Listen to what I tell you,” Joe barked at her.

  She grabbed one of the stanchions just before the wake hit them. Reprieve rolled wildly in the confused water, nearly throwing Riley overboard. It lasted only a short while. Between the decaying smell, the tension, and the wild ride, Riley was about to be sick. Don beat her to it, bursting out of the cabin. He nearly tripped over the fish in his hurry to lean over the side of Reprieve and offer his breakfast up to the sea gods.

  They had barely docked when Don and Edith powered their suitcases up onto the deck and into the arms of a waiting cab driver.

  “Must have called from their cell phone,” Mitchell said as they watched out the cabin window. Riley and Mitchell were cleaning and arranging in the galley yet again, a never-ending job on Reprieve.

  So much for the casual sailing life, Riley thought.

  “If I’d have known their cell phone worked, I might have stolen it,” Riley answered.

  Voices were raised on deck. “Here we go,” said Mitchell, taking her hand and leading her to the bottom of the ladder where they could peer up and see the action.

  “And you’ll be hearing from my travel agent.” Don paced the few steps to the end of the dock, then turned back to Joe. “My attorney will be calling, too.”

  “But, wait. He forgot to throw in a call from his hairdresser and his plumber,” Mitchell said softly and Riley and he both giggled, hands held over their mouths to stifle the sound.

  “Come on, Edith.” They almost made it between the lifelines when he turned again.

  Riley and Mitchell scrambled back to the window to watch. The parts of Don’s face that weren’t bright red from anger were green from leftover seasickness. “You run a helluva operation here and I intend to tell everyone I know.”

  “Oh, no, there goes all the tight-butt, dumb-ass business in Florida,” Mitchell said.

  Riley fell into him, hiding her face to keep her laughter from ringing out onto the deck.

  “From now on, we’ll only get customers who want a seasoned crew who can pull them through a hurricane in one piece, air lift their sick sister-in-law to a hospital and, at the same time, brew the best cup of coffee in the islands.”

  “Careful with that luggage,” Don growled. He and Edith were finally on the dock and Don’s attention had now turned from Joe to the taxi driver, a thin, nervous man. “You people have no appreciation for nice things. You just beat the hell out of everything. Look at the way this suitcase is thrown in the trunk. That’s designer luggage, probably cost more than your house.”

  The driver, Emil, went around the taxi, opening the door for Edith and Don, making sure they were settled. Then he went back to the trunk, carefully arranged the case and slammed the lid hard. They could hear the lid hitting and smashing the expensive luggage. Edith and Don were too busy wiping off the back seat to notice. Emil turned so his passengers couldn’t see him and gave the crew of Reprieve a high sign and an earthy grin. Getting in, he put the taxi in gear and shot out, spinning the old back wheels. They could hear Don’s protests and Edith’s squeals as their heads shot back against the worn headrests.

  Joe and Anthony came below, looking like thunder clouds. As soon as they reached the safety of the cabin, all four burst into laughter.

  “Another satisfied customer.” Joe wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

  “By the time Emil gets them to the airport, their brains will be so scrambled they won’t remember the cruise.” Mitchell leaned against the counter, catching his breath.

  “Let’s leave
this mess for now and go to Rosalee’s for a rum special.” It was Anthony’s suggestion. For a moment they were so caught off guard, the other three just looked at him. Then they sprang into action.

  As she went by, Joe caught Riley’s arm. “I’m not finished with you.” Gone were the laughing eyes. In their place was the dangerous, controlled expression he’d held when the helo was lifting Gracie and Johnny or when Scully and his crew pulled alongside. “I told you to stay away from Scully and the gang he runs with.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.” Great, four years at a prestigious journalism school, thousands of hours in front of a camera telling stories, numerous awards gathering dust in her apartment, and the best she could do was a kindergarten comeback. He seemed to bring out the immature side of her.

  “Somebody needs to be the boss of you.”

  He was so close the ends of his hair brushed her cheek. Her breasts were inches from his chest and had a mind of their own, wanting to cover the distance and rub against those hard muscles. For a moment, she thought he would kiss her but he stepped away and the burst of empty air left her weak and cold. There had been men in her life; there was a man in her life. She had known passion, she had been in love, but had never felt, even with RK, this physical sadness when he wasn’t near. It was as though she could not be near enough to Joe, never get enough of him. Maybe a little bossiness, in the right place at the right time, wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  The air was so heavy it was like a blanket, wrapping around her, smothering her. The normally bright blue sky was looking bruised and worn today. The clouds, thick and threatening, were coming closer to the ground, moving in off the sea, making Riley claustrophobic. The electric charge in the air was causing everyone on Reprieve to be jumpy, quick to snap at one another.

  “I am so done.” Mitchell swiped a rag over his face and dabbed at some of the sweat running into his eyes. Hard to believe that the air could absorb any more moisture but the humidity seemed to increase as the storm neared.

  Riley felt sticky. They had been cleaning Reprieve most of the afternoon. It was depressing work. The boat had taken a beating from the storm. To add to the mess, there were the remnants of taking care of Grace. Water cups and spilled pills mixed with the general confusion inside the cabin. As she wiped and polished and swept, Riley couldn’t help but think about Grace and how close she had come to not being with them. It was a wake-up call to make living a priority.

  The night before at Rosalee’s had been fun. They had imbibed some of Stanley’s famous rum drinks, eaten some of the chef’s fabulous food. They had talked and laughed and she and Mitchell had danced while Joe and Anthony watched from the bar. Today, though, was payback. Riley’s head ached, her muscles felt cramped and hard, her mouth was cottony and rough. To say she was grumpy would be like saying the Wicked Witch of the West had an attitude problem. This oppressive weather wasn’t helping any.

  “I am in serious need of some air-conditioning.”

  Mitchell’s attire proved to be an indication of just how uncomfortable the conditions were. He had stripped down to a wife-beater and knee-length linen shorts, which had started out pressed and neat but were now a wrinkled mess. Everyone else was wearing the least amount of clothes they could get away with—shorts and tanks—but to see Mitchell in the sleeveless, shapeless shirt and the rumpled pants was borderline pathetic. Clearly the boy needed a cold shower, a cold beer, and a cold fan blowing right on him.

  “Captain Bligh there”—Riley inclined her head to where Joe and Anthony were swabbing down the decks—“would never turn on the air-conditioning for his crew. The good stuff is only for the paying customers, not the people who literally keep his business afloat.”

  For half-an-hour more they cleaned in silence, the sticky conditions sapping any desire to talk.

  “You ready?” Anthony came halfway down the ladder.

  His forehead glistened from sweat and his tank stuck to his skin like a wet suit. Framed in the opening he looked strong and formidable and downright sexy.

  Mitchell must have thought so, too, because he blew past Riley, nearly knocking into the settee, to stow the cleaning supplies and gather his belongings in record time. Then he shot up the companionway. Before she could even say goodbye, Mitchell and Anthony were in the Jeep, roaring away from the dock.

  In the still, humid air, the sound of the motor sputtering could be heard to almost the end of the marina. When it finally died, the quiet that settled was unnerving.

  Her motivation for any more work left the marina with Mitchell and Anthony. She stood, hanging onto the rigging watching them go. Then she turned her attention out to sea. The storm was still far out over the open ocean but even from here she could smell the burnt charge of lightning and feel the deep rumbles of thunder. The squall was impressive in its size and its fury. There was a crackling sense of anticipation, a jittery waiting for the behemoth to be unleashed and rock the world. In the still, heavy air, nature was holding her breath before all hell broke loose.

  “You need to come below.” Joe’s hand appeared above hers on the rigging.

  The charged atmosphere attracted their bodies like magnets to metal. Riley imagined particles of sweat floating back and forth between them, settling on different skin, bringing different smells and feels.

  She turned from the storm and found herself within inches of Joe. So close she could see the hairs standing out around his tank top, feel the heat off his skin. Her face was inches from his chest but she didn’t look up and he didn’t move.

  “It’s so hot,” she whispered.

  He took her hand, their fingers entwining, slippery and warm. He backed up to the companionway and led her down the stairs into the cabin. Ahead of the storm, the sun still shone through breaks in the clouds, casting long, defined beams through the portholes of Reprieve. Despite their cleaning, dust motes danced as though it were their turn on stage and the spotlight had been cued. Riley stood in the middle of the saloon while Joe moved in and out of the spotlights, putting in hatch boards, making sure porthole openings were closed enough to keep out the coming rain. He also made sure the vents were open and rigged the wind scoop but the storm had sucked up all the wind and no breeze stirred.

  When he was done, he stood silently watching her. A shyness came over her. A nervousness she hadn’t felt since she’d been a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush. Like the island outside, she was edgy with anticipation.

  If the air outside had been still, inside it was stifling. Joe reached around her to flip a switch, and the fans at either end of the saloon came on. They didn’t cool much but they stirred the hot, anxious air around them.

  Joe took her face in his warm and rough hands. He tilted her chin up and kissed her. Their lips locked together with sweat and heat. They tasted each other, salty and slick.

  Stepping back from the kiss, he searched her eyes, holding her face steady. “You can’t run this time,” he said. “It’s too dangerous. You have to stay. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  He led her to his cabin. The only light was the waning sun’s rays. As the storm came closer, the rays flickered, one minute bright, the next nonexistent. He turned on a small fan and its whir was the only noise aside from the intermittent deep-based thunder.

  He maneuvered her onto the bunk and drew the ratty old tank top over her head, followed by the moist sports bra. Freed, her breasts swung out, sweat trickling between them.

  From the moment he touched her, she was gone. They slid against each other, their perspiration binding them. They shed their clothes without losing contact. His strong, capable hands roamed over her, gently dancing across her breasts until they ached for more. Those fingers, those long, able fingers, moved over her and into her until she bucked with need and want.

  She explored the rippling muscles of his abs, then followed a
line of sweat from his chest to where it disappeared into the thick of hair which marked the beginning of his lust. His back muscles, though, that’s what she loved the most. Hard and smooth near his shoulders, tapering off into his waist, blooming out again into the impossibly soft skin of his backside.

  Outside, the storm announced its arrival, blowing over them. Reprieve strained against it, tugging at her lines, smashing into her buoys, rocking to the rhythm that had been thrust upon her. The rain pounded on the decks, resounding against the metal mast.

  They made love in a whirlwind of arms and legs, their moist bodies coming together in a union that was sweet and urgent. In the narrow bunk there was no room to change position. She fell asleep with Joe’s breath on her face, his leg splayed over hers, his arm cradling her chest, to the rocking of Reprieve and the rhythm of the raindrops.

  “Girlfriend, you’ve gone all purple.” Mitchell leaned across the deck where they were lying in the sun. This was the first time in several days Mitchell and Riley had seen each other.

  Joe and Anthony had gone to buy some parts for the engine, which lay in big, gloppy, oily pieces on the cockpit and partly on the deck. “Thought you were fresh out of polish.”

  “Lost and found on this ship is better than a second-hand store in Chicago.” Riley looked up, holding the tiny brush dripping purple nail polish onto her big toe. She could feel her smile, bigger and brighter than it had been since she arrived. When she thought about it, since months before she arrived. She could feel her whole body smiling into the tropical sun, from the pale roots growing into her dark frizzy hair, to the bright purple color on her toenails.

  “You did it, didn’t you?” Mitchell propped himself up on one elbow. “Tell me. You and Joe? I can’t believe it. All the juicy parts. That’s all I want to hear about.”

  “Is it that obvious?” She stretched like a contented cat and couldn’t stop smiling. No wonder it was obvious.