by Connell, Joy
“Let’s see.” Mitchell stepped back and scanned her from head to toe, from her forehead pinked by the sun to the toes with pieces of rags shoved between them. “Obvious is an understatement. You might as well hang a sign off the bow.”
“You’re a fine one to talk.” It was Riley’s turn to do the studying. Mitchell had a stylish five-o’clock shadow going along his jaw line. His brown hair, in island tradition, was a little long, but neatly trimmed and shone with plenty of mousse. His body was tanned.
“That look tells me you and Anthony have finally gotten back together.”
“We’re not ready to pick out china patterns, but we’re very happy.” Unable to contain himself, Mitchell rose and did a little jig on the deck, bringing Riley up with him and swirling her around.
“Watch the polish.” She quickly danced away and dabbed at her toes.
“It could be just like a fairy tale.” Mitchell sprawled out on his back and squinted up into the sky. “You and Joe. Me and Anthony. Sailing away into the sunset. Living happily ever after. Having romantic dinners in secluded little coves. Swimming without our suits. Anthony and Joe catching fish. You and me grilling them.”
“I don’t cook. I don’t want to cook.”
“It’s a fantasy. My fantasy. You cook in it.”
After a few more intense minutes of polishing, Mitchell suggested they visit one of the island beaches and Riley jumped at the chance. So far he was her best friend on the island and right now she needed a friend.
They, or rather Mitchell, packed a lunch, an umbrella, some towels and were off the boat.
“We can walk.” He was standing outside the old, open four-wheel drive on the dock. “It’s only about two miles.”
“Why would we walk? You don’t want me walking. I’m already sweaty and aggravated and this damn cooler weighs a ton.” She paused and tilted her head at him. “You can drive, can’t you?”
“Sort of. I mean, on the mainland I had a really nice little car that I could zip everywhere in. And I do enjoy the four-wheel-drive experience. Although”—he looked at the ground instead of at her—“I’ve been told I drive a little fast.”
“How fast can you go around here? The roads are mostly dirt for heaven’s sake.”
“Well, then, let’s go.” He grinned at her and she got the sneaking suspicion there was something he wasn’t telling her.
Once in the vehicle, Mitchell adjusted the seat, the visor over the windshield, even though the top was open, and every mirror, including the cosmetic one, he could find. Then he started the old Jeep put it in gear, and sent the vehicle flying about five feet in reverse, just short of going over the edge into the water.
“I ask you again, you can drive, right?” Riley asked.
“Of course. I’m just a little rusty on the gears on the floor thingee.”
By the time they reached the beach, Riley’s hands hurt from digging her nails into her palms, her calves were cramped from pressing an imaginary brake, and her head was throbbing from what were probably several cases of whiplash. She was sure her face was as frozen from wind as any over-botoxed woman and her eyes were probably bulging from terror.
While she was still trying to make her muscles respond, Mitchell was out of the vehicle, wrestling with the cooler and the blanket.
“What?” he asked when he noticed her stuck to the seat.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just glad you missed those kids by at least a foot. And the tour bus, you left them a good six inches before the cliff edge. The old lady, I’m sure she’ll recover from having her outer layer of skin nearly removed by the side mirror.”
“Picky, picky,” he said. “You wanted me to drive.”
They found an open section of beach, dropped the blanket and the cooler, and stuck the umbrella in the sand. Her pale skin couldn’t handle too much time in the direct sunlight. The beach was crowded with a mixture of pale tourists parked in rented beach chairs under umbrellas, and locals sitting on towels in the sun.
“We couldn’t go to a private beach?” Riley asked. “I heard there are some breathtaking spots.”
“Boring.” Mitchell was smoothing his spot on the blanket. “This is much more interesting.”
“You are taking off those socks, right?” Riley nodded at the white ankle-high socks he wore on his feet.
“I told you I can’t stand sand in my toes.”
“Suck it up,” she said. “We have to suffer for fashion.”
In a sulk, he took off the socks and in a dramatic flourish made sure his toes were on the blanket and not on the sand.
They were quiet for a while, lying next to each other, shaded by the umbrella, listening to the surf, the chatter of other people on the beach, the rustle of palm trees.
Riley tried to nap but her mind was spinning. Not even the healthy dose of vitamin D from the tropical sun could quiet it.
“Mitchell, are you asleep?” She turned toward him and waited until he opened one eye.
“You know I’m heading back to my old life in Chicago as soon as I can, right?” When he didn’t respond, she sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees and faced the sea, watching the gulls dive for fish. “This is great. Everyone is great. But I have a life there. I’m a different person there.” She laughed. “If they could see me now, they wouldn’t recognize me.”
“This RK guy is there, right?” he asked.
“We were together. We are together.” Riley rocked back and forth, soothing her nerves.
“And now there’s Joe,” Mitchell said.
“And now there’s Joe.”
“Is this just a fling with him?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.”
“Seems to me if this RK guy was as solid as you think, you wouldn’t be so confused about where Joe fit in.”
A beach ball came rolling up to the blanket followed by two young boys who stood at the edge, looking at them expectantly.
“This brings back only bad memories,” Mitchell said as he tossed the ball back to them.
The boys smiled their thanks and ran off.
“Tough childhood?” Riley asked.
“Let’s just say sports weren’t my thing. I grew up in a town where football was worshipped and baseball was loved. A kid like me didn’t have many places to fit in.”
Riley reached over and patted his arm.
“My dad was actually the football coach.”
“No, sir. That must have been so hard,” Riley said.
“It was. But he taught me what it really means to be a man. When there was no doubt I was ‘different’, he just said, ‘Well, I tell my team, everyone has something to contribute. If we were all the same, it wouldn’t be much of a team.’ And he never said anything outright but he also never let his players, who were the gods of the school, pick on me or anyone else.”
“What a terrific guy.”
“Yeah, he was. He died two years ago, and I miss him every day.” Lost in his thoughts, Mitchell let a toe wander into the sand. When he realized what happened, he shrieked and began wiping away the grains.
Riley laughed.
“Back to you,” he said, settling down. “Anthony reminds me a lot of my dad—tough, quiet, good. So does Joe.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t go breaking his heart.”
Riley snorted. “As if he has one to break. He isn’t exactly Mr. Sharing and Caring.”
Mitchell and Riley watched as a couple speaking French held their toddler’s hands and flirted with the waves along the shore. All three were laughing, enjoying paradise.
“So you’re really going back to your old life? This is just a pit stop?” Mitchell asked.
“Yes. No. Maybe.” She took off her sunglasses and stood up. “Time for a dip.”
<
br /> “We’ll have to walk across the sand.”
“You can do it, I know you can.”
They ran to the water. Mitchell jumped in while Riley took her time. She was used to the waters of Lake Michigan, which even in the height of summer, were chilly. The water here, though, was so warm her brain had trouble processing it.
“This is heaven,” she said when they got beyond the surf line and were squatting shoulder deep in the clear, sultry ocean.
“And you want to leave all this”—he pointed at the beach, the white sand glistening, the palm trees ringing it with the promise of cool shade, the sky so blue it could break your heart—“for concrete, snow, and mostly-cloudy most of the time.
Did she want to leave? If she stayed, the weather might be part of it but the man who whispered to her in the middle of the night was the biggest part. Before they fell asleep, after they made love, Joe would hold her, stroke her, pat her hair. The whole time he would tell her things—how beautiful she was, how he liked having someone to share a bunk with, where they could find a deserted cove for some skinny-dipping.
Despite all her Chicago toughness, Riley found herself melting under his touch and his words. Her feelings for him were growing every day. What had started out as a fling was turning into a much deeper relationship. She was falling hard and fast. The complications were enormous. A career, a man, a life were waiting for her in Chicago, expecting her to return. Day by day that life was fading and the allure of this man and this life were becoming irresistible.
“There’s somebody from up north,” Mitchell said as a thin figure dressed in black long sleeves, long pants, and calf-high boots came toward them. They had taken a few days off and now the crew was together again, ready for the next charter which was scheduled for tomorrow. “Honey,” Mitchell continued, “she is in desperate need of an island makeover. She looks like she belongs to an advertising agency for a funeral home. Even her skin fits the bill; I’ve never seen anyone so white.” He pried Riley’s fingers off his forearm. “I may need circulation to that hand sometime in the future. Settle down, girlfriend. I’m sure she’s not into island witchcraft. Fashion suicide, maybe.”
Riley took off running toward the figure. The woman recoiled in horror when Riley grabbed her by the shoulders and wrapped her in a bear hug.
“Mildred, what are you doing here? I’m so glad to see you.”
Seeing Mildred, all buttoned up and stiff in this free-flowing environment should have been comical. But to Riley, it was overwhelming. To her embarrassment, she found herself close to tears. This was the first person from her old life she had set eyes on in weeks. In Chicago, Mildred had been her producer, her best friend, her partner.
Riley didn’t realize how deeply she had missed her dear friend until Mildred was standing before her. They were more than work acquaintances. They’d shared the pain over lost loves, delivered ginger ale and tissues when they were sick, and were genuinely happy for each other’s successes, not an easy thing to find in the cut-throat world of Chicago journalism.
“Riley? Oh for heaven’s sake, Riley, is that you?” Mildred stepped back, eyes narrowed.
Self-consciously, Riley ran a hand through her hair. Several strands had gotten stuck in a curl and she had to unwind one from her thumb. She tucked in the oversized shirt and hitched up the old shorts.
“Looks like I came not a moment too soon,” her boss repeated.
Riley fidgeted under Mildred’s gaze. She’d come to accept how she looked on the island. Now she was seeing herself through the eyes of someone who knew her before and was astonished at the change. The honey brown hair of a Chicago reporter was gradually vanishing into a hive of white waves. The complexion she had paid lots and lots for in Chicago to keep blemish free and unwrinkled was developing freckles and tiny lines around her eyes from squinting into the sun. The soft body that was never thin enough had become hard and defined by walking and sailing.
“What are you doing here?” Riley repeated.
“Right now, looking for some shade, a cold beer, and you. One out of three ain’t bad to start.”
“Come on.” Riley threw an arm around her and they dragged her luggage behind them down the dock.
“You’ll like Reprieve.” Mitchell was nearly running to catch up to them. “She’s great for a cruise. Has all the amenities and good food. Of course, liquor is included in the price.” Mitchell’s babbling made Riley realize she’d forgotten all about him in her joy and surprise at seeing Mildred.
She stopped on the dock. “Mildred, my good friend, Mitchell. Mitchell, this is Mildred, my boss from Chicago.”
At Mildred’s raised brows, she grinned and added, “She’s a good friend, too.” More like best friend and confidant, Riley acknowledged to herself and gave Mildred a sidewise hug.
“Nice to meet you Mildred,” Mitchell said. “Any friend of Riley’s is a friend of mine.” He paused, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, anxious to be accepted into this circle of friendship. “I’ll tell you how I met her over a few drinks.”
When Mildred didn’t seem at all interested, he added, “Let’s just say it involved a dark night, a ship’s cabin and Riley’s bed.”
Before Riley could defend herself, she spotted Joe and Anthony driving up in the Jeep.
“We’ll take those,” Joe said, as he and Anthony met them. “You’re early,” he said to Mildred as he easily picked up the luggage Riley had been putting all her weight into hauling behind them.
“And you’re much different than Riley let on,” Mildred said arching one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows.
“We can stow your gear but Reprieve isn’t cleaned or provisioned. You were supposed to show up tomorrow.”
“I like surprises.”
Riley cringed as Mildred made an obvious show of giving Joe the once-over. Her friend’s eyes flickered over his tanned arms, his sandy hair, his clear brown eyes, which didn’t flinch under her hard gaze.
“What’s going on here?” Riley bobbed her head from one to the other.
“This is our next charter.” Joe nodded toward Mildred.
“But you’ve never sailed, that I know of,” Riley protested. “You don’t swim. You won’t even come to a BBQ in the summer because you have a phobia about bugs.”
“The brochure said there’s air-conditioning so I shouldn’t be outside and I have no intention of this boat ever moving from the dock.”
Joe’s mouth flew open but before he could get any words out, Riley put her arm around Mildred and turned her back the way they had come. In Chicago, they never touched, just air kisses at the annual Christmas party or drunken hugs when the station won an award, but in the space of a few minutes, she had been hugging and touching Mildred as though she were a demonstrative person. Which she most certainly was not.
“We’ll grab a table,” Riley shot over her shoulder to the three men. “See you at Rosalee’s.” Turning to Mildred, she said, “You’re going to love this place, the best views on the island, and you can fill me in on Chicago.”
Forging full-steam ahead, Riley headed to Rosalee’s. By the time they reached the cool shade of the inn, sweat was pooling in the jersey knit top Mildred wore and she was limping.
Guilt kneaded Riley’s stomach. She hadn’t taken into account Mildred’s black clothing and her designer boots, with just the hint of a heel but a pointed toe. She had also forgotten how much Mildred hated to walk anywhere. Back in Chicago, the most she walked was a block or two to the bus stop, and when the weather was bad, she had a cab pick her up in front of the building. “I’m sorry, Mildred.”
“Water,” Mildred croaked, before collapsing into one of the wicker chairs opposite the hotel desk, kicking off her shoes and rubbing her feet. She mopped at her forehead with an old tissue.
“Can I get you
a table?” Henri appeared in front of them.
“As close as possible to the air-conditioning duct.” Mildred didn’t even look up at him but he cast a glance at Riley.
“We don’t have air-conditioning here, the island breezes are enough.”
“What kind of a place is this?” Mildred asked. “Whoever heard of a restaurant with no air-conditioning? Let’s go somewhere else, Riley.”
“You can go,” Henri said. “But there’s no air-conditioning in any of the restaurants on the island.”
Mildred finally focused on him. Henri’s pale blue, flowered shirt and the white pants set off his skin, kissed to a golden shade by the sun. His dark eyes met her challenge and he didn’t flinch under her hard gaze.
“Well, then, maybe you can put us at what passes for a good table here.” Mildred stared at him, hard. “Bring us some ice water.” She was using the imperious producer’s voice she used to scare interns into working 16 hours a day but not putting in for overtime. “If, in fact, the concept of ice has reached this outpost.”
“Mildred.” Riley blushed with embarrassment. Had she, Riley, been this hard, this condescending, when she’d first arrived? If so, she should apologize, not just for her friend but for herself.
“Oh, we have ice,” Henri shot back. “We have little island children molding it into cubes with their bare hands after they’ve trekked it down from the mountains in big chunks on the backs of donkeys. Every Christmas Eve, we let the locals come in and touch it as a present from us to the island. They’re so inspired by the sight, many of them fall onto their knees in gratitude for this marvel of civilization.”
“Did anybody ever tell you—”
Before she could finish that thought, Riley took her friend by the arm and shepherded her into the dining room. Mildred limped along, holding one shoe in her hand.
“He is the most arrogant, difficult, exasperating man,” Mildred said as they sat down.
Riley studied her menu, hoping Mildred would change the subject. “What do you say to some local specialties? They do a great fish here, fresh from the sea, and the fruits are to die for, so different, so exotic.”