Island Promises

by Connell, Joy

  As soon as she left, with a push from Mitchell, Anthony joined them and the three of them went off in the other direction.

  “I’ve ruined your wedding.” Riley was crying and hugging Millie, who had finally let go of Henri long enough to say goodbye to her guests. The reception was winding down and many of the guests were heading for the door. The steel drum band had switched gears from the driving, upbeat music that had just about everyone on the dance floor, to a mellow, almost melancholy, set of songs.

  “You did not.” Millie wore minimal makeup, even on her wedding day. A few straggles of hair had escaped from the sculpted hairdo but they framed her face in a pretty way. She had never looked more beautiful, more alive.

  That’s what love does for you, Riley thought, true love, I’ll-never-leave-you kind of love. The kind she’d seen in Gracie and Johnny. The kind she thought she might have had with Joe. “You were being you. Feisty, in the center of things. Stirring it up and then reacting to what happens. Besides, nothing could ruin this day.” Millie turned to kiss a departing guest on the cheek. When she turned back, she took Riley’s hand. They had hugged more, touched more, shared more in a few weeks than they had in all the years in Chicago. “Will you be here when I get back?”

  As if this island weren’t paradise enough, Henri was taking Millie away for a week to what the locals nicknamed ‘Honeymoon Island,’ a place with individual open-air cottages right on the beach, secluded coves for swimming, snorkeling, or anything else honeymooners had in mind, and a discreet staff that met just about every request.

  “I can’t stay, Millie.” Riley reached out and tucked one of the stray hairs back behind her friend’s ear.

  “It’s only a week.”

  “You know what a week is like in our business. A lifetime. Or at least a career. The offer is now. I go back to Chicago for a few weeks, pack up, and move to New York.” Despite herself, tears pricked the backs of her eyes and she struggled not to let her voice break. “I can always use a good producer. The network would be lucky to get you.”

  “Oh.” Millie hugged her hard. Riley hugged back for all she was worth.

  “The only thing I want to produce now is my own life. And Henri’s. Who knows, maybe we’ll even collaborate enough to produce a couple kids. But that’s down the line.”

  A few months ago, Riley could never have imagined standing under the stars in the tropics, talking to her producer and best friend about being a wife and mother.

  “What about RK?” Millie asked.

  “That’s ancient history. Funny, those last few weeks in Chicago, I thought my heart would break if he dumped me. Now it’s been way too easy to get over him.”

  “You write to me,” Millie said. Henri was coming toward them. “E-mail me, call me. Let me know what’s going on. Tell me a story. Show me what you’re made of.”

  “I will.” They hugged each other once more, even harder. Henri stepped up put his arm around Millie as though it naturally belonged there and she settled into him as though that’s where she was meant to be.

  “Be happy.” That’s all Riley could manage before she turned and ran into the night. The band was tuning up and the remaining guests were getting ready to sing the bride and groom a lullaby, an island tradition. But she needed to be away from the party. She had kept her own pain in all day and now it threatened to overwhelm her. Once upon a time in Chicago, she had never considered there was a place in her life for a conventional marriage and kids. A long-term, committed relationship with RK having a few side flings was what she had imagined for herself. Now she knew she could never settle for that. It had to be all or nothing. The type of deep, vulnerable love she had discovered on this island, the type that had been demonstrated by Millie and Henri, Grace and Johnny, Mitchell and Anthony. She could have gone on very well before—before she had discovered what she was missing. But not now.

  The darkness in this part of the world was like nowhere else. It was deep and thick and complete. There were no streetlights here, only the lights that came from the houses and businesses such as Rosalee’s. Walk a few hundred yards away, into the jungle or onto the beach and the primitive, encompassing darkness kept civilization far away. It was a reminder of how the natural world hadn’t changed in thousands of years. This was the same night that had enveloped the dinosaurs or the first Europeans to set foot on these islands. It was humbling and inspiring.

  Riley didn’t walk very far. The encounter with the pirates had been more than enough for one night. There was no telling what could lurk in the shadows. It could be a wild dog or a wild man. She’d drunk way too much rum punch and felt dizzy. The emotions dredged up by watching her best friend marry and knowing the man she’d banked on to be there for her were leaving, had left her drained. She felt lifeless. Everything and everyone was changing. She didn’t like it one bit. Whether she wanted to or not, she was being forced to change. New York might be a good thing, might be the best thing that ever happened to her. Tomorrow she would convince herself of that. Tonight she would feel sorry for herself and mourn her losses.

  Mitchell and Anthony would be worlds away; Millie wouldn’t be around to browbeat her into being a great reporter; Joe wouldn’t be there to hold her at night and make her feel safe. The list went on and on. Even the people who gave her a sense of security in Chicago, though now she recognized it was a false sense of security, would be a distant memory once she was in New York. She knew how it would go. They would hug and kiss and promise to stay in touch. There might be a few phone calls, a couple of e-mails. But it would prove tough and they would be struggling for common ground. Gradually they would taper off.

  She was leaning against one of the columns of the patio, her shoes in her hand, looking out toward the sea, her back to the lights of Rosalee’s. The wedding was over, the staff had cleaned up, and the torches were put out. If she turned, she would see Rosa and Stanley still sitting in the bar, his jacket gone and his shirt untucked, her long hair unwound and flowing down her back, her shoes beside her under the table. They were sharing a nightcap, recounting the success that was their son’s wedding and pondering the future with a new daughter-in-law. But Riley didn’t turn. Gazing into the heavy darkness matched the feeling in her soul better.

  She wasn’t even surprised when Joe walked out of the night and came to stand beside her. On some level, as primitive and old as the night, she had known he would come. Without a word, he slipped his arm behind her and pulled her to his side, so that her head rested on his shoulder and they both stared out into the night toward the sound of the sea somewhere below them. For a few moments they watched in silence, listening only to the sounds of the ocean, the low murmur of voices and clink of dishware from inside as the staff cleaned up and dissected the wedding with Rosa and Stanley, and their own breathing, which was quick and expectant.

  Joe used pressure against the small of her back to turn her into him. He kissed her long and hard, exploring every inch of her mouth. He tasted of rum and spices and salt, as though he had been swimming in the ocean. His kiss had the power to transform her, to pull her out of the depression that had cloaked her and into the world of light and promise and joy. She felt a desperate, animalistic need for him. A need to bond and be close to another human being, to not be alone on this night of so much change and turmoil. He started to back away but Riley wouldn’t let him. She grabbed the back of his neck and forced him toward her, kissing him with a fury that bordered on violence.

  Roughly, he grabbed her by the arms and pushed her back. They were both panting and his words came between breaths. “Are you sure?”

  Was she? That was a question worthy of a good reporter. So much had passed between them. It was a world away but the pull of the New York offer was as strong as ever. Here, in this fantasy world, where everything bloomed all the time, the sun shone almost every day, and a simpler life was prized, it was easy to
lose herself and shut out reality. But how long could she keep doing that?

  Then there was the issue of trust. Instinctively she trusted him. With her life at sea and with her body and her spirit everywhere else. Yet he had lied to her about the passport. With good intentions, but still he’d lied. The bigger lie was Greenland. He had never told her he was leaving.

  But with Joe so close she could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the wood oil and sea brine that represented Reprieve, crave the touch of his hands on her, she decided the best course was not to decide now. She would take the physical pleasure from one more night with him. Knowing full well that this would be the last night.

  She didn’t waste the time or the breath to answer him. Instead, she entwined her fingers through his hair, stroking where it was still matted with sweat and dirt from the fight. She nibbled at his lip and, wrapping one leg around him, she ground herself into him until she felt him respond.

  She laughed lightly, at him, at herself, at the situation. Riley, always the planner, always the person who wanted to be in charge, whether it was a grocery list or a major news story, was letting go, making love to a man she had physically fought with a few hours ago. For this moment, in this time, it felt just right. Joe was strong and vital and very much aroused. For once in her life, she would go with that and damn the consequences.

  There was only one moment in the ride down to Reprieve when Riley had second thoughts. But it came and went quickly on the soft night wind. To reassure herself she was maybe not doing the right thing but the thing that life demanded, she leaned over, the gearshift digging into her side, and nibbled at Joe’s ear. The Jeep swerved wildly and Riley laughed.

  “Save it,” he said huskily. “We’re almost there.”

  “Mitchell, Anthony?”

  “At Rosalee’s. They reserved a room for the night.”

  “That’s nice.” She stretched, felt the air on every inch of her skin as they headed over the rutted road in the darkness. It was still and so quiet but the moving Jeep created a nice breeze. Good thing because she felt so hot. Trite, she told herself, half drunk, in a tropical night, anticipating making love to a gorgeous man and I’m hot.

  She started to get out of the vehicle but Joe was there. She leaned against him and he hoisted her up. Her head fell against his chest and she buried herself in the rich masculine smells mixed with the exotic sea. She could feel his muscles moving as he carried her across the dock. Bracing himself, he stepped over the lifelines still carrying her. Most people had trouble getting themselves onto the boat, let alone carrying another person.

  “Show off,” she teased.

  “I’ve got a lot more than that to show off.”

  The next morning, as she stepped off Reprieve, Riley didn’t look back. She forced herself to look ahead, to put one foot in front of the other as she climbed the road to Rosalee’s. Her thoughts and her emotions were a jumble. Last night had been a night of abandon, of release. She was no longer star reporter Riley Santey or even boat-hand Riley. She was a woman who reveled in the physical sensations a skilled man and a tropical night could bring. About halfway up the hill, she met Emil and his rickety taxi.

  “I’m not late,” he said defensively.

  “No, I’m early. Anxious to go.” Riley got into the back seat. So different than when she had come here. As Emil chatted about his beautiful daughter and his no-good son-in-law who needed to give up the idea he could start a dive business and take up some real work, Riley kept her attention on the road ahead. It was very early in the morning when the leaves of the jungle glistened in the first rays of the light. Everything was still, except the constant of the ocean and a few birds that were caught between night and day.

  As they came up the rise to the resort, there was no movement, no sound. Asking Emil to wait, Riley took the envelopes from her bag and slipped into the reception area. Sahara, the clerk behind the desk, stifled a yawn and smiled as Riley approached the desk.

  “Nice wedding,” the clerk said.

  Riley tried to judge whether Sahara was being sarcastic about the ruckus at the wedding the night before. But the young woman with her thick hair and her flawless skin seemed genuine.

  “I need to leave these envelopes for Rosa and Stanley and Millie and Henri,” Riley said. “Can you see that they get them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, and I might as well leave this, too.” Riley fished in her bag, an oversized tote made of palm leaves, and removed a third envelope. “I understand Mitchell and Anthony are staying here.” She saw the frown on the girl’s face. “Never mind. I know you can’t say if guests are here. Just give them this when they come down.”

  Riley took her time leaving the lobby. She let her hand trail along the polished wood and inhaled deeply the fragrance of exotic flowers. A mixture of regret and happiness took hold of her. This had been a place where she had felt safe and relaxed. It had given her a new perspective when she was in desperate need of shoring up. She would like to come back here someday but she was doubtful it would happen. Once she was in New York, things would move quickly. The life of a reporter on the road was a blur of stories, interviews, generic hotel rooms, and hit-and-miss relationships.

  When she went outside, there was no more avoiding the last sights. The ocean lay before her, highlighted by the trees and the cliffs in a bright green frame. It was heartbreakingly beautiful this morning, calm and a light blue. Even from this distance she could watch fish swimming just below the surface. Standing at the dock, still and proud, was Reprieve. She had come here to claim that boat. And she had. But what she’d learned in the process was that Reprieve belonged to this place and this time. When she got back, she would urge RK to sell it. Riley would personally approve the sale. Reprieve belonged to a sailor or a family or a couple, someone who would cherish her and respect her. She was too good a ship to be used as a cold-hearted investment the way she and RK had done.

  With Joe leaving, selling Reprieve shouldn’t prove a problem. Riley had no doubts that once he was in the frozen north, the ownership papers would suddenly appear in some official’s office. It was the way things worked on the island. Not a bad system after all. They dispensed their own type of justice without worrying about due process.

  Joe was probably still asleep. Riley had been quiet and careful when she rose this morning. She had almost cried out when she found her passport on the galley table. He had delivered on his promise to produce it. Whether he had or not, she’d planned to leave this morning. The reservations for the flights were all in place. One way or another, by bribery or bullying, she’d planned to be on the plane back to the States this afternoon. The passport had just made her journey that much easier.

  Emil gestured to her to come along and then pointed at his watch. She knew they had to go. The ride to the small island airport was not far but it was over some very bumpy roads. And scheduled flights meant approximate times. If the pilot was ready early, then the plane went early.

  Riley picked an orchid out of one of the pots left over from the wedding. Burying her nose in its scent, she climbed into the back seat of the taxi. Back in the States she would order orchids every day for a while, until it became just one more thing to do, until it lost its power to bring tears to her eyes and a sense of homesickness for a place she’d barely known existed a short time ago. Time to look forward to what would be and not look back to what was lost.

  Chapter 11

  There was nothing like Chicago in the dead of winter. Bitter winds still swept across the lake, strong enough to knock down children and small dogs. The lake was gray and violent, angry at having been kept so cold for so long. Floes of ice still clung to life, smashed by the white caps. The sky was its usual dingy color with big blue-black clouds blotting out any warmth from the sun. Spring was coming, according to the calendar, but for now it was nowhere in sight.
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  Riley hugged her coat tighter around her as she hustled toward her apartment building. Since she’d returned from the island, her blood had not been able to adjust. She just couldn’t get warm, no matter how high she turned the heat or how many layers of clothing she put on. Her whole body ached for the sun, for warm breezes touching her skin, and the taste of salt water on her lips when she swam in the ocean. That was another lifetime, a fairy tale, she told herself. This was the real world, the place where she truly belonged. If she repeated the mantra often enough she just might get herself to believe it.

  Nodding at Andy, the doorman, as she entered the lobby, she was lucky enough to catch the elevator. At this time of night, approaching eight o’clock, it should be a cinch. Usually the elevator was held up by the multitude of tenants who seemed to take their pets out for walks after dinner and the news. They’d hold the elevator door open while coaxing little Fluffy or Snuffly to come. Usually little Fluffy or Snuffly looked at them with an expression akin to ‘Make Me.’ Riley couldn’t blame the dogs. Who wanted to go out on a winter night in Chicago?

  Riley let herself into her apartment and headed straight for the thermostat, cranking it to 80 degrees. Just last week, they’d run a story on the high cost of natural gas for heating this winter. She didn’t care. Another week and she’d be out of here, in New York, which was cold, but not this cold.

  Picking her way through the clutter and the boxes, she dropped her coat onto the floor near the door, shucked off her boots, and left them there, too. In just a matter of minutes, she had her suit off, draped over a box marked ‘Work Clothes’ and was into her sweat pants and a sweatshirt she’d had since college. The sweatshirt was frayed around the collar but it was still warm and comfortable. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she scrubbed off her makeup in the bathroom. Her bunny slippers, which she’d also had for decades, completed the ensemble. The pink ears had dulled to nearly white and the cotton ball tails were nearly rubbed away, but they kept her toes warm and cradled her feet.