“I can’t believe you ate that after setting it on the counter. Do you have no fear of germs, whatsoever?”
He smirked, his tongue in his cheek. “When was the last time you disinfected the counters?”
“About two hours ago. I used a whole bottle of disinfectant on this apartment. I am pleased to announce that the kitchen and bathrooms are clean enough for even me. No one is going to call me a dirty girl.”
Paul swallowed wrong and coughed, knowing she didn’t realize what she’d just said. “Dani Girl, you are without a doubt, not a dirty girl. And, with you around, I’m more afraid of the chemicals on the counter because of your immaculate cleaning habits than I am of any little ole germs.” He stuffed the last bite into his mouth with a snap of his teeth.
“Oh, great!” she exclaimed. “Not only do I have to worry about germs. Now I have to worry about chemicals too.”
“Oh, no! Chemicals are our friends.” He realized what he’d done. “They keep us safe from all the bad—” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He laughed, flashing one of his best smiles, and shook his head at her with a sigh. He tolerated her obsessive-compulsive behaviors, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that her fears were normal.
“I’m sorry, Baby, but I’ve been a slob my whole life, and I haven’t died yet.”
“You’re not a slob,” she said. “You’re quite good at picking up after yourself and keeping things in their place—as long as you know where that place is.”
“Once you organized the office, the media room, the room that has no purpose, our gear closet, the equipment room . . . and my apartment, yeah, I’ve managed to keep things organized.” He finally had to smirk. “I wouldn’t dare disrupt your tidy little world. I’m still working on keeping my clothing piles to manageable proportions, though. I’m sorry I don’t take care of it right away.”
“You don’t have piles.” She smiled at his description. “You leave the clothes you wear in the evenings on the twin bed, but you put them back on in the morning before you run to your apartment to change into your swimming shorts.”
“But you don’t leave your clothes on the twin.”
“It doesn’t bother me. It’s not really the clutter or dirt, just the germs.”
“Clutter and dirt don’t bother you? That’s why you scamper around cleaning and organizing everything.”
“That’s only because I like to keep busy. Yes, I like to organize, but it doesn’t bother me when Claire undoes it almost as fast as I get it done.” She giggled. “And you should talk. You don’t like dirt any more than I do. You just pay people to clean up after you, while I prefer to do it myself.”
Paul’s eyes widened and then narrowed as he thought about it. Before Rhees, a few of his Coitus Club groupies took turns cleaning his apartment, but he’d had to “fire” them. They refused to believe a romp on cleaning day was no longer part of the job description. He’d found an older, married woman he could pay to do it.
“Germs aren’t a problem for me. If I can’t see ‘em, ‘live and let live’, I say.” He licked her face from bottom to top to make his point. Rhees surprised him by returning the gesture from his collarbone to his Adam’s apple.
“Mmm . . . Where was I?” It took a minute to get his brain to work again. “I . . . uh—I just—I like the way clean, high quality sheets feel, but I hate changing them.” They used to need changing regularly. Nowadays his apartment was nothing more than a place to shower and change his clothes. “But now that I don’t sleep there anymore, I’m pretty much paying Edna to keep my surfboard dusted off.”
oOo
“Does anyone know why Lorencio decided to leave?” Mitch asked. “He flew out on the first plane this morning.”
Paul and Rhees sat in the gazebo and had just shared lunch. They sat close, looking through one of the books on the sea life in the area, trying to identify a creature they’d seen on their morning dive. Rhees glanced over at Mitch and Christian.
“No. It’s so weird. He told me just yesterday he planned to stay a while, but all of a sudden, he up and leaves us for the Phoenix Islands,” Christian answered.
“Did you know he left?” Rhees asked Paul.
Paul pretended to be engrossed in the sea life book. He shook his head slightly.
“How do you not know why one of your students walked away? He didn’t ask for a refund?”
“Nope.” He still didn’t look up at her.
“That is so weird. He must be a flake, fickle . . . and obviously rich enough to keep up with his high-speed whims.” Paul finally glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
“We can’t expect everyone to love it here as much as you and I.”
“I know, but I thought he did. It’s just weird.”
“Yeah. Weird, and I’m sorry.” He felt a twinge of remorse, and wanted to kiss her to remind himself why he’d done what he’d done. He leaned in for one but missed when she excitedly pointed to a picture in the book.
“That’s it!” She smiled proudly about finding the nudibranch they’d been searching for.
“You’re right. A Red Tipped Sea Goddess.” Paul read the name under the picture. “I’ve never seen one of those. Good spot.” He put his arm around her and leaned over again, successfully planting a heartfelt kiss on her cheek.
He thought he might tell her how he’d talked to Lorencio the night before, after she went home to clean. Paul had gone on and on about his diving experiences around the world and convinced Lorencio the diving on the island was mediocre at best. If Lorencio really wanted to experience good diving, he had to try the Phoenix Islands. He’d even loaned him four thousand dollars to do it.
“You’ll pay me back, someday. No hurry.” Paul thought he might tell Rhees—he would, just as soon as Lorencio paid him back.
Chapter 23
Rhees stood on the boat, staring at her gear, but not setting it up.
“Come on, Pokey,” Paul said quietly in her ear as an excuse to get close. He gave her earlobe a quick nip with his teeth. “We’re diving today, not memorizing the way our gear looks.”
“I think I need to call this dive. I’m not feeling so well.”
“What’s wrong?” Paul didn’t attempt to hide his worry.
“I’m nauseous.”
“You’ll feel better once you’re in the water. I didn’t know you get seasick.”
“I don’t. The diesel fumes really got to me on the way here. I’m hoping it’ll pass, but right now, I don’t think I should dive.”
“Dive with me, please, please, please?” he whined, putting his arms around her, acting all clingy and needy. “You can throw up through your reg. Just hold it in your mouth to make sure it stays in place while you blow the vomit through. It happens all the time.”
She gave him a look of disgust and he laughed.
“Okay, okay.” He started massaging her neck and shoulders while nuzzling his nose into her hair. “Does this help?”
“Mmm . . .” She nodded and took a deep breath. “It does. Thanks.”
“We diving then?” He looked hopeful.
She nodded again.
The nausea came and went throughout the day, but she braved through it until the next morning. The boat fumes made it impossible to hide how ill she really felt. She actually did throw up over the side of the boat and Paul refused to let her get in the water.
“I feel better now. What happened to, ‘Throw up in your reg’?” she’d complained.
She told Claire, later that day that she’d suddenly developed an allergic reaction to diesel fumes or something.
“I’ve always hated the smell. Maybe I’ve just finally reached my tolerance level.”
The next day, Rhees walked into the office feeling sick again.
“I’m calling your dive again
today,” Paul said. “I’m starting to worry about you, Baby.”
“Don’t. It’s just food poisoning. I must’ve eaten something bad.”
“That’s it!” he said indignantly. “You’ve got to stop killing every germ that comes within a mile of you. It’s messing with your body’s ability to resist normal, everyday bacteria.”
“You’d both have dippy tummies if she had food poisoning,” Claire said. “You two eat the same thing every meal. You guys share food like real lovers, it’s gross, and I’m not the germ-o-phobe. Food poisoning acts faster and more furious than this unless it’s the really bad stuff like E. coli. You didn’t drink any contaminated water, did you? It could be Giardia. Did you get mosquito bites in Costa Rica? They have Dengue fever.”
“Shit,” Paul said under his breath, suddenly very worried by the things Claire tossed out. “Rhees, if you’re still sick in a couple of days, we’re flying back to the States to get you checked out.”
“No way! I’ll just go to the clinic, if I need to.”
“No. You won’t.”
“No sense arguing with him, Rhees. I’ve heard him say, several times, he’d charter a jet back to the States rather than let the local doctors touch him. He hates the health care system in this country,” Claire said. “He’s never going to let them get anywhere near you.”
“It’s good enough for the locals. The population wouldn’t be booming in this country if the doctors were killing everyone off.” Rhees reached up on her toes and kissed Paul’s chin. “It’s pointless to even discuss this. It’s nothing. I’ll be better in no time.”
“I’ll call my dives too so I can stick around.” He put his arms around her. “I’ll do some research on your symptoms. I’ll figure it out.”
“Don’t call your dives because of me. Go.”
“Oh, pleease. I’m not leaving you here to be miserable without me. You know how much I like to be around for that.”
He insisted she get some rest and walked out with her as she made her way to her favorite spot on the edge of the deck. Paul grabbed their mat, and rolled it out for her.
“I’m serious. We’re flying back to the States if you’re not better soon.”
She rolled her eyes.
oOo
Rhees slipped into the office the next morning and plopped down in the chair.
“Still sick?” Claire asked.
Rhees nodded. “Please don’t say anything to Paul. He’s driving me crazy with concern. I think if it were something serious, it would get steadily worse, not come and go like it does.”
Rhees used every bit of reserve she had to make it through her dives, in spite of how close she felt to throwing up most of the time. The dives were okay. It got her mind off of her misery, but the boat fumes about did her in on the way to the dive site. The ride back was more than she could handle.
The boat docked and Rhees jumped off before the usual chaos commenced, leaving her gear. She ran to the end of the deck and threw up over the edge.
Tracy, the first one to notice, shrieked, “Ew! There she blows!”
Everyone heard and either gawked or moved as far away as possible and tried not to look at all. Claire came out of the office to see, and both she and Paul raced to grab Rhees, who looked like she struggled to keep her balance as she heaved.
Paul’s expression was an equal mix of concern and annoyance. He worried about her, but after their discussion the day before, he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t up for another argument. He held her, and Claire kept the hair from Rhees’ face until she finally made it past the worst.
“If I didn’t know better, if this wasn’t Rhees we’re talking about, I’d have to ask if she was pregnant.” Claire laughed riotously at her own joke and missed how the color completely drained from Paul’s face. Rhees choked and Claire reflexively started patting her back.
Paul staggered to the edge of the deck a few feet away. He looked back to meet the lost and disbelieving expression on Rhees’ face, his own expression stoic, no expression at all, just dazed. He looked out over the water and then he leaned over the edge of the deck and vomited too.
“Yep. You two must have caught something in Costa Rica. Paul’s constitution just took longer to give in to it,” Claire said, without thinking a thing.
oOo
“You left me! You left me on my own to absorb all this,” Rhees sobbed. The two of them sat on their mat on the deck. Dinnertime had come and gone, but they were both too stunned to be hungry.
As soon as Paul had stopped heaving into the ocean, he’d turned in circles several times, like he thought he was supposed to be someplace, but couldn’t remember where. He finally stalked off, jumped onto one of the jet skis, and sped away. He didn’t come back until past the time to put the schedule on the board and shoo everyone away for the night.
“Maybe I thought you needed time to think.”
“Oh, you were thinking of me? You thought I needed time to think?” She sounded sarcastic and very annoyed.
“No,” he confessed, shamefacedly. “But I did—I didn’t—couldn’t process—I’m sorry, I didn’t think about anything but myself.”
She cried some more and he felt terrible, but he didn’t know what to do. He sat on the other end of the mat, not daring to touch her, though he wanted to . . . or not.
“I should take a pregnancy test, right? Do they have those on the island?”
“Yes, Rhees,” he huffed. “People on the island get pregnant.” She gave him a dirty look, and he regretted his own sarcasm. “They have quite a teenage pregnancy problem here.”
“I’m going to go get one then.” She started to get up. He sighed, took her hand, and gently pulled her back down, closer to him this time.
“It’s only been five days. It’s too soon. Most tests won’t give you a reliable reading until you’ve missed a period.” He started calculating in his head. “Your last period was the fifth. That means—jeez, your cycle is so fucked up, I don’t know.”
“How do you know all that?”
He almost went cross-eyed before he rattled his head, feeling overwhelmed and weary. “First of all, my mom’s an Ob-Gyn. She sat her sons down and explained the birds and the bees—and a hell of a lot of other stuff, many times, even though she knows I don’t forget. I’m sure Mary got her own version of the hellish lecture too, because heaven forbid, her children might do something to embarrass her or make her look like anything less than the most perfect parent on the fu—on the planet.”
He noticed the troubled look on Rhees’ face and regretted letting all that slip out. He glanced down, embarrassed, licked his lips a few times, and continued on, back to where he’d meant to go before his tirade.
“The girls, here at the shop, tell me they can’t dive certain days. I don’t need to ask them why, it’s the way they ask, all uneasy and embarrassed, but I remember. The next month, I schedule them accordingly. I get it right eighty percent of the time. It’s just easier. I figure I’m saving us all a little awkwardness.” He sighed.
“Damn it, Rhees. Most of the girls are pretty regular—most of them are on the pill.”
“I’ve never had a reason to be on the pill,” she snapped.
He looked at her, realizing how she’d misunderstood him. “The pill lets you choose when, or even if, you want your period. Most of the girls at the shop take a week off. It’s pretty easy to figure it out, but you—you go anywhere from eighteen to thirty-three days between periods. I’ve never seen anything like it. If I was on speaking terms with my mother, I’d call and ask her about it. I’ve thought about looking it up on the Internet, but it seemed so personal. And since I never planned to have a reason to know—” He put the palms of his hands on his forehead in exasperation.
“You know more about my cycle than I do. This is my
fault then.” Tears fell again, but without the sobbing.
“Gaaaw!” Paul couldn’t even finish taking the name in vain, he was so overcome with a truckload of emotions.
“Okay, Mr. Menstrual-Cycle-Savant, when do I take a test? How long before I know for sure?”
“We!” He pulled his hands down his face from top to bottom, stretching his skin and muscles along the way. “Aw, Baby . . . Aw shi-it!” He’d upset himself again. “Nawt a good time to call you Bab—that!” He couldn’t even say it. He groaned and then alternated between random intakes of breath and loud, frustrated exhales. “I know I should never be allowed to touch you again, but I really need to just hold you in my arms right now. Is that all right?”
She sat, quiet for a minute, but about the time he felt terrible that she didn’t want him touching her, she suddenly dived at him and hunkered down into his lap.
“Yes, please.”
They sat, holding each other, for a very long time without talking. Paul broke the silence first.
“Look, I’m all into denial. I say we just pretend like nothing’s wrong and see what happens—until we absolutely have no other choice.”
She nodded in agreement, but then broke into uncontrollable laughter.
“What?” He grinned, but carefully.
“We’re pathetic,” she yelled and continued to laugh.
It took him a few seconds but he finally laughed too, not as hard as she laughed, but somehow it made him feel better, hearing her.
“Maybe one of these days, we should try doing something for reals—you know?” she choked out between her fits of laughter. “Maybe we could try something that doesn’t require any pretending.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He forced a smile. “Someday.” He seemed thoughtful for a second. “You’ve been throwing up a lot. We should go find you something to eat.”
“I’m really, so not hungry.” She stressed the word, so.
“Let’s pretend like you are.”
Wet: Part 2 Page 29