Emotional Waves

by Miller, Maureen A.

  “Don’t you dare make me fall for you, Mr. Coales,” she murmured inside her cocoon.

  “Don’t make me fall for you, Jill.” His voice was rough and she fisted the loose material of his shirt, trying to hold onto her dignity.

  With one more fortifying breath she withdrew. A few extra blinks and she was able to look up into his eyes. They were like looking into an autumn sunset−but she didn’t want to look into the sunset. She wanted the promise of dawn.

  ***

  Havensight was a bustling port, one that accommodated cruise ships without the need for a tender. It was downtown Charlotte Amalie that was Brent’s intended destination, though. He hadn’t been there since he was fourteen, but he remembered the bustling shops and alleys, and the sharp turquoise water off of Waterfront. They decided to walk it, and Brent gave up the notion that he was holding Jill’s hand to keep her safe. He held it because this felt insanely normal. It felt right to stroll through this tourist Mecca with her hand in his, watching her laugh at a string of rum sampling stations set up along the way.

  “If we stopped at each one of these we’d be comatose before noon,” she observed with a chuckle.

  “The more you drink, the more money you spend.” He said the words, but he heard his father uttering the same statement to his mother on this very street. The memory didn’t hurt. It felt good. Nurturing. Had he been on this street alone, the recollection might have been unbearable, but in his hand were warm fingers so trustingly intertwined with his that he felt at peace.

  “Look at that.” Jill tugged him over to an orange storefront, its innards teeming with tee-shirts and novelty gifts. She picked up a floppy pirate’s hat and slammed it down on her head, offering him her best, “argggh” while hooking her finger in the air to impersonate a pirate hook.

  “Funny enough, I forgot to bring a camera on this trip,” he said, following her into the store which opened up into another beside it.

  Jill moved from table to table fascinated by the craziest things. She seemed enthralled by everything with a buccaneer theme, and there was plenty of it around. They moved on to the next store and she paused in front of an illuminated showcase. She reached out and touched a silver chain dangling from a plastic tree, one of many such trees inside the display case. A single blue stone hung from the bottom of the chain and the sign above it indicated it was blue topaz.

  “Do you like that?” he nodded at the necklace.

  “What?” her head swung towards him and she let loose a quick chuckle. “Oh, the blue is so striking. It reminds me of the ocean at Grand Turk.”

  Or your eyes. Bah, he clamped down that thought. “Would you like it?”

  “Oh please,” she grabbed his hand and laughed. “They wanted a hundred dollars for that. Let’s move on.”

  Before he could stop she had him caught up in a riptide, hauling him through the throngs of shoppers, elbowing their way through the alleys until they were both exhausted. Only twice had his glance strayed in pursuit of Luis lookalikes. One such time, Jill caught him and turned to study the suspect.

  “Nope,” she declared. “It’s not him.”

  “You would say that if Luis walked up to me right now and tapped me on the shoulder.”

  “If Luis walked up to you right now and tapped you on the shoulder, I would knee him in the groin and say, ‘that’s for destroying my cabin’−and you and I would move on to that restaurant over there and sit down and have lunch because the exertion would have made me hungry.”

  Brent shook his head. “Al picked the wrong friend. He needs you looking out for him.”

  “You could take me with you.” Her voice was soft.

  “No Jill,” he said. “Not to this world.”

  In the midst of a horde of tourists they had a silent face off until Jill looked defeated and took his hand to draw him beneath a green and yellow striped awning.

  “It just might be time for me to start drinking.” She fell into a wrought iron chair barricaded from the mainstream by a latticework fence. He could see her struggle for composure until ultimately her smile won out. She was a trooper.

  “Hang on to that thought,” he ordered. “I have a place in mind. I want to tap into a forbidden fruit so to speak.”

  Gold eyebrows furrowed with curiosity. “Oh?”

  Brent raised his hand and one of many lurking taxis inched up as close as possible to the curb. Extending his arm in invitation, he waited until Jill hoisted herself out of the chair and joined him.

  “There’s one place I remember from St. Thomas. It was called Mountain Top. It had a banana on top of the roof and they were known for their banana daiquiris. Mom let me have a little taste. Damn it was good,” he grinned. “But it was the view that I recall. The view was incredible and I just want to−”

  I just want to go back and recapture that moment.

  Always perceptive, Jill looked at him and nodded. “Show me,” she said.

  ***

  As the cab climbed through lush vegetation, the temperature and humidity began to decrease. Soon it was cool, with fresh air pouring through the rolled down windows. Jill swallowed to pop her ears from the swift ascent.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said Mountaintop.”

  Through the dense flora, flashes of turquoise ocean emerged until at one point she gasped at a glimpse of the view. She touched Brent’s hand on the vinyl seat beside her and smiled. They reached the parking lot of the Mountain Top restaurant where a ten foot tall Cruzan rum bottle stood in the middle of a circular driveway.

  “Wow, it’s changed,” Brent murmured.

  The cab driver threw an arm over the back of his seat and said, “There was a big fire here a few years ago. It cost a lot to build it again.” He winked as he accepted the fare. “But the daiquiri recipe did not change.”

  As Jill got out she inhaled the fresh air and spun around in a three-sixty maneuver, marveling at the view. “Brent, this is incredible.”

  He smiled and touched the small of her back. “If it hasn’t burned down, there’s a wraparound deck out back where you can see St. John and some of the British Virgin Islands.”

  Jill walked inside the vaulted building which resembled an airplane hangar. Adjusting to the dark, she took in the aisles lined with tourist retail items, and she looked down them to the bar along a façade of windows overlooking the most exquisite view.

  Brent glanced down at his watch. “It’s three o’clock. A respectable time to have that drink we were discussing.”

  They were served two banana daiquiris in plastic cups which they took out onto the deck. Standing along the railing, looking down at Magen’s Bay, and the stone-skip islands in the aqua pool, Jill sipped her drink.

  “Oh,” she licked some froth from her lip, “that is sinful.”

  Brent leaned in and said, “Let me get that for you.” And before she knew it, his warm lips were clashing with the icy remnants of the drink. She had barely even swallowed a sip of alcohol and already she felt lightheaded. She grabbed his arm, but whether it was for leverage or to draw him nearer was not considered.

  As he drew back she could see the sadness in his eyes. It tore at her and she put on her sunglasses to conceal her own torment. The sadness remained in his gaze, but he smiled at her glasses.

  “Woof,” she said.

  Brent laughed and took a sip of his daiquiri. His eyes were exposed and she watched them explore the deck and the view beyond. This was not the furtive glimpse used to locate Luis…this was a peek back in time. She believed that the view he beheld was one that she could not see.

  “We came here twice because I enjoyed it so much the first time.” Brent spoke, but his gaze was focused on the building. “The old place wasn’t this big, and definitely more wood−” his voice trailed off.

  It hurt to think about his loss, and now being forced to revisit the past couldn’t be helping matters.

  “Tell me about them,” she said in a soft voice.

  A breeze ruffle
d Brent’s hair as his eyes shifted towards her. He stared at her for a few seconds until a tentative smile crept into his lips. “Dad was a go-getter. Whatever he did, there was always something better to achieve. His designs were never good enough in his opinion, and yet some of those old WW 90-series models are worth a lot of money these days. I own one,” he smiled.

  For a second Jill was afforded a glimpse of what she imagined was the young Brent Coales. There was a brief spell where the angst of the man he had become and the toll of the sun and the ocean faded, and the juvenile enthusiasm for a motorized vehicle was revealed.

  “And Mom−well, she was the quintessential bookworm. A true nerd with glasses.”

  “Brent!”

  “Seriously,” he laughed. “But I don’t think Dad or I would have wanted her any other way. She taught social studies in the sixth grade and used to consult with me on whether a paper should get an A or a B. I would say, Why are you asking me, you’re the teacher? And she would say, My heart says A for effort, my brain says B for skill…I can’t decide.”

  “A-,” Jill offered, taking another sip of her drink.

  “It would be the logical thing to do, but she never had the heart to be the bad guy. She’d relent with an A. Dad would walk over and look down at the paper and say, He misspelled revolution, give him a C.”

  There was a quiet moment of introspection on Brent’s part that Jill respected in silence, looking out at the ocean and picturing a teenager and his parents anchored in the midst of it.

  “I went from my nerdy mother…” Brent began with both his hands now clasped around the wood railing. He leaned forward and looked down at the immediate drop below the deck. “−to Maria, Al’s mom. Yes, she was gentle with me in those first few weeks−like I was a fawn with a broken leg. And I knew she had grown to love me as if I were her own child. So as soon as I was healthy, she treated me just as she treated Al. There were pigs to be cleaned and dinner to be caught and well, damn, those pigs lived like royalty. Arnaud was so afraid of disease. We had to keep them cool during the day, and warm them at night. Al and I smelled like pig no matter what we did.”

  Jill laughed at the image. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you had never worked with pigs before that.”

  “Hah,” he took a sip of his daiquiri, “before that my mother would be happy if she could get me to wash the dog.” Squinting against the sun his voice resumed its deep timbre. “The Petris were polar opposites of my parents, and yet the feelings I have for them−”

  Brent set his drink down on the balustrade and the condensation dripped down to moisten the surface. “Well−” His finger toyed with the puddle. “Damn, it’s getting hot now.”

  Jill touched his arm and moved in close enough that he eclipsed the sun. “You are doing this because you feel that you owe an insurmountable debt to the Petri family.” Before he could respond, she added, “I don’t know them, but I’d be willing to bet that the debt is all in your head. They aren’t asking this of you. Did Alfredo ask you to do this?”

  “No,” Brent looked away, sullen. “He wanted to be here. I talked him out of it.”

  “Why?”

  His head swung back. “It’s the playoffs. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for him. If he doesn’t want to play for the World Series, I’m going to force him to.”

  “But−”

  “Yes, yes, he argues that he couldn’t give a damn about the playoffs or the Series. His family is in jeopardy and nothing else matters. But−Al is not alone. He has me. And I won’t let him be manipulated by these people. They think just because he’s on the cusp of stardom that they have him where they want him…that he will do anything they demand. They didn’t factor me into the equation. Somehow I feel that Al’s parents are depending on me to support him as a brother,” he wrenched. “And hell, I was the one standing beside him throwing those damn balls through the tire. I was the one telling him that he would one day be in the World Series. It is our joint dream.”

  Jill looked up at Brent and wanted to take him into her arms, but she sensed his agitation and refrained. “You put too much on yourself. You are trying too hard to right things in life because you−”

  She clamped down her words. Too many emotions were becoming vested. She ached for this man, but tomorrow he would be gone.

  “Because I what, Jill?” His voice was so low she didn’t think he had spoken, but the pensive eyes awaited her response.

  “No,” she shook her head and started to move away from the railing−away from him. “We better start heading back.”

  He reached for her arms, halting her. “Because I what?”

  Jill dipped her head, staring at the wooden planks and her white sandals. Finally, she said, “Because you are trying to right things that were never in your control to begin with.” Desperation kicked in because she saw the pain this man possessed and she didn’t want that pain to be his demise. “You can’t change the past by doing this.”

  His hands fell off her. “No, I can’t.”

  He picked up his cup and then gathered hers, throwing them both out in a nearby trashcan. He nodded towards the building, “Come on, you’re right. We better go.”

  As he started walking, Jill tugged on his arm, halting him in the shadows of the concrete façade. “Brent, I’m sorry.”

  He turned around and looked at her with the most peculiar expression. “For what?” he asked in a husky tone. “For caring about me? It took guts to say that. Most people−the few people outside of immediate family who know about my past…they all avoid the subject. They think that I don’t want to talk about it, and they are right.”

  Jill swallowed a lump. She wished she could go back and just be a cordial companion on his afternoon on the island. But no, she had to insinuate herself where she wasn’t wanted.

  “I−”

  “And you are right, Jill,” Brent whispered. “You are right,” his voice choked. “I need to do something. I should have been…” he closed his eyes. “I should have been on that boat. That is the bottom line. I should have been on that boat with them.”

  “Then who would have encouraged Alfredo to throw that baseball?” she whispered. “Who would have carried on your father’s reputation in the boating industry? Who would have cleaned up after the pigs?”

  With his eyes still closed, Brent snorted. “Have I told you recently that you’re a pain in the ass?”

  “Once or twice.” She smiled, but then gripped his arms in earnest. “Brent, do you have a death wish?”

  He looked at her and his gaze spilled down her like warm rain on a hot summer day. His lips curled up into a poignant grin. “I might have,” he hesitated. “I’m not so sure I do anymore.”

  ***

  In the few days aboard the Neptune Majesty, all of Jill’s meals had been spent in one of the two main dining halls. Tonight, though, she was going to dine in Luigi’s, an upscale Northern Italian restaurant on Deck 2 located in the tower of the ship. She stood on the balcony of her new cabin and watched the rolling contour of St. Thomas fade into the horizon along with a host of other nebulous atolls.

  Brent had helped her to settle into the new cabin. Conversation was stilted during the process and she was certain he was dismissing her after she had overstepped her bounds this afternoon. But just as he turned to leave, he held his hand on the doorknob and said, “Luis is not off this ship yet. I’d feel safer if you had dinner with me. I could be back here in a half hour.”

  It was impossible to read his expression. Jill set down the dress in her hands and tried to lighten the tension. “Wow, I’m swooning.”

  Brent’s shoulders relaxed, but he kept his distance. “Jill,” he held his hand out as if it could complete his sentence. “This isn’t a romance. We have to remind ourselves of that. I am with you because Luis has threatened you and I don’t want to see you hurt, and that’s it.”

  A corkscrew twisted inside her chest. She hoped he could not see it as she grabbed the dr
ess again and thrust it onto a wooden hanger.

  “I realize that.” Give me an Oscar. “Of course I realize that. You think I’m some starry-eyed teenager. Romance exists in books. In books you don’t get shoved off the deck of a ship. In books you don’t−” she glanced down at her exposed knee. She wore shorts today, comfortable now that Brent wasn’t going to shriek at the sight of her hideous scar.

  “Never mind.” She shrugged and reached for the next garment. “A half hour? I’ll be ready.”

  “Jill,” he stepped away from the door and moved towards her.

  She tensed at his approach. She was holding her dignity together with a spider web thread, and when he moved up and put his arms around her−that string frayed.

  “Tomorrow this will be over and you will be safe,” he whispered. “I can’t allow myself to think of it any other way.”

  She choked down the sob in her throat, a sound that was a cross between a hiccup and a burp.

  “And if I’m safe, what will you be?” she challenged.

  “Gone.” He drew back so that he could look into her eyes, which was exactly what she didn’t want him to do.

  “I’ll be back soon.” He retreated to the door again and managed a smile. “Dress up. It’s only fair I treat you to a nice dinner.”

  She nodded, her throat muscles caught in a spasm. Brent hesitated, watching her before he opened the door and executed his habitual gaze in each direction. Then he slipped out into the hall. When the door closed she heard his muffled order of, “Throw the dead bolt.”

  And now, here it was, twenty-five minutes later and she stood on the balcony, smelling that sultry blend of salt and fish that represented the sea. The color of the sky was at the cusp between blue and pink as a seagull spliced a line between the blending hues.

  Jill glanced down at her dress. She had thought of wearing black to celebrate the death of her budding romance, but at the last minute had opted for a red halter dress−a dress she had packed but never expected to wear. It came too high above her knee and dipped too low down her back. At the last second, however, she thought, what the hell? It had been a long time since there was a need to dress up−especially for a man. If this night was nothing more than a farewell dinner, she was going to squelch her emotions and she was going to let Brent see there was a sexy woman trapped inside her scarred shell.