by Junie Coffey
“What’s he doing?” whispered Nina. “Is he playing video games? I knew it! He’s just the type who would move to a tropical island and then sit in the dark playing video games all day.”
“Boy, you sure are grumpy today,” said Danish, glancing at her. “I’ve never seen that game before. Looks sort of complicated.”
Les pushed back his chair and stood up, coffee cup in hand. He was headed for the kitchen.
“Quick! Let’s go!” hissed Nina. They scuttled back to her veranda. Nina glanced back at Les’s house as she hopped up onto the porch. Les was standing at his kitchen window with his coffee cup in his hand, staring out at her. They locked eyes for a long second, then he turned and walked back into the gloom of his darkened living room.
Nina followed Danish into her cottage.
“That was a bad idea. I still don’t know what he’s up to, and he caught us snooping. Anyway, I have to get ready to go to the airport now, Danish,” she said.
“No prob. I just stopped by to run my idea by you, but it’s so good it’ll keep. See you at The Redoubt later?” he said, heading for the front door, where his red postal cart waited at the curb.
“I’ll have to see how things go,” she replied.
Nina strolled over to the Plantation Inn to catch a ride to the airport in the inn’s passenger van. The Pineapple Cay Airport was a low-key affair—an airport terminal about the size of a large garden shed painted a cheery yellow, dwarfed by a giant sign reading WELCOME TO PINEAPPLE CAY mounted on its roof. The runway was only long enough for puddle jumpers, and the two regularly scheduled daily flights from the main island deposited sunseekers and locals in small batches of no more than twenty at a time. A row of private four- and six-seater planes stood on the concrete apron by the terminal building. They belonged to wealthy expat residents and to a couple of charter pilots based out of Pineapple Cay.
Attached to the terminal was a covered patio furnished with benches. A few people had already gathered to meet the incoming flight. Nina watched the plane descend from the cloudless blue sky and roll to a stop in front of the building. The local ground crew leisurely rolled the air stairs and then a baggage cart out onto the tarmac. A few minutes later, the door of the plane popped open, dispensing a couple of dozen stiff-legged passengers onto the pavement. Nina picked Philip out immediately. He was wearing a tropical-weight beige suit with a straw fedora, a bulging leather briefcase over his shoulder. He strode purposefully toward the covered patio, overtaking several of his fellow passengers. When he was about thirty feet away, he spotted Nina on the other side of the chain-link fence and called to her, startling the elderly lady in front of him with his booming voice.
“Excellent! Nina. You’re here. Not a bad flight. Where do I collect my bag? These small airports in the out islands. Always a bit chaotic.” He spoke as he edged through the crowd, drawing a few sideways glances from the locals.
“Hello, Philip. Welcome to Pineapple Cay,” said Nina. “The baggage will be on the cart behind you in a few minutes.”
As they waited for their turn at the luggage cart, Nina became aware of a tall young woman standing beside Philip. She was clutching a large canvas satchel in front of her and smiling at Nina expectantly. Nina looked at Philip, who was oblivious, riffling through the inner pocket of his jacket for something, then back at the young woman. She didn’t seem to be going anywhere, so Nina stuck out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Nina Spark. Welcome to Pineapple Cay. Are you here for the Delancy Symposium?” The young woman smiled, shook Nina’s hand, and opened her mouth to speak. Philip broke in.
“Oh yes. Nina, this is Bridget Neary, my research assistant. She’s here in a support capacity, to help with registration, coordination of the panel discussions, that sort of thing. If you would be so good as to find a room for her in the overflow accommodation you outlined in your e-mail.”
Although Philip always implored his staff to “Please call me Philip,” he made sure they never forgot their place. Nina smiled at Bridget.
“Pleased to meet you, Bridget. I saw your name in the program.” The young woman beamed at Nina and again opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by Philip, who had grabbed his bag from the trolley and was on the move.
“Which way to the taxi, Nina? I’d like to get settled in and go over the program before the rest of the delegates arrive this afternoon.” He charged ahead through the small cluster of arriving passengers and greeters, holding his leather briefcase up in front of him to clear a path.
Bridget fell into step beside Nina. “Wow! This island is so beautiful. I can’t believe the color of the water! I’ve never been this far south before. It was so great of Philip to bring me. You live here, right? That must be fantastic! Oh, look. There’s Sylvia. I wonder how she got here. I didn’t see her on the plane.”
Philip had clearly not managed to cow the poor girl into silence. Nina followed Bridget’s eyes to a petite woman standing beside the Plantation Inn van. She wore a sleek black dress and sky-high red heels, and she was scrolling through her phone messages. She was in her midfifties, with a sophisticated upsweep of salt-and-pepper hair, bright-red nail polish, and lipstick that matched her shoes and nails. Sylvia Putzel-Cross. Philip’s first ex-wife was herself a distinguished professor at a university in Chicago. While Philip had embraced the tweedy-professor stereotype, Sylvia was the complete opposite: she always dressed impeccably in crisp designer ensembles. Nina had met her a few times over the years and could never fathom that Sylvia and Philip had been a couple, let alone had two children together. The only thing they seemed to have in common was ambition.
Sylvia looked up as they approached.
“Philip. Hello, Bridget. You’re looking well. And Nina, how are you? I thought you were mad when I heard you’d given up Manhattan for an island with a population of five thousand fishermen and no Starbucks, but it is quite charming.” She offered her cheek to Nina for air-kisses.
“Hello, Sylvia, my dear,” said Philip. “How did you get here? One is tempted to make a little joke about a flying broomstick, just to keep up appearances. Ha ha.”
Sylvia raised her chin and glanced at Philip briefly before scanning the line of waiting taxis, vans, and golf carts through narrowed eyes.
“Bush league, Philip. How disappointing. A pimple-faced ninth grader could have done better.” She turned to address Nina.
“I flew in to the main island last night. Thought I’d treat myself to dinner at Wave, since I’d heard such wonderful things about their new chef. It was marvelous. Ran into Oprah there. Hadn’t seen her in months, so we had a lovely catch-up. Also met a charming pilot in the bar, who dropped me here this morning on his way to Havana. Oh, what a glorious day to be in the islands again! Shall we?”
“I’ve got to meet a few more people coming in on a charter flight,” said Nina. “Enjoy your afternoon at the inn. I hear the porches on the guest bungalows have hammocks. I’ll come find you for predinner drinks on the veranda later.”
She remembered that Bridget was staying at the rental villa next door to the inn. Some delegates were sharing suites at the inn, and Pansy had lined up the villa for the overflow at a reduced rate. “Bridget, the driver will drop you at your villa. I toured it yesterday. It’s gorgeous. It’s got a hot tub on the roof! The housekeeper left some snacks in the fridge for you and your housemates. Have a great time!”
Bridget smiled and nodded vigorously.
“Right, then, Nina. We’ll need to meet to go over details later,” said Philip as he jumped into the front passenger seat of the van. Bridget and Sylvia climbed in back with a few other guests, and the van pulled away.
Nina headed back to the arrivals area to wait for the charter plane. It was just taxiing down the runway toward the terminal. When it stopped, the pilot jumped out and opened the door for his two passengers. The trio chatted as they ambled across the hot tarmac to the covered patio. The tallest among them, a man in his fifties wearing horn-rimmed glasse
s, waved at Nina. It was Victor Ross, whom Nina had gotten to know at conferences they’d both attended over the years. She’d last seen him at the Wheat Treats Conference at the airport Hilton in Cincinnati last year. His traveling companion was a shorter, younger man in tight-legged hipster khakis and an olive-green T-shirt with a bar code across the chest.
The pilot veered off into the terminal building to deal with his paperwork, and Victor and the other man passed through the chain-link fence to where Nina waited.
“Hello, Nina!” said Victor, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “Lovely to see you. I must say, Pineapple Cay is a much more attractive setting for a dronefest than the Cincinnati airport Hilton. Well done.”
“Hi, Victor. I’m really glad you could come,” Nina said, then turned to his companion with a welcoming smile. The man stuck out his hand.
“Hello. Razor Hudson. I missed the last conference. I was doing fieldwork on tourist interaction with service workers in a fast-food restaurant on the motel strip in Fort Lauderdale. I went undercover on the milk-shake machine for three months. Pretty intense. I lost ten pounds. Then I got deep into the intersection between political protest and surfer culture in Wisconsin, thanks to a buddy of mine up there. So, not really much time for conferences. Nice to meet you, though.”
“Welcome to Pineapple Cay,” said Nina. “Is there surfer culture in Wisconsin? That’s pretty far from the ocean, isn’t it?”
“That’s the thing. People have all these stereotypes about surfing, but it’s pretty progressive, politically.” Razor leaned toward Nina as he spoke, gesturing with his hands. Nina wasn’t quite following his argument, but she smiled and nodded.
“Well, I for one would like to ponder that idea while sipping a refreshing cocktail beside the Caribbean Sea,” said Victor. “Any chance of that, Nina?”
“Of course,” she replied, glancing at her watch. It was only ten o’clock in the morning. But in London, where Victor lived, it was midafternoon. “You must both be tired. Let’s get a taxi, and I’ll take you to the inn.”
Nina led Victor and Razor out front and hailed a cab. She left them at the Plantation Inn to settle in and headed back to her cottage. She was running out of clean clothes to wear, so she stuffed most of her limited wardrobe into her duffel, along with her sheets and towels. She heaved the bag onto her shoulder, slipped her sandals on, and headed into the village where there was a Laundromat at the marina. While she waited for the washing machine to do its thing, she wandered down the block to The Redoubt. She had a sudden craving for a grilled cheese on coconut bread and sweet-potato fries topped with a dollop of curried mayonnaise.
Nina pushed open the wooden door from the street and glanced around the nearly empty restaurant. It wasn’t quite lunchtime, and even the stragglers from the breakfast crowd had cleared out by now. There were just a couple of regulars stationed on their stools at the bar and two tables of sunburned vacationers. South Korean pop music was banging away on the sound system, meaning two things: Danish was working, and Veronica was out.
Nina gritted her teeth as the repetitive beat and chirpy vocals tracked her steps toward the bar. She passed a bewildered-looking white-haired foursome in golf togs who looked like they might be about to bolt and veered toward the jukebox, pulling from her pocket the half roll of quarters she’d brought for the coin-operated washing machine. The jukebox would automatically shut off the sound system, so she quickly flipped through the selections and fed some quarters into the slot. A couple of seconds later, sweet calypso filled the air. Nina relaxed. She glanced over at the golfers. They were settling back in their seats and opening their menus, chatting among themselves. Nina strolled over to the bar. She slid onto a stool where she could catch the breeze coming through the open doors to the deck and picked up the local paper someone had left behind.
A few moments later, Danish emerged from the kitchen.
“Great! You’re here. Let’s talk business,” he said.
“Oh, Danish, not now, OK? I’ve got to focus on the conference for the next few days. That’s how I’m paying the bills. I really don’t have time for anything else right now. I’ll have a grilled cheese with sweet-potato fries on the side, please.”
“OK, sure. How about tonight, then? I’ll come by and give you the skinny. Eight o’clock?”
“It’s Sunday night. Aren’t you and Alice heading over to Star Cay for the beach barbecue, as usual?” asked Nina.
“I don’t know what Alice’s plans for the evening are, but just hear me out,” he said. The cook started ringing the bell insistently in the kitchen. Like maybe he was continuing a heated conversation he and Danish had been having behind the kitchen doors.
“That’s my pickup,” said Danish. “Just keep an open mind. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Nina was surprised. Danish’s number one priority since she’d known him was Alice. Strange that he didn’t seem concerned where she’d be tonight. Nina shrugged and turned her attention to the classifieds, her favorite part of the paper.
For sale: wedding dress, only worn twice, and one ticket to the Super Bowl.
There’s a story there, Nina thought. A shadow fell across the page in front of her.
“Listen, Danish, I’m really sorry, but could you sell your wares elsewhere? If I win the lottery, I’ll let you know. Now you’re standing in my light. I’m trying to read Dear Auntie, and I really need to know what the proper Thanksgiving dinner etiquette is when your ex-husband’s brother marries your sister, whose boss is your new boyfriend.”
“I apologize. I didn’t know you had a sister. But I’m glad to hear you aren’t interested in Danish Jensen’s wares.”
Nina looked up quickly. It was Ted. Her stomach did a little flip. It had been more than a month since she’d seen him—a month since their first, only, and very memorable kiss. He slid onto the stool next to her and faced her with an amused smile on his face. He took off the battered wide-brimmed khaki hat that she’d rarely seen him without and ran his fingers through his dirty-blond hair. Then he leaned one elbow on the bar and caught and held her gaze with his warm, brown eyes.
“How are you, Nina?” he asked.
He was tall and tanned from spending his days outdoors, and there were pleasant laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. As usual, he wore a dark khaki shirt, light khaki shorts, and sand-colored boots. Gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses hung on a strap around his neck. She swallowed.
“I’m great, thanks. How was your trip? Pansy said you went up north to some hunting-and-fishing shows.”
“I just got back this morning. I went to check on the lodge and then stopped at your place on my way back into town. There was no answer at your door, so I thought you might still be off-island. I’m glad to see I was mistaken. We had dinner plans that went awry.”
Just what she liked in a man—persistence without being creepy.
“I got back a couple of weeks ago. So, how did your shows go?” she asked.
“It was a good trip, business-wise. Five shows in four states in six days. I got to spend all day talking about my favorite subject—fishing—with what must’ve been a thousand folks. And I’ve got most of next season fully booked. I can’t complain. But I think I’ve seen enough hockey arenas, convention centers, and motel rooms to do me for a while. I stopped off to see my folks in Florida on the way home. That was good. But I’m glad to be back.”
Nina smiled at him, and he smiled back. They sat looking at each other for a moment without speaking. The silence lengthened. It was probably her turn to speak. She trawled desperately through her brain, searching for something intelligent to say.
“It is good to be back,” she finally said. “I was away, too. There’s a nudist living next door to me now.”
“I’m assuming you don’t mean me or Cheryl,” he said, smiling. Cheryl managed the daily operations of the fishing lodge for Ted. “Are you talking about Leslie Jones? Haven’t seen him around in a while. Th
ought maybe the novelty had worn off and he’d moved back to the States.”
“No. Apparently he was away gambling—which, according to him, is his job.”
“That rings a bell. I think he told me something like that in here one night. So, how was your trip?”
“Well, let’s just say I didn’t learn as much about the spotted tree frog as I’d hoped from my expert guide, but I did hear all about how the digital camera has ruined the professional photography industry and how Norway has the only national soccer team that’s never lost a match to the mighty Brazilians. Anyway, the scenery was amazing.”
Ted chuckled. After a brief pause, he said, “So, are you still up for dinner?”
“I’d love to have dinner with you,” she replied. “But I’m going to be pretty busy for the next week with a conference I’ve been organizing. It begins tomorrow.” He sat back and looked at her pensively.
Oh no, he thinks I’m blowing him off.
She quickly added, “I’m free tonight, though, if you aren’t too busy at the lodge.”
He smiled. “Great. They can manage without me for one more night, I’m sure. I’ll pick you up at seven. I’d like to hear more about your trip.” He stood up. “I’d better go get a few things done between now and then.”
He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She watched him walk out the door.
“Well, well, well. You and old Ted.” Danish had materialized in front of her bearing her grilled cheese sandwich with a side of fries.
“It’s just dinner. No big deal,” she said with a shrug, dipping a sweet-potato fry in the dab of curried-mayonnaise dressing on the side of her plate.
“Ah, I beg to differ. He just kissed you, and you let him.”
“He’s a gentleman. That’s what gentlemen do. Very gallant.”