by Jill Barnett
He made a mock bow. “Sure thing, Smitty. Whatever you say.” And he walked out of the water.
“Oh my God!!” she shrieked and spun around. “You’re naked!”
“What’s the matter?” He held out his arms. “I’m just doing what you told me.” He grinned at her back.
“Intimidation isn’t going to work,” she called out over her shoulder.
“Then how about compromise, sweetheart?” He paused on purpose. “Let me think. Hmmm . . . I suppose you could take off your clothes. Then we’d both be naked. If that’d make you feel better, go right ahead.”
She shook her head and walked up the beach, not looking back.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Anyone ever tell you, Smitty, that you’re no fun?”
“I wasn’t put on this earth for your amusement, Hank!” she hollered back without stopping.
He shook his head, then said under his breath, “That’s what you think, sweetheart.” He strolled over to a palm tree and picked up his pants. He looked at them for a moment and grinned like the devil.
He glanced back to the beach, but she was gone. He rubbed his chin with one hand. Well, well, he thought, she’s cooked her own goose.
Then he remembered it was Smitty. She hadn’t cooked it. She’d probably burned it. He glanced down at his clothes again and laughed. Revenge was going to be sweet.
He swiped her clothes.
Got up bright and early just for the occasion and waited until she went to take her bath at the freshwater pool near the waterfall. He slunk along, his back pressed to the rocks that walled off the pool. As he moved, he rubbed his hands together and grinned.
Life was grand.
She was in the water. He could hear her splashing around and humming. He chuckled to himself and waited. He figured if he could get an eyeful while he was getting even, then what the hell?
He peered over the edge of the rock wall. He could make out the reflection of white female skin under the water and long sleek legs. He gave a quiet whistle through his teeth.
He took a few more minutes and caught a sweet glimpse of the finest ass this side of heaven. Then he waited until she was across the pool, swimming on the other side.
He whipped around the rocks and snatched up her clothes. She was leaning back and dipping her hair in the water, her arms raised and her cleavage exposed.
He stood there, because it was too good to pass up. He moved toward the rocks with all the stealth he could muster. He paused for one last look.
Whoa, boy.
Then he disappeared around the rocks before he could say Smitty’s goose was burned.
It was his lucky day. He had an eyeful of woman and a bucketful of oysters. After stealing her clothes, then leaving them in the hut, he’d gone diving and found an oyster bed.
He brought up a bucket of oysters, his mind thinking of pearls more than of food. He trudged onto the beach, dropped the bucket, and pulled on his pants and shirt.
Come to Papa, all you sweet island pearls.
He took out his knife and sat on the beach, opening the rough-shelled oysters one by one.
Oyster after oyster. After empty oyster.
He stared at the bucket filled with oysters as pearl less as he was. This was the South Seas, home of the most magnificent and valuable pearls that had ever been found. And not one bloody pearl in any of these oysters?
He swore and tossed the last oyster back in the bucket. Something small and white ricocheted out and pelted him in the arm. He dug around in the sand and found it.
One small milky pearl. He held it up to the sun. It was still frosty and light shone through it, meaning it wasn’t worth much, for in truth it was barely a pearl. Hank picked it up and tucked it in his pants’ pocket anyway.
“Whatchagot?” Theodore stood a few feet away. “Food.”
“Oh.” He rocked on his toes. “What kind of food?” “Oysters.”
“Oh.” He stepped closer and frowned into the bucket. “What are oysters?”
“Food.”
“What kind of food?”
Hank grinned. “Oysters.”
The kid giggled. “What are oysters?”
“Food.” Hank reached out and ruffled Theodore’s hair. “You’re getting it, kid!”
Theodore grinned back, then shifted his look to the bucket.
“Oysters are like mussels,” Hank explained.
“Yuk!” The kid wrinkled his nose. He leaned over farther and frowned at them, then looked up again. “Do they smoke?”
Hank started laughing. He stood and picked up the bucket. “No. That’s just the way Smitty cooks everything.” He paused, then he grinned and poked the kid in the arm. “Hey. Here’s a riddle for you. What should you do if you’re ever lost?”
The kid shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Just wait until suppertime. Look for the smoke, then follow it back home.”
“Like smoke signals!”
“Yeah, kid.” Hank chuckled. Now where was Smitty when he was being so damn witty?
But Theodore just stood there, his hands locked behind him. He stared at Hank from a face that had serious thoughts—too serious for a little kid.
Hank nudged him in the arm. “Why the long face?” He shrugged.
“I thought we were buddies.”
“We are.”
“Then spill it.”
“I heard Smitty say she was gonna learn to cook even if it killed her.”
She might take all of us with her, Hank thought, remembering the previous night when she had cooked the breadfruit so long it had actually disappeared.
“I don’t want Smitty to die like everyone else.”
“That’s just an expression. Cooking can’t really kill her.” Hank looked down at him for a second, then said, “As for dying? You have to face facts, kid. Nothing lives forever.”
“Why?”
“Because death is part of life.”
“Why can’t we live forever and ever?”
“Because everything has to die, then something else can live.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“When we die, there is part of us left behind.”
Hank squatted down until he was eye level with Theodore. “You know that word game we just played where we end up asking the same questions? It’s like a circle, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Life is like that, too.” Hank drew a circle in the sand. “The earth starts off as dust and then man is born, lives his life, then he dies and becomes dust, part of the earth again. You understand?”
“Sort of.”
Hank grabbed a handful of sand. “Hold out your hand.”
The kid did, and Hank poured the sand into his hand. “Feel the sand.”
Theodore rubbed it around in his hand, running his thumb over it and closing his palm tightly.
“Tell me what it feels like.”
“Little rocks.”
“That’s right. That handful of sand used to be rocks—big rocks. Like those over on the cliffs.”
“It did?”
Hank nodded. “But the sea and wind and time turned the rock into this sand. The sand you’re holding could have been rocks that were all the way across the world.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Like China?”
“Sure, kid. Remember what Smitty told you happens when you melt sand?”
“It becomes glass.”
“That’s right. And you can mix sand with special kinds of chemicals you get from other rocks and dirt and mountains. If you mix them all with water, you have cement or concrete. They use concrete for buildings—”
“And statues in parks and stuff like that.”
Hank nodded. “So life works the same way. Even though something is gone suddenly, like the big rock. It’s not really gone. The rock is always there as sand or glass or concrete. It never goes away completely.” Hank pointed at the circle in the sand. “Just like thi
s. You understand?”
“Then part of Mama and Dad are still here?”
Hank nodded and pointed to the kid’s chest. “You were part of them; so were your sisters. And you’re still here.”
The kid nodded, then waited a second. “But what happens when we die?”
“Your children live on.”
“Do you have any children?”
Hank laughed. “No.”
“How come?”
Hank shrugged that one off.
“Then what happens when you die?”
Hank gave him a long look. “I expect I’ll be buried, turn to dust, then I’d like to think maybe a big wind’ll come by someday and blow me somewhere real special.”
“What about heaven?”
Hank looked at the kid, then touched his temple. “In here”—and he touched his chest—“and in here. That’s what goes to heaven, kid. You understand?”
Theodore nodded.
“Here’s another question for you, like the riddles.” Hank picked up a shell and tossed it into the ocean. “That shell was an oyster, which used to be a sea creature, then it died, and now it’s a seashell. The water and sand will break it up, and eventually, after a long, long time, what will happen?”
Theodore’s face brightened. “It’ll turn into sand!”
“You’re a smart kid, you know that?”
He grinned.
“Come on.” Hank straightened and picked up the bucket. “Let’s take these back.” He started up the beach, and a second later the kid was dogging his steps. Hank glanced down and shortened his strides.
Theodore slid his hand around one side of the bucket handle so they both were carrying it. He looked up at Hank. “Will the oyster go to heaven?” “Yeah, kid.”
“How do you know?”
Hank stopped, set down the bucket, and pulled the small pearl out of his pocket. “See this? You know what it is?”
“A pearl?”
“Yeah. Pearls come from oysters.”
“They do?”
“Yep. Hold out your hand.” Hank dropped the small pearl in the kid’s palm. “You know anything about heaven?”
“God lives there and so do the angels.”
Hank picked up one of the oyster shells and set it in his palm. “See the shell, kid?”
He nodded.
“It’s rough and ugly on the outside, but look at the inside.” Hank turned it over so that its pearlescent side was showing.
“It looks like a pearl.”
“That’s right.” Hank grinned. “Ever heard of the Pearly Gates?”
Theodore looked from him to the shell and then to the pearl in his hand. His face lit up, and he laughed.
Hank looked down at him and winked, then picked up the bucket again. “Let’s go.”
Theodore dogged his steps. “We’re buddies, Hank, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, kid.”
“Yeah,” Theodore mimicked in a deep voice that made Hank grin. The kid took hold of the other side of the bucket handle again as they walked up the beach.
Hank watched Theodore try to ape his walk. “Say, kid?”
“Hm?” He missed a step, then looked up.
“I’ll take this.” He shifted the bucket to his other hand.
The kid frowned. But before he could say anything, Hank nudged him in the arm, then took off running. “I’ll race you back!” He called out over a shoulder.
Theodore charged after him. “You cheated!”
“Nah. You just gotta give the oldest buddy a head start.”
“Hey, Smitty! We brought you something new to burn!” Hank chuckled and walked through the door of the hut with the kid in his wake. He looked around the inside.
There was a low moan from a lump in the dark corner.
Hank set down the bucket of oysters and crossed the room. “Smitty?”
“Go soak your head, Hank Wyatt.” She was huddled in a knot in the corner, her knees pulled against her chest and her head turned away from him and resting on her knees.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying not to shoot you.”
“Ah, yeah. The clothes.” He gave another wicked laugh. “Snuck those suckers right out from under your nose, sweetheart.” He looked at her clothes. “I see you found them.”
“But not for hours,” she said weakly, then looked up at him.
Hank looked at her and froze.
“You got sunburned,” the kid said.
It was an understatement. She was sunfried.
Her face. Her neck. Her eyelids and lips and cheeks. Her arms and hands were all bright reddish pink. She had little tiny white creases in the corners of her eyes. It was one helluva burn.
She looked down at herself and muttered, “I don’t need whatever you have in that bucket. I already found something else to burn.”
He felt about as low as a person could. He wanted to say something. But the right words escaped him—if there even were right words for a time like this. So he just stood there, not knowing what to say.
She shifted and tried to get up, then gasped.
“I’ll help.” He reached out.
She turned too fast and flinched, her eyes moist with pain. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I guess I have.” He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up.
She only moaned once.
“Can you walk?”
She nodded and waddled like a wind-up toy for a few feet.
“Smitty . . . ”
“I can’t watch the baby.”
“Where is she?”
“Asleep, over there.” She tried to raise her arm. She sucked in a breath of pain and bit her lip.
“Where’s Lydia?”
“I sent her to get some more fruit.”
Theodore ran over to the flat trunk they used as a table and he picked up the bottle. “I can get Muddy out—”
“No!” Hank bellowed, then ran a hand through his hair. “I told you. Just leave that bottle alone.”
Theodore looked at Hank from a sulky face. “You don’t like Muddy.”
Hank didn’t say anything. He just spun around and strode toward the door.
“Hank!” Smitty called after him.
“I’ll be back!” He called out over a shoulder.
“Where are you going? Wait please! I can’t take care of Annabelle. I can’t even lift her!” Her voice was almost a moan.
He stopped in the doorway. “Stay here and help Smitty, kid. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
It was a few hours before Margaret could move without feeling as if her skin was going to burst.
A shadow loomed over her. “Feeling any better?” She looked up at Hank.
“Just ducky.”
He stood there looking like someone who thought his feet and hands were too big. He looked away for a tense moment, then turned back. “Did the stuff I gave you help?”
“Yes. It doesn’t hurt as much.”
He had came back to the hut a short time after he’d left, his arms filled with a thick waxy-leafed plant. He’d squeezed juice out of it and gave it to her to rub on her skin. Some concoction he said they used in the prison rock quarry when inmates got badly burned or exposed.
He gave her a long once-over look. “You need to go down to the beach.”
“Now there’s something I could use. A little more sunshine.”
“I’m trying to tell you what you should do.”
“Oh, forgive me, I forgot. I’m the woman. You’re the man. Please tell stupid little me what I should do.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and shook his head. “God but you can be a sarcastic b—”
“Don’t say it!” She held up her hand. “Don’t.”
“Oh, hell! I’m sorry, dammit!” He ran his hand through his hair, then jammed both his hands in his pockets and began to pace—all gestures that she had come to realize meant Hank Wyatt was feeling some uncomfortab
le emotion.
“Stealing my clothes was a cruel trick, Hank.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know you’d go and get yourself sunburned?”
“I didn’t ‘go and get myself sunburned.’ I didn’t have any clothes.”
“Well, hell. What did you do, just stand there buck naked in the hot sun?”
“Yes, and in the water,” she whispered.
He said nothing, just gave her that you’re-out-of-your-mind kind of look.
Very softly she admitted, “I thought you’d be waiting if I came out.”
“I wasn’t there.” He gave her an odd look. “So I realized . . . two hours later.”
“I didn’t think of it,” he muttered, staring thoughtfully at the ground.
She hurt too much to throw something at him and didn’t feel up to sparring with him anymore. “Just go away. Please. Go and watch the children. I can’t. I just can’t.”
He watched her for a second, then turned around. He started to take a step but stopped, his back to her and his hands still in his pockets. “If you go down to the beach and go in the ocean a couple of times a day, Smitty, the saltwater will help your skin heal.”
“Right now, I just want to go to sleep,” she whispered, gently laying her burning hot cheek on one sore arm. And she closed her puffy eyes.
Hank served the children oysters on the half shell. Lydia, Theodore, and Annabelle sat in a small circle on grass mats in the center of the hut. He set one of Smitty’s pans, a big skillet, down in front of them. It was layered with fresh raw oysters.
He sat down next to them and picked up an oyster, lifted the shell to his mouth, and let it slide down his throat.
Ahhhhh. All it needed was a little Tabasco sauce. A few beers on the side . . . Yeah.
He ate three more before he realized the children were staring at him. He gazed back at them over the rippled, pearly edge of the oyster shell that rested on his lip. His gaze went left, then right, then back to them.
Three sets of wide and serious blue eyes watched him.
He swallowed, then waved a hand. “Go ahead. Eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Lydia said quietly.
Theodore shook his head. “Me either!”
Hank looked at the baby. She reached out a hand and poked the oyster a couple of times, then stared at her finger and brought it slowly back to her nose. She made an awful face. “Sit!”