I laughed. "Yes, I want to hear it."
"Fine. I wanted to be selfish. I know you’re headed back soon. The last few days…I wanted you to myself.”
I smiled so hard, it almost hurt. She laughed at me. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her into my chest. She leaned into me. All the fatigue I was feeling seemed to drain from my body.
"Well, you don't really have much choice in the matter," she quipped, reaching up to run her fingers over the back of my head.
I chuckled. "I don't?"
She turned around in my arms and kissed me. Sweet as honey. "No, you don't." She stepped away from me then, and I reluctantly let her go back to stirring the pot. I just watched her for a few minutes. She tasted the stew and smiled, satisfied.
"I didn't know you cooked."
"I do," she replied. "I don't do it often, but Rosa would never let me get away with not knowing how."
I suddenly realized how much there was that I still didn't know about her. And we didn't have the rest of our lives to find out.
"I'm glad one of us can," I replied. "If not, you'd be shimmying up that tree over there to pick us some mangoes for dinner."
She laughed. "You should try it some time. It's actually very relaxing, and it just seems to taste so much better when you've made it yourself."
"I'm sure it does. Will you teach me?"
"I'd love to."
She spooned more of the stew onto her ladle. I watched as she pursed her lips to cool it a bit and then offered it to me. I examined the contents for a second before taking it, surprised by the taste.
"Mm…what is that I just put in my mouth?" I asked.
She smiled. "It's called ginatan."
"Is it dessert? It tastes sweet."
"Yes. It's traditionally dessert, but I like to eat it for breakfast or a snack as well." She fetched two bowls from the sink and spooned some into them. "It's made from tapioca, yams, jack fruit and then stewed in sweetened coconut milk."
"Mm…sounds very good." I found some spoons for her and brought them to the table. We sat in silence for a while, just eating.
I finally broke the silence and asked a question. "Who owns this cabin?"
"It's Mr. Owen's. Only Rosa, Tito and I know about it other than him. He comes here when he doesn't want anyone to find him."
I nodded. "It's certainly very peaceful."
"It is. Perfect for healing."
I ate the last bit of ginatan and pushed her bowl away from me. The fatigue from the trip seemed to finally seep into me, and I rested my head on my elbow. I blinked a few times, willing the drowsiness to dissipate.
I felt Maeva tugging on my arm. "Come, Jacob. It's time for a nap."
I let her help me up off my chair and lead me to the bed. I sat, hunched on the end and watched as she knelt in front of me to take off my boots and socks. Her long hair tickled my bare calf.
She straightened and began to unbutton my shirt. "You sleep as long as you like and then later we can have some dinner," she said softly.
I nodded, concentrating on the sound of her soothing voice and the feel of her hands on my chest. She pushed my shirt off my shoulders and folded over the chair in the corner. I managed to get my pants off without any help and breathed a heavy sigh when my head hit the pillow. She tucked me under the covers.
"Please stay," I asked.
She smiled and then climbed into bed beside me. She curled herself around my tired body, and I couldn't remember when I felt more content. I pressed my lips to her forehead.
"Thank you for coming, Jacob," she whispered.
"I don't deserve your gratitude, Maeva," I replied sleepily. "You've done more for me than you know…"
I didn't hear her answer as sleep overtook me.
Sixteen
Jacob
Boracay, Philippines, 7:23 p.m.
"Jacob, mahal…it's time to wake up."
Her voice sounded far and faint, but I wanted to get to it, to her. Sleep began to ebb away, and I slowly opened my eyes. It was dark outside, the only light filtering in from a lantern outside the window.
"Hey," I said groggily, rubbing my eyes. "How long was I asleep?"
"A long time. Almost 4 hours."
"Oh wow." I sat up slowly, my eyes adjusting to the half-light. I felt Maeva move to the other side of the room. In a few seconds, the glow of a second lantern replaced the dim.
My eyes focused on her. She looked freshly scrubbed, wearing a flowered sarong dress and sandals. Her hair was piled on top of her head, random wisps framing her delicate cheekbones and falling along the nape of her neck and down her smooth brown shoulders. She smiled radiantly, emanating such light and feminine energy, I thought my heart was going to fall out of my chest.
"You look beautiful."
She flushed, looking down at her feet. "Thank you." She went to the small chest of drawers and produced a clean towel, tossing it onto my chest. "I heated some water for you to have a bath, and laid your clothes there." She pointed to the chair in the corner. "We're going out."
I swung my legs off the edge of the bed. "Where could we be going on this deserted island?"
She laughed, her eyes shining. "It's a surprise."
I grinned and headed for the bathroom. Or what I had assumed was the bathroom, hidden behind a bamboo screen.
Upon first viewing, it looked a bit intimidating. The toilet and sink looked normal enough, but there wasn't really a shower, just a tap and a large tub of water underneath. There was another small bucket with a long handle attached to side, which I assumed was used to pour the water from the large tub and over the person washing up. It was a primitive system, but I figured that it would work just as well.
All of this didn't matter once the water hit my dirty, sweat-dried skin. The warmth felt heavenly flowing down my tired muscles. I washed thoroughly, wiping away all the travel-grime. By the time I dried off, I felt like I had a new body.
Wrapping the towel around my waist, I went back to the bedroom and found my clothes. They smelled a bit musty from being stuffed inside my backpack, but still felt good against my newly washed skin.
After I dressed, I found Maeva in the kitchen, rinsing out our bowls from earlier. I went up behind her and wrapped her up in a hug. I could feel her smiling against my chest. "Are you ready? Let me have a look at you." She turned around and pushed on my shoulder. I stepped back a bit, allowing her dark-eyed gaze to roam over me. "You clean up nice, Mr. Slone," she said, reaching up to run her little fingers through my wet hair.
"Thank you. I didn't realize how icky and dirty I was." She laughed. "So where are we going?"
Maeva just smiled enigmatically. "You'll see."
She fetched another lantern from under the sink and lit it. Opening the door to the cabin, she gestured for me to go first.
"We're going out there?" I asked. I pointed to the darkness outside.
"Yes!" she cried, laughing.
"But there's like…animals and bugs and stuff."
She laughed harder and tugged on my arm. "Come on, you big baby."
I winked at her and stepped out.
Maeva shut the door behind us and lead me down the porch steps to the path out front. "Aren't you going to lock up?" I asked, following a little bit behind her.
"Who's going to steal anything? The snakes?"
"There are snakes??" I said, my eyes widening.
She playfully hit my arm. "No, silly. I'm just kidding."
I laughed. "Good."
She reached for my hand, and we followed the path to the back of the hut. I was surprised to see that it lead far into the forest on the other side. Maeva held the lantern high, lighting our way.
We walked in silence, listening to the darkness, the crickets chirping, the whistle of the ocean breeze, the faint sound of the waves in the distance.
As we entered the brush, the trees seemed to envelop us, cocoon-like, circled by the illumination of Maeva's lantern. It was a bit disconcerting, but I took
solace in Maeva's sure steps and faintly excited air.
Before long, I began to hear music. At first, I thought it was my imagination, a lingering song replaying in the back of my mind. But as the steady drumbeat grew louder, I knew it existed outside my imagination.
We emerged from the path, revealing another sandy white beach and a full-out luau, Filipino style.
About thirty men and women were gathered around a massive bon fire, complete with a whole pig, roasting on the spit. A little, make shift band played island rhythms, accompanied by Spanish guitars and bongos. Several couples were dancing in the firelight, egged on by spectators, some singing at the top of their lungs. The air was light, happy and carefree.
"Wow…" I murmured, under my breath, completely taken aback by the sight before me.
"Sorry to disappoint you," Maeva said sheepishly. "We're not really on a deserted island. The resort is just over the hill there." Maeva pointed to the distance, and I could see the faint outlines of a small building through the trees.
I laughed. "It's alright. Makes me feel better that these people are scaring away the wildlife. We'll pretend to be tropical wilderness back at the nipa hut."
We joined the party, which looked like it had been in full swing for quite some time. Sitting down on the beach, the sugary-white sand underneath, one of the ladies handed us palm leaves, loaded with sliced roasted pork and rice. Maeva showed me the art of eating with my kamay. I had mastered it, but not without getting rice all over my face and clothes. Though, it was worth it to hear Maeva's laughter. By the end of the meal, I could ball up the rice with my fingertips and bring it to my mouth, rather than shoveling it like a barbarian.
After eating, we moved closer to the circle of dancers and the music, watching their wild movements to a steady, pulsing rhythm. There was no choreography. They were allowing the music to take control of their bodies, willing limbs to gyrate to its will.
One of the young men in the circle turned his attention to us, smiling at Maeva. He offered his hand to her. She laughed and flushed, shaking her head politely. I urged her to go. Something in the sparkle of her midnight eyes said she really wanted to. She looked at me once for confirmation and when I nodded, she took the dancer's hand.
The firelight flickered off Maeva's skin as she swayed to the music. The breeze picked up the fabric on her dress, sending it up to dance right along with her.
A guitar ended up in my hands. I did my best to join into the playing, and soon, I found that it didn't matter that I was messing up the chords or even what was coming out of the instrument. It all melded into the same beat, pulsing through everyone. It felt so good to just be in that sphere of creating music, playing like nothing else mattered.
* * *
Maeva
We bowed out of the luau a few hours later. I was exhausted but completely content, the weariness in limbs my favorite kind of fatigue. But what made the night was to see Jacob playing. That guitar belonged in his hands.
He continued to talk about the music as we strolled back to the cabin without the light of the lantern. A full moon cast it ghostly glow, providing enough illumination for us to see the way.
"God, I must have sounded like crap. I'm not used to playing a Spanish guitar."
"Really? It sounded wonderful to me. You played like you had been playing with those musicians from the beginning."
He smiled.
"Nah, those guys covered up for me. They were great. They knew their instruments well, and they just had this dynamic together, you know? And the energy was just awesome." I loved that he was so riled up, enthusiastic and animated about the whole thing. "They had this whole Latin feel going on. Is that traditional Filipino music?"
"I'm not really sure. It's probably influenced by it, but I'm sure they did a lot of improvisation."
He nodded. "It's all about what the crowd wants and how the groove feels. God, I love that."
I smiled at him. I didn't feel quite so tired any longer, feeding off his energy.
"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at his feet shuffling through the sandy path. He ran his fingers through his curls. "I'm just jabbering away."
"No, no. I'm very happy you enjoyed yourself," I said, squeezing his hand.
He squeezed back. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. It was fun."
Back at the hut, we stood on the porch for a while, not wanting to leave the embrace of the cool evening.
"You miss it, don't you? The performing?"
He didn't answer right away. He took a deep breath, as if stilling himself against some memory. "Yeah, I do. I'd forgotten how good it used to make me feel."
I leaned back against railing surrounding the tiny porch, watching him intently. "You never told me how you got started with that."
Jacob met my gaze. He smiled, his eyes sparkling. "I feel like this is the start of an in-depth interview." He sat down on one of the steps and reached around to touch my calf.
I sat down beside him, crossing my legs under me so I was facing him. "So, Mr. Jacob Slone, tell me about your career."
"Well, what do you want to know?"
"Okay…when was the first time you performed?"
He tilted his head to the side, the corners of his eyes twitching. I could almost see the memories flitting behind them.
"I don't know…I think we always performed in front of our family. From the time Riley could open his mouth and form a note, we were singing. But the first time with the two of us was at this party. God…" He laughed, remembering. "I think my mother threw the party just so we could have an audience other than her."
I giggled. "I wish I could've seen that."
He smiled. "Things were so much simpler back then." His smile faded, eyebrows knitting on his forehead.
"What do you mean?"
"In the beginning, it was as much about us brothers as it was about the music. It was Riley's thing. He was the one with the real passion for it. It was all he'd talk about, even when we were little kids. He never wanted to play games or at the playground. He just wanted to sing. And I guess it rubbed off on me. We weren't just brothers. We were best friends and we wanted to do things together, so music became that thing. But after a while, it stopped being *my* thing."
"I don't know. You wouldn't have chosen to do it, if it wasn't part of you. And I can see that it is."
"I know…but I only realized that after I abandoned it. You know how they say you don't appreciate something in your life until it's no longer there?"
I nodded. We were quiet for a while. I pondered the significance of that statement. "Tell me more about Riley."
He frowned again, forehead creasing. I reached for his hand, waiting until he was ready. "Riley. He's…I don't know…He's the golden child, the one with the most natural talent, the front man." He didn't say any of this with a single trace of animosity. Just stating a fact. "He was always singled out in the band. And there was nothing wrong with that. It was natural, really. He was always meant to be there. It wasn't that I was ever jealous because he always insisted that we were treated as equals. It was just something else that added to what made it all so complicated. The fame, the contracts, the money, the business. I started to feel like a hired hand, rather than an artist. I stopped caring, and I couldn't get it back.
But it wasn't for lack of trying. Riley tried to help me. We used to feed off each other to keep us going, but I couldn't find the fire, even from my brother. So instead of helping us, the pressure to do it together, just broke us apart. I gave up."
He told me everything then. How at first, he started avoiding the business side, refusing to meet with the record company, and then how he'd skip rehearsals to go drinking. And how once, he had gotten so drunk, he almost missed a show and when he finally got on, he had to run backstage and throw up between each song. He told me about the girls, the women, some fans, some who hadn't even heard any of his songs, some he just picked up from the bar or the street or at the venue, all of whom wanted so
badly to heal him even for just one night. And how he'd feel sick and guilty for using them, but he'd just do it again.
I couldn't allow myself to think about those girls. But I listened to everything, letting him get it all out like he hadn't allowed himself to before. It came pouring out of him in a flood of emotion.
Afterwards, I held his head on my shoulder, stroking his hair. We sat there for a long time, quiet. He was all talked out, and I couldn't find that one magical thing to say that would take the past away. He didn't really need me to, though. Just the act of talking was enough.
Space For Breathing: A Rock Star Romance Page 14