“Durand is a friend of my father-in-law’s. I knew things would move faster if I came myself.”
“What about your honeymoon?”
“I’m heading to the airport tomorrow.” Priscilla shrugged as she scrolled through her phone. “We eloped three months ago. The wedding was just so everyone would leave us alone.”
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
You know what’s the worst? Spending hours in a police station after watching your aunt betray your mom and get arrested at a wedding the night before, and then having to pretend everything is hunky-dory with a bunch of fancy-pants Haitians. I wanted to cancel my Labadie plans, but then I remembered Félicité was leaving soon and I had to work at PATRON PAL during the week. I hadn’t told my father what I’d been up to, because I still wasn’t sure if he would support my decision to pursue curse-breaking out of love for my mother or recall his own haunting experience dabbling in the spirit world and double down on forbidding me to take these steps...out of his love for my mother. So when I explained why I was going to Labadie to my parents and aunt early that morning at breakfast, I simply said we were going “for fun.”
The only way to get to Labadie from where we stayed in Au Cap is by driving forty minutes to Cormier Beach and taking a boat. It’s not a neighborhood beach anyone can readily drive to and enjoy “just because.” It’s cut off from the rest of the country, reserved for the foreign tourists who grace the sand with their toes and are willing to pay a few dollars for a local to braid their hair or chop open a coconut for them to drink.
My parents were still on each other’s good sides and my mom’s positive mood was holding up. I needed to get to Labadie and their sand to make sure she kept feeling that way. Tati Estelle offered a way to the beach.
“It’s not the easiest place to reach from the mainland. The locals are isolated from most residents in Nord, but Tony heads into the market there and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking you and your friends,” she said. Her eyes bored into me: don’t say anything.
“It’s fine. We can get there the normal way,” I said, not entirely sure what the “normal” way entailed.
“Alaine, take the free ride,” my mom said.
“I’d be much more comfortable with you going on this trip through your aunt’s assistance,” my father said. (Dad Translation: I have no clue why you’re insisting on going today of all days. Unless you take Estelle’s escort, I won’t let you go and will talk your mother into agreeing with me.)
I didn’t want anything from Tati Estelle, regardless of the convenience it offered—even if it was from Tony.
“Okay,” I said stiffly. “Whatever you want.”
I knew that Andres and my aunt were a couple once upon a time, and I suppose it wasn’t a stretch that they’d rekindled their affections in the years since high school...but I’d assumed such things would cease when one of the involved parties got married and had 2.77 children. I mean, I get it. I’ve watched Scandal. I could even begrudgingly admit that Andres had the smarmy coiffed handsomeness customary for politicians. But I’d never thought my aunt would be the Other Woman. Not when she’d worked so hard for everything in her life and was such a champion of women and one of the two most confident people I knew.
And let’s not forget that Andres had unsettled my mother to the point of her attacking him on live television. I was obviously #TeamCeleste #allday, and it was disturbing to discover that this distinction wasn’t black-and-white for Tati Estelle. Thou shalt not indulge in carnal pleasures with your sister’s mortal enemy was hardly something that needed to be carved on a stone tablet to be understood. But whatever my mother knew or hadn’t known about their current relationship status, I refused to be the person to break that news to her. Tati Estelle had gotten a night in the slammer, and Andres had gotten a ticket straight home without anyone realizing he was even there at the time of the arrest. Mom had enough on her plate. A disloyal twin would add to the stress.
I used to love that my aunt knew me so well. Now it made me feel exposed. When she stopped me on the way to my room to grab a few items for my trip, she took one look at my face and was pleading for me to follow through.
“Go,” she said, correctly assuming the true nature of the Labadie visit. “Your mother’s depending on you. This can’t wait.”
But now I resented her. She had told Andres about my moves. Was this benefiting him in some way? Was it part of their pillow talk? Seeing them together, learning about my mother and Andres’s disagreements in Mom’s diary, reading articles claiming that both were early investors in PATRON PAL showed me that Tati Estelle held two allegiances. I didn’t know what to think anymore. But my mom’s offhand comment at the wedding about feeling like herself, and seeing how content she was at breakfast, was enough to keep me going, even if I was wary of believing a word Tati Estelle said. I paused.
“I’m not doing this for you,” I said, slowly closing the door.
Engraved wood carving on the SS Bateau d’ Amour’s king-size headboard
Welcome to the Love Nest
Rest your head on the pillows of your lover
Soak your feet in the hot tub of desire
Blush the deep, deep red of lust
Embrace the heat of passion’s fire
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
Turns out Tony Juste’s brother-in-law was quite the poet. Tony had been feeling especially grateful to Tati Estelle since the YouTube interview and had practically begged her to reach out if she needed “anything, anything at all.” So it was no surprise when he agreed to give me and the others a ride on the SS Bateau d’Amour when she called on short notice to cash in her favor. He spent weekends selling peanut butter to the tourists at Labadie using his sister and brother-in-law’s boat, so it really was “no trouble at all.”
Fernand had first picked up me, then Félicité, followed by Jason and his cousin Marc.
“It’s the tall, skinny one, isn’t it?” Fernand whispered, leaning over to me in the passenger seat. “Your chouchou? You smiled the biggest when he came into the car.”
I rolled my eyes and mimed zipping my lips.
Part of the deal with my dad to let me go to Labadie was having Fernand drive us to the marina where we would meet up with Tony. We rolled the windows down the whole way and sang along to the radio. As we came to a stop at the dock, I felt a nudge in my back. I turned in my seat and met Jason’s laughing eyes. He raised an eyebrow as he trained his gaze toward our cousins, who were very seriously alternating the singing and rapping parts of a song.
“Okay, Beyoncé and Jay-Z, we’re here,” Fernand said. “The concert is over.”
“Tell me. Do you charge extra for the jokes or does that come with the service?” Félicité huffed over his chuckling.
As we piled out of the car, the briny scent of salt and sea deluged our nostrils. A few women in wooden canoes were gliding along gently in the water, heading toward the tiny mint-green and lemon-yellow shanty houses embedded precariously into the rocks of a jagged mountain. It was a miracle that they stayed up when the wind blew.
“Allo!” Tony Juste called out from where he stood at the dock, ready to escort us onto the boat.
It was a fairly large yacht, painted a stark white that reflected the sun directly into our eyes. Tony was apologetic when we took in the decor. I brought my hand up to shield myself from the glare. There was a flashy red stripe painted around the perimeter of the vessel, hinting at the gaudiness that awaited us on board.
“My sister and her husband are very...affectionate,” he said. “He bought this for their anniversary but is kind enough to let me borrow it when I sell my food.”
“Yo, your aunt hooked it up,” Marc said from the chair he “nonchalantly” reclined in beside Félicité. “Did she use her connects from prison?”
The police showing up had liv
ened an already eventful party and hijacked all conversations.
“Ha ha. She’s already out,” I said. “It was all a misunderstanding.”
At least I hope it was.
“Seeing her get led away in handcuffs was the biggest moment of the night,” Félicité said. “Even bigger than the black dress.”
“Let’s take a tour,” Jason said, changing the subject.
“Smart man,” Tony said as he walked to the cockpit of the yacht at the center of the boat.
The bow of the ship had been converted into a makeshift bed with four patio lounge chairs pushed side by side and crimson throw pillows strewn about. The seats along the border of the bow were lined with the same red cushions. Below deck was a long table with enough space for six people to sit comfortably. A large platter topped with all sorts of meats and cheeses was positioned in the center of the table, four bottles of Prestige beer arranged side by side. I grabbed a drink and stopped short when I saw the long silver pole that was planted in the center of the room. I glanced at Jason and he blushed.
“Very classy,” Félicité sniffed.
I spread a bit of smoked goat cheese and lentils onto a cracker and headed to the other side of the boat. I carefully climbed down a small staircase that led to an unlit room, making sure to not spill my drink. The sound of the others’ steps told me they weren’t far behind, taking their time as they descended into the dark space. I walked with one hand outstretched to the side, feeling around for a switch. With a flick of my wrist, light flooded the room and I cackled.
There was a trail of rose petals leading to the bed in front of us, with the flowers carefully organized in the shape of a heart. At the center was a small collection of gadgets that I didn’t want to know if they were new or used. There were champagne glasses on the bedside table, and when we went into the bathroom, we saw an almost empty box of bubble bath soap beside a huge roman tub. A row of jars filled with vanilla-scented candles were set on the counter with a safety gas lighter settled gingerly across the top.
“I’m personally always ready to soak my feet in the hot tub of desire,” Marc said.
“Who isn’t?” Jason said.
When we got back to Tony, I sat down on one of the seats toward the front of the ship and observed as the prow sliced through the water with a low rumble. The blue water splashed on either side of the boat, frothing into white as it made contact. I watched, hypnotized, not hearing when Félicité sauntered over. She lowered herself beside me, her movements as graceful as Misty Copeland even when the yacht bounced over a particularly choppy wave.
“It’s awful what happened to Tati Estelle,” she said in a low voice.
“Yes...” This was foreign territory.
“To be imprisoned for something she didn’t do,” Félicité said. “That curse is trying to ruin all our lives, but we won’t let it.”
She squeezed my hand.
“Wait. You believe in that?”
“Of course I do. Don’t you?”
“I just didn’t expect you to, is all.” I considered my cousin, a girl my age who was living the life I might have lived if I’d been raised in Haiti. “Tati Estelle talks about it sometimes, but my parents make a point of ignoring it.”
“That’s exactly what the curse would want—for us to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’ll wreak havoc either way,” Félicité said.
“I’ve started taking it more seriously since I’ve gotten to Haiti. I dunno, it just seems easier to do that here.” I hesitated before continuing. “And you know what, Félicité, I have a feeling our luck is going to change soon.”
“How is that exactly?”
“Let’s just say Roseline and I are working on it.”
“Hmm... I’d be careful about her, Alaine. She’s not very...nice.”
I scoffed. “No shade, but you didn’t even acknowledge her at my grandmother’s birthday dinner.” I’d held it against Félicité ever since, frankly.
She sucked her teeth impatiently. “All I’m saying is that some people in the family find it very suspicious that Pierrot fell in love with her so fast and so hard and hasn’t come up for air since.”
Roseline’s somber disposition was off-putting, yeah. And she could probably blink more. But Félicité and the rest of my zuzu family didn’t know or chose to ignore the truth about her childhood. Roseline didn’t owe them anything and, after all she had endured, she didn’t need to ingratiate herself with in-laws who made it diamond clear that she wasn’t good enough to share their name or wealth anyway. But I kept my lips shut. Maybe there were things I just didn’t understand from my perspective. I doubted it though.
“So what’s your thing?” I asked politely.
She paused. “I’m not sure. But it’s coming.”
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
Across the sea, an enormous ship no doubt holding tourists within its metal confines was also proceeding slowly to the shore. Since we’d met Tony at a private marina closer to Labadie, we had a much, much shorter trip than the almost five hundred miles the luxury cruise ships coming from Nassau, Bahamas, did. We would dock before them and have the island all to ourselves for about an hour, Tony explained.
I grunted. “This place can’t be that hard to get to on your own.”
“You would’ve had to take a tap tap to a water taxi stand farther away from your aunt’s home and then another boat if you wanted to go deeper into the village,” Tony said. “Very unreliable.”
“Yeah. That’s usually how we get to Labadie when we go,” Jason said.
“It’s nice to commune with the people,” Félicité said magnanimously. She poured herself another glass of wine (iceless in her sister Leonette’s absence).
“Is that what you call traveling a few minutes on public transportation to get to a private island that said people aren’t allowed on?” I asked.
“Labadie isn’t a real island,” she said. “It’s a peninsula. And this sympathy for the masses is rich coming from the girl who got us the private boat.”
So much for our moment.
“My parents insisted I take it,” I said between gritted teeth, completely aware of how silly I sounded. I tried not to think of my dad’s old neighbors who surely had never stepped foot on Labadie.
Tony jumped in.
“Estelle is a great woman,” he said. “She cares. And go to Labadie, don’t go to Labadie, there will still be poor people in Haiti.”
Jason shrugged in agreement.
“I don’t see any trouble with enjoying the isl—peninsula,” Marc said, meeting Félicité’s eyes. “Just because we’re touristing it up here doesn’t mean we can’t still help the rest of the island. PATRON PAL hasn’t gone anywhere.”
“This is true.” Tony slowed down the boat and observed the water for a moment before turning the wheel to move the yacht against the direction of the gentle currents and wind. He sped up slightly to get as close to the dock as he could before shifting to reverse the boat to stop its movement. I watched nervously as Tony then moved from behind the steering wheel to pick up the ropes sitting on the side of the craft near the dock. He handed one to me expectantly.
“Will you help me do the honors?” He smiled.
I put my four middle-school sailing lessons to use and looped the line through the metal cleat attached to the dock to tie off the rope and secure the boat. I landed gracefully(-ish) on my feet as I got off the yacht. When we were all on land, we walked over to the entrance of the tourist area, where soldiers carrying menacing guns stood looking bored.
“Bonjou,” Tony said pleasantly. “I sell in the market and this is Estelle Dubois’s niece and her fine friends.”
The soldiers straightened up slightly. Tony flashed his ID card and motioned us to follow him through the now-opening gate.
We were officially in Labadie.
I felt guilty, banishing the images of Julmise and her brothers from my mind so soon, but the conch was so tasty, even more so when we licked the lemon juice dripping from our fingers. We soaked up the sun that blinded us warm.
We broke off in pairs for the roller coaster that had no lines yet. When I heard Jason’s piercing scream beside me, I jumped in my seat, then laughed. Instead of looking embarrassed, he grabbed my hand and didn’t let go until we got off the ride. I could feel the sweat beading in my palms, but I didn’t care. In that moment, I would’ve been happy for the roller coaster to go on forever.
Our personal deserted island bubble burst when we spotted the cruisers, who had officially docked and were sauntering across the beach in various levels of undress.
“Wow, I still cannot believe this place is Haiti!” said a woman who had missed a spot in her sunscreen application. The top of her nose was peeling from exposure.
Her companion lazily tugged up his drooping shorts.
“It’s absolutely amazing what they’ve done here. I read online that the cruise line didn’t even use to label this place in their marketing pamphlets. Just called it Hispaniola.”
We took turns zip-lining across the water, shrieking at the top of our lungs. As I surveyed Labadie from above, I sensed in my gut that the sand from this beach wasn’t what I needed. If I squinted, I could make out a fence far away, separating the tourist area from the rest of the village. The developers had done a good job of tucking this section of Labadie away from their guests, effectively segregating them.
Dear Haiti, Love Alaine Page 24