Heartstrings in B-Flat Minor

by Scott Johnson

  As if that’s not enough, sudden memories of her bout of morning sickness earlier today prompt self-flagellation. While on the run during this storm, she almost forgot she’s pregnant. In an instant it all comes back, leading to the familiar questions: What am I doing? How did I get here? She’s powerless to answer, until a strong inner voice rings out: You know.

  She does. That needy night with Sterling haunts her. Against the background of another dazzling sunset, their pulses raced, taking them to the brink. She crumbled in his arms, desperate for love. Sheryl tears up upon recalling her desire to be cuddled.

  Panicking and bewildered, she asks, “How could I have let this happen? What a sucker I am, all for the beach under some coconut tree with a joint and the moon.” She shouts into the storm, “What a dummy!”

  Sheryl enters the lobby through a side entrance carrying the weight of the world. In self-chastising mode, she blinks off tears that are so far camouflaged on her rain-soaked face. Shaking off regrets over her inexplicably wanton behavior that just might damn her to hell, she puts it all behind her to face a swarm of panicked JA Tours guests pressing in on her from all directions. Responsibilities rule. For the moment, she back-burners Snake and Miriam.

  Outside, Sterling reaches Little Italy. With a quick look back toward the resort’s open-air lobby, he verifies Sheryl is inside, totally occupied. Abruptly, he changes course, getting off the heavily beaten paths of fleeing foot traffic. In stealth mode, he skirts the lobby exterior, passing deserted swimming pools and turning onto an employees-only maintenance path.

  At a fork in the path, one choice leads to a deserted beach with monstrous breakers crashing. The other path leads away from the beach in the general direction of the resort’s approach driveway. Sterling sees some empty tourist shuttle buses arriving. Most importantly, he sees that the shuttle loading zone is clear of Snake and Miriam.

  Hustling to the driveway curb, he notices Snake’s Toyota parked nearby. The chief valet spots Sterling as he runs past with a suitcase. “Hey, Doc—where are you going? We need you around here!”

  “I’ll be right back. I’m taking this to a friend who is leaving the island. Don’t panic!”

  “Be careful, Doc!” The valet takes Sterling at his word and gets back to work.

  From inside the lobby, Sheryl happens to catch sight of Sterling on the move among the shuttles, suitcase in tow. She’s not surprised to see he has lied to her again. Next, she spots Snake and Miriam at a VIP customer service alcove. There, they wait for Dr. Jackson, who is being paged.

  With Snake and Miriam preoccupied, Sheryl runs to the driveway and cuts off Sterling just short of a shuttle loading people making a last-ditch dash to the airport. “Whoa, buster, where do you think you’re going?”

  “I changed my mind, for us. There’s a killer storm bearing down, and I don’t want us to meet our maker! Get moving. I’ll get us a taxi while you quickly pack.”

  “I don’t think so, Sterling. You look like a man with bigger worries on his mind than a tropical storm.”

  “Honest, girl, the summer storms spooked me, but I thought they were done. This is the worst of all! Our number could be up if we don’t get out of here, now!”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Sterling. What’s with that old Rastafarian in the lobby and his daughter or whoever she is? Tell me now because it will come out anyway.”

  “Looks like it’s coming out already.”

  “Afraid so, and it’s better I hear it from you, right?”

  “I guess so,” he concedes. “And she’s his little sister, not daughter—although he treats her like a daughter. Anyway … they’re gonna say I got her pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “Like I said, that’s what they’re gonna say. That doesn’t mean they’re right. But maybe they are right.”

  “Maybe they are right? What?”

  “I met them when I was gathering data for a medical journal article about jungle medicine. He’s some kind of Blue Mountains shaman, Snake Gibb.”

  “That’s where I’ve seen them before,” Sheryl exclaims, “at a coffee plantation excursion last year. We traveled through this little village and stopped for a magic show, all part of the excursion. Both of them were in it.”

  “Whatever,” grumbles Sterling. “Just understand—he had her sneak into my room when I was asleep. She had her way with me before I even realized it wasn’t a dream.”

  “Get out!” Sheryl spits at him. “That is some kind of creative bullshit, I’ll give you that, but you’re really dreaming if you think I’ll swallow that crap.”

  “Honey, honestly!”

  “You must think I’m an idiot.”

  “Sheryl, I don’t think you’re an idiot—far from it.”

  “Well,” she chokes, “I feel like an idiot, trusting you.”

  “Don’t—”

  Disgusted, she promises, “Sterling, unless you face the music here and now, right after this storm, I’ll never speak to you again!”

  Sheryl is thankful that all the people running in circles around them are too focused on their own troubles to notice the couple’s angry interplay. She wonders how many of them, if any, were living out serious life crises of their own when interrupted by the angry weather gods. She slips into a trancelike state as she looks around at the numerous vacationers panicking in the bull’s-eye of the powerful storm. Many are beyond tears. All have exposed fears.

  Suddenly, she realizes that Sterling is speaking. “All right, all right, my dear. Yes, you’re right—always right.” He agrees to meet with Snake after the storm passes.

  Sterling attempts to touch Sheryl, and she pulls away, repulsed. Here they are again, in the middle of another unwanted pregnancy with him as the root cause. Sheryl, fearful for her own situation, empathizes with beautiful young Miriam.

  “Get going,” she commands with disgust and a nod toward Little Italy.

  Backing away, he suggests, “Maybe you can soften up Snake a little for me?”

  Finding his request incredibly nervy, Sheryl dismissively snaps, “Go hide out in the spa—lie low. With any luck, they’ll get back to the mountains, fast.”

  Surrounded by ever-growing pandemonium, Sheryl is glad to have the distraction of work. She ditches Sterling for the lobby. Her main concern now, beyond the crazy weather and shepherding her tourist sheep, is what will happen if Kearns hears about this Miriam and Snake stuff. She remembers having had a touch of doubt the day she vouched for Sterling. But she ignored the angel’s warning and now is paying for it.

  In the lobby, loudspeakers tell those lucky tourists previously scheduled to leave today that they still will be going. This means a couple buses’ worth of mostly North Americans. Everyone else, the loudspeakers boom, either should secure all loose items in their rooms and hunker down or go to one of several storm shelters on the property.

  “All right!” shouts a dad to his drained wife and brood, heading for the driveway.

  Mother Nature’s whirling-dervish clouds are visible through a windowless skylight, keeping the crowd in a panic. Sheryl, a hurricane veteran, remains calm, though in a daze, as she seeks out Snake and Miriam at a VIP alcove.

  When she reaches them, Sheryl defuses the moment, saying, “Sterling has owned up to what your visit is about. I’m appalled and so sorry—but he needs to be doctoring emergency cases right now. And I personally vouch he won’t leave the island till all parties have met.”

  To her relief, Snake admits that he and Miriam indeed are anxious to get back home. Finding Sterling isn’t worth being out in the open during a hurricane. Snake says, “I hope I can trust you. Where will I find him after the storm?”

  “Just contact me here. And don’t worry, procedure after a hurricane is no days off till things are put back together. So he will be here. I’ll see to that.”

  “Tell the not-so-good doct
or that we will be back. And no more hide-and-seek, not with me. That would be his gravest mistake, ever.”

  “I’ll be sure he understands.”

  Snake is out of words. He offers no handshake either. “Let’s go,” he tells his pregnant kid sister.

  The valet hands them their keys, and they vroom off in their creaky Toyota to join weather refugee traffic.

  Sheryl fears she just lied with her assurances of Sterling’s whereabouts. She wonders, How, it seems, can I guarantee anything with him now? Sheryl feels terrible guilt by association with the scoundrel she’s helping hide from Snake’s wrath.

  Sheryl leaves the VIP alcove for the frenzied main floor of the lobby, where she unexpectedly encounters Sterling. “What’re you doing here?” she barks. “Get to the spa!” He probably never went to the shelter, she figures, and was just waiting to see Snake and Miriam leave before reappearing.

  “Come on, baby, it’s like I was raped!”

  A few nearby ears perk up at that vocal burst.

  “You know there’s nobody for me but you.”

  Sheryl rolls her eyes. “Don’t be giving me that,” she warns. “I’ve heard it all before anyway. It’s meaningless from you.”

  “Baby, come on.”

  Abruptly, Ronny Walker interrupts their conversation. He reports they’ve lost a shuttle driver for the last airport convoy. “Johnny headed for the hills!”

  “Who can blame him?” Sheryl replies. She knows what’s coming next from Walker.

  “You’re licensed on shuttles, right?”

  “I am.”

  “So can you help me, us?”

  “It’s kind of out of my hands, Ronny. Sure, I’d be helping you, but JA Tours might consider me AWOL. I’ve got lots of guests under my stewardship.”

  Walker laughs. “It may surprise you to know, Sheryl, but I have a majority stake in JA Tours, so don’t worry about them. I can assign a resort staffer to cover you. That’s if you want to. It’s strictly voluntary. No worries.”

  “Right—no worries, just a little old hurricane, that’s all. And me driving a bus full of pants-pissing tourists at their wits’ ends. What’s to worry about there?”

  Suddenly, though, she sees that this gives her an out, a sudden advantage born from adversity that affords her a chance to ditch Sterling for good, which she knows is the right and prudent thing to do. It could be now or never.

  “Tell you what, Ronny, I’ll do the shuttle run, with the understanding that an airborne seat out of here awaits me at Sangster.”

  “I can arrange that,” Walker promises.

  Sterling looks ready to drop everything and run with her. “Let’s go,” he says. He turns to Walker. “Get one for me too.”

  “Like hell, Sterling,” Sheryl says. “You’re staying here to make a plan with that girl.”

  Walker tweaks an eyebrow in apparent interest. “I don’t want to butt in, but I’ll be hard-pressed to come up with even one seat for Sheryl.”

  Sterling shrugs. “You can’t blame me for asking.”

  Walker pointedly gets in Sterling’s face. “I’m caring less about you by the minute, but you’re gonna stick around and play doctor—even though I’m having my doubts you know a scalpel from a toe clipper.”

  Sterling looks indignant. “You know better than that. You’ve seen the quality of my doctoring.”

  “Let’s not even go there. Just get your ass to that spa, pronto!”

  Walker, on an authority binge, additionally instructs Sheryl, “I need you in that first shuttle. Take ten minutes to pack, whatever.”

  “Gee, thanks, I think.”

  “Good luck! I’ll get the bus loaded in the meantime.” With that, Walker double-times it to the driveway.

  “Aye-aye, sir,” Sheryl shouts in his wake. She turns to Sterling and talks fast. “Seems like there’s unholy pregnancies everywhere you go. So I’m out of here and done with you. Don’t try to get in my way.”

  Sheryl bolts to her room to pack, never having felt so bold in dealing with calamities. She even seems to be getting a thrill from it. Seeing Sterling skulk off toward the spa felt gratifying. She’s ready to hit the adventurous road to Sangster and get out of here fast.

  Sterling, walking along the path to the spa, has never felt so unready for anything. His route takes him near his own bungalow, where he’s surprised to see Snake nosing around some windows. Sterling stoops low behind shrubbery and slinks away before Snake spots him. Feeling trapped, he barges in on Sheryl at her garden-view room.

  She is clearly annoyed as she finishes up her rapid packing, ready to run. “Don’t you get it?” she taunts. “Get away from me! And stay away from me.”

  “Snake’s prowling the grounds looking for me!”

  “And I hope he finds you!”

  “Nice, thanks. I thought they’d left!” complains Sterling.

  “Apparently not,” snaps Sheryl. “Fine! Hide under the bed for all I care. See if he finds you there. I’m out of here, mon.” She opens her door and stops.

  Snake looms outside, waiting. His hateful glare homes in on Sterling. Snake steps to the threshold, body language conjuring up evil spirits. “You think I’d let you get away?” Snake snarls.

  Sterling is speechless.

  “I’m here to see justice is done,” Snake continues.

  Sheryl tries to edge her way outside, calmly saying, “Snake, do with Sterling as you will. But I have a job to do. Lives are at stake.”

  Snake blocks her path. “Well, his life is at stake right now. I can say that for sure.”

  Sheryl questions, “But we’re cool, right—you and me?”

  “Nobody moves,” he responds, “not just yet.” But as widespread panic continues to play out among tourists in the background, Snake gestures with his hand for Sheryl to go on her way. “Good luck,” he says.

  “Same to you and Miriam,” says Sheryl as she leaves.

  Sheryl sprints out of the room not caring what might happen to Sterling. In a state of shock, she cuts through the lobby toward the driveway, mixing with panicky guests and resort employees toting clipboards along the way. The open-air room bulges to capacity. Fear still dominates.

  Back at Sheryl’s room, Sterling, angered at the thought of Sheryl and Snake more or less being teammates, is at a rare loss for words.

  Snake stares him down, obviously furious over Miriam’s condition. “You call yourself a man of medicine?” Snake roars. “You are a thief—a thief of hearts and trust.” He pops a swift, solid double stiff-arm to Sterling’s chest. Sterling takes it like a man.

  “And thanks to your betrayal of trust,” continues Snake, “we’ve had to leave the safety of our mountains today with a hurricane coming!” He hits Sterling in the chest again.

  This time, Sterling instinctively shoves back, pushing Snake into the path of a gust-blown coconut that hammers his head. Snake falls to the ground and remains there, limbs splayed out. Sterling cowers at the bloody sight. An involuntary argument breaks out between the modestly good and decidedly bad sides of his brain.

  You killed him! I can’t believe it.

  You’re crazy! Who says he’s dead?

  Look at him! He’s not moving!

  The coconut did it anyway, not me!

  The coconut would’ve missed him if you hadn’t pushed him! That’s obvious!

  Wonderful. And does that make you my accomplice?

  Whatever. Aren’t you going to see if he’s dead?

  It feels like the twilight zone for Sterling. His head spins, and his heart seems to skip a beat. If Snake is dead, “murderer” will be a new line item on Sterling’s résumé.

  He exhales, uttering, “Well …” Wordlessly, he takes a closer look and feels for a pulse, which he doesn’t find. Acting like he imagines a doctor would, he holds a finger beneath Snake�
��s nostrils—nothing. Snake surely seems dead to Sterling.

  Panicked, Sterling scans the surroundings. He sees no witnesses. Everyone is in the lobby, in the shelters, or by the buses. Feeling safe for the circumstances, he feels calm come over him. Deal with it, Sterling, he orders himself.

  Back at the driveway, Ronny Walker is supervising a handful of resort employees when Sheryl arrives, ready to go yet overwhelmed; being busy helps. Together, she and Walker efficiently guide the anxious departing guests, helping with the loading of luggage and the filling of seats. Two buses remain curbside. They’ll be the final shuttles to go.

  “You’re on the lead bus,” Walker tells her.

  “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “The guy behind you got his license last week. You’re in charge, Sheryl, as usual. You’ll pull it off, no sweat.”

  “We’ll see. Thanks, Ronny.”

  “Good luck, girl, and get away from Sterling for good.”

  They hug. Sheryl feels like she’s onstage with crowds watching from the buses. This unexpected pressure helps hold her emotions in check. She climbs up onto the driver’s seat of the lead shuttle.

  Sheryl watches through her side-view mirror as Walker loads her luggage into the bus belly, seals the compartment, and visually checks with the second bus’s driver. Turning back to Sheryl, Walker gives her a thumbs-up. Security opens the gate.

  Sheryl gingerly accelerates the bus away from the curb, dutifully mimicked by number two’s rookie pilot. The two No Worries buses join other shuttles fleeing nearby resorts. They gather speed while driving in formation on a tight roadway through scrub jungle, away from the land of beach resorts. Quickly, traffic stacks up approaching Ocho Rios.

  Ocho Rios market vendors are battening down their tents or their shutters on tin shacks. Tourists trapped away from their resorts run the street, desperate for transportation. Local citizenry flee by foot, bicycle, motor scooter, and aging compact cars, not paying much attention to normal traffic courtesies. A horn-blasting chorus accentuates total chaos.