by Ruth Hay
His grandmother helped arrange the dry goods and thanked both men for their efforts. His mother cooked breakfast, which was brunch by now, and all of them ate out on the balcony table while Devon and his father regaled them with their adventures and discoveries. It was the kind of pleasant, casual meal none of the family could remember enjoying before. Jillian watched her husband and son joke together in amazement. What had happened? Both seemed entirely different. Was it the sunshine flooding into the balcony, or the holiday atmosphere? Whatever had made this transformation, she could only marvel and delight at it. Could this be a new beginning? Would it last once the girls were here?
Everyone sat back and relaxed after the meal while Jillian and Marian loaded the dishwasher. Marian asked Devon if he would help his grandfather to climb the stairs to their mezzanine apartment.
“Stairs are difficult for him,” she whispered.
“Say you would like to see the view from up above.”
Devon got the message and assisted his grandfather to the upper level where, indeed, the view was even more expansive. This place was like a series of villages connected together. Now that he had ventured outside the complex he had a better idea of its dimensions. It was huge. He wondered how many people were living in buildings like theirs scattered throughout the resort. It had not seemed crowded in any area he had seen so far but there was a lot more to explore. He was glad there was most of a week ahead of him.
“Come over here by me, Devon. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you for some time now. How are you doing?”
Devon’s instinct was to immediately shut down. No one usually asked questions of him and he was used to keeping his activities to himself. This old man standing beside him, was responsible for bringing him and his family to this amazing place. He owed him an answer at least. Various versions of the truth zipped through his mind in seconds. He would have to be judicious about his reply but the unflinching gaze of his grandfather was challenging him to speak now.
“Well, I do a bit of this and that, you know? Work on the computer and keep the snow off the driveway and stuff. I get R&B for that and looking after the mail deliveries etc.”
“Is R and B a musical term? Rhythm and blues comes to mind.”
“No. It means room and board.”
“I see.” The tone did not sound as if the elder man was convinced. “That doesn’t appear to be enough for a fit young man to be doing all day every day. What else is going on?”
It was becoming harder for Devon to evade the gimlet glance of those pale eyes. He mumbled once or twice then caved in to the pressure. He was pretty sure his grandfather would not understand any of what he was really involved in. Likely, he would just pass it by without comment.
“I work with a group of internet game producers to devise unique online game products. We are seeking crowdsourcing finances so our company can approach the big names in the business. Some of my team are nearby but several are living in other countries. I work mostly at night to contact those people.”
He felt the heat rush to his face as soon as he had finished speaking. He had never shared this information with any person, far less a family member, and was beginning to wonder what he had done.
Would this confession open up his activities to the disapproval of his parents on whom he was dependent for everything?
In the ensuing silence a flock of colourful birds rose up from some trees below the balcony and flew screeching into the sky above. Devon wondered if his life was taking flight with them.
“Interesting! Perhaps not sufficient to supply you with any ready cash, however? So what else are you involved in?”
This was getting worse. Devon had not expected this level of inquiry. He was committed now. There was no way to turn back. The rest rushed out as fast as he could talk. He needed to escape soon.
“I do a bit of buying and selling on eBay using PayPal. Some of my team source saleable items through other websites and we check out neighbourhood garage sales and garbage-day discards by the roadside. That kind of stuff.”
“Ah, recycling!”
“I suppose so. There’s nothing illegal, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“Not at all, dear boy! I admire your resourcefulness. I understand full time, paid work is not so easy to come by these days. You could be doing worse.”
Devon cleared his throat. “Grandfather, I would appreciate it if you keep my activities to yourself. I doubt either of my parents would approve and I prefer the freedom of being under the radar, if you know what I mean.”
“Certainly! Off you go then. I need a long nap after all that extra food.”
Devon scrambled down the stairs and quickly exited the apartment for a long walk around the resort before anyone could ask more questions. He felt naked now that his cover was blown. He would have to rely on the discretion of the old man or his lifestyle, carefully crafted over several years, was about to be in peril.
* * *
Abigail and Louise Beck had been told their aunt, uncle and cousin Portia would be on the same Saturday plane to Puerto Vallarta. As they claimed their own seats they were praying the M&Ms and their awful daughter would not be seated anywhere in the vicinity. Spending a week with them in Mexico was bad enough without adding the close proximity of an endless plane journey.
Abigail, who was an inch or two taller than her younger sister, stood up and inspected the rows of seats to the rear and forward. She saw no sign of the immaculately-coiffed hairdo of Megan Anderson or the long, hippy-styled locks of her professor husband, Maurice. She popped up again every few minutes until all the seats around them were filled and the sisters could breathe easier.
“They could have missed the plane, of course,” suggested Louise.
“No such luck!”
Louise, who was seated nearest the aisle, continued to glance down watching for late arrivals when she saw the dreaded Portia making her way to the forward washrooms.
“They’re here!” she announced. “And you should see the grim outfit Portia’s chosen.”
“Too bad!”
Abigail refused to look. She had an eye mask and earplugs and intended to catch up on her sleep on the journey. She had a lot to plan once she reached the resort and she expected to be busy playing spy games for the next few days at least.
Louise was not one of those who can erase the hours by sleeping on a plane. She had a text book with her and hoped to distract herself from that by watching something entertaining on the screen in front of her. She hoped there would not be a romcom in the program choices as she was in the first flush of an incipient romance with the handsome young man she had met recently at the bus stop. She wanted to hold that hope close to her heart for a little while without the distraction of some Hollywood version of boy meets girl/ boy hates girl/ boy loves girl. She wanted to believe, despite their conventional meeting, that their story would be far less prosaic.
As the afternoon hours slid by and the meager meal finally arrived, the passengers gradually sank into sleep or silence. Louise was still awake and she noticed Portia making another trip to the forward washrooms. She figured the Andersons were seated near the front of the main section although she could not verify that from her position. For lack of anything more compelling to do, she began to count Portia’s excursions while thinking the poor girl was probably a nervous flyer to add to her catalogue of annoying and objectionable habits. She was tempted to stroll down the aisle and see why Portia’s parents were not concerned about their daughter’s frequent breaks, but then she might be forced into conversation with the Andersons and that was going to happen soon enough in the resort.
Louise finally attempted to read her textbook. There were no movies on the screen to catch her interest, her sister was snoring gently, Portia had presumably fallen asleep and no one seated nearby was doing anything of note. She began to make pencil marks on the pages and soon discovered she had mentally left the boring text behind in favour of composing a love letter t
o one Jason Schuster. She quickly closed the book before anyone could see what she was doing.
Good grief! What am I thinking? I hardly know the guy and he’s my teacher, if only temporarily. He’ll probably disappear without a trace once Talman returns to class. Jason never even spoke to me during the week before break but of course, he must have felt as if he couldn’t show any favouritism to one of his students. He was more interesting to listen to than old Talman, of course, and I wasn’t the only one who said so.
I hope he got the note I left at the office telling him thanks for the coffee and treats and mentioning I was going to be away during reading week. Was I casual enough? He knows where I am during the school week if, no when, he wants to contact me. This week is going to be endless, just like this endless plane ride.
* * *
Abigail surfaced when the pilot announced their imminent arrival at Puerto Vallarta airport. She found her sister leaning against her shoulder and fast asleep. She had to shake her awake and was surprised to hear her say the name ‘Jason’ as she came back to consciousness. From this, Abigail deduced that she was not the only sister on this trip with secrets.
* * *
Terrence Beck was sent to the foyer to greet the remaining family while they were signing in and receiving their wristbands. He exchanged a few words with his sister and then hugged his daughters, returning to his brother-in-law and his niece last of all. He thought Portia looked even more uncomfortable than usual, his sister as self-contained and polished as usual and her husband Maurice as much of an enigma to him as ever. It occurred to Terry to wonder if this luxury resort would be able to effect any changes in the Andersons to the level he had already experienced. It could be simply that he, alone, was susceptible to the relaxed atmosphere of Mexico. Only time would tell. In the meantime, he escorted them into the elevator and promised them an evening meal which he had prepared and a wonderful experience to come next morning when the resort would be revealed to them.
Marian showed her daughter and son-in-law to their suite of rooms on the opposite side of the lounge area from the matched set now occupied by Terence and Jillian. Portia, Abigail and Louise now had to find a sleeping place. To the surprise of Abigail and Louise, Portia scuttled off to claim one of the padded lounge chairs with the four cushions against the raised end. She made no complaint at the sisters sharing the leather couch that pulled out into a generous double bed. Devon knew where the extra bedding was stored and at his mother’s request, he had set it out on the lounger before leaving for the Sanctuary, lured by the pulsing music and light show coming from there as soon as darkness fell.
Aylward joined the new arrivals for a meal of quesadillas, burritos and home-made salsa and guacamole washed down with local beer. Terry had prepared plain omelettes for his parents. These could be spiced up with the sauces and vegetables if they wished, but he was not surprised when they chose to eat sparingly and bid the group goodnight as they climbed to their own apartment.
Portia pleaded fatigue, and vanished into the spare washroom to change, which effectively brought the evening to a close. The sisters repaired to the balcony to give her privacy while Portia’s parents decided to check out their own splendid accommodations, leaving Terry and Jillian, who had had a full, but energising day, to follow their son’s path and head down to the Sanctuary by electric cart.
* * *
The evening breeze was refreshing and the carts sped by full of resort residents determined to have a good time. Banter was exchanged with anyone seated on the same cart and everyone shared their recommendations for food and a variety of adventures in and beyond the resort.
Jillian was glad she had changed into a skirt and top that looked quite festive as the atmosphere was definitely party-going. She had tied a matching bandana around her hair to ensure it did not rebel against the recent taming procedures. As she reached for her husband’s hand for balance when the open cart rolled around a sharp corner, she was pleased to find he returned the pressure and gave her a reassuring grin. That grin which twisted up the corner of his mouth into a deep dimple was something she had not seen in so long it caught her unawares and she felt a pang of longing hit her heart.
A Saturday night out together was an event that never happened any more in their busy, separate lives.
She decided to be very cautious. She would not presume too much from this tiny change. She would wait until he said or did something to make it clear what his intentions might be. She knew this was a good decision and yet her heart rose at the very hint of reconciliation. It was not what she had ever thought possible. That thought had died many months before as they became more and more antagonistic toward each other. She could not face another deep disappointment. She would wait.
The Sanctuary was a large four-sided plaza open to the skies over a shallow pool surrounded by comfortable seating with tables and couches. Huge screens could be viewed even if the performers were not directly in view. A walkway spanned the pool and it was here the singers, dancers and acrobats gave their displays. The bar at one end supplied a variety of exotic drinks and there was a snacks menu.
Conversation was limited as the music was so loud it overcame normal voices. Jillian thought the pretty waitresses who roamed around must be experts in lip reading. Terry ordered their drinks by pointing to the menu and holding up two fingers which was an effective way to communicate. She sampled the dish of nibbles on the table and sat back to watch the entertainment. The audience consisted mostly of older people but the group changed constantly as others arrived and strolled through the Sanctuary on the wide pathways bordering the whole area.
Terry was observing several younger couples on the outer pathways dancing expertly to the jazz music. They were clearly enjoying themselves. He wondered if he should invite Jillian to dance with him.
He could not be certain she would agree. He could not recall the last time he had held her in his arms.
He glanced over at her and saw she was tapping her nails on the table in time to the music. She was smiling and looked happier and younger somehow. Could he risk a rejection at the beginning of their week? He decided to bide his time but when a musician with an electric violin began a solo of a song they used to love long ago, he took his chance and whisked Jillian up and into the shadows where other couples were slow dancing.
She said nothing at first and he felt her stiffen at his touch. He cursed himself for acting on impulse.
There was so much animosity lying between them. So many mistakes. So few apologies. He had been stupid to expect cooperation so soon. She was a woman who held on to her grievances and there were many. He was about to abandon the attempt when she suddenly melted into his arms in a way that reminded him of their first dance together decades ago when there was only trust, love and an optimistic future before them. She had dropped her head on his shoulder for a moment as if she was gathering her strength, then she looked into his eyes and he could see the gleam of tears. She must also be remembering their happier beginnings.
They continued till the music stopped without exchanging a word. What was important had already been demonstrated.
* * *
Sitting on a stool at the bar, Devon watched his parents in astonishment. What was going on with them?
During the morning’s shopping expedition he had seen a change in his father but this was totally unexpected. The two of them together; dancing in each other’s arms and looking like any other of the romantic couples. For a second Devon Beck felt he might have missed something. His life was isolated. His friends were guys at a distance most of the time. When he reached the advanced age of his parents, would there be someone for him to dance with in the shadows?
Chapter 9
Day Three; Sunday.
Aylward Beck crept downstairs wearing Bermuda shorts, a wide-brimmed hat and a golf shirt. It was barely light but he wanted to be on the award-winning resort course early so his game would be over before the heat of the day broke through. He saw his thr
ee nieces sleeping soundly but his son was already sipping coffee and leaning on the kitchen countertop where a second cup sat waiting for him.
Aylward was a man who respected the rules of the game of golf. He dressed appropriately, moved along the course without delaying other players, and knew there was an intimacy among male golfers that surpassed normal exchanges. He hoped to establish that intimacy with his son. He knew there were years of next-to-zero communication to overcome. For this he blamed himself. He had let time go by as if his lifespan was endless. Now he knew his life was coming close to the end and decisions had to be made, and soon.
Terry had agreed to accompany his father after his mother pleaded with him to keep an eye on the old man.
“He still thinks he’s a master on the golf course like he was twenty years ago. Make sure he doesn’t walk any further than necessary and order water for him. He’s an old fool at times. Look after him for me, Terrence.”
It was not possible to ignore this plea, although his experience with golf was restricted to the occasional drink with pals in a club house bar where they were members. He had never had the leisure, or desire, to pursue the game itself.
They arrived by electric cart at the pro shop where Terry was fitted out with a set of clubs and a resort golf hat supplied by his father. To his relief, they had been assigned a golf cart and driver who knew the course and was prepared to meet all their requirements.
Aylward took the lead, teeing off efficiently at the first hole while Terry nervously approached the ball and tried to model his father’s body position in order to hit the thing without embarrassing either of them. With beginner’s luck he actually managed a decent shot and felt much encouraged by his father’s approval. Could it be he had inherited a natural talent for the game? His father had all the marks of a lifelong expert, even at his age.