Sunscreen & Coconuts

by Eliza Lentzski

  “Mmhm,” I confirmed.

  “Sorry,” he shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  I began to feel deflated, but I forced a smile to my lips. “That’s okay. Thanks anyway.”

  “You want that drink now?” he offered.

  I hesitated. It was oh-so-tempting to stay and have a few drinks; I’d been moving non-stop since my decision to come to the island, and I was starting to feel the fatigue of stress. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to truly relax until I found Kate, and there was still one more place I hadn’t checked. Her house.

  Without a vehicle of my own, it was a long, hot walk to Kate’s oceanfront bungalow. The unpaved road was dusty and covered the tops of my feet and ankles with a pale powder. I hugged the unmarked shoulder to stay out of the way of noisy cars and fast moving motorbikes. I could only imagine the headlines: Boston teacher struck dead by scooter. Pet fish, Greg, mourns.

  By the time I reached the small plot on which Kate’s house sat, I felt wilted and close to defeat. I hadn’t exactly dressed up for my reunion with Kate, but I’d at least showered and fixed my hair. My trek from the resort had made those minimal efforts go to waste. I didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that my makeup had melted off my face.

  I wiped my forehead with the bottom of my t-shirt and tucked my hair behind my ears before approaching Kate’s house. I looked for movement—signs of life—via the open windows but saw and heard nothing.

  The door wobbled on its hinges when I knocked. The sound it made was wooden and hollow. I waited on her narrow concrete stoop and leaned toward the door, trying to listen for the telltale noises of movement coming from the other side. Still, nothing happened.

  I knocked again, harder and louder. “Kate?” I called through the closed door. “Are you there?”

  I waited a moment longer before gingerly trying the handle on the front door. It was unlocked and swung open with ease.

  I hesitantly walked across the threshold. “Hello?” I called out.

  I scanned the open-concept home, but saw no evidence that Kate was there. Nothing struck me as out of the ordinary; her hut might have looked a little tidier than usual with not as many art supplies scattered around the room.

  A quiet noise that seemed to be coming from the direction of the bathroom alerted me. It was only a slight rustling noise, but there was definitely someone in the bathroom.

  I approached the slightly ajar door with increasing trepidation. I couldn’t make out any shadowy figures from inside, but the noises I heard caused my imagination to run wild: Boston teacher killed after interrupting home invasion. Pet fish, Greg, mourns.

  “Hello?” I tried again. With each step closer, I landed heavily on my feet in order to announce my presence. “Kate? Is that you?”

  I slowly reached for the door handle, but before my outstretched fingers could lock around the doorknob, the door burst open towards me.

  I jumped backwards while a startled noise bubbled out of my throat. My heart felt ready to leap out of my chest. No person occupied the bathroom, however. It was only Kate’s pet chicken—Dog—who seemed to have trapped itself in the water closet. The chicken clucked and waddled out of the bathroom.

  I placed my hand over my heart. “Jesus, Dog. You scared me!”

  The chicken looked uninterested in my fright and bobbed around now that it had full range of the house again.

  My pulse hadn’t yet returned to normal when I heard the jangle of my cell phone coming from the bottom of my purse. I kept an eye on Dog while I fished my phone out of my bag.

  “What now?” I mumbled to myself.

  My heart sank when Racy’s name and number appeared on the screen. I didn’t immediately answer the call. There were international surcharges to consider, but far more than that, I wasn’t prepared to admit to my friend what a giant mistake I’d made. I’d tried to do something spontaneous and follow my heart instead of my head, but I’d only wasted her frequent flyer miles. I felt equal parts ashamed and embarrassed.

  I couldn’t let the call go to voicemail, however. I hadn’t thought to let Racy know I’d made it safely to the island; if I didn’t answer, she might start to worry and send in the Marines.

  I took a breath before hitting accept.

  “Hey,” Racy announced, “I came to your apartment to feed Greg, and—.”

  “She’s not here,” I cut her off. “I can’t find Kate. I came all this way, and she’s not even here.”

  “Mercy, it—”

  “I’ll pay you back,” I promised. “I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this.”

  “Mercy, she—.”

  “This was such a dumb idea,” I continued to lament. “I should have known not to do something like this. It was spontaneous and silly and now I’m alone in Curaçao with nothing to show for all my efforts. I probably won’t even leave a note. I’m just going to swallow my pride, book the earliest flight, and get back to Boston. Maybe once I’m back I can forget any of this ever happened.”

  “But Kate is—.”

  “I know,” I interrupted her again. “I thought Kate was amazing, too. I wouldn’t have come all this way if I didn’t think so. But she’s not here; I think the universe is trying to tell me something.”

  “Mercy!” Racy all but yelled into the phone.

  “What?!” I returned just as shrilly.

  “Forget about the universe—I’ve been trying to tell you something! Kate’s not in Curaçao because she’s here!”

  “Here?” I echoed. “Where?”

  “In Boston. At your apartment to be specific.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?!”

  “If I could get a word in; I’ve been trying to tell you!!”

  “What is she doing there?” I exclaimed. “She’s supposed to be selling coconuts in Curaçao. I was supposed to surprise her!”

  I waited for Racy’s response, but heard only muffled noises. The shuffling and scraping ended and a new, second voice, spoke to me next.

  “Mercy. Hey.”

  My heart pounded a little harder and a little faster when I heard Kate’s voice.

  “Oh, hey.” My voice unintentionally dropped at least an octave.

  “Stay there,” Kate instructed me. “Don’t move. I’m booking the next flight to come to you.”

  “Oh-okay,” I agreed.

  I had so many questions whose answers I desired—namely why she was at my apartment and not in Curaçao where she was supposed to be—but I couldn’t think quickly enough to ask.

  “Make yourself at home,” she said. “I’ll be there in like eight to ten hours.”

  I didn’t have the opportunity to reply; the dial tone hummed in my ear.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I had Kate’s house to myself for the next few hours—however long it was going to take for her to get a flight from Boston to Willemstad. The flight itself was anywhere from seven to eight hours, but there was no guarantee she’d be able to find a flight that same day or one with no layovers. I could have tried to sleep since I should have been running on fumes, but I was uncharacteristically wired. It shouldn’t have surprised me though; it wasn’t everyday that I traveled halfway around the world to track down a girl.

  Kate had no television, no Bluetooth speakers to connect my phone to, only an ancient-looking radio. I helped myself to a beer from her refrigerator and found a channel on the radio that played ambient tropical music. I sat at the rustic card table that served as her kitchen table and took in my surroundings. With the exception of the closet that doubled as a bathroom toilet, the one-room shack offered little privacy. Nothing in her tiny house suggested this was the home of a wool heiress.

  With nothing else to entertain or distract me, doubts began to creep into my head. Even if I commuted to the island every other weekend like Racy suggested, could I live like this? Could I see myself living a bare minimum existence? It wasn’t like my apartment in Boston was a luxury acco
mmodation, but at least my shower was indoors. What about when we got older? Would I continue to find the mattress on the floor charming, or would my aging joints be unforgiving? I took a long slug from my beer bottle as my mind raced. If I was going to stay, I was going to need something stronger than a lager.

  The sun had set and the wind coming off the ocean had picked up. I hadn’t packed much of anything and certainly not a jacket or sweatshirt. I didn’t know how to work the heat in Kate’s house—I didn’t know if her hut actually had any heating system. I looked around for something that resembled a thermostat, but gave up after a few minutes.

  Rummaging through a clothes bureau revealed a lone sweatshirt with the familiar name of Emerson College, a Boston art school, screen-printed across the front. I stared at the shirt in wonder: God, had her family founded the school? How had I not put the pieces together earlier? In my defense, I’d mostly been mortified when I’d first learned her last name because of Racy’s presence; I had no reason to think the woman I’d met while on vacation had been from one of the most established families in Boston. I felt my blood pressure stabilize the moment the well-worn sweatshirt came over my head. It smelled like her—sunscreen and coconut.

  Despite being too anxious for sleep, I crawled into Kate’s bed. Once the adrenaline of the moment wore off I was sure to crash. I was barely cognizant of a chicken scurrying across the wooden floorboards when my eyes finally closed in sleep.

  Several dreamless hours later, I woke up to a steady and insistent banging noise. I’d slept so heavily, I’d nearly forgotten I wasn’t in my bedroom in Boston. Outside, the skies were still dark. Inside, I was still alone. Kate had not returned yet.

  The knocking noise continued, and it took a moment to realize that Kate’s chicken was the culprit. I watched the animal with interest from my position in bed, unsure why it was hitting its head against the bottom of the front door like a woodpecker.

  “What’s wrong with you? Is this how chickens throw tantrums?” I asked as if I expected an answer. “Don’t worry, your mom will be back soon.”

  I thought myself pretty good with children and most pets, but I’d never dealt with a pet chicken before.

  “Do you want to go outside?” I asked. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

  The chicken ignored me and only continued to peck at the door. I wondered if chickens could concuss themselves.

  “Okay, here you go.” I got out of bed and opened the front door for the chicken, and it very casually—as if it hadn’t just been banging its head against the front door—strutted outside.

  The clock on my cell phone told me it had been nine hours since I’d last talked to Kate. I had no messages from either her or Racy to indicate she’d been delayed or, worse, had changed her mind. Her prolonged absence did nothing to ease my concerns.

  I stared out the window above the door at the midnight blue sky and the starless night. A thick cloud covered the moon and distant galaxies. My eyes lifted to the ceiling when I heard the sound of a light rain begin to strike the metal roof.

  I opened the door and called to Kate’s pet. “Dog! It’s time to come in! Get in here, Dog; it’s starting to rain.”

  My throat constricted when I realized I couldn’t see Dog in the yard. I raced outside, barefoot and without an umbrella. I cupped my hands at the sides of my mouth to amplify my words. “Dog! Where are you? Here, chicken, chicken, chicken!”

  I knew how ridiculous I looked, and I was thankful Kate had no neighbors in sight, but I would never forgive myself if I managed to lose Kate’s pet.

  “Dog!” I continued to call. The rain began to pick up and the wind whipped around me, carrying my voice away. “Dog! Come back, Dog!”

  Over the heavy patter of raindrops striking concrete, I heard the crunch of tires on loose gravel. A vehicle pulled down the street and turned into Kate’s driveway. I held my hand above my eyes to protect them from the intensity of the car’s headlights. I didn’t recognize the vehicle and the brightness of its headlights prevented me from seeing the faces or the number of people in the car.

  I heard a car door open, followed by a familiar voice. “Mercy? What are you doing in the rain?”

  The headlights finally dimmed, and I watched Kate climb out of the front passenger side door. She leaned back into the car to grab a small backpack. She said something to the car’s driver and shut the door.

  She swung the small backpack over her shoulder and began to jog toward me. I watched her flip the hood of her zip-up hoodie over her head to shield herself from the worst of the rain.

  “Why are you outside?” she repeated her question from before. “Did you lock yourself out?”

  “I lost Dog,” I said in a panicked tone. “I let her outside for a minute, and she disappeared.”

  Kate waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about her. She’s a free-range chicken.”

  “Are you teasing me? Or just trying to make me feel better?”

  “Neither. I’m telling the truth. She’ll come back when she’s hungry.”

  I looked over her shoulder at the empty driveway. “Where’s your scooter?”

  “I left it at airport parking. I didn’t want to drive it in the rain and show up looking like a drowned rat.”

  “Like me,” I said lamely.

  “You’re beautiful,” she protested. She drew closer as she tucked a few damp strands of hair behind my ears. “You’re here.”

  “You seem surprised,” I remarked.

  “I thought maybe you’d change your mind—like you’d come to your senses or maybe freak out and fly back to Boston before I could get back.”

  “Are you freaking out?” I needed to know.

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her face broke out in smile. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

  I wrapped my hands around my torso as if to hide the clothing from her. “It got cold,” I explained. “I didn’t think to pack anything warmer. Actually, I didn’t pack much of anything except my passport.”

  “That seems very unlike you,” Kate remarked.

  “I-I haven’t been myself lately.” I dropped my gaze to my feet. “I might not even know what that looks like anymore.”

  I looked back up and hazarded a glance in her direction. Her grey-green eyes remained locked on me as if she was afraid I might disappear at any moment. The longer we stood in our places, the more annoyed and anxious I became. Were we going to stare at each other all night like this? Had I made a terrible mistake by coming here? Had I made myself too comfortable in her space? Had she come to her senses? Had she changed her mind?

  Just before I could officially flip out, I felt her lips on mine. I felt a lot more than just her mouth. I felt her hands and teeth and tongue. She grabbed handfuls of my borrowed sweatshirt.

  We finally broke away when oxygen became an issue, but we remained close with our foreheads pressed together.

  Her fingers stroked the sides of my face. “Hi,” she breathed.

  I leaned into her touch. “Hi,” I returned.

  “I missed you,” she sighed.

  “You did?”

  “Uh huh,” she confirmed.

  “It’s only been a few weeks.”

  “It might as well have been a few lifetimes,” she insisted.

  “You and your lines,” I softly chuckled.

  “As romantically cliché as it is to be out in the rain with you, it’s actually a lot colder than those movies let on.” Her lips pulled into a grimace. “Would you mind terribly if we went inside?”

  We did our best to dodge raindrops as we ran back to the shelter of Kate’s house. My clothes weren’t soaked through, but they were damp enough to be heavy and uncomfortable.

  Kate tossed her backpack on the dining table. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  I shook out my wet hair. “Stop saying that,” I chastised. “You’re making me feel self-conscious.”

  “How?” she frowned.

  “I’m worried you’re going to c
ome to your senses when you realize I’m a total bore.”

  She arched her eyebrow. “What says I’m exciting?”

  I shrugged. “Your outfits are at least.”

  “Wait. This isn’t an intervention, is it? You’re not gonna make me get rid of my Hawaiian shirts, are you?”

  “They’re safe,” I assured her. “But only if you promise to wear a whole lot less when you’re alone with me,” came my surprising response.

  I expected a cheeky reply, but her features remained serious. My stomach flip-flopped when her hands went to the bottom hem of her t-shirt.

  “Like right now?” Her voice dipped dangerously low.

  I swallowed hard. “Sh-should we maybe talk first about how this is going to work?”

  Confusion flickered across her face. “You want to strategize? Like who goes on top first?”

  I barked out a laugh, releasing some bottled-up nervousness. “No, like a relationship,” I explained. “How are we going to make that work? Who visits whom? When do we get to see each other?”

  “Mercy, we both flew to different countries to see each other. Can we maybe fool around a little first, and then figure out those details later?”

  She resumed her earlier task and removed her t-shirt. She let the cotton garment drop to the ground before taking a step in my direction. I allowed myself an indulgent stare. Her wireless bra offered just enough support for her small breasts, but I was too focused on her abdomen to appreciate the defiance of gravity.

  Another tentative step, just as she’d approached me on New Years Eve. Only a handful of weeks had passed since then, but our surroundings and circumstances couldn’t have been more different.

  She seemed to sense my thoughts. “Do you need another countdown?” she teased.

  “No,” I scoffed. “What were you doing in Boston? Why weren’t you here when I showed up?”

  My question brought an annoyed look to Kate’s face. I was annoyed with myself as well, but I also wanted some answers.