My Summer

by Declan Rhodes

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I mentally crossed devastating weather systems and exotic wildlife off my list of worries for the summer. I focused instead on how to control my lust for a handsome, friendly man while sharing a small, private island for three months. I blinked nervously when I saw his hand creep an inch higher on my thigh. Thomas wasn't going to make self-control an easy thing.

  "Joel, I didn't ask you in the interview, but are you interested in writing fiction? Or are you focused on teaching and research? Are you one of those guys who loves to pick apart the bits and pieces of Faulkner's rambling while you sit in an airless academic office?" His eyes sparkled when he turned his head and smiled mischievously at me.

  I longed to be a successful novelist, but when I thought about stark reality, I thought I had forty years ahead of me in one of those closet-sized offices Thomas mentioned. “Of course, I fantasize about writing novels. I think that's the dream of almost everyone in my program, but I doubt many of us will achieve that? Maybe one or two?" Staring at Thomas in profile, I was struck by his air of confidence. He was a man without a care in the world.

  Thomas tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "We'll add it to the agenda this summer. You can show me some of your writing and your ideas, and I'll see what I can do to help. This should be a learning experience for you, too. Fun plus work plus education sounds like a perfect formula for a productive summer.“

  Thomas pulled his fingers back from my thigh and placed both of his hands on the steering wheel. I breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that he didn't notice. I asked the questions I’d wanted to ask from the moment I found out Thomas was the mysterious author who placed the ad on our university bulletin board. "Did you know your novels were going to sell when you wrote them? Did the idea just hit you one day, or was it a lot of work?"

  Thomas laughed. "You haven’t seen any of my interviews, have you?"

  I blushed. I was so excited about meeting Thomas that I didn't do a lot of research. I was too busy telling all of my friends and family about my good fortune and trying to figure out what and how to pack for the summer. I didn’t even finish reading his novels. "No, I haven't. I'm sorry. I really should have."

  “Don’t worry about it. I didn't tell you to do any work ahead. If I wanted you to do prep work up front, it was on me to let you know. And yeah, to answer your first question, I had a gut feeling. I don't know why exactly, but after months of trying to come up with an idea for my first novel, half of it came to me in a dream. I'm a firm believer that keeping your mind open is a primary key to success. If you relax and are aware of your surroundings, what you need will come your way. You have to keep your mind open enough to recognize it when you see it.”

  I nodded listening to the words of wisdom. As we left the mainland to travel along Key Largo, the first of the string of islands stretching southwest toward Cuba, the scrubby vegetation surprised me. I don't know what I expected. The TV and movie version of the tropics included palm trees and tall plants forming an impenetrable jungle. Instead, we passed through miles of low, scrubby mangrove with an occasional glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean on one side or the Gulf of Mexico on the other.

  The water was an intense color of blue-green that I’d never seen. The saturated color was almost turquoise in the bright summer sun. The pungent aroma took me back to the childhood trip to Tampa. It brought back pleasant memories. That trip was one of the last we took as a complete family before my brother's accident, and it was still years before my parents split up. The Tampa trip was one of the happiest events of my childhood.

  Thomas interrupted my thoughts. "Are you dreaming about something? Can you let me in on the secret?“

  “I was thinking about that trip when I was a kid. The smell of the air made me remember. They are good memories.” I felt my nerves slowly unwind. Thomas was real, and he was friendly. I exhaled knowing that I was far from the mental gymnastics required by professors like Dr. Greensburgh.

  Thomas said, ”I park the car at a lot in Marathon. It is roughly the midpoint in the Keys between Largo and Key West. It is on the island that functions as our mainland. From there, we take a ten-minute boat ride out to Rusty Door Key, our home sweet home for the summer. It’s on the Atlantic Ocean side of the keys.

  After a couple of months, Marathon will feel like a big town, and Key West will look like a metropolis." I watched Thomas’s chest expand as he inhaled deeply and smiled. His polo clung tight to his muscular body. I wasn't sure if I was prepared to see Thomas without a shirt, but I knew it was likely to happen frequently in a tropical island paradise.

  ”You said something about research assistance in the ad and the interview, Mr. Albertson..." My voice trailed off. Using a title was polite, but it sounded painfully formal.

  "Please, Joel, call me Tom."

  I nodded and smiled. "Is there some particular kind of research we will be doing..." I paused, and then mouthed the word, "Tom."

  "My books are futuristic and speculative in nature, but I also do my best to have them feel believable to readers. That means sometimes I need to look things up so that the descriptions are as accurate as possible. The Internet is a phenomenal research resource. I can pull up photos and descriptions of almost any place or object in the world."

  "But what you want me to help figure out is something you can't find by Googling?" I waited for his answer while the "Welcome to Marathon" sign passed by on the right side of the highway.

  “That’s an excellent question. I think that sometimes you have to research things by experiencing them, or, by watching others experience them if that makes sense. Sometimes there is no adequate substitute for direct observation. Do you think you could properly explain to someone those sensations that accompany diving into a pool without ever having experienced it yourself? The water rushes over your body, and the drops cascade off your flesh. It’s such a visceral experience.“ Thomas stopped at a traffic light and turned his head toward me to listen for my answer.

  “No, I guess not. What you said makes a lot of sense. Can I ask what you want to experience this summer?” I tried to imagine what could exist on the tropical islands that he hadn't encountered in the past, and I didn’t know how I could help. I knew from reading the publisher’s biography that Tom grew up in Miami and the Keys. He had thirty years of experience in his surroundings.

  "Oh, there’s no need to bother with that yet. I'm not sure it will work, but we will get to it once you’ve settled in." Tom turned off Route 1 onto a side street. The town of Marathon was a combination of tourist shops, expensive looking houses, and strip malls.

  As he pulled into a free spot in a small gravel parking lot, Tom’s right hand landed on my thigh again. "I'm happy you're here. This will be a summer to remember for both of us. The work schedules are loose, and if there is anything in particular you want to see or explore, anything at all, let me know. Money isn't an object. Our only limitations are time and...willingness."

  The last word hung in the salty air for a moment before Tom's muscular hand squeezed my thigh tight. He turned his head, and I was almost overwhelmed by the desire to reach out and touch him. I sat on my hands until he opened his door and climbed out of the car. As I stepped onto the gravel of the parking lot, I gazed out toward the horizon. I saw a vast expanse of blue-green water and a small island in the distance with a house at one end. Tom popped open the trunk of the car and retrieved my suitcase. "There it is, Joel. Our private little tropical paradise."

  2

  First Night

  I loved the exhilarating boat ride to Rusty Door Key. With encouragement from Tom, I sprawled out across the bow of the boat as he navigated the short ten-minute journey. He informed me that the Coast Guard didn't look kindly on bow riding, but they usually had plenty of other business and didn’t bother harassing homeowners. The water was clear, and it didn’t look like it could be deeper than ten feet. As Tom pulled up to the dock, I could see all the way to the bottom. I itched for the opportunity to dive in for
a swim.

  "Rusty Door Key? How’d it get that name?"

  Tom shrugged. "It's all conjecture at this point, but the reality is the salt air here will rust almost anything. If they make the door hinges out of metal, yep, that's what you'll get, a rusty door."

  I climbed onto the dock and saw a tidy little house nestled among thick scrubby trees, small palms, and blooming bougainvillea. Half of the house appeared to be open to the air. Tom flung my suitcase onto the dock and tied the boat up with thick, heavy rope. “Are you ready for the grand tour? It won’t take long."

  "And a swim after, maybe?"

  Tom smiled. “The first stop will be the bedroom, and you can get out of those clothes. You'll be a whole lot more comfortable without jeans. I assume you brought trunks?"

  "That's one thing I did remember." I wheeled the suitcase across the gravel and crushed coral following Tom to the house. As I glanced around, I saw only one other building. It was a small shed detached from the house. The lack of motorized vehicles was already unusual. I’d never spent the night on an island before unless you count Manhattan as one.

  A low-slung roof covered the portion of the house that wasn’t enclosed by walls. I saw a tastefully arranged collection of upscale patio furniture with a large gas grill. Tom opened the front door to the house, and I didn't have time to look around before he ushered me to my bedroom. It wasn't much bigger than a large walk-in closet, but it did have a queen-sized bed.

  Tom placed a hand on my shoulder. "I know that it's small, but, believe me, you won't do much more here than sleep once you get used to the island life. There's a dresser and a small closet for your clothes. Take a few minutes and throw on those trunks. That's all you need. Then join me out on the deck. We can go for a swim before dinner. It’ll build up your appetite."

  As Tom exited the room, I thought about my appetites. I knew that he was talking about food, but my appetite for other activities was already building. I knew that the battle with my base desires could make one aspect of the summer long and painfully uncomfortable.

  The room had a small mirror over the dresser. I stared at myself and brushed my fingers through my short dark hair. I got it cut shorter for the summer, but I wondered how it would look with a buzz cut like Tom's. That last time I cut mine that short was for swimming in high school.

  I unzipped the suitcase and unloaded clothes into the closet and the dresser. Halfway through, I bailed on the project. My fish instincts called me to the water. I brought four pairs of swim trunks along on the trip. If I was living on an island, I knew that I would spend a lot of time in the water. I pulled on the least revealing of the four. It was a pair of red and blue board trunks.

  Glancing in the mirror, I cringed seeing my pale skin. Hopefully, it would not be long before it darkened into at least a light tan. I didn’t need to advertise my northern roots all summer long.

  Tom was no longer inside the house. His absence gave me a brief opportunity to look around. The kitchen wasn’t a separate room. It was a corner of the primary living space. The small house had a cathedral ceiling and open feel that made it appear larger than it really was. The flooring was tile, and most of the furniture was constructed out of blonde wood covered in brightly-colored cushions. Oversized maps of Florida and the Keys decorated one wall. Another wall held nets, floats, and other objects related to boating and life on the sea.

  The piece of furniture that immediately caught my eye looked both out of place and somehow fit with the relaxed decorating style. In one corner of the room stood a vintage deep red upholstered barber chair. It instantly took my thoughts back to childhood. My dad took me to a shop with similar chairs for my first haircut out in public. I was five, and I remembered the barber putting a pad on the seat so I could sit up high enough for him to reach my head. He drew a cape up to my neck, and I inhaled the scent of barbicide. I wondered if Tom did haircuts on the side. The barber chair was undoubtedly a conversation starter.

  As I left the house, I saw Tom sprawling in a lounge chair on the deck. He was writing notes on a small pad of paper with a pen in hand. Something about the action struck me as very old-fashioned. I couldn't remember the last time I’d seen someone writing extensive notes by hand. Everyone I knew used a cell phone or a tablet computer for quick notes.

  Tom sensed my presence, looked up and saw my eyes fixed on the pad of paper. He grinned. "Oh, I hate typing into a cell phone, and a laptop isn't much better. Maybe I'm a little out of step with the times that way. There’s nothing that compares with a pen and paper.“

  He stood up, and I bit my lip trying to avoid gasping. He was shirtless and wore a pair of navy blue Birdwell trunks. My lifeguard buddies wore them all summer back home. His body was everything I hoped for and worried about.

  Tom's chest was smooth and well-muscled. The only wisp of hair appeared just below his navel and disappeared into the waistband of the trunks. His deeply tanned skin shone in the late afternoon sun. Tom held out a pair of red Nike flip-flops. "Here, you're gonna need these. They’re more comfortable than sneakers, but you need something on your feet. That crushed-up coral can give you nasty cuts on the soles.”

  I took the flip-flops from him and slipped them onto my feet without taking my eyes off his body. He had to know I was looking at him, and I hoped that the hard-on in my shorts wasn't too visible. "Hey, thanks, I didn't think about packing these. The sneakers are all I have with me.”

  "These might be all you need around here and in Marathon. When we go to Key West, you can bring the sneaks. Good restaurants and movie theaters frown on open-toe shoes." Tom gestured to a path toward the water. His movements were fluid and economical. "This way. I think you're gonna love the water."

  "I have no doubts." The crushed coral crunched again under my feet as I followed him down the path. The gap in the island's vegetation leading to open water was about fifty feet to the left of the boat dock. He’d trimmed the mangrove back to allow for a narrow sandy beach.

  "The beach gets a little bigger when the tide is out. It's high right now. The water is shallower on this side of the island than it is by the boat dock.“ As we hit the sand, Tom kicked off his flip-flops and walked straight into the water. I kicked off mine and shadowed him. We were at least thirty feet out from the shore before the water was knee high, and it was warm. It was almost like stepping into a bathtub with a sandy bottom.

  "This is fantastic!” I watched the water lapping at the hem of Tom’s trunks for a moment and then focused on his handsome face. "Is there anything I need to watch out for? I know there aren’t ‘gators in the salt water, but is there anything else?“

  He raised an eyebrow. "Like?"

  "Sharks?"

  Tom laughed. "No, the sharks won't come in where it's this shallow. You do want to keep an eye out for Man O' War. They can give you a nasty sting."

  I looked down into the crystal clear water. "What are they?"

  "Jellyfish. They’re beautiful but vicious. They look like a turquoise balloon floating on the water. Unless you get close, you don’t have much to worry about with them floating on the waves, but where you really need to watch closely is on the beach. Sometimes when they float in and deflate, they’re hard to see. If you step on one, it's not a fun experience. Trust me.” He stuck his hands down into the water and waved them back and forth. "But they won't kill you. There's nothing much here near the island that can deliver a fatal blow."

  Something about the way he said the word "fatal" wasn’t entirely reassuring, but it was too late to change my mind about my summer adventure. Tom turned and strode about twenty more feet away from the shore. The water deepened and climbed just above his waist. I followed in his wake. "It's so shallow and warm!"

  "Yep, it's pretty hard to drown in the Keys when the weather is nice." He dove forward into the water shouting, "See if you can keep up with me!"

  I watched Tom’s long arms stretch out as his muscular body knifed into the water. It took a few seconds for his request to registe
r in my brain. That was enough time to give him a significant head start, but I soon gained ground with efficient swimming strokes of my own. A few yards later, I drew up even and passed Tom. He pushed harder to catch me, but I was able to stay a body length ahead. Breathlessly, he called, "Okay, you win Joel! Damn, you’re good. Have you raced as a swimmer?”

  I turned around and swam back to him happy that I proved my talent in at least one way. "I guess I wasn't completely forthcoming about my swimming skills. I went to the state championships in high school."

  He splashed water at me and laughed. "A ringer in the pool!"

  I knew that I risked offending Tom, but I splashed back. He had quick reflexes. He reached out, gripped my shoulders and dunked my head in the briny water. I flailed to try and struggle free of his grip, but he was stronger than me. Tom pulled me up, and I sputtered as the water rolled down my cheeks. I shook my head sending water flying left and right. "Yeah, you win that one. Are we even?”

  Tom smirked. "You're lucky you can swim so fast. You might be able to get away from me.”

  Spinning around in the water seeing nothing but ocean water on the horizon, I asked, “But where would I go?"

  He grinned. "Exactly." I stared back into his dark brown eyes and clenched my teeth to avoid a sigh. I wanted to kiss him, but none of his actions indicated that it was something he wanted. Instead, he asked, ”Are you hungry?"

  "Yeah, a little. Should we head back?"

  Without another word, Tom swam for the island, and I mirrored his strokes. His technique was excellent. His long narrow feet kicked ahead of me, and his torso twisted from side to side while he stretched his arms forward. A sensation warmer than the water swept over me. I knew it would be a summer to remember for the rest of my life. I already wanted time to slow down so that I could savor every moment.