Good Girl

by Tricia O'Malley

  “She doesn’t know what fun is,” Irma said. She leveled a look at Jolie, who hunched her shoulders and handed the cookie back to Mirra.

  “And we’ll show her. But you have to tone it down sometimes,” Mirra argued.

  “She’s wounded, Jolie,” Irma said simply, knowing both her daughters had a weakness for caring for all injured creatures.

  “Ah… fine, I know, I know. I can’t help but rush in sometimes. I want everyone to realize what a gift this life is and to savor every decadent moment of it,” Jolie sighed, scooping her own cookie from the seahorse-shaped ceramic jar.

  “Not everyone can learn that as quickly as you try to teach them,” Mirra pointed out. “She seems completely bewildered that she’s even here.”

  “Poor thing has never really taken a holiday,” Irma said, lifting the spoon to her lips to sample her minestrone.

  “And she’s come alone, at that,” Jolie said.

  “I think she’s used to traveling alone,” Mirra said.

  “For business, not for pleasure. I’m certain with business trips they keep you constantly busy, rushing from one meeting to the next. But this? This trip? It’s a cry for help. The woman’s on a verge of a breakdown. Tread carefully with her, you understand?” Irma said, covering the soup and setting it to simmer. Turning, she wiped her hands on the apron that protected her pretty sunset caftan.

  “Should we show her who we are?” Mirra asked.

  “Not now, sweet daughter of mine. Samantha’s not yet ready to believe in us, let alone herself. You’ll know when.”

  “Remember when the couple from Detroit saw you, Jolie? They about lost their minds,” Mirra giggled.

  “Okay, I’ll admit they were the wrong ones to reveal myself to. But I couldn’t help it. The man was so boring and the wife was aching to experience something different for once.”

  “Well, seeing a sea nymph in the ocean under the full moon certainly shook them up.”

  “You could’ve worn a top at least,” Irma said.

  Jolie shrugged. “You know I like going skyclad under a full moon.”

  “Good thing the man had drunk enough to believe it was too much rum that had him seeing naked women frolicking in the waves,” Mirra laughed.

  “The wife, though… she believed. A part of her did. I could read it in her soul.” Jolie smiled, unfazed by their criticism. “A part of her wanted to come swim with me – to throw caution to the wind and dive naked beneath the waves.”

  “And so will this one,” Irma said, her eyes crinkling at the corners again as she smiled at her two enchanting daughters. “Her spirt is there. It’s buried deep, and she’s wound tighter than a spring, but it’s there. She needs time, Jolie. Frankly, she needs a friend.”

  Helpless against the urge to befriend even the most unhappy of creatures, Jolie’s heart melted at the words. Crossing the room, she hugged Irma.

  “We’ll be her friends, right, Mirra?”

  “Of course we will. Give her a little alone time to settle in and then we’ll see if we can work our magick on her.”

  “That’s my girls,” Irma smiled.

  Chapter 6

  Despite her misgivings, Samantha found herself engrossed in the romance novel within a few chapters. After all, she needed to find out if the rakish Raphael claimed the stowaway princess as his lover, didn’t she? She was so engrossed she’d barely looked up for quite some time, and was startled by a shadow falling over her legs.

  “Ah, so the woman likes pirates, does she?” The man – Lucas, they had called him – smiled down at her. Sam could have buried her head in the sand.

  “It’s… research,” she said, flipping the book onto the table with the cover side down. What was with this place? Why did everyone keep coming up to talk to her? Samantha thought it should be obvious – when a woman barricaded herself with books and an iPad on the beach, it was a clear sign she wanted to be left alone. Headphones, she decided, as she blushed up at the man who towered over her where she sat. Headphones should do the trick.

  “Is that so? Do you work for a publishing house then?” Lucas said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, now thankfully covered in a loosely-buttoned Hawaiian-style shirt.

  “No,” Sam said.

  “Hmm, you’re a writer?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ah, then you must work for one of those sex shops that help men and women rekindle their pleasure in the bedroom.”

  “What? No!” Sam squealed, bringing her hands to her face to hide her embarrassment.

  “Just teasing you,” Lucas said, his tone gentle as he sat on the chair across from her. “My name’s Lucas Mosteron.”

  “Hi, Lucas, my name is Samantha. I’m a senior portfolio manager at a luxury hotel line and I most certainly do not work at a sex shop.” Samantha grimaced at the primness that laced her voice. Even to her she sounded like an old fuddy-duddy. It would have been the perfect time to throw on a new persona, maybe tell a few lies, and have some fun with someone she’d never see again. Too bad she couldn’t bring herself to fake such bravado, Sam thought, wishing she had a bit of Jolie’s sass in her.

  “More’s the pity,” Lucas said, his teeth a flash of white in his face as he smiled at her. He was older than she’d assumed, probably at least five years older than her. Samantha found she didn’t mind, though she had to admit her mind had briefly strayed to the idea of romancing a young college boy for the trip. Shocked at her train of thought, Sam glared at the romance novel. See? That was what those things did to you.

  “I’ve never even been inside a shop like that,” Samantha blurted, and then could have kicked herself. She’d barely met this man and was already telling him she’d never been in a sex shop? She might as well advertise herself as the boring accountant who blushed at the thought of reading a romance novel in public.

  “Might I repeat myself? More’s the pity.” Lucas chuckled again, but his tone was easy, with no judgment.

  Sam covered her face with her hands and shook her head back and forth.

  “Can we start over? I’m totally embarrassed,” she admitted. Lucas tilted his head to study her face, and once again, she was glad her sunglasses shaded her eyes.

  “Hi Samantha, I’m Lucas. I was just going for a stroll on the beach and thought I’d stop to say hello to a pretty lady. I hope I’m not bothering you,” Lucas said, all but oozing charm. Maybe she did want to lap him up like a bowl of cream, Sam mused, once again shocking herself with her thoughts.

  “Hi Lucas, that’s very sweet of you to stop and say hello. It’s nice to meet you,” she said. There, she sounded like a normal capable adult – which she was, most of the time and to everyone else who knew her in this world.

  “Would you like to join me for a stroll on the beach?” Lucas asked, and Sam found herself wanting to say yes. Yes, she was carefree and easygoing enough to stroll with a stranger on the beach on this tiny speck of Siren Island in the middle of the Caribbean.

  “I…” But Sam just couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. She’d never been impulsive or frivolous, and she could just hear her parents lecturing her on personal safety. Strolling with a strange man on the beach? Not smart, Sam reminded herself; that’s how people ended up in bathtubs with their kidneys missing.

  Perhaps she should be a writer, Sam thought, with such gruesome images flashing through her brain.

  “Maybe another time,” Lucas said, gauging her response easily enough.

  “Thank you, yes, maybe another time. Frankly, I’m exhausted and feel like I could sleep for a week,” Sam said. She hoped she had let him down easily enough – so that maybe he really would come back another day to speak with her.

  “You should do that then. It’s good for the soul,” Lucas said.

  “I wouldn’t really know,” Sam said, and then wanted to shake her head at herself again.

  “Long hours at work?” Lucas guessed.

  “Brutal,” Sam admitted, thinking of the weekly travel
all over the world and all the time changes. Her body rarely was on a schedule, and sleep came only when she had some medicinal help. For the most part, she tried to ease into sleep with a Benadryl, but every once in a while – after days of barely sleeping – she’d pull out the big guns and use an Ambien. She hated the sleep she got those nights, but at the very least she was functional the next day.

  “You’ll rest easy here,” Lucas said, rising and smiling down at her. “Siren Island has that effect on people. If you let it.”

  With that, Lucas turned and strolled away, gone before she knew what to say. When he reached the beach, he threw a smile at her over his shoulder. She found herself grinning back at him, wishing she’d had the courage to just stand up and walk along the beach with him.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Sam promised herself as she gathered her things and slipped upstairs to her room. Ignoring the hunger pains that growled low in her stomach, she crawled into the bed, pulling the netting down to cocoon her in an ethereal nest.

  In moments, she slid into sleep, still wearing her bathing suit, the romance book clutched in her fingers.

  Chapter 7

  Lucas wandered down the beach, his thoughts on the Laughing Mermaid’s newest guest. They did tend to find the most interesting people, Lucas mused as he picked up a rock and skipped it into the ocean. He had become friends with the women over the years – never lovers, though Lucas had been tempted to cross that line a few times. Who wouldn’t have? Irma, though older than him, had a carefree sexuality that appealed to him, while her daughters both packed a punch that had brought more than one man to his knees.

  But Lucas had quickly surmised that sullying those waters wouldn’t bode well for him, and had fallen into an easy friendship with his neighbors. It had proven to be a boon for him, as he had female companionship, homecooked meals, and relationship advice at his fingertips – oftentimes more than he needed, if truth be told. They did like to meddle, that was for sure. Lucas would be hard put to say no to those women, though, no matter what they asked of him.

  It was best he didn’t discuss the things he’d seen under the light of the full moon in the waters in front of their house.

  As he knew well, the sea kept her own secrets.

  It didn’t surprise him that their newest guest had said no to a walk with him. Lucas usually kept to himself – he liked to socialize on his terms only – but something about the way the woman sat, totally entranced in her smutty novel, with an uptight energy about her, had made him stop and go over to say hello. He’d been delighted when she blushed over the book, even more so when she’d been flat-out embarrassed by his comment about the sex shop. Sure, he’d pushed the limits of what was proper in greeting someone, but he couldn’t help testing her a bit.

  Shit, Samantha was him ten years ago. A tightly-wound corporate stooge moments away from a breakdown. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had ended up here in the early stages of a crisis, much like he had.

  He didn’t miss it, that was for sure. After years of racing the clock, never enough hours in the day, living on coffee and a sugar-fueled diet, Lucas had finally and totally burnt out. His partners might have said he’d lost himself, but it wasn’t until he left it all behind and retired to Siren Island that he’d really found himself.

  Maybe he’d be able to help Samantha do the same, Lucas thought, as he tossed another rock into the water.

  She sure was something to look at. A softly curved body tucked tidily into a neat one-piece suit, with all her beach amenities lined up in a row by her side. It had amused him to see her reading a romance novel. Perhaps she wasn’t as prim and bottled-up as the image she presented to the world. There was something about her that made him want to unbutton her a bit at a time, starting with pulling the pins from her hair and working his way down that neat swimsuit inch by inch.

  Lucas smiled again at the memory of the charming blush that had graced Samantha’s face during their conversation.

  Yes, Ms. Jameson might prove to be a very interesting diversion indeed.

  Chapter 8

  Samantha had rolled over at one point in the dim light of the early morning hours to the sound of her phone vibrating like mad in the tote she’d dropped at the foot of the bed. Groggy, she’d pulled it out to discover the internet was now working and that she had a torrent of incoming messages. Mainly from her disapproving family.

  Where are you?

  Why aren’t you answering your phone?

  Your brother said you failed to get the promotion.

  How could you not make CFO?

  Everybody is saying you left the country. Call me immediately.

  If only you had worked harder, the CFO job would have been yours.

  I hope the only reason you aren’t answering your phone is because you’re wrapped in the arms of a handsome Caribbean hunk of a man.

  The last text had been from Lola, and was the only one that had brought a smile to her face. She’d quickly responded to Lola with a promise to fill her in later, and had not only ignored but deleted the rest of the messages. Something about the act of deleting the messages from her family made her feel a little bit giddy and exhausted all in the same moment. Turning her phone off, she’d stripped out of her swimsuit and pulled the crisp white sheet over her naked body, luxuriating in the feel of cool cotton on her warm skin, and promptly fallen back to sleep.

  She dreamed she could hear voices raised in song, dancing across the waves that crashed lazily on the shores beneath her balcony.

  Sam blinked awake as a ray of sun moved across her face. Struggling to piece together where she was, Sam sat up and looked around the room. It finally registered – she was indeed still at the Laughing Mermaid on Siren Island in the middle of the Caribbean, and if she was guessing correctly based on the position of the sun, which hung low in the sky, she’d damn near slept for almost twenty-four hours. Both her need to use the bathroom and the angry grumbling of her stomach confirmed her suspicion that she’d slept longer than she ever had in her life, and Samantha dashed to the bathroom.

  When she spied the decadent waterfall shower in the bathroom with the smooth white tiles and fluffy towels spread out so invitingly, Samantha decided food could be put off a moment longer. She dug in her bag for her toiletries and was soon surprised to find herself humming as she luxuriated in the shower.

  Granted, she couldn’t bring herself to sing in the shower yet – because, well, other guests might be able to hear and she would hate to disturb anyone. But it was hard not to be in a good mood after such a long sleep. Sam hummed her way through her shower and enjoyed slathering on some coconut citrus body lotion from a gorgeous blue pot next to the sink. Once she’d towel-dried her hair and slipped a simple black tank dress over her head, Sam gave in to the single-minded focus of finding food immediately.

  Grabbing her purse, Sam opened the door and almost tripped over a tray that had been left at her door.

  “I forgive you, Lola. This may be the best guesthouse ever,” Sam breathed in delight. She snatched up the tray of food and settled it on the small table on her balcony. She could have wept when she uncovered a still-warm tureen of minestrone, a basket of freshly baked bread, and a bowl of fruit. Without a thought to the calories the bread contained, Samantha ripped off a decadent chunk and dipped it in the soup, letting out a small sigh of contentment as she took the edge off the worst of the hunger.

  Finally feeling like she could face the world a bit, Samantha dug out her phone and turned it on. Ignoring all the messages from work and her family, as they immediately made the food in her stomach turn, she called Lola.

  “Girl, I’ve been wondering why I haven’t heard from you,” Lola’s laughing voice sounded over the surprisingly clear connection.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I just slept for almost twenty-four hours. Without any assistance. As in, down for the count,” Sam said, crossing her legs and smiling as she watched a gull dip lazily over the crystal blue waves.


  “Then you definitely needed it. Your body was telling you something. Are you okay?”

  That was Lola, straight to the punch. Though Sam’s family had always found Lola to be flighty, jumping from job to job, man to man, and traveling constantly, Samantha had always known she could count on Lola when it mattered. A part of her had secretly envied the carefree way in which Lola barreled through life, and had wished she could be a tad bit more easygoing than she was. Maybe not full-on Lola, as living Lola’s life would probably send Samantha into a panic attack, but a dash of Lola’s approach to life would be good for her.

  “I am. Actually, I think I am. I haven’t had much time to process anything, to be honest,” Sam said, eying another piece of bread.

  “I hope you finally leave that shithole job and take some time for yourself. I mean, you’ve got the savings for it. Why not take some time off?” Lola asked.

  “Only you would describe my job as a shithole,” Sam laughed.

  “Well, it is. You fly all around the world but only get to see the inside of conference rooms, you never take your vacation time, and all the hard work you put in has been for what? To have your rightfully earned job handed to a suck-up of a coworker.”

  “He is a total kiss-ass, isn’t he?”

  “The worst kind,” Lola agreed.

  “I’ve taken three weeks here, you know. Which is longer than I’ve gone anywhere in pretty much ever,” Samantha said.

  “Take six months. That will really give you some time to sort yourself out,” Lola said.

  “I wish. It’s not likely. I have to…”

  “Have to what? Get back to a job that makes you unhappy? What exactly do you have to do?” Lola’s words were blunt, and the truth of them hurt just a little.

  “You’re right, actually,” Sam said, sadness creeping into her voice. “I don’t really have anything to go back to, do I? That’s kind of sad. No man. No cat. Not even a plant to water. God, what am I doing with my life?”