Caribbean's Keeper (26 page)

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He met Murph the following morning over breakfast. After enough cups of coffee and some pastries, Murph said he would be leaving that afternoon. There was some serious work he had to do. David had mentioned some shipments coming from Venezuela, and despite his initial protest, Murph was on the hook to make a move. He made it clear Cole could come along and island hop with him, but Cole was by then committed to sticking around for a while. He thanked Murph for everything but politely declined.

“It’s the girl, isn’t it?”

Cole shook his head to say no, but Murph just laughed. “I saw it last night. You’re hooked. She’s got you whether you like it or not.”

Cole shook his head again, laughed, and replied, “No, it’s not that. I could use some down time and this place has a vibe to it that I think might be good for me.”

With that, Murph stood up and shook hands with Cole. He then wrote a number down on a napkin. “If you want to get in touch with me, call this number. Leave a message if I don’t answer. I usually check it every week or so. It’s my own number, so it’s off David’s radar, if you know what I mean.”

Cole tucked it in his pocket and again shook Murph’s hand. “Good times, Murph. Thanks for everything.”
      

“Any time, bud.” With that, Murph turned and walked away.

Cole sipped on a few more cups of coffee as the morning warmed up and the breeze filled in. By noon, he was down on the beach. Cole extended his left arm and worked it back and forth, feeling for any tenderness or signs of infection. Feeling none, he smiled at his good luck and figured that some saltwater might be just what he needed. He took a long swim out into the anchorage, and took turns at each mooring ball diving down to the bottom, anywhere from 20 to 30 feet down, then resurfacing and continuing on. At the end of the field, he turned and repeated his freedives on his way in. By the time he was back at the beach, he’d been in the water close to an hour and was thoroughly exhausted.

He spread out on a lounge chair and pulled his palm leaf hat down low over his eyes for the next few hours. By late afternoon, he had an appetite and meandered his way over to the dock and bar that sat out over the water. By himself now, he wondered about Murph and felt just a bit alone as he ordered a sandwich and rum punch. There were a few couples at tables around him, but once again it still seemed to be a quiet time of year and the hotel wasn’t even half full.

Cole took his time with the sandwich and as he started on his second drink, he heard a faint hum in the distance that grew in intensity from a still unknown direction. Looking up from his drink, the others at the bar were looking around as well as the noise steadily grew. It was an airplane, of that much Cole was certain, but he couldn’t see it. And then from the east, it screamed over at almost treetop level directly above the hotel then continued on in a steep climbing turn out over the anchorage and to the west.

Cole laughed out loud and howled at the peak of the engines’ roar overhead. The bar shook just a bit and Cole felt the engines’ thump in his chest. He recognized the plane when it passed overhead. It was Murph, at his usual antics and flying like a cowboy. The other patrons had all ducked, almost under their tables and now talked wildly and pointed to the west in the direction Murph had gone. Cole tipped his drink up in Murph’s direction, finished it, and ordered another to toast his friend.

The fly-by had drawn out some of the other guests as well who now stood on the beach and looked around at the blue sky and puffs of clouds. They were too late to have seen it, but they’d all heard the rumble and roar when Murph practically clipped the top of the hotel as he passed. On the steps leading up to the main lobby, he saw a few people talking. He fixed his sight on one in particular with her back to him. He recognized the hair and felt his heart start to beat quicker. Long, dark, and curly—it had to be her. Forgetting about the drink, he excused himself from his seat and motioned to the bartender that he’d return to settle his bill.

Making his way quickly up the dock, he crossed the beach and slowed down as he got closer to the steps. He could see her face now and it was indeed Isabella, talking to some of the guests. He stayed back until she was done then walked an intercepting path to catch up with her. She noticed him as he came within a few feet. Cole smiled and did his best to say hello.

“Bonjour.”

She was almost shy and smiled herself, stopping almost directly in front of him. She spoke French and Cole had no clue what she was saying, but he hung on every word and watched them roll off of her lips. She broke into a smile halfway through a sentence and tilted her head just a bit, locking eyes with Cole.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know French at all.”

Cole felt his mouth going dry and now, even closer to her than the night before, he saw that she was indeed as beautiful as he’d thought. Her eyes were green and her skin was tanned just a shade or two darker than her natural tone. She wore a skirt down to her knees and a light cotton shirt that fit snugly against her slender waist.

“Do you speak English?” She said it slowly in a heavy French accent, and Cole was relieved that she could understand him, even if only halfway.

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry I don’t speak French.”

“No, no, it is OK. I am working on my English.”

She kept her hands crossed in front of her and Cole had to focus intently on her eyes to not spend too much time admiring her other attributes.

“Well, it’s much better than my French.”

She laughed and turned away for just a second then back to Cole. When she did, a few curls came out from where she’d tucked them behind her ear and they dangled just over her left eye. She was all at once again stunningly beautiful in a new way and Cole fought hard to keep his composure.

“So you are from America?”

Cole smiled like an idiot without saying a word, consumed entirely by the movement of her lips and her French accent. “Yes, I’m from the States. My name is Cole. How about you?”

She looked confused and asked what he meant by the “States.” He nodded and apologized again, explaining the different meaning. She held a soft smile as the two of them worked through a conversation. In any other place and time, it would have been frustrating to have a language barrier like this, but Cole loved it. He spoke slowly and chose his words carefully.

When he was done, she introduced herself, saying simply, “I am Isabella.”

She moved her hands for a second as if to suggest uncertainty about a hug or a handshake, then tucked them again back against her waist. It wasn’t much, but it gave Cole the first indication that she might like him as well.

In time, she explained that she was in Martinique for the summer on an internship with the hotel. When she didn’t know a word she wanted to say, she bit her lower lip and would use her hands in a circular motion, asking, “How do you say…?”

Cole needed no patience to help fill in the gaps, and after a few minutes, he asked what all the commotion had been about.

Isabella explained that someone had seen an airplane and thought it was going to hit the hotel, so she’d come out with the rest of the staff to see for themselves. Cole grinned and looked around to feign the same surprise that everyone else had shown. “Wow, I hope the plane is all right.”

Isabella nodded and looked back up and around the sky.

Cole thought about Murph again and laughed just a bit. Had it not been for Murph’s stunt, Cole would still be drinking on his own down on the dock. Now he stood not more than three feet from a girl that nearly took his breath away each time she looked him in the eyes. The sun reflected off her almost black hair and each time Cole finally thought he had control of himself again, she would turn or shift her stance in such a way that he was again beside himself.

“Well, I should get back to work upstairs.” She shrugged her shoulders just a bit as she said it.

Cole nodded and they both looked at each other for a bit more than a second or two before Cole broke the silence. “Where is there to eat here besides the bar?”

Isabella repeated the question out loud with her French accent and Cole couldn’t help but let out a half smile as she figured the question out.

“There are some cafes by the marina that are good.”

Cole went all in and asked, “Can I take you to one for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, they have dinner tonight.”

Isabella had misunderstood and it took Cole by a bit of a surprise. It had taken some courage to ask her once and now he had to clarify and ask again.

“No, no, I want to go to dinner with you.”

This time he pointed at her and smiled.

“With me?” She was caught off guard and looked away almost immediately. Then just as quickly she looked back at Cole with a subtle smile and nodded yes. Her smile grew as she grasped the date he had just proposed.

“Well, OK then. Great. Where can I meet you?”

Isabella thought for a moment then pointed down towards the dock from where Cole had come.

“Seven o’clock?”

She spoke slowly as if the time was more difficult for her to pronounce and Cole nodded yes. “Yes, seven o’clock is great. I will see you then.”

“OK.”

It was the most captivating pronunciation of two simple letters Cole had ever heard in his life, and he watched her lips as they moved. As she walked back up the steps, Cole leaned against a low fence behind him and tried to shake the smile from his face, but could do nothing to hide it.

He returned to the bar, finished his drink, and settled the tab, signing the bill over to his room. Walking back to the beach, he went for one more quick swim and dried himself off in the sun before returning to his room. He showered and felt the sun and rum punch spinning him into an afternoon nap. Again under the comforter, he replayed in his head the conversation and Isabella’s figure that had such an effect on him.

Waking almost two hours later, he dug through the clothes he’d brought with him for something clean. For the first time in almost a year he ironed a shirt to push out the wrinkles then hung it by the closet. His jeans were in fairly good shape, and he ironed them as well to clean them up a bit. He pulled his boots out of his bag and wiped them down with a damp washcloth. Stained dark brown, the once-white cloth had removed months’ worth of Panamanian grit from his time in the city. With a cleaning, they looked worn in, but in good shape—much the same as Cole felt. He left the hat, fearing a young French girl might be scared away by too much of a cowboy. It was a bit after six p.m. when Cole dressed himself, took one last look in the mirror, and headed down the corridor to the steps leading down to the dock and bar.

He ordered another rum punch and took his time with it, letting the glass sweat and keep his hand cool. The bar was covered from the setting sun and the late-afternoon breeze blew hard from the east, like it did every evening. Cole looked out over the bay and opened a few buttons to let the breeze hit his chest. It was warm, but a better kind of warm than what he’d felt in Panama City. It was like riding the fishing boats during his runs to the north. When the boat was so close to the water and the breeze blew uninterrupted, it was never uncomfortable, regardless of the temperature.

After 30 minutes, Cole heard his name and Isabella’s voice. She was next to him before he turned around and she smiled as if to ask if he was ready to go.

“Sorry, I lost track of time.”

He felt his heart thumping again and was frustrated and amused at the same time at his inability to keep his composure.

“No, no, it is OK. I am a little early, I think.”

She wet her lips with her tongue just slightly and it sent Cole further into a downward spiral. He couldn’t help but laugh at it.

Isabella looked at him for a second, confused, and asked, “What did I say wrong?”

Cole could only shake his head and say, “You didn’t say anything wrong. I just think that you are pretty and I want to tell you that each time I see you.”

There, I said it,
he thought. It was the only way to get back his senses.

Isabella looked away with a bigger smile than he’d seen as of yet before looking back at him and leaning in just a few inches closer. “Thank you, Cole. You are very sweet.”

Cole left his drink unfinished at the bar, and with that, they walked side by side up the dock, down the beach at the water’s edge, and up an older single-lane driveway to the marina. A channel with rock jetties on each side led in from the bay and opened up into a small harbor with finger piers around three sides of it. It was more than half full of a mixture of boats. Some were larger sailboats, but a good many were sport fishers and center consoles along with a few cabin cruisers. It was a fair mix of just about everything that roamed the Caribbean, some in worse shape than others.

Some folks sat on the open decks of their boats, but most were passing the evening tucked among the half-dozen or so restaurants that jutted up against the concrete wall that formed the perimeter of the harbor. There were also small shops, most of which were closed for the evening. Even with that, there were a good many people out for an evening walk or dinner.

Cole and Isabella walked the full length of the harbor before deciding on a restaurant a block in from the marina. She wore a pair of cotton shorts and a short-sleeve shirt with a loose v-cut across her chest. Led by the waitress to a picnic table by themselves, Cole let Isabella sit first, then sat beside her. She seemed a bit surprised at first, but then smiled when he nudged himself another inch or two closer to her. The side of his knee bumped up against hers, and she pressed back against him.

They were flirting. Cole had to remind himself to remain calm. They talked about each other and the places they’d been. Cole spoke of the things he’d seen since leaving the States last fall, and Isabella wanted to know more about America. She’d been there years before, but her study of the English language had left her wanting to know more about the people who spoke it.

She ordered for them both, and promised it would be something good. The waiter returned with two small glasses of rum with a lime and some cane sugar. Isabella Called it Ti Punch, a customary drink in Martinique. She mixed hers with the lime and some sugar before motioning for Cole to do the same. He did, and the two toasted to each other. It was strong but good and the waiter followed with glasses of water.