Caribbean's Keeper (28 page)

She pulled the comforter down to reveal her face, and she let out a forceful sigh. “I have to work today.” She sighed again, rolling to her right and reaching down for some of her clothes.

Cole hurried over to the bed and crawled back in, reaching over her hip and up to her chest. He pulled himself tight against her and kissed her neck. “You’ll stay for breakfast, right?”

“If they hurry.”

She leaned back, and Cole pulled the comforter over both of them.

Twenty minutes later, Cole heard a knock at the door and got up to answer. Isabella reached down for her clothes and stood up to dress, smiling at Cole as he nearly tripped making his way to the door. He insisted on taking the tray at the door and repeatedly thanked the hotel worker before closing the door again. Setting it down on the bed, he lifted the lid off the tray to see a healthy pile of crêpes with fruit on the side.

“I didn’t do too badly.”

Isabella, now dressed, walked over and kissed him on the cheek before fixing herself a cup of coffee and picking a few pieces from the thin pancakes. Cole dropped some sugar in his coffee and motioned for Isabella to follow him. Picking up the plate and his coffee, he walked past the bed and over to the sliding door, nudging it open with the back of his hand, then walked out into the morning air and over to the covered balcony. Isabella followed and sat on a chair looking over the bay. Cole set the food down on the table next to her and sat in a chair on the other side of Isabella. She tucked one leg under her and swung the other gently back and forth, taking little sips and alternating her gaze from the cove in front of them to the anchorage off to the left. She picked again at her food and ate most of the fruit, lifting each piece of melon or strawberry one at a time with her fingers.

They were quiet for some time before Isabella said, “It is beautiful here, don’t you think?”

There was a veranda over the balcony that shaded bits of daylight against her face and beyond Isabella all he saw was the sunlight reflecting off the water out to the west. “Yes, it is.”

He didn’t need to say anything else.

They sat that way for a while before Isabella finished her coffee, took one last bit of crêpe, and stood up. Cole stood as well and walked her back into the room. She looked around one last time then leaned up against Cole, both of her hands wrapped around his neck.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Cole asked already knowing the answer.

“Oui,” she said back.

“Can you bring some scissors?”

Isabella looked at him for a moment, then asked, “For what?”

Cole grinned, replying, “Nothing much. I just need you to help me with something.”

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “OK.” She smiled again, kissed Cole, and walked over to the door. Holding it open for her, Cole watched her walk down the steps to the right and disappear. Making his way back into the room, across it and out onto the balcony, he watched Isabella stroll down to the water’s edge and then walk along the beach to the other side of the hotel to her apartment. When she was gone, he spent another half hour in the same seat and finished off what was left of the breakfast, replaying the previous night in his mind.

g

With the day to burn, he set off for a swim out into the anchorage and spent nearly an hour diving to the bottom of each mooring ball and then out to the next. By the time he was at the edge of the anchorage, the water must have been 40 feet deep and it took nearly all his strength to reach the last mooring before he flipped and flutter-kicked his way to the surface. He kept a good pace back in through the anchorage and waved at a few boats as he passed.

Exhausted when he walked back up onto the sand, Cole went back to his room, grabbed his cowboy hat, and made his way back to the beach, where he nestled up under some palm trees on a shaded lounge chair. Tipping his hat down low, he spent the rest of the morning on the beach, watching the vacationers play in the water and on the sand.

By the afternoon, he was hungry, but wanted to wait for a full meal until he was with Isabella again, so he showered and changed into some clean clothes. Heading up to the bar where he’d first seen her, Cole pulled up a stool. The same aging bartender brought over a plate of green olives and peanuts. Cole ordered a Ti Punch to slow his appetite. He nursed it for some time, mixing peanuts and olives after each small sip. After three drinks and almost two hours of sitting, Cole was restless and opted to take a walk.

Onto the beach and past the hotel, he walked along the water’s edge rather than cutting up and into the marina. Beyond the Bakoua, the remains of a second hotel sat, overrun by lush tropical vegetation well on its way to reclaiming the structure from what must have been an illustrious past. Past the Bakoua’s cove, locals swam in two smaller coves. Cole could see small rock walls overgrown with plants and vines. There was a tiled patio that was almost entirely covered in sand. At one point, it must have been a grand reception area or dance floor, but now only small bits of tile remained and were nearly consumed by the blowing sands.

Cole ventured out onto the last 100 yards of a coral peninsula with palm trees and brush in the middle. It stuck out and up nearly into the middle of the bay and held a commanding view of all approaches into Fort De France. As he rounded a rock ledge, he was not surprised to see a rusted gun emplacement. The tripod was all that remained, bolted into a concrete slab. Looking out over the bay, Cole wondered about the men who’d stood watch over the centuries. Surely even before this emplacement was built, there had been men who stood guard in the days of cannons and ships of sail.

Leaning into the stiff east breeze, Cole smiled as it swept across his face and chest. It was ironic to him that he stood over what once was bitterly contested ground, and yet no more than 100 yards away people bathed and soaked up the sun’s rays without any care. He stepped up into the breeze and walked along a narrow path until he found another emplacement. Beyond that was a third, and he saw a break in the undergrowth behind him and slipped in between some trees and shrubs towards the center of the coral peninsula. There was an entire compound, now just a concrete shell of what had been a garrison. Smaller structures, most no bigger than a single room, surrounded a main gathering area. Cole wandered for some time around it. There was graffiti on the walls, and like the abandoned hotel, the Caribbean undergrowth had done its job of reclaiming it.

After wandering the perimeter, Cole walked back out to the foot trail he’d followed and stood once more in the easterly breeze. He felt gusts push up against his chest, and the wind was blowing at times up to 30 knots. It was the same wind that had carried ships from Africa over to the Caribbean and beyond, with their cargo of spices, sugar, rum, and contraband. For the first time in days, Cole thought long and hard about his own travels and the drugs he’d run up to the north. In some way, he was no different than the buccaneers who warred with merchant ships centuries before. Cole thought about the abandoned fort in the greater context of the Caribbean, both the one he knew and the one of centuries past. Looking back to the west, he feared that it was only a matter of time before he turned a boat northward and ran her up to speed. He knew he couldn’t hide in Martinique for the rest of his life, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Strolling back to the Bakoua, Cole made sure not to break a sweat before meeting Isabella. When he walked back up the beach, she was sitting on a bench up above where the sand turned into low-cut grass. She smiled when she saw him and waited for him to come take a seat next to her.

“What shall we do for dinner?” Isabella asked. She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a white cotton shirt buttoned halfway up. Cole thought there was no way she hadn’t tried for the effect it had on him. When she spoke, she held the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she pronounced the words with her soft French accent.

Cole thought for a second. “I like the marina. Is there something there?”

Isabella nodded and they set off up the same path and over into the marina district. They took seats at an outdoor cafe and split a pizza. Cole drank beer and Isabella sipped at a glass of wine, their seats close to each other and facing out towards the docks. She rested her foot over the top of his, and Cole was content to spend the night watching the boats bob back and forth in their slips.

After they finished dinner, they walked around the marina to the far side of the channel and took seats on the rock jetty like the previous night. They talked more about the islands and America. Isabella asked Cole questions and he filled in the gaps, explaining how he’d found his way to Martinique. He hesitated at first, but committed himself to telling her the truth about the drugs. When he talked, she rested her head against his shoulder and listened.

Her affection was undeniable and Cole felt compelled to explain himself. “Would you still like me if I’ve done some bad things?”

Isabella lifted her head off his shoulder and looked him in the eye. She thought for a moment and held the tip of her tongue again just barely between her teeth.

She asked, “Would you do anything bad to me?”

Cole shook his head and replied, “No, not a chance.”

In the back of his mind, Cole worried that he would fall back into the scene he’d left and in some way leave her hurt.

“Would you ever hurt someone else?”

Cole shook his head then thought for a moment. “If they were going to hurt me, then yeah, I think I would.”

He thought back to the side street in Panama and how he’d shot the passenger who had turned to go back towards the car.
Surely the guy had reached for a gun, and considering they’d tried to kill me only moments before, killing in turn was the only option
.

“I trust you, Cole.” She bit at her lower lip waiting for his reply.

He paused, thinking carefully about the right words. “You are something special to me, Isabella. I won’t hurt you.”

She smiled, happy with his answer. Cole looked away before she could see his face. Panama was heavy on his mind for some time thereafter.

They walked back through the marina, past Isabella’s apartment, and onto the beach. Taking the far steps up to the breezeway, they made their way to Cole’s room. Locking the door behind him, Cole walked over to the sliding door, opened it and the two of them walked out onto the veranda. Cole sat on a lounge chair by the railing and Isabella sat in his lap, her head against his chest.

“I almost forgot, I have the scissors,” Isabella said as she stood up and went back to the room for her purse.

Returning a minute later, Cole had pulled off his shirt and pointed to his shoulder, saying, “I need you to cut these stitches out.”

Isabella ran her fingers across the back of his shoulder and asked, “What is this from?”

Cole dismissed it as nothing, saying, “Just a cut I got in Panama.”

She shook her head and touched his shoulder again. “This is more than a cut,” she said, before snipping at them, one by one.

When she was done, Cole ran his fingers across the scab that had formed and thought back to that night in Panama. Isabella sat back in his lap and leaned against his chest, asking again, “What happened to you in Panama?”

Cole smiled at her and replied, “A lot, but it’s over now.”

Content, Isabella rested her head against his chest and Cole played with the curls in her hair. Before long he felt her nod off to sleep. Staying there for some time, Cole watched the night sky before finally picking her up and carrying her back into the room, where he settled both of them into bed. Cole pulled the sheets back and Isabella, half asleep, undressed from the waist up. Then once she’d pulled the sheets back up and over, she smiled shyly at Cole then threw her shorts at him, setting her head down on one of the pillows all the while still staring intently at him.

Cole dropped his shirt and shorts on the floor and crawled in next to her, pulling the sheet up to his neck to ward off the chill of the air conditioning. They pressed themselves against each other and their arms intertwined. With Isabella’s head against his neck, Cole felt her curled hair tickle his lips and took a deep breath of the fruit smell of her shampoo. He pulled once more at her to bring her body in closer and then he kissed her on top of her head. They were soon asleep.

g

When Cole woke, Isabella was already stirring in bed. She kissed him when he first opened his eyes and told him she had to go get some things from her apartment. He watched her dress and reminded her again just how pretty she was. With a smile, she blew him a kiss and before walking out the door, she turned and said, “Diamant” with her cute French accent.

“I didn't forget,” Cole said matter-of-factly and Isabella smiled, disappearing behind the door.

When it shut, Cole took a deep breath and worked his way out of bed. He went for a quick breakfast then over to the lobby. At first he tried to ask for a rental car, but he got nowhere with the older woman behind the counter.

“Taxi?” Cole said it slowly and felt like an idiot for thinking that would make any difference.

But the woman knew the word and picked up the phone, her eyes big as if she’d just figured out a riddle and was proud of herself.

“Taxi, in one hour…one hour…” He said it slower again the second time then pointed at the clock. “One hour,
Merci
?”

The woman smiled, “
Oui
, in one hour, OK.”

Satisfied, Cole walked back to his room to grab a few things. He took his wallet and a clean set of clothes, putting them in a small backpack. As he was rummaging through his clothes, Isabella knocked at the door. Cole let her in and took one of the two room keys from the dresser and gave it to her.

“Here, one for you.”

Isabella took it and seemed to not understand what he’d just said. In his rush to figure out what to bring, he’d spoken too quickly and lost her. He stopped what he was doing. The truth was that he loved more than anything how she had a way of calming him down. With her French and his English, he had to think about his words carefully and enjoyed watching her think through the things he’d said. He did the same with her words, listening to them and then thinking about their meaning before reacting. Cole knew he could spin himself up when needed, but things worked best with Isabella when he took his time. She forced him to relax and he loved every minute of it. Even better was the fact that she had no idea she did it.