Island Promises (8 page)

“What about the source?” Riley asked.

“Source? Well there are several sources. The bartenders, waitresses, the guy with the video camera.”

“No. My source. Your source. The reason I’m hiding out here. Someone who can say this is all bullshit.”

“In progress, babe. Almost there. But not quite yet.” Someone was calling his name, telling him he was needed in editing and needed now. “I’ve got to go. Don’t leave me hanging. Phone. I was worried.”

“But my phone doesn’t work.” She was yelling into emptiness. He was gone. The bars on the phone slowly faded and it died with a metallic click. She looked down at her toes, the polish smudged by her dash for the phone, and decided the amateur pedicure wasn’t worth repairing. She needed a distraction, something besides the tiny world that was this boat.

“Let’s get some lunch,” Riley hollered down to Mitchell. She grabbed the sun-bleached Cleveland Indians baseball hat, popped it on her head, and tapped her toes, waiting for him.

“Well, I could make some toasted cheese. And I think we have some soup left from the other day.” Mitchell was in the galley, opening cupboards or lockers or whatever they called them.

“I need to get the hell off this boat.”

“Well, someone is in a crabby mood.” He looked up at her standing in the cockpit and seemed to make a decision. “Give me five minutes to pack some supplies and we’ll do a picnic. I love picnics. They’re so chic and romantic. That is, if you do them right. No peanut butter and jelly, it has to be real food. And, of course, wine.”

“Mitchell.” She couldn’t keep the impatience out of her voice.

“OK. I get the message. Chic but fast.”

Twenty minutes later, they were in the grassy place where Joe had taken her after the run-in over her passport. The steady climb over a dirt road that narrowed to a dirt path hadn’t done much to take the edge off Riley’s agitation. Below them lay the cove, the water crayon-colored shades of blue and green, the white beach sparkling as though it were littered with gemstones instead of sand. Between the sea and the point where they spread out the blanket a cascade of trees and flowers spilled down the hillside. It was a perfect, tranquil view but it only irritated Riley.

Mitchell carefully set out the food and drink. They nibbled at the cheese and bread, picked at the pineapple and bananas, and smacked their lips over the homemade brownies. How Mitchell could produce brownies in that tiny kitchen on
Reprieve
was a mystery to Riley.

“You need some sangria, girlfriend.” Mitchell poured the deep colored liquid, accented with lemons, limes, oranges, and other fruits, into glasses. “I hate using plastic,” he explained, “so tacky and not good for the environment. But glass would just be a million little pieces of a disaster.”

Mitchell chatted about everything and nothing. Riley listened. When she was full, she lay back on the blanket, sliding the Indians ball cap over her eyes and zoned out.

“Hey.” The sun burned her eyes full force. Mitchell had snatched the cap away, yanking some of her hair with it.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “You don’t drag me all the way up here, in my white jeans, I might add, through that dust bowl of a road, and then not say a word. No way, no how.”

Riley sat up. She gazed at the harbor view, then the jungle rising behind them. She picked pieces of grass.

“Will it be in this decade, do you think?” Mitchell asked. “Or should I be chunking out some time during my retirement to listen to what the hell bug is up your butt?”

“It’s Joe.”

“No kidding. Such a shocker. Who would have thought?”

“Do you think it’s wrong, Mitchell, to have a fling?” She kept her eyes down, studying the blades of grass she kept picking at as though they held the secret to curing cancer.

He was quiet for what seemed forever.

“Are you asking me this because I’m gay?” His voice had a hard edge.

“No. God, no. What would make you think that? You’re my friend. Probably the only friend I have here. You think I asked because I figure if you’re gay . . . well, that . . . you think I would think that? Hell, Mitchell, I don’t even know what to say here.” She picked harder at the grass. If she kept this up, the hillside would be bare by the time they left.

He ran a hand over his face, sat up, and tugged at her shoulder until she turned and looked at him. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that sometimes I get a little defensive. For the most part I’m fine but there are moments when I drive clear off the cliff and get my back all up. Comes with the territory, I guess.”

At that moment, her heart melted for him, for what he must have gone through, for the obstacles he’d had to overcome in his life. The fact that he was happy and adjusted, for the most part, was a tribute to not only him but the people who backed him and cared about him. She wanted to be one of those people.

She reached out, grabbed him, and they hugged.

“Mitchell, I would never . . . not in a million years would I . . . it would never even occur to me,” She was blubbering, but she couldn’t find the words.

“I know, I know, it’s me. I know that. To be my friend is to put up with the craziness sometimes. Are you in for that?” He let her go and watched her expression.

“Yeah I’m in for that. Especially the part where you’re the crazy one. Like I’m not. You forgot to mention that part. That since I’ve been here, I’ve been what you might call a little nutso, off my rocker, a few fries short of a kids’ meal, you name it.”

“Point taken.” He laughed. “I guess that’s why we clicked immediately. We’re two of a kind. Show the world we don’t give a flying-you-know-what about what anyone thinks but just below the surface we’re all mushy and sentimental and fussy about getting our feelings hurt.”

Was that true? Riley had never thought of herself that way. Was she tough on the outside but a marshmallow underneath? Was she one of those women who melted in the presence of her lover? How she detested those women who gave up everything, who turned themselves inside out for a man. They seemed so weak and needy. She thought of RK, of what she had put up with to keep him. She had told herself it was a new relationship in a new age, that she didn’t have a chokehold on him. But had she buried her need for stability and commitment because she knew it would drive him away?

The sun was shining, the bay was shimmering, the sangria had stayed just chilled enough to coat her throat. She wouldn’t think about who she was with RK, she couldn’t go there. If she wasn’t the strong, sassy, stand-up-for-yourself reporter she thought she was, then who was she? That was a question she didn’t want to face. She’d have to figure it out soon enough, she could feel that in her bones. Coming here, meeting these people had changed everything. Hell, who was she kidding? It was Joe who was changing everything. Joe with his strength, both physical and mental, his shaggy, sandy hair, his light brown eyes that drilled into her. Feeling the sun on her skin was like feeling his touch on her, warming and caressing and protective.

“Think we should get back.” Mitchell rose and began gathering the food and utensils, carefully wiping and wrapping everything. Riley tried to help but when she shoved the cheese in with the limes, he told her to sit down on the grass, wait, and not touch anything else.

The sun was lower in the sky and the breeze was picking up. It was still hours until sunset but the best and warmest part of the day was done.

Thankfully, the trip back to
Reprieve
was downhill. The sangria, the conversation, the food had all made Riley a little woozy and a lot sleepy. She craved the bunk on
Reprieve
for a nice nap. They were shuffling along, not saying much when Mitchell turned to her.

“By the way,” he said. “The answer to your question is: yes.” He skipped on ahead, laughing, and left her with her mouth open.

Chapter 6

Reprieve
was at her best, flirting with the wind, letting it fall off her sails and pushing her along over the slight waves. This was a day for advertising brochures. Crystal water, bright, clear skies, a tropical island sliding away behind them.

Joe was stowing the sails, his old navy hat slung low over his eyes, his bare feet spread on the deck, the breeze molding his sleeveless T-shirt to his chest, outlining every muscle. Watching him made Riley’s heart beat faster and her skin itch for his touch. Normally she was a rational, steady human being. With Joe in the picture she turned into a blathering schoolgirl. His very presence confused her.

The picnic with Mitchell had helped, a little, to sort out the issues. But the issues were so enormous, she couldn’t wrap her mind around them. Maybe she’d be on a television show about a woman who led two lives. In Chicago, a big-city reporter with a hectic life and a high-powered boyfriend whose first commitment was to his work. She’d suspected for a long time that RK wasn’t completely faithful but that was part of the deal, part of the way they lived. So she closed a blind eye to it and enjoyed being the one he came home to.

On the island, she was a sometime waitress, sometime boat hand, whose biggest decision during the day was what color to paint her toenails. She had a love-hate relationship with a man who oozed loyalty and conviction. He hadn’t offered anything, not that she’d asked, but with Joe, she could just tell; once he was committed, it was all the way. But what would she do here? For the moment, this suited her. Would the day come, though, when she was antsy for a story? Itching to pin a source to the wall?

Watching the sea always brought her back to the here and now. They’d left late yesterday afternoon and anchored in a small cove on the north side of the island, as they always did, according to Joe. A short hop to begin with, which allowed the crew to see how the passengers were adjusting.

The four older people who’d boarded yesterday were a mixed bag. Grace and Johnny, both white haired and in their 70’s, complimented the
Reprieve
, loved Mitchell’s seafood stir fry, and giggled like schoolchildren when dolphins raced the boat to the cove. They held hands on the deck and sat close together at dinner. The two radiated good will and it was nearly impossible to be near them for more than a few minutes without catching their smiles.

Edith, Grace’s sister, and her husband, Don, were a handful. Both were tanned, with perfect haircuts and toned bodies. Nearly 15 years younger than her sister, Edith was light years away in temperament. The couple barely said hello to the crew. Edith complained loudly about the smallness of the cabin and Don looked down his nose at the selection of wines for dinner. They had even less to say to each other than they did to the crew. Last night, under the splendor of a tropic sky, away from artificial lighting, with the stars magnetic and the sounds of the water lapping at the sides of the boat, Edith and Don had plunked themselves down in the cockpit and ranted about how there was nothing to do. The last cruise they’d gone on had been a big ship with theaters and bowling alleys and disco. There had been a spectacular spa and the shopping was to die for, Edith chimed in.

Ignoring them, Johnny and Grace had gone for a walk along the beach, arm-in-arm, before they’d all settled in for the night.

Reprieve
eased silently and gently from the cove before the sun was up, so as not to wake the passengers. It had been a long day on the water with some beautiful scenery; tree-drenched hills, white beaches, and crystal water rushing by them.

They had been at sea for two days, with one after another anchorage more beautiful than the last. At least once a day, Mitchell had to restrain Riley from throwing Edith overboard. First, when she’d sent the tuna back as too dry, and then when she asked Joe if he could please stop the damn boat from rocking too much.

In the afternoons, Grace tried to teach Riley how to knit, the older woman’s blue eyes dancing with the simple pleasure of the day and the company. They formed a bond with Johnny never far away, fishing off the bow or leaning over Joe’s shoulder as he plotted the course. Normally, Joe used some complicated equipment hooked to a computer, but for Johnny’s sake he gently lifted an old brass instrument he called a sextant out of a velvet-lined box and lovingly held it up to the sun.

At night, they settled into discreet anchorages, sometimes exploring the beaches, sometimes just enjoying dinner on
Reprieve
. After the guests retired, Mitchell and Riley did the final cleaning and the prep work for the next day’s meals while Joe and Anthony secured the boat and checked the anchors. By the time she fell into bed she was pleasantly tired, physically and mentally.

In Chicago, she had been tired all the time but it wasn’t the pleasant kind. It was the kind of tired that went right to her bones and sapped her spirit. It was a tired that ate at her psyche and left her always on the brink of anxiety and fear. Back home, no matter how much sleep she got, she never felt refreshed or rested.

The fourth night of the cruise, Riley sensed in her sleep that something was terribly wrong. She was developing that instinct that she’d heard about, read about. When something was wrong with the boat, sailors felt it in their bones, in their souls. She must have subconsciously prepared, because when
Reprieve
lurched and rolled, she didn’t wind up on her butt on the cabin floor.

She reached across the bunk and grasped nothing but air. Her fingers brushed the cloth that kept her in the bunk. For the last twelve hours, a storm had been brewing, the wind picking up speed, whipping the usually gentle waves into rolling breakers that rocked
Reprieve
like a toy boat in a bathtub. Still, the sun had been out earlier and the day pleasant. Consulting with Anthony, Joe had decided to alter course and head for shelter and they were on their way there now.

Now it was pitch black through the porthole. Grasping anything that would hold her weight, Riley forced herself up into a kneeling position and reached for the light. Nothing happened.
Reprieve
took another wave and Riley hung onto the bunk frame as the boat rolled awkwardly.

Timing her movements by the lightning bolts that split the sky, she gathered some clothes.

The noise was deafening. The sea was roaring outside, the boat was creaking and behind the locker doors, equipment and dishes were banging against the bulkheads. Her heart was beating at the speed of sound, too. She was scared almost to the point of paralysis. They were so far out, so far away from any kind of help that they needed to help themselves. That’s what kept her moving.

Out in the cabin, Edith and Don were huddled in a corner of the settee. In the shadows of the kerosene lamp swinging from a flexible arm, their faces were stark and pinched. Don said something to her as she passed.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Riley said and then turned her attention to getting to the cockpit and finding Joe to be reassured
Reprieve
was not sinking.

The wind hit her first, nearly blowing her off the ladder as she took out the hatch boards. The rain came with it, sideways and driving, stinging her eyes and scouring her skin.

She stumbled up onto the cockpit and froze, her arm wrapped around a halyard for support. Her breath caught. Giant walls of gray water, visible only by the foaming white at the peak, sizzled in the moonlight all around them. The air was heavy with salt and rain, hard as BB’s slamming into her. Roughly, a rocking wave shoved her back down the ladder. She scrambled up, hitting the deck on her hands and knees.

On deck, there were three figures, their orange foul-weather gear outlining them in the darkness. One of them came forward, lurching with
Reprieve
, careful to hang on.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Joe demanded. Water ran like a river from his orange suit onto the cabin sole.

She opened her mouth to speak but her lips were sealed by brine and fear.

“Are we sinking?” Edith spoke for her, wrapped in a blanket, both arms wrapped around the bottom of the ladder.

“
Reprieve
is steady,” Joe answered, without taking his eyes off Riley. “No one, I repeat, no one, is to come on deck without my permission.”

Reprieve
reached the crest of a wave, paused in mid-air, and then raced down the front, causing Riley’s stomach to hang in her throat.

“I want you to know as soon as we dock, I’m demanding my money back.” Don spat the words as he joined his wife at the bottom of the ladder, his face hard and ghostly in the swinging lamplight. “The travel agent told us this would be a vacation in paradise. Some paradise.”

“Hurricane Maria switched direction at the last minute,” Joe shouted over the wind. “The forecasters didn’t see it coming. Luckily we’re only catching the outward bands.”

“A hurricane. My God, we’re going to die.” Edith was near hysteria.

“You’ll pay for this,” her husband spat at Joe. “I’ll see to that.”

“What can I do?” Riley asked.

“Keep everyone below. If you can, get something together to eat. But be careful, we’re in for a ride and nothing you set down is safe.” He bent down to touch her face and she moved into his arms, not caring that the heavy, rubber jacket rubbed her face or that the cold, salty water dripped from the brim of his hood onto her hair. His lips brushed her hair.

She clung to him and he held her with one arm, the other tightly gripping the handhold. “Stay inside,” he said. “Watch them.
Reprieve
will pull us through.” Letting go of her, he patted the boat gently, as though patting the rear end of a beloved woman.

Riley backed down the ladder and closed the hatch against the hale of rain and howling wind. She moved through the cabin, bumping from side-to-side, trying to open lockers and assemble sandwiches, half of which slipped to the sole and slid down the angle, disappearing into the engine room or the forward cabin, depending on which way
Reprieve
leaned at the moment.

On the settee, Edith got sick every few moments, retching miserably into a bucket while her husband held her head. Without even looking, Riley could feel his anger. She’d already seen his clenched teeth and hard-set jaw. This hurricane was a personal insult and an interruption of his personal plans.

It was a measure of her fear that she’d forgotten about Grace and Johnny until the food was assembled and safely in the locker. She had even been able to perk coffee in the gimbaled pot and pour it into thermoses, a procedure that took forever since she had to time the pouring with the waves. Secretly, she felt proud at how far she had come. A few weeks ago, she would have been huddled on the settee with Edith and Don, cowering and raging instead of toughing it out. She hadn’t realized how much she’d learned until she poured that coffee and instinctually did it with the sea’s wild rhythm.

The whole time Edith and Don took a good deal of her attention, moaning and complaining. They refused to move to their cabin and snug themselves down in their berths. They were damn well going to stay where they were, close to the hatch in case something happened. Riley clamped down on her tongue to keep herself from retorting that if something did happen, the three real men on deck would risk their own lives trying to save Don and Edith’s miserable ungrateful necks.

“We need you. Gracie needs you.” Johnny was as white as the foam on the waves when he finally poked his head out of the aft cabin.

“What is it?”

“Gracie’s sick. Riley, will you come?”

She nodded, then, hand-over-hand, she gripped her way to the cabin. The cloth that kept them in their bunk was secured around Grace.

“Is she seasick?” Riley unlatched the cloth on one side, timing the boat’s motion before she sat on the bunk.

“I tried to take care of her. We knew how busy you all were with the storm. But I’m afraid for her now.”

When Riley saw Grace, she was afraid, too. Grace had a waxy, shriveled look. Her breathing was noisy, hard to listen to without wincing. Her eyes were closed, her hands folded over her chest.

My God, she’s dying
, Riley thought. Panic filled her, forcing out all rational thought.
Breathe
, she told herself,
breathe and think
.
Don’t concentrate on Grace’s rapid gasps. Just breathe slowly and deeply
.

“Grace.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for them to focus. “My heart,” she whispered. “My heart hurts.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.” Riley patted her hand. Cold, clammy.

“I don’t want to leave Johnny. We just found each other again.” Every word took effort.

“You’re not leaving anyone. You’re not getting out of here that easily.” Carefully, Riley readjusted the lee cloth.
Reprieve
bolted to the left and Riley wound up in Johnny’s arms.

“It’s been a good life.” Tears glistened, following the wrinkles down the side of his nose. “Had we known, we still would have come. We made a pledge to live to the end.”

“Now you stop that.” Grace’s voice was firm, but Riley was patting his arm, as much for her own comfort as for his.

“Nobody’s going anywhere except back to Rosalee’s for a drink.” Riley could tell Johnny wasn’t buying it. “I need to get Joe.”

“I’ll stay with her.” He unfastened the cloth and began crawling into the bunk next to his wife. “Please don’t tell Edith or Don. Gracie wouldn’t want to upset them.”

Upset them?
Riley wanted to scream.
They’re too worried about their own butts to be upset by anyone else’s problems
, she wanted to tell him. But right now, she had better things to do than point out what assholes his relatives were.

The howling of the wind blew her words away. She had to say them three times before Joe understood. Standing on the ladder with only her head and shoulders above the hatch, she was still wet and shivering when Mitchell came below and sealed out the storm with the hatch boards.

“Now we’re all wet,” Don whined, shaking out the blanket that covered them.

Mitchell was about to respond when Riley grabbed his arm and led him down the companionway. Along the way, he picked up the first-aid kit and stripped off his dripping foul-weather gear. Mitchell was kind and funny and reassuring to Grace and Johnny. He made her take some aspirin, and sip some water. Gently, he tucked her back in, patted Johnny’s shoulder and told him not to worry, then headed back to the galley.