Rites of Spring (16 page)

So it came out again.
“I could have died.”

“I know.” He was quiet for a second. “That’s what happens when you don’t know how to swim.” He quirked his head in the direction of the cabin. “Go lie down for a while. Dinner’s not for hours.”

I made it up the path, my face burning with shame.
Yep, way to thank the guy, Amy. And you’re supposed to be a writer.

But it wasn’t as if Poe had helped any. I mean, what kind of guy starts lecturing you about your swimming skills when you’re in the midst of confessing how you’d practically faced mortality that afternoon? Not the time, man, not the time.

The interior of the cabin was warm, and dust motes floated freely in the sunlight that sneaked through the slats and the screened-in windows. Three bunk beds were pushed against the wall, each equipped with fresh sheets, pillows, and sets of towels. There was also a lone dresser next to a sink. No closet. Lovely.

I dropped my stuff on one of the bottom bunks, then dug around in my bag until I found my pajamas and a fresh pair of underwear. I peeled off my still damp clothing, and set about seeing if the sink had hot water, hoping to save myself a trek to the shower house. Negative. I weighed the trouble of hiking back down the path against the hassle of a tepid sponge bath, and decided on the latter.

The towels were pretty scratchy and thin, but big, more like bath sheets. Beach towels, I realized. For people who go to the beach, who actually like the water. I wrapped my body in one towel, and my hair in another. Maybe I’d go sit on the porch until I felt warm again. I looked out the window.

And that’s when I saw him.

Poe was standing on the border of the clearing, acting most peculiarly. He took a few steps toward the cabin, then paused, shook his head, and marched back out. He repeated the move a few times before stomping off for good.

I stood at the window, confused as hell. Why in the world…and then it hit me, way, way harder than the water had when I’d fallen off the boat.

Poe liked me.

9.

Expectations

My mind was still buzzing when the other girls arrived at the cabin.

“I owe you an apology,” Clarissa said, struggling to heave her Louis Vuitton over the threshold. “You were right. This place is a dump.”

I didn’t even have the presence of mind to look smug. “How was the tour?” I managed.

“Snoozeville,” Jenny said. “And did you know they don’t have Internet access here? How do they survive?”

“On the upside,” Demetria said, “I now know more about Caribbean air currents than I ever thought possible.”

“No Internet access?” I said. “But haven’t Mrs. Gehry and the kids been here for a while? That must suck for Darren.”

“Yeah, he must be so behind on his MySpace updates.” Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Perhaps he can entertain himself figuring out a way to get his spew off my shirt.”

“How are you?” Jenny asked me. “I feel so bad that we dumped you on that jerk.”

I shrugged, mind still whirring. Pour some rum into my skull and we could all have daiquiris at this rate.
Poe liked me?

Clarissa was unpacking her second suitcase. “Don’t worry about Amy. She’s actually been known to seek out James’s company from time to time, isn’t that right?”

“I remember,” Jenny said.

“It’s Jamie.” I clamped my mouth shut. Where did that come from?

“What?”

“His name. It’s, um, Jamie.”
And how long had he had a crush on me?

“Oh.” Clarissa turned back to brushing the wrinkles out of a silk sundress. “Whatever.”

And how come I’d never noticed it before?

“Tell me how it happened,” Jenny said.

I was curious about that myself. Poe hated me. He thought I was everything wrong with Rose & Grave. At least, that’s what he’d said back in November. But, since then, well, I thought we’d graduated to mutual…respect and neutrality?

“Yo, earth to Amy.” Jenny waved her fingers in my face. “The accident? How did it happen?”

Oh.

“I wasn’t standing by the deck,” Jenny went on. “Weren’t you wearing a life jacket?”

“It ripped right off,” Clarissa said. “It’s my fault. Amy, I’m so sorry.” She looked at Jenny. “I bumped into her and she lost her balance and fell right through the chain gate. And her jacket tore off. It must have gotten caught on something.”

Jenny shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Those things are supposed to be all tough and made of rip-stop nylon and stuff.”

Demetria cut in. “Well, Jamie brought the straps on deck with him. They were completely frayed through. I’m surprised they didn’t fall off when you tried to buckle them. If you wanted to sue, you’d have a pretty good case on your hands. Talk about safety violations—life jackets that fall apart as soon as you hit the water?”

“Who would she sue?” Clarissa asked. “The Diggers? She
is
a Digger.”

“And if she had died?” Jenny added. “Her parents aren’t in Rose & Grave. They could sue.”

I shivered. I didn’t want to talk about dying anymore. “No one is suing. I just don’t want to get on a boat again unless it’s the one leaving this island.”

“But what are you going to do?” Clarissa asked as Jenny returned to her unpacking. “Not go snorkeling with us tomorrow?”

“Blondie,” Demetria cut in as Jenny started unwinding a long length of cable, “did you not notice the part where she almost drowned today? Cut the girl some slack.”

I chose not to contribute to this conversation and watched as Jenny knelt on the floor and resumed unpacking. First she took out a laptop and a long stretch of Ethernet cable. So far, so normal. Then she took out a large silver bowl, a mess of aluminum foil, and a pair of wire cutters, and I started getting confused.

“What the hell are you doing?” Demetria asked. Her luggage, like Poe’s, consisted of a battered rucksack. Of course, Jenny’s suitcase seemed to hold more electronic equipment than actual clothing, so it seemed to be a trend.

“I’m getting us Internet access,” Jenny replied, coiling one end of the cable around her cell phone. She lined the bowl with foil and placed the cord-wrapped phone inside. “Jerry-rigged satellite dish,” she said, and plugged the other end of the cord into her laptop. “Now, let’s see if we can’t pick up any signals.”

“Well, while you pirate wireless, I’m going to take a shower.” Clarissa turned to me. “Amy? Any plans to wash your hair before the introductory dinner?”

I touched my salt-encrusted tresses. Okay, good point. I hadn’t realized how gross seawater made your hair. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to dinner, either. “Um…”

“Go take a shower, Amy,” Demetria said, waving me off. “I don’t necessarily think you need to get back on a boat, but you can’t spend your Spring Break hiding in this dump, either. There’s no water at dinner other than the kind they put in glasses.”

Yes, but thanks to Dragon’s Head, I knew exactly how unpleasant those glasses could get.

“Besides,” Clarissa added, “you can’t miss seeing how far the mighty Kurt Gehry has fallen. Aren’t you looking forward to getting all smug in the buffet line?”

Would it be mean to admit I was?

“Here we go,” Jenny announced. “It’s weak, but it works. Anyone want to check their e-mail?”

Eventually the other girls impressed upon me the need to shower and make myself presentable for dinner. While we got ready, they filled me in on the least boring parts of the tour, as well as the loose itinerary for the week. (Unfortunately, it sounded like a lot of snorkeling.)

“And the rules,” Jenny said. “Don’t forget those.” She handed me a crumpled sheaf of papers.

“Right.” Demetria rolled her eyes. “
Comandante
Saltzman runs a pretty tight ship on Cavador.”

“What a sweet job, though,” Clarissa said. “I want to be an island caretaker when I grow up.” We lapsed into silence as we tried to imagine Clarissa playing servant to anyone.

R
ULES OF
C
AVADOR
K
EY

1)
Barbarian names ONLY outside of the tomb or other official ceremonies. Remember, we’re not all Diggers here.

2)
Though most of the visiting barbarian family members are aware of this island’s true purpose, there’s no reason to go blabbing about it at random. Your oaths still hold.

3)
Try to limit showers to ten minutes or less, no more than once a day. We are dealing with severe water shortages.

4)
The generators will be shut off every night at precisely 10
P.M
. Each room is equipped with candles and flashlights if you wish to stay up later than that. (Tomb excepted.)

5)
Special dietary requests will be submitted, in writing, at least three days prior to your visit.

6)
The only barbarians allowed on this island are the wives and biological children of active knights and/or patriarchs.

7)
No, there is no pool. The ocean is a few feet away. Deal with it.

This went on in the same vein for several pages. At the bottom of the last sheet, there was a handwritten addition:

*No co-educational sleeping arrangements will be provided without proof of matrimony.

“I think we’ve found our new slogan,” Demetria said.

The main compound of Cavador Key was composed of four buildings. One was the cabin the other knights were using, near the shower house. Then there was a larger building in a Key West style, with big windows, a sloping roof, and a wraparound porch. This, Demetria informed me, housed the kitchens, dining room, billiard and rec room, and “library.” Upstairs, the main hall had a few small apartments for married Diggers and families, though Clarissa explained that they were all currently occupied, which was why we girls had been relegated to the distant cabin. There was also a small, windowless, stucco structure that served as the island’s “tomb,” and looked too hot to even think of entering (“Looks like a strip club,” Jenny said). Finally, there was the little cypress-wood house where the caretaker lived. None of the buildings was particularly beautiful or grand, but each appeared well built and maintained. I wonder how much it cost the Tobias Trust each year to keep this island. Little wonder it was used for far more than a Spring Break hangout by the current club. That could hardly justify the cost. I gathered that patriarchs could drop in for some rest and relaxation anytime they chose.

What I didn’t expect was to see my favorite of them all waiting for us on the front porch of the main building.

“Amy!” Malcolm cried, sliding off the steps and coming to meet me, arms outstretched. “I heard you took a dip on the way over.”

I hugged my big sib hard. “What are you doing here!” He hadn’t dropped any hints at all over e-mail. But maybe keeping this secret was why his communication had dropped off.

“Surprise!” He ruffled my hair. “Had about enough as I could stand of Alaskan winters. And I’d thought Connecticut was bad.” The recent Eli grad had been spending a gap year on a fishing crew before starting business school.

“I still can’t believe you’re here, though,” I said.

“What, thought I’d prefer to take my vacation with my parents?”

I looked down. Malcolm was currently estranged from his father, an ultra-conservative state governor who didn’t take kindly to the news that his only son preferred the company of men. “Still getting the silent treatment?”

“I figure they’ll relent when they reach the age where I’ll sock ’em away in a nursing home if they don’t.”

“Good idea.”

“So tell me about your trip over here.” I couldn’t blame Malcolm for changing the subject. “What happened?”