The Paradise Guest House (20 page)

Gabe felt an irrational fear rise up in his chest—but here she was, sitting beside him. She hadn’t thrown herself into the sea. She hadn’t walked for miles and never come back.

“I talked to a woman for a while,” she said.

“A tourist?”

“No. A Balinese woman. She told me she swims in the sea every day for her exercise. She was old—I couldn’t tell how old—and very strong. She lives in town and sells food at the market every morning. She babysits her three-year-old granddaughter while she works, until her son comes home from the night shift at a hotel in Kuta.”

“Chatty woman,” Gabe said.

“She was at the cleansing ceremony,” Jamie said. “The one we went to. She said it was a tragedy but now all these young people will move on to the next life.”

“She’s lucky,” he said, “that she believes in reincarnation.” It would be so much easier, he thought, to imagine Ethan living the next good life somewhere. But when he thought about his son’s death, he thought of it as the end of everything wonderful.

“I’m stuck in this life,” Jamie said. “I don’t get a chance to get reborn as a Balinese princess.”

Gabe smiled. “You wouldn’t really like the princess life.”

“You don’t think so?”

He shook his head. “You’re gonna live this life.”

Gabe thought of Jamie stretched out on her boss’s couch in Berkeley. He imagined the boss as a rugged older guy, sitting across the room from her, a crooked grin on his face. He’d toss Jamie the new catalog of thrilling adventures in the world. Pick one, any one you want, he would tell her. Yes, she would say, pointing her finger at a page. This one.

In the early evening, Gabe was sitting on the patio reading his novel about love and lust in Hollywood, when Jamie walked outside and stood beside him.

She wore the silk pants he’d packed in her suitcase, and the soft material hugged her slim hips. A red scarf wrapped around her cast.

“You look great,” he said.

“Except for the face part.”

Gabe stood up. He touched her chin. “You’ll look mysterious and sexy and a little dangerous with a scar on your face.”

“I can’t wait,” Jamie said. She offered him a hint of a smile. And then she stepped away so that his hand floated for a moment, midair, before drifting back to his side.

“How’s the pain?” Gabe asked.

“Okay for now,” she said. “I’ll take a pill when we get back.”

“From where?”

“Dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“I’m taking you to a restaurant.”

“Really?”

“Is there one close by?” she asked.

“A short walk down the beach path.”

“Let’s go right now or I might change my mind.”

Gabe offered her his elbow, and she slipped her good arm through his. They walked across the lawn to the red door; he liked the feel of her forearm resting on his.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open, letting Jamie pass through.

“Wow,” she said. The sky was streaked with pink, as if a willful child had taken a marker and swiped it across the blue sky. It zigged and zagged before disappearing into the darker blue of the sea.

The white-sand beach stretched for miles in both directions. Farther down there were hotels with lounge chairs and restaurants and boats for rent, but here, in front of the cottage, there was just the smooth sand, a few palm trees, and the endless blue sea.

They stood there for a while, watching the gentle waves break along the beach. Gabe caught the spicy scent of her perfume, and he breathed in. The colors of the sky deepened; the sea grew dark.

“Which way?” Jamie finally said, breaking the spell.

He turned her toward the central area of Sanur Beach.

“Are you okay?” he asked when he heard Jamie catch her breath.

“Yeah,” she said. “Walking seems to rattle my head a little.”

“Maybe this is too ambitious,” Gabe said.

“
Ambitious
used to mean bagging three peaks in one day. Now it means a slow crawl for fifty yards.”

“You’ll do the mountain summits next month.”

“I doubt that,” she said.

Gabe looked at her. “There’s no reason you won’t be able to do all of those things again.”

“I don’t think I’ll want to do those things again.”

“Why?” he asked.

“The world is a different place,” she said simply.

“No,” Gabe said, his voice louder than he had intended. “You have to head back out into the world.”

“Like getting on a horse after you’ve fallen off?” There was a nasty edge to her voice.

“Otherwise the terrorists win,” he said.

“They already won,” she murmured.

“No, they didn’t.”

“You keep hoping for something better, don’t you?” Jamie asked, looking at him.

“What else is there to do?” he replied.

He thought of those daily walks in Boston after Ethan died—a long loop that took him down one side of the Charles, across the river, and back up the other side—during which time he replayed every memory of his son’s short life. But, at the end of the day, he was still alone. Memory didn’t bring the kid home again. Then one day his boots wore out. On one, a tear appeared by his big toe; on the other, the sole wore thin. It was as simple as that. I can’t walk in circles anymore, he thought. I have to move forward.

There had to be something like hope, or he and Jamie would never leave the house.

A young Balinese boy ran toward them on the path, making engine sounds, as if he were an airplane headed down the runway. Just before he zoomed past them, he stopped abruptly and stared at Jamie. Almost unconsciously, he reached up and touched his hand to his own face.

“Hello,” Jamie said.

“Hello,” the boy said.

And then he chanted, “Hello hello hello hello,” and took off running again.

“I’m a freak,” she said.

“You’re alive,” Gabe told her.

They walked a short way farther along the path until they came to La Taverna, a hotel with an open-air restaurant on the edge of the beach.

The restaurant looked festive, with lanterns strung on wires from tree to tree. A blue light glowed from the center of each one. There was a balé in one corner, with an ornate tapestry that hung from the back wall. A band played at the far side of the restaurant—Gabe could see three Indonesian men with guitars, but the music sounded more like Latin salsa.

“Would you like a table?” a Balinese man asked. He was staring at Jamie.

“Yes, please,” Gabe told him. “Under the tree over there, if that’s possible.” He pointed to a table hidden in the corner.

“Of course,” the man said.

He led them through the maze of empty tables to the one Gabe had chosen.

“I will be back with the menu and the wine list,” the man said, after pulling out the chair for Jamie.

When he walked away, she said, “I’m scaring everyone. They know I was in the bombing.”

“You’re fine,” Gabe said.

“No one will ask, will they?”

“No one will ask,” he said quickly.

“I’ll never know what Bali is really like,” she said, looking at him.

“Years from now you might—”

She shook her head. “This is Bali. This restaurant on this beach with this man. I don’t need more than this.”

“Bali is a lot more than this.”

“If I can keep my Bali this small, then I might not hate it so much.”

“I hope you’ll come back someday. Give it another chance.”

The waiter appeared—a young Balinese man with a huge grin. “Welcome to La Taverna,” he said, and then he saw Jamie’s face and his smiled faded.

“Thank you,” Gabe said.

The waiter hugged the menus to his chest, still staring at Jamie, who fixed her eyes on the table in front of her.

“Yes, yes,” the waiter said, finally snapping out of it. He handed them menus and gave the wine list to Gabe. “I will return to take your order.” He fled.

“Do you want to go back to the cottage?” Gabe asked gently.

“No,” Jamie said, her voice soft. “I want to sit here and eat my dinner. I don’t want to go away. I want the rest of the world to go away.”

“Much of the world did go away. I’ve never seen Sanur so empty.”

“Let’s listen to the music,” she said, her voice straining to be cheery. “Let’s pretend that we’re about to step onto the dance floor and kick up our heels.”

“Elizabeth Taylor danced here,” Gabe said.

“Really?”

“Sanur used to be a destination for the jet set. In the sixties. John Lennon and Yoko were here. So was John Wayne. This hotel was the popular gathering spot. Apparently, everyone
slept with everyone else’s spouse. It was a wild time. Or so they say.”

“I can’t imagine. It’s so sleepy now.”

“Kuta and Seminyak have grabbed the spotlight. But this was the happening place in its day. The owner told me that someone climbed through Sophia Loren’s window and waited for her naked in bed.”

“So I’m Audrey Hepburn. Who are you?”

“I must be Cary Grant.”

“And we’ve left our lovers at home. I’m filming something in Australia and have hopped over to Bali for the weekend. I spent the day floating on my back in the sea. Then I slipped my little black dress on and I sashayed down to the restaurant.”

“I was sitting here, drinking a Manhattan,” Gabe said. “I looked up and thought to myself: That must be Audrey. I haven’t seen her in ages. I’ve been filming in Nice, and I only came to Bali for a week to get away from my possessive girlfriend. I caught your eye and stood up. You walked over, with that sexy strut of yours, and you said—”

“Well, Cary. What a surprise. I had no idea you would be here.”

“Please join me for dinner. Unless you’re waiting for someone?”

“I must be waiting for you.”

“That dazzling dress—I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Jamie caught his eyes, and her face changed. She opened her menu and studied the pages. Gabe reached out and touched her shoulder.

“I’m okay,” she said quickly. “Really.”

“What happened?”

“For a second I forgot everything. For a second I thought I
was just a girl at a beach restaurant having fun with an interesting guy.”

The waiter cleared his throat and both of them glanced up, surprised.

“Your order?” he asked.

“I’ll have the seared tuna,” Jamie said. “And a martini.”

“I’ll have the same,” Gabe told him.

“Very good.” The waiter started to walk away and then turned back. “Are you guests at the hotel?”

“No,” Gabe said. “We’re just here for dinner.”

“I was at a meditation meeting the night of the bombing,” the waiter said, a bit shyly. “There were hundreds of us in the auditorium. All of us in silent meditation. Then we heard an explosion and the room shook. The leader looked up and said, ‘Something terrible has happened.’ ”

“What did you do?” Gabe asked.

“He told us to return to our meditation. But I couldn’t clear my mind. I didn’t even know what terrible things could happen. And now I know.”

“We all know,” Gabe said.

The waiter glanced again at Jamie, but she kept silent.

“I’ll get your drinks,” he said, and walked away.

The band finished the pulsating rhythms of their Latin salsa, and the bandleader took the mike. “And now something different.” They segued into a very bad rendition of Stevie Wonder’s “You Are the Sunshine of My Life.”

“Tell them to stop,” Jamie said, and they both laughed.

“Audrey and Cary would be horrified.”

“They’d leave the dance floor.”

“They’d promise to fly in their own bands next time.”

The bandleader crooned, his voice twangy and off-key.

“Audrey and Cary would have much better music playing for a dinner like this.”

A quick bolt of lightning flashed, brightening the horizon. The sky rumbled with thunder.

“That’s more like it,” Gabe said.

And, in an instant, the skies opened and fat raindrops splashed down on them.

“Let’s move to the balé!” Gabe shouted over the noise of the deluge.

He helped Jamie up and held her good arm as they ran to the table under the thatched roof. By the time they were under cover, they were both soaked.

“Wow,” Jamie said. “That’s some kind of rain.”

They watched the downpour for a few minutes in silence; Jamie hugged her arms around herself. The curtain of rain was so thick that they could barely see the tables in front of them. Again a flash of light split open the sky, followed by the crack of thunder.

And then it all stopped, just as suddenly as it had started. Steam rose from the ground like wisps of smoke.

“Audrey would have liked that,” Jamie said. “Very dramatic. Film worthy.”

“Where did the band go? Was that like some kind of punishment for one lousy song?”

She laughed. “They’re hiding at the bar.”

“Look at me,” Gabe said.

She turned toward him.

He touched the side of her face. “The bandage is wet. I’ll change it when we get back.”

She put her hand on his.

“Thank you,” she said, then she dropped her hand and turned her face away from him.

Gabe found himself lifting her hair away from her neck. It was a gesture so simple and yet it felt as if he was undressing her. He saw a single mole in a sea of smooth tanned skin. Barely breathing, he traced the landscape of her neck. She didn’t move away.

“Wet martinis,” the waiter said, appearing in front of them. “And dry towels.”

He gave them each a hand towel and placed the martinis on the table in front of them.

Gabe took his towel and reached toward Jamie’s face.

“No,” she said quietly. “I’ll do it.”

He put the towel back on the table.

“The last time I went out for dinner, I was with Miguel,” Jamie said, her voice low. “It feels like a million years ago.”

Gabe felt a stab of guilt. He wiped the towel quickly over his face. “Where did you go?”

“Some dive in Kuta. His last dinner. He deserved better.”

Gabe nodded, waiting.

“He deserved a girlfriend who said yes,” Jamie said.

They ate their dinner in the balé, though it didn’t rain again. The band played Latin dance music, and even as Jamie and Gabe sat at the table, quiet and no longer hungry, Audrey and Cary spun around the dance floor, graceful and breathtakingly beautiful.