by Jo Sparkes
Truth was, Wall had a way of making her feel stupid in class. She’d committed her share of mistakes, but so had everyone else. Jon and Mike had loved her fearlessness, praised her prowess. Her cousin labeled her intrepid. Mike called her ‘the mermaid’.
Wall had a way of making courage seem foolish. “It’s not just your own life you risk,” he’d once admonished. “You risk your buddy’s as well.”
So no, she hadn’t been thrilled to hear he was coming. And then to learn that the blonde was also a guest, the woman who wore nail polish in shades to match her dazzling array of swimsuits. The slowest student in class, yet always the center of attention…
“You okay there?” she overheard Mike from inside the room. She imagined Wall calmly nodding. At least she hoped he was nodding.
Apparently he also thought her out of earshot. “The Canadian stewardess?” he asked.
“Oh yeah.” Mike chuckled.
The notches! She really was as naive as Jon claimed.
Wall always made her feel stupid.
Wall felt a pang of guilt as he entered the stern cabin.
While it wasn’t the height of luxury, it was the best on board. Being guests, Jill had insisted, warranted the top accommodation, meaning a door with a lock and double bed shoehorned with a built-in dresser. Jill had chosen the tiny cabin in the bow of the boat, which was nothing more than a hollowed out triangle fitted with a mattress and a curtain for privacy. Jon and Mike slept topside under the stars.
The door stuck, again. He had to use his body to move it.
Inside Melanie lay on the mattress, flipping through one of the fashion magazines she’d bought at the airport. Still clad in her bikini, provocatively posed, he realized she’d been waiting for him.
“Let’s see what animal you are,” she poked at a glossy page. “Do you have more friends than enemies, or enemies than friends?”
“Pardon?”
“It’s a quiz to discover what kind of animal you are. I’m a gray wolf.”
Tugging his sopping shirt off over his head, Wall stuffed it into the laundry bag. “Friends. Doesn’t everybody outside of prison?”
“True friends are rare. There are scads of enemies.”
Snatching fresh clothing from the single drawer Melanie had allotted him, Wall glanced at her. “I would hope a true enemy is just as rare.”
“You do over-think things, don’t you?” she sighed. “That answer puts you in the herbivore quadrant. The ones that get eaten.”
He grinned and sat beside her. “You look delicious; I should have come down earlier.”
“You should have indeed,” she murmured, stroking his arm. The tiff - or whatever it had been - was over.
Wall brushed his lips along her shoulder. “We’re an hour outside Antigua - and Jon plans to stay the night, you know. We could catch a taxi and head into Saint John’s. Maybe lobster for dinner?”
“We…five?”
He flicked her cheek. “We…two. Gotta load supplies first - but that won’t take all night.”
She sprang up on her knees to adjust a falling strap, riveting his eyes to the soft skin peeking from the pink swimsuit. “Maybe dancing?” she prodded.
“Most certainly dancing. Mind - I’m more enthusiastic than skilled.”
Melanie took his hand, lifting it to her mouth. “Enthusiasm is all that’s required.”
Locking eyes with him, she nipped his finger.
He stepped away to lock the door.
Lounging on a cockpit bench, Wall sipped a beer as the Sadicor sliced through churning waves toward the Antigua shore. He’d offered to help, but Jon had already lowered the sails. So his mind churned the thought of spending the night in Saint John’s. Finding that resort he’d promised Melanie.
Jon thrust a boat hook at him as the dock loomed. “You ever penetrated a wreck?”
The words hung in the air as the dock approached.
“No.”
In fact, he’d never been tempted. Open water diving had risks. Most, however, were countered by simply inflating the B.C. and rising to the surface. Diving with a ceiling - be it artificial like decompression diving, or the very real ceiling of a cave or shipwreck - meant simply hitting the air valve was useless. Instead, you relied on lines tied at the entrance and played out to create a trail back to safety. Which meant more time needed to return and the danger of lines getting tangled, broken, or even lost. A wreck could be dark and confusing, riddled with unexpected obstacles and complex mazes. In the weightlessness of water just knowing which way was up could be tricky.
Jon spun the wheel, aiming the sailboat toward the wharf. “After seventeen years diving, I’d say you’re ready.”
A handful of private vessels crowded the long dock, but a comfortable end spot remained. Was that luck, or a privileged berth reserved for the Sadicor?
“We’ll get you a reel in town.”
Wall drained his beer. “Do I need anything else?”
“Just a good dive light.”
“What about…” His voice died as Melanie appeared, wearing a soft drapey top in danger of revealing too much in the breeze. Both he and Jon watched in fascination.
Then Jon hopped onto the wharf, securing lines to cleats.
“You might want good cutters,” Jon said. “I’ve got a pair I can lend you.”
Ruby lips pressed against Wall’s forearm, distracting him. “Ahhh - I’ve got a knife,” he answered.
“Lots of things to tangle on in a wreck. Best not to have to hack your way free.”
“Enough dive talk for now,” Melanie murmured.
“But if we go now, we can do a little shopping in Saint John’s.”
Melanie winced, hearing the wheedling tone in her own voice. They’d barely set foot on dry land and here she was complaining.
“Your boyfriend’s here to work,” Mike told her, with a smirk she itched to slap. “All able-bodied men need to load crates. Go spend your own money, princess.”
She barely held her retort and her temper.
“We’ll go in an hour.” Wall stepped close to cup her cheek.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Jill’s instinctive retreat. The brunette’s personal space was both unusually large and sacrosanct.
And apparently included her cousin. Jon stood a full two feet away from the girl as he handed over a business card. “Nita at the Enclave,” he told her. “Put it on my account.”
Jill’s nose wrinkled as she read it. “You run a tab with Lentil Stirrers?”
“The Center for Spiritual Studies,” he corrected her. “They know me.” With a ‘don’t disappoint me’ look, he and Mike headed off.
Wall didn’t kiss Melanie - he avoided public displays of affection - but he squeezed her hand before following the others.
“Are you coming?” Jill spun on her heel and strode up the slope. What else was there to do?
Palm raised to shield her eyes against the sun’s glare, she followed the girl through patches of grass. Piles of dirt speckled a road that looked more like an old country drive than a resort boulevard. More like West Virginia than the tropics - except for the ocean in the background.
Melanie had grown up in rural West Virginia. She hated it.
She was starting to hate the ocean.
Jill paused, waiting. Melanie searched for something to say. “Who is Nita?”
“One of Mike’s amours.” She kicked at a pebble. “Supposed to be psychic,” Jill added, scowling like a two-year-old. Which somehow dispelled Melanie’s own annoyance.
“Men,” Melanie laughed, her hand automatically lifting to touch Jill’s arm - fortunately she caught herself in time. “They so love to tell us what to do.”
Jill slanted her a look - and suddenly grinned.
“At least we’re away from all the testosterone,” Melanie smiled. “Let’s counter with a weapon of our own…something sexy and red.” To her amusement, the brunette looked doubtful. Jill really was an odd thing.
&nbs
p; The incline was steep, and Melanie found herself panting by the time they crested it. Jill, on the other hand, seemed in better shape and a better mood.
“Tropical islands,” the girl’s dark eyes swept the landscape. “This is really something, isn’t it?”
For a moment Melanie believed Jill felt exactly as she did - hating this backwater jungle when she’d expected the Caribbean found in brochures. “It’s just dirt,” she said aloud. Then she caught the girl’s face - and saw she wasn’t being sarcastic. Jill was truly delighted to be here.
They had very little in common.
The street of shops turned out to be rows of tourist stalls. Tables swamped in layers of t-shirts and hats. Seashell key chains and cheap sunglasses mingled with home-made flip flops and painted tiles. Everything practically steaming in the sticky heat while shopkeepers called out in the singsong lilt of the island.
Melanie sighed.
One of the few solid buildings offered shade from the afternoon sun. Gratefully she followed Jill inside - only to discover more of the same street offerings.
Jill strode past it all to a counter in the back.
A tiny, wrinkled man popped up, his grin revealing brown teeth. “Cigarettes?” His fingers clutched what surely looked like a marijuana joint.
“No thanks.” Jill looked to the shelves behind him. “Advil…or aspirin?”
Startled, Melanie realized the question was for her. “Ahh - no thank you.”
“But your headache?” The brown eyes pinned her, narrowed. “You don’t have a headache, do you?”
“I really didn’t want to dive.”
At least it was an honest statement, Jill thought. “At all?”
“Oh, I’ll dive,” Melanie shrugged. “Can’t really avoid it, can I? But scuba doesn’t hold the delight for me that it seems to hold for you.”
“Then why come?”
Another slanted look - this one sparkling with amusement. “Wall, of course. When we first met he’d just volunteered to assist with the dive class. Seemed a good way to pursue the relationship. And, anyway, twenty men to only four women in the course - you had to like the odds.”
Jill burst out laughing. The man with the suspect cigarettes vanished, and they headed back out to the sunshine. “So you haven’t known him long.”
“My office hired some computer geeks. He was the least geeky.”
Jill hated the word ‘geek’ - it hit too close to home. “You can’t be labeled a true nerd if you do outside sports.”
Melanie shrugged. “I enjoyed class at first - playing in the pool, surrounded by tons of testosterone. But diving in the quarry was no fun. Dark, cold. More isolated.”
“If you need any help, or - you know, if there’s anything I can do…”
Another slanted look from the green eyes. The amusement was no longer shared. “I’ll let you know.”
Chagrined, Jill moved farther away and looked for a distraction. Melanie had a way of making her feel immature. Spying a table of purses, she trotted over to fish through them. “I wonder if they have any of those fanny packs.”
Melanie gave her a confused look.
“You know. The little pouches you wear around your waist.” Jill assessed a black leather, rejecting it as too ornate.
“I know what a fanny pack is. Spinster gear.” Melanie shook her head. “Look, you don’t need more safari-woman stuff. What you need is a dress. A pretty one.”
“On a sailboat? On a dive trip?”
“How else will we entice the boys into a little more fun? I checked - there are great places above sea level around Antigua.”
“They think diving is fun,” Jill rejected the notion. “Anyway, Jon and Mike don’t alter course once set. ‘Specially if a wreck’s involved.”
Melanie snatched up a vivid blue cloth with a subtle woven pattern. “Try asking in this.”
It was awfully pretty. Jill touched the material - silky soft, light. “But it’s just a square…with strings!”
“It’s called a sarong.”
Somehow Jill thought those things only existed in movies.
Melanie thrust it against her; Jill recoiled automatically. “Oh for the love of…hold still and lift your arms.”
Hesitant, Jill complied. The woman draped the cloth around her and stepped back. “Pretty. You look more female, less tomboy. Put a flower in your hair and you’re an island girl.”
Jill couldn’t decide if she was making fun.
The blonde stepped behind her, sweeping her hair back, yanking it around. “Just see if that doesn’t get some attention.”
Suspicious, Jill glanced at her reflection in a nearby mirror. The woman gazing back looked…confident. Maybe even attractive. “But there’s no point in prettying up for my cousin,” Jill pointed out to herself as much as Melanie. “And certainly not Mike Burke.”
“Mike Burke could be a lot of fun…his type always is. Anyway, this belongs in your wardrobe.”
“But there’s not much room in my suitcase.”
“Just shut up and buy it.”
Jill did.
The dress was tucked neatly in a bag and they were halfway to the next store before Wall’s girlfriend spoke again. “Your father is black? Your mother white?”
Jill hesitated before nodding. This, she knew from past experience, was a dangerous conversation. “I got teased a lot in school. Made for a difficult childhood.”
There was no sympathy in the green eyes. “I remember reading about mixed race in New Orleans - Creole, maybe? High yellow.”
“Don’t forget ‘mulatto’,” Jill ground out.
“It’s supposed to produce beautiful women.”
Jill stopped in her tracks.
At her expression, Melanie burst out laughing. “I’m not teasing you, sweetie. Look - let me do your hair and makeup tonight. You’ll be stunning, you know. I’m a bit jealous.”
“I thought we were all splitting up - going our separate ways.”
“Another night, then. We’ll insist they take us out for an evening on the town. A real town,” she added, surveying their surroundings with contempt.
“They won’t do it.” The idea repelled her - though Jill didn’t know why. Maybe Jon was right - she had too many hang-ups.
“Sure they will,” Melanie smiled. “You just need to know how to ask.”
It was a ten-minute stroll to the end of the street.
Jill caught herself doing everything possible to delay it. Shifting through piles of the same wares again and again, asking ridiculous questions, encouraging Melanie to stroke the handmade jewelry.
And all the while that gate beyond the shops loomed large.
Why she dreaded it she wasn’t sure, though it might have been easier if Melanie wasn’t along to watch.
Now only one stall stood between them and the gate. Gate as in the most Gothic sense - an old metal arch held upright by a net of twisted vines. Six white tiles stood out against the dark green leaves, displaying hand-painted letters: Center for Spiritual Studies. The “C” was faded, turning the word into a command.
Reminding her of the faded ‘S’ on the boat.
“Spiritual Studies?” Melanie drawled.
“Jon’s forte.”
“How odd.”
It did look odd. As if all the vegetation on this part of the island had been swept into this one peak, almost eclipsing the shadowed path beyond.
For a wild instant Jill found herself on the balls of her feet, preparing to flee. We took too long, she imagined telling her cousin. There just wasn’t time. Then Melanie passed her, strolling through the arch.
There was nothing to do but follow.
They walked between two wooden houses to find a cleared circle. Stepping within was literally emerging from shadow into light. Deliberate, Jill was sure.
Both buildings gleamed with fresh white paint; both trimmed in ornate, colonial style. Both with red doors. But while one felt new and unblemished, the other reeked of age.
The benches held two elderly women in caftans and turbans, and a younger lady. A dazzlingly beautiful lady.
The lady stood. “May I help you?” she asked, and her lips suddenly twitched to a smile. “You’re Jill.”
Jill blinked.
“Jon spoke of you.”
So you must be Nita, Jill longed to retort. Mike spoke of you. That’s the sort of thing Melanie would say, taking control with just the right touch of sarcasm.
But even knowing the words, Jill was too polite to say them. Or lacked the backbone.
Nita’s smile deepened, as if reading her mind. Reaching out a friendly hand, she invited Jill to clasp it, yet respected her personal space. Jon had apparently told her more than just her name.
She hesitated, feeling herself on the brink. Nita merely waited.
Unable to do anything else, Jill took the hand.
Melanie strolled along behind the pair, until the Center woman glanced over her shoulder. “Sessions are private.”
The brunette stopped short. “I thought she could get one too. Maybe go first.”
“Not today.”
Still gaping from Jill’s comment, Melanie watched them mount the steps of the older house.
Too bad she’d miss this session of Jill’s. Obviously she feared it - it could well have proved the highlight of this silly shopping trip. Waiting wasn’t an obligation, and she could leave if it took too long. But it might be fun to see Jill’s face upon escaping the fortune teller. Or whatever she was.
Melanie turned to the wares and old women. Might as well find something to read.
Rows of shiny covers flashed in the sun, temporarily blinding her. Squeezing her eyes squeezed out the bright light, and when she opened them again she was able to focus.
Conversations with Seth, Views of Reincarnation from Every Religion, and Past Lives, Past Pain. Not a decent bodice ripper among them.
“This one is for you.”
Melanie looked up, to find a third old woman - this one a crone with straw hair and hooked nose. The old biddy lacked only a wart to be straight out of the Hansel and Gretel fairytale.
