Despite her focus on thoughts of William, Dove can’t resist the challenge. “I serve ceviche in emptied shells, cleaned, of course, and scattered with lime shavings and a small puree of coconut on the side for sweetness. You need to be careful about desserts—everyone has such different tastes—but what I envision is a platter of mini tarts and pies done in a range of citrus flavors.” She gestures with her fingers, pointing to imaginary food. “Baby Key lime over there, crème brûlee toasts there, candied guava strips, and so on.”
Gus and his friends look suitably impressed. “Okay—that officially made me hungry.” Gus nods to his crew. “You guys go ahead. I’ll meet up with you.”
Still fidgeting with her hair, Dove removes the headband and waits for an answer from Gus. “So … was the food question idle or are you really interested?”
“Well, that depends. What exactly are your qualifications—aside from verbal menus, I mean?”
Dove folds her hands in front of her as though about to take a restaurant order. “The Alps—the chalets—ever heard of working there?” Gus nods. “Well, I just finished the holiday season there.” She shoots Melissa a look that says not to mention the fact that Dove’s “season” was about cleaning the ovens rather than cooking in them.
“Resort food in the mountains,” Gus says, nodding. He looks hard at Dove’s face as her hair comes down over her forehead. She notices his looking and gets a little nervous. Sure, Gus is adorable, but with Max on the island and—supposedly—William—the least of her concerns is finding one more boy to be tangled with. “As luck would have it, we just lost our cook.” Gus thumbs behind him as though the road in back of him leads to everywhere else. “She took off with some guy.”
“Occupational hazard.” Melissa grins. Gus looks at her and returns the gesture.
Dove licks her lips and shifts her bags on her shoulders. Melissa remembers that she has no luggage and her grin fades. “Would you be up for a job? Either of you? Assuming you have the experience to back you up?” Gus sounds professional and waits for their response.
Melissa makes a face, wishing she didn’t have to say the following: “I would so love to have a job. Any job. But particularly that job. But … the truth is, I get really terrible seasickness.” Dove looks surprised. Melissa nods, proving her point. “Once I threw up all over the deck of my uncle’s boat—and I’ll tell you the boat in question was actually a canoe.”
Gus laughs but shakes his head. “Probably not the best match for Sea You Later, then.” He looks to Dove. Her bright blond hair gleams in the light, making her appear to be glowing. “What about you?”
Dove thinks about William, about how she thought he’d have everything sorted out for her—job, place to sleep, built-in circle of friends. Then she thinks how maybe making those assumptions is what’s wrong in her life. If I can’t decide for myself—if I can’t show up somewhere and make it happen, then what’s the point? I’ve given up so much—trust fund, family, school—to be here, and here isn’t even the here I thought I was getting. “Absolutely!” Dove confirms. “I would love to work on Sea You Later.”
Gus smiles. “Great. Consider it a deal. Everything’s done by verbal agreement here—no contracts or anything.” Dove nods, following along. “Let me take you back to the boat so you can drop your stuff—and see your cabin and get your bearings. Let’s just say it’s cozy.”
“Meaning tiny?”
Gus nods and slings one of her bags on his back. “Pretty much, yeah. But not bad for a year off.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Melissa asks, her heart somewhere in her feet. How did Dove, who didn’t even care about a job and a place to stay, already wind up covered? And how am I still left with nada?
As they walk the length of the hot sidewalk toward the boats, Gus explains. “A lot of us are in the gap year—between high school and college. I worked every summer off the shore of Maine so this was a pretty natural thing to do with my time off.”
Dove bites her lip. Time off. Time off. What exactly am I doing now? She knows the inevitable follow-up question looms.
“And both of you?” Gus asks. He leads them down the dock toward Sea You Later and Melissa can’t help but be impressed by the sheer size of the yacht, even if it’s lacking a little taste and is mainly a show boat.
“I’m from Australia, worked at the ski chalets in the Alps, and now I’m here …” Melissa is shocked by how open-ended her sentence is. “I guess I have no idea what comes next.”
“Maybe you’ll figure it out here,” Gus suggests.
“She will,” Dove confirms and gives Melissa’s hand a quick squeeze for reassurance despite her own doubts about her own future.
Gus stops by the gangplank and looks at Dove, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “And where will you go?”
Dove pauses. “I was meant to …” She stops herself and tries to act nonchalant, shrugging. “I’ll see where the Sea takes me. Heh.” She laughs at her own bad pun. She thinks back to being at Les Trois, being with Max—it feels like so long ago, sitting with him, talking about maybe going back to England, starting Oxford University like she was supposed to. Maybe Nevis is a sign, Dove thinks quickly. But what kind of sign? A sign she should forget all this, forget William and go home? Or a sign that she should follow the random path and take the cooking job?
“I have to say—” Gus waits before showing them on board. “You”—he points to Dove—“look really familiar. But I can’t think why.”
Dove shakes her head. “You don’t seem familiar to me.”
“You never summered in Maine?”
Melissa laughs, thinking about Dove’s luxurious summers at her parents’ country estate. Dove says, “Nope. England born and bred. Haven’t even been to the States before.”
Melissa looks surprised and turns to her friend. “Really? I went to New York once and it was incredible. I’ve always wanted to go back.”
Gus refuses to give up on where he’s seen Dove before. “Wait a second … did you always have short hair?”
Dove blushes as though she’s been caught doing something illicit. Her hands fly up to her cropped locks, wishing for a minute she hadn’t cut them on the spur of the moment. Had Harley convinced her? Thinking of Harley now makes her even more curious where that girl was now. Still on the island? And if so, where, and—Dove swallows—with whom? “It used to be long. Very long.”
Gus snaps his finger, realizing. “I got it. You—you’re that girl.”
Melissa looks at him like he’s bonkers and feels just the tiniest bit glad she isn’t working with him if he’s really off-kilter. Then again, any job would be better than none, right?
“Excuse me?” Dove holds her bag tightly in her hand, ready to run with Melissa if Gus doesn’t explain his weirdness.
“Wait—let me back up so you don’t think I’m a freak.” Gus sighs and motions with his hands. “You can’t see it now, because it moved …”
Melissa looks at Dove, conveying with her eyes how odd this all is. “What moved?” Your brain? Melissa wonders, but doesn’t say. The sun shifts, starting its hours-long descent to the horizon. Where will I be tonight? She pictures tossing and turning on the sand and gets goose bumps. Maybe I should have stayed at Les Trois. But how could I? Especially after everything that happened with Gabe? Right now Gabe would be heading for some Scandinavian country with all his ski gear—so far from here.
Gus drops Dove’s bag and claps his hands to signal that he’s regained focus. “Okay—okay. Here’s the deal. The yacht that usually ties up over there is one of the biggest. They made the day trip to St. Kitts, Nevis’s sister island.”
“I’ve been there.” Dove nods, recalling family trips back when she was younger. Back when she was still a part of her family.
“And the reason I bring this up is because your …” He touches Dove’s shoulder. “Your photograph is plastered on the inside of the crew’s berths.”
Dove’s mouth goes slack in sho
ck. “Wait—what?”
“You’re the girl.”
“Which girl?” Dove sounds genuinely confused.
“William’s girlfriend,” Gus explains, finally getting it out. “Except you have this long hair in the picture, so it took me a while to figure it out.”
Dove’s face lights up with a smile. “You saw me? On William’s wall?”
Gus shrugs. “Actually, it’s a communal wall—shared quarters and all that. But yes, suffice to say you are well represented.”
Despite how normally reserved she is, Dove can’t help but gush. “Really? That’s cool because I was just thinking that maybe … I mean, William was supposed to …”
Gus opens his mouth and gestures to stop Dove from spewing more. “You didn’t get his message? I was with him when he called the airline from my phone this morning—his cell died, by the way, in case you’ve been trying to reach him.”
Dove’s shoulders relax, her bones feel jellied, and her heart soars. All this time I thought he wasn’t calling me back or was up to something bad, but see? There’s a real reason. An excuse for how out of touch we’ve been. “So he meant to meet me at the airport?”
Gus nods. “Yeah, he did. But the captain of his boat is pretty fickle and decided last minute—as in last minute as Will was stepping ashore to come meet you—that he wanted to spend the first day of the year at some waterfall on St. Kitts.”
Melissa, hot in the afternoon sun, sighs. “Waterfall. Sounds nice.” Then, realizing she hasn’t said anything to Dove, she leans in and whispers, “See? Everything’s okay—he’s still the William you thought.”
Dove grins. Gus picks up her bags. “Okay—enough chitchat. Let’s get you settled.” He looks at Melissa and a look of pity washes over him. “And hey—if you need to crash here for a night or two, that’s fine.”
Great, Melissa thinks. I’m the friend on the couch with no prospects. She smiles to show her gratitude but wishes she didn’t need to. “You guys go ahead, I’ll wait here.”
“You sure?” Gus asks.
Dove, grinning and instantly recovered from any and all moodiness, adds, “It’s not like you’ll get seasick just having a tour.”
Melissa raises her eyebrows and sits on the dock, her legs dangling toward but not into the clear water. “Oh yeah? Wanna see?”
She watches an elated Dove step aboard after Gus, then watches the water rippling below her feet. If I had anything to swim in—or to change into—I’d just hop in the water right now. Melissa feels the warmth of the afternoon mix with her worries about where to sleep and where to work. If Gabe hadn’t pushed me away, maybe none of this would be happening. But he did. And here I am, surrounded by water and—
“Oh, crap.” Before Melissa can stop it, her flip-flop slides off her foot and into the water. It floats on the surface, just out of reach. She leans onto the dock on her stomach and tries to grab it, but can’t. Aloud she mutters, “Oh, so now I have no clothing, no luggage, no job, no place to stay, and only one shoe? Am I cursed or what?”
She stays on her stomach, her dark curls and hands still angling toward the water, with her flip-flop starting to float away.
“I wouldn’t say you’re cursed,” says a voice. “But maybe presented with a few challenges?”
A pair of bare feet appears in her line of vision. Melissa follows the feet to the legs they’re attached to, and continues up until she gets to a pair of bright orange shorts and a bare chest that makes her heart jump further than her flip-flop. She sits up quickly and points. “My shoe.” The two small words are all she can muster, feeling as flustered as she is by the situation and the sudden appearance of this golden incredible boy with his toned shoulders, tanned stomach, close-cut light brown hair, and dark green eyes that stand out.
“Here, take this.” He hands her a metal pole from the side of the dock. “Use the hook on the end of it. It’s meant to grab boat lines, but I’m sure it can manage a flip-flop.”
Melissa finagles the pole, only once whacking the guy in the side as she tries to steady herself and not fall in. “Almost. Wait—hang on.” She struggles but eventually rescues her shoe, pulling it wet and dripping from the ocean. It lands with a sloppy thud on the deck.
“Not bad for a first-timer,” he says and gives her the slightest of smiles.
Taken by his gentle voice and amazing exterior, Melissa stumbles over her words. “Well, thanks you. I mean, thank you. And I guess …” What do I guess? Nothing. I have nothing to say and oh my god, he’s so cute and staring at me.
“I guess … no problem.” He laughs and gives her a half wave and heads off down the dock.
She watches him in his orange shorts, thinking that their color reminds her of something from the ocean—A buoy? A dinghy? A boat bumper? No—she smiles, temporarily forgetting all the pressures of not having a plan—a life vest.
5
AFTER A NIGHT SPENT rocking on the dockside waves, Melissa emerges from the crew’s shared cabin and sits on the deck with a mug of coffee. Gus, dressed in the yacht’s crested T-shirt and ripped khakis, wipes down the white cushions and sips from his own mug. “Sleep well?” he asks.
Melissa reaches her arms up toward the clear pale blue sky, trying to stretch out the aches and kinks in her muscles. “Ah, sure.” She tries to sound positive and upbeat even though inside her doubts have officially taken over.
“You seem dubious.”
“Well, as I stated yesterday, I’m not much of a boat person.” Melissa laughs at herself. “Of course you might wonder then what I’m doing on a yacht and, beyond that, what I’m doing on an island.”
“It did cross my mind.” Gus sits near her on the semicircle of white cushions, leaving his wet rag draped over the yacht’s side to dry.
“I didn’t plan on this, just so you know,” Melissa explains. “I thought I’d—” She stops short of completing her sentence when she’s sure she sees the guy in the orange bathing suit shorts from yesterday.
Gus waits for her to continue but when she doesn’t, he excuses himself to go finish wiping the rest of the deck and cushions. “Even if the owner isn’t here, we have to keep everything spotless and perfect.”
“Just in case?” Melissa asks.
“Exactly.”
Melissa stands up and then crouches down when she thinks the orange-shorts guy might see her. The last thing I want to do is be seen by him looking as rough as I feel. Not usually one to care about her clothing, Melissa can’t help but despise her outfit. “After all,” she says to Dove inside the small galley where Dove is testing the stove and trying out her recipes in an unfamiliar kitchen, “I’ve been wearing this shirt and these pants for how long? Well over twenty-four hours, okay? And when you factor in the time change from Europe to here …”
Dove gives her a look. “I get it. You feel gross. Slimy.”
“Thanks for the affirmation.”
Dove hands her a slice of chocolate pound cake. “Try it.”
Melissa bites into it, enjoying every moment of the mouthful. “Okay, you’re forgiven for calling me slimy.”
“Hey, I didn’t call you slimy. I said you felt slimy. Difference.”
Melissa hoists herself up on the counter but has to crouch over to fit. The entire galley is the size of a large closet, complete with two stainless-steel sinks, various cabinets, and storage hidden in just about every conceivable place. Dove lifts the cutting board where she sliced the chocolate loaf and shows Melissa. “Isn’t that clever? That’s where all the knives are. Hidden under the counter!”
Melissa nods. “This room is a vision in design and planning …” She pauses, nibbling the rest of the bread. “Unlike my life, which at this point—”
“A whopping day after we arrived—”
Melissa cuts Dove off. “Still, I am without a plan. And without clothes in which to execute that plan.”
Dove wipes her hands on the white apron tied around her waist. She motions for Gus and his fellow deckhands to come
into the galley for breakfast. “Look—I have to feed the crew. I meant what I said yesterday.”
“About?” Melissa watches Naomi, Gus, and Ben all make their way from the elegant living room inside the yacht toward the kitchen and feels left out, reminded that she’s not one of them.
Dove puts her hands on Melissa’s shoulders. “Go back up to the street, take a left, then find a little shop filled with batik fabrics. Behind that, in a little courtyard, is Pulse, that store I told you about. Get a few things.”
“And I’m supposed to pay for this how?” Melissa feels her pocket. “I’ve got enough money to last maybe two days before I’m not just testing your food but relying on it for handouts.”
“Which is why,” Dove says, putting all the slices of chocolate bread on a platter she pulls from a hidden compartment behind the sink, “you should get what you want and walk up to the register and confidently—but not too loudly—say you’d like to charge it to the de Rothschild account.”
“Just like that?” Melissa feels a wash of guilt. “I mean, do you think they’ll let me? Am I going to get arrested or something? And don’t you feel bad about it?”
“I feel”—Dove sighs—“that my parents put me in a really difficult position and I made the best of it and if I want to do this one small thing, then it’s my doing.”
She steadies her eyes on Melissa’s. “Just do it, okay? And enjoy yourself.”
Melissa nods.
Gus, upon hearing the last of their conversation, butts in with, “And find out what we’re all doing this afternoon. We need a plan.”
“Tell me about it.” Melissa nods and leaves.
This must be the batik fabric store, Melissa thinks to herself, painfully self-conscious about the wrinkled state of her clothing, her matted hair, and just about everything that comes with not having anything mapped out. She idles by the handcrafted-silver shop with its twisty rings and complicated necklaces that would stand out against the vacationers’ skin. The batik fabrics range from deep indigo to muted fuchsia, each sarong or shawl with starbursts of white or colors that make Melissa think of fireworks. Leche-vitrines, she thinks. “Lick the windows”—French for window-shopping. Then she remembers her task and Dove’s directions. Turn left, small courtyard—here we go.
Off the Trails Page 3
