More Than This

by Stephanie Taylor

  Within a half hour, the bar is full of nearly everyone Bonnie and Fiona know, and they’re laughing and talking their way through the crowd as Joe Sacamano pours shots, mixes drinks, and fields song requests for when he takes the stand at dusk. When Chubby Checker comes on the sound system, Jake grabs Mrs. Agnelli’s wrinkled hand and carefully dances The Twist with the sharp-tongued octogenarian. Wyatt Bender flirts mercilessly with Bonnie all night long, and Cap Duncan nurses a Diet Coke and chomps on an unlit cigar. He’s been off the sauce for months, and the only way that Heddie Lang-Mueller will stay by his side is if he stays away from the hard stuff. He puts one hand on Heddie’s lower back and leans in close, laughing at something she says in German, their shared language. The only thing missing from the happy scene is Holly.

  At ten-thirty, Fiona finds her phone in her purse and punches in Holly’s number, motioning for Bonnie to walk down the stairs with her and onto the beach. They sink to the sand together, holding the phone between their ears as the sound of faraway ringing competes with the rolling of the waves and the merriment of their neighbors in the bar.

  “It’s three-thirty in the morning there now, isn’t it?” Bonnie hisses. She pulls her knees up and hugs them close to her ample chest.

  Fiona nods. They listen to the lonely sound of the phone ringing on the other side of the Atlantic until Holly’s voicemail finally picks up.

  “Hi, this is Holly Baxter, mayor of Christmas Key and proprietor of the Christmas Key B&B. Please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you…”

  7

  “This is a real start to your trip, innit?” a uniformed police officer says kindly, offering Holly and River paper cups full of black coffee inside a small room at the Notting Hill station. “Fresh off the plane and you get knocked over by two blokes on the street who’re as bent as a nine-bob note.”

  Holly and River exchange a look. A female officer enters the room, her dark hair swept into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. “You must be gutted, lass,” she says in a distinctly Irish accent. “So sorry about your purse and phone and all your stuff. Was your passport in the bag?”

  The room they’re in has a wall of windows that looks out onto a hallway that’s surprisingly busy at four in the morning.

  “No, my passport is back at the flat we’re renting.”

  “Thank Job for that,” the first officer says. “Okay,” he pats the table and stands, “let’s get this report filed and see if we can’t turn up your stuff, shall we?”

  Holly answers as many questions as she can about what was in her purse and about the two men who took it. She doesn’t remember their faces well, but the rough-looking rose tattoo on the neck of the guy who’d knocked her to the ground stands out distinctly, as does the black Adidas track suit worn by the guy who’d waited down the street. It isn’t much, but it’s all she’s got.

  Once the report is filed, Holly and River leave the station and are greeted by the first signs of daylight. The late spring sky is turning from ink to pink above them, and River takes Holly’s hand in his.

  “Sorry about your purse and your phone,” he says, leaning over and kissing her on top of the head.

  “Sorry about your hat.” Holly puts one hand on her bare head, giving River a glum look.

  “Eh,” he shrugs, “it’s just stuff. We’ll live. And hey—you know what the good news is?”

  “What?” Holly asks hopefully.

  “It’s breakfast time. We can probably find some beans on toast to soak up that disgusting coffee we just drank.”

  Holly makes a face. “I’m not sure about the beans on toast bit, but I’d say amen to the disgusting coffee part.”

  They walk along the sidewalk, watching as the early morning vendors open shop for delivery trucks. The tired-looking proprietors trade signatures for stacks of newspapers, boxes of freshly-made bread, and bundles of clean linens for bistro tables.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” River says, stopping at a red light and turning to her as they wait on the street corner.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Let’s make this a ‘yes’ trip,” he says, his eyes dancing. “Starting now.”

  “A what?”

  “A ‘yes’ trip—we have to say yes to anything that comes along.” He looks up and down the street eagerly. “If a guy walks up to us right now and asks if we want to buy a cheap Rolex from inside his trench coat, we say yes. If we go to a restaurant and the waitress asks us if we want a squid omelet for breakfast, we say yes.”

  “Ew,” Holly says, wrinkling her nose. “Cheap watches and squid omelets?”

  “Okay, bad examples,” River says, letting go of her hand and holding both of his hands up in defense. “More like this: a lady asks you to be a model and you say yes. Why not? Or, wait—was her card in your purse?”

  “No, it’s on the dresser back at the apartment.”

  “Perfect. And some douchebag steals your purse and leaves you without a phone—”

  “And without my cash, my lipgloss, and my favorite sunglasses.” Holly pouts.

  “We’ll buy lipgloss and sunglasses,” River reassures her. “But he took away your tether to the island and to work. Say yes to that, Holly. Say yes to three weeks of rambling around a whole new continent without having to think about whether Mr. and Mrs. Weinershnitzelheimer from Tulsa are happy in the Seashell Suite.”

  Holly snorts at the name of the imaginary guests. “Yeah, the Weinershnitzelheimers were a real pain in the butt,” she says, getting in on the joke.

  “Exactly! And don’t worry about the next village council meeting while we’re here. Heddie and Bonnie will get everything lined up and set the agenda, won’t they?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they will…” she says, looking at the sidewalk as she contemplates what three weeks with no contact really means.

  “Listen,” River says, taking both of her hands in his as the light changes and gives them permission to walk. They ignore it. “We took this trip to find out whether there was really something here for us to work with. We left the island behind to see if this, this thing between us really has wings, right? So let’s dedicate three whole weeks to finding out. What do you say?”

  Holly thinks for a minute. She lifts her eyes from the sidewalk and meets his gaze. “I say what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’ve still got your phone, so you aren’t cut off from your life.”

  “It’s off,” River says immediately, pulling his iPhone from the back pocket of his jeans. He holds down the button and powers it down. “As soon as we get back to the flat, I’ll bury it in the bottom of my suitcase and I won’t look at it for three weeks—I promise.”

  “Hmmm,” Holly ponders this. “I trust you, but I feel like it would be safer in the bottom of my suitcase,” she says. “That way you won’t be tempted to check your email or look at Facebook or anything.”

  River laughs. “Oh, I think I can live without social media for three weeks. No problem there.” He looks into her eyes. “Okay,” he acquiesces. “You’ve got a deal.”

  They grin at one another on the street corner as black cabs and early morning commuters whiz by. The light to cross the street changes again, but still they stand there, smiling like loons.

  “So, what do you say to that squid omelet?” River asks.

  Holly sighs, letting the idea of this ‘yes’ trip permeate her whole body. “I guess the only thing I can say to that is yes.”

  8

  The chartered boat slides into shore late in the afternoon on Saturday. Bonnie and Fiona have agreed to meet up at Mistletoe Morning Brew right near the dock to assess the situation.

  “What do you think?” Bonnie asks eagerly, standing beside Fiona and peering out the window.

  “I can’t tell yet, Bon. They haven’t even gotten off the boat.” Fiona watches intently as the captain ties the boat up and starts removing luggage. The vessel bobs in the choppy water and the palm trees nearby dip and blow in t
he wind.

  “I see Louis Vuitton luggage,” Bonnie points out. “And a really cute boat captain. Hey, how old do you think he is?”

  Fiona rolls her eyes. “Focus, focus, focus,” she chants jokingly. “It’s Coco we’re worried about, not the fresh man meat that’s just landed on the island.”

  “Right, okay. He’s probably just dropping off his cargo and heading out anyway.” Bonnie shrugs, looking the captain up and down appreciatively as he bends over in his white shorts and striped shirt. “Unless I can convince him to stick around and join us at Jack Frosty’s for a few minutes.” She narrows her eyes, wondering how much convincing that would take. “I bet he’d let me wear his captain’s hat.”

  “Bonnie,” Fiona says in a firm voice. She turns and puts both hands on the shoulders of the older woman. “We cannot pounce on every man who sets foot on this island. Remember Sinker McBludgeon?”

  Bonnie’s face contorts in pain in response to the reminder of her short-lived romance with the man who’d come to Christmas Key for a pirates’ weekend.

  “And,” Fiona continues, “we need to get as much info as possible on Coco and the investors so that we can tell Holly what’s up when she calls us back.”

  “You’re right,” Bonnie says with defeat. “You’re right as rain, doll. I have a problem, and I’ll be the first to admit it.” She spins around to face the small crowd that’s sitting around drinking afternoon coffees in the bistro. “My name is Bonnie,” she says loudly, “and I’m a manaholic.”

  A smattering of bored applause fills the shop. Cap Duncan doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.

  “The first step is admitting it, hon,” Carrie-Anne Martinez says as she passes by with a tray of dirty cups in her hands. “But for the record, none of us are blown away by the revelation.”

  Bonnie shrugs and turns back to the window. “It’s a curse.”

  “It’s an obsession,” Fiona corrects. “Oh—here they come!” She snaps her fingers to get Bonnie’s attention. Coco is the first off the boat, extending one thin hand to the boat’s captain so that he can help her traverse the tricky steps from the rocking boat to the dock. She puts one foot on the weathered wood and steadies herself as the captain sets his hand on the small of her back. The next person off the boat is a tall man with long, dark hair that shines in the sunlight. He’s wearing simple khaki pants and a shirt in the same color that’s buttoned to the chin.

  “That guy looks like a prisoner,” Bonnie says frankly.

  “Oh, Bon.” Fiona wants to disagree, but his outfit does look like a prison-issue ensemble. “Maybe he’s just not into fashion?”

  Bonnie purses her lips and looks at Fiona from the corner of her eye. “Right. Maybe.”

  The next two people off the boat are an older couple. The man is wearing a navy blazer with a hot pink pocket square and a gold chain at his neck. The woman is wrapped in a floaty floral shift that stops at the knee, revealing wrinkled, tanned knees and still shapely calves. She’s dripping in diamonds.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Bonnie says. She eyes Coco as she points a finger around, her mouth moving a million miles a minute. “And naturally,” Bonnie adds, “you’ve got the queen herself, dressed in a pair of pants so tight you can see her religion.” There is disapproval written all over Bonnie’s face as she watches Coco spin around in her white jeans and yellow tank top. “Acting like she’s Vanna White out there, showing off our island to these strangers.”

  “Okay. Let’s get our wits about us,” Fiona says, moving away from the window as Coco walks in their direction. “Quick—she’s coming this way.”

  Bonnie scampers away from the window in her backless sandals, the little heels tapping against the tile floor of the bistro. “What should we do? Get a coffee and sit down?”

  “That’s not a bad idea. We don’t need to put Coco on high alert, but we need to watch her every move. Can you be our eyes and ears at the B&B?” Fiona slides into a tall chair at a table near the front of the coffee shop and Bonnie follows suit.

  “Of course I can,” Bonnie says, batting her eyelashes as she gets settled in her seat.

  Ellen Jankowitz—Carrie-Anne’s wife and the co-owner of Mistletoe Morning Brew—approaches them warily. “You two gonna order, or are you just here to stalk visitors through our window?”

  Fiona is about to answer when the door to the coffee shop flies open. The bells on the handle jingle aggressively.

  “And this is Mistletoe Morning Brew, where they serve the best coffee you’ll ever find on a nearly-deserted island,” Coco says, leading her guests into the shop. “The owners decorate with a different theme every month, and this month is…I have no idea.” She presses her hands together and looks at the posters and decorations with a confused frown.

  “It’s Harry Potter month,” Ellen says with awe, gesturing around at this very obvious fact.

  “Oh, of course,” Coco says, clapping her hands once. “Ladies, it’s so good to see all of you!” she says with a warning smile. “And Cap, it’s good to see you, too.”

  Cap folds his newspaper and sets it on the table. He stares back at Coco but doesn’t say a word. Everyone in the shop is frozen in place: Carrie-Anne has paused midway through wiping down the front counter; Ellen is standing next to Fiona and Bonnie’s table, eyeing the newcomers; and two of the triplets are sitting stock-still at their own table, cups of tea held in their hands.

  It’s Cap who finally breaks the silence. “Coco,” he grumbles. The look on his face tells everyone in the shop that what comes next could go either way, and with Cap, you can just never tell. Everyone holds their breath. “It’s been a while,” he finally says, settling on civility.

  Coco looks relieved. “Indeed it has. I’d like you all to meet our guests for the next few days. This is Mr. and Mrs. Killjoy—” Bonnie snorts and Coco shoots her a warning look that’s pure venom, “and this is Holata.”

  “It’s a Native American name that means ‘alligator,’” the man dressed in prison garb says loudly, spreading his feet and adopting a strong stance. He clasps his hands in front of his groin and raises his chin proudly. “You can call me Gator.”

  “Yes, just Gator is fine,” Coco says nervously, blinking a few times as she touches the hair on the side of her head.

  “Welcome Gator, welcome Killjoys,” Ellen says, breaking the silence. “Can I pour you a cup of coffee? First one is on the house.”

  “No, thank you, Ellen,” Coco says, pulling the door open again and ushering her guests outside. “We’re just taking the grand tour of the island right now. Maybe in the morning.”

  Everyone waits a beat after the bells on the door handle stop jingling again.

  Bonnie gives a little chortle. “The Killjoys! I couldn’t…I can’t…” she’s laughing now. “It’s too much.”

  “That’s the oddest group of humans I think I’ve ever seen around here,” Cap says, leaning his elbows on the table and looking around at his neighbors in the coffee shop. “And I see you all at the Ho Ho nearly every night, so that’s really saying something.”

  “What does Holly think?” one of the triplets asks, taking a sip of the tea she’s been holding.

  Bonnie and Fiona exchange a look. “Well,” Fiona says. “We’ve been trying to call her.” It sounds lame and she knows it.

  “You mean she has no idea that her mother’s here with Gator and the Killjoys?”

  “It sounds like a sixties band, doesn’t it?” Carrie-Anne says from the side of the shop where she’s straightening the cream and sugar station. “Like, ‘Live at the sock hop on Saturday night, singing sensation Gator and the Killjoys!’”

  “With their Top 40 hit, ‘I Wanna Steal Your Land.’” Cap picks his newspaper up again, shakes it, and then sets it down again, realizing how bad his joke sounds. “And that’s not a Native American crack—that’s because they’re here to buy up the island.”

  “How about ‘Coco’s Got a Brand New Bag’?” Bonnie offers.r />
  “Or, ‘A Change is Gonna Come,’” Ellen says forlornly.

  “You didn’t make a joke with that one,” Carrie-Anne points out.

  Ellen shrugs. “Didn’t need to.”

  A thoughtful silence falls over the coffee shop. The only sounds are of spoons clinking against mugs, of the dishwasher running in the tiny back kitchen, and of Cap’s newspaper as he opens it once again.

  “Well,” Fiona says, sliding off the chair. “I should probably try to call Holly again.”

  “Right.” Bonnie clears her throat and stands up next to Fiona. “And I need to close up at the B&B for the day. I’ll shoot Holly an email while I’m there. That way she’ll definitely get the message that something is going on.”

  “What’s going to happen to us if Coco is able to convince Holly and Buckhunter that this is a good idea?” Carrie-Anne looks around at the rest of them. “Or maybe not this group, but maybe some other? What happens to us then?”

  Eyes dart around the room, making contact and sharing a moment of sadness and concern.

  “We stick together, that’s what happens,” Bonnie says definitively, pulling herself up to her full height. “We’re a family, and we’ll figure this out, you hear?”

  Heads around the shop nod slowly as everyone agrees, but there is a hesitation—an ounce of uncertainty has crept into the room like an unwanted visitor.

  As Bonnie and Fiona walk out the front door, Carrie-Anne starts humming Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family” to herself, picking up empty cups and spoons and getting ready to close up shop for the day.

  9

  “Rise and shine, milady,” River says, shaking Holly from slumber. They’ve been struggling with jet lag for the last couple of days, and Holly wants nothing more than to roll over and sleep for a few more hours. “Come on, come on.” He shakes her again. “There’s coffee to be had, but we have to get out there and find it.”