by Sue Seabury
Kat shrugged. “I really do want you to come. You’re way more fun than them.”
“Changed your tune since last night, hey?”
Kat cleared a spot on the bed and sat. “You were all holed up with Stan. I was running interference. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Queenie came over and slumped onto the bed next to her. She punched Kat’s shoulder, but not hard. “Thanks.”
“How’d it go? Make any progress?”
“Maybe, maybe. Baby steps.” Queenie flopped onto the lounge chair. “You got kids, right?”
Kat wasn’t the only one with a bad short-term memory. She felt reassured. “One, a son.”
“Still. That counts.”
“I hope so.”
“My BFF has two. Totally crazy, one like Alex P. Keaton wound a thousand times tighter, the other always dressing like cartoon characters in designer clothes.”
Kat suddenly felt very lucky to have a kid whose idea of rebellion was to stay out until midnight playing video games. Queenie seemed to be waiting for her to say something. Kat tried, “Had a hard time with them, huh?”
“Sorta. But the husband was worse. Spending money like water, sleeping around and posting pictures all over the internet.”
Darren was suddenly not so bad either.
“Actually, turned out, he wasn’t her husband.”
Kat could only stare.
“So at least she didn’t have to pay alimony.”
Darren was a prince. Kat felt her whole world shifting.
“Any-hoo, my point is, I miss all that craziness, their oddball moods, the drama.” Queenie’s eyes looked a little glassy.
“Well, you can go visit, can’t you?”
“Alex — that’s his real name, like the character — he left for college.”
“Just like Carver.”
“In England.”
Kat felt luckier and luckier.
“And like I told you, Molly, my friend, she and Trina moved to Canada.”
“Where?”
“Vancouver.”
“That’s not so far from L.A.. I mean, closer than here, right?”
“I guess.” Queenie shrugged, digging beneath herself at the same time. She pulled out a bikini bottom and twirled it on her daggery fingernail. “You really gonna play with those witches?”
Kat swallowed hard and nodded. “You coming? We should go if you are.”
Queenie launched the bit of fabric across the room like a slingshot. “Nah. You go. Keep the field clear. Don’t let ’em horn in on Hugo either.”
A tremble went through Kat. She took a breath to stop it. “So you’ve moved on to him then?” She thought she did a decent job of keeping her tone light.
Queenie’s mouth curved into that crazy crooked grin. “Yeah, right.” She stood and planted her legs wide, like she was about to tackle an important mission. Which, in her mind, she probably was. “Recon at” — She looked at her wrist which did not have a watch on it. — “seventeen hundred hours.”
Kat saluted. “Aye-aye, Captain.”
“We need to map out the rest of our time here so it doesn’t get wasted. Which meansgetting wasted. Ha!”
Kat paused on her way out the door. She turned back, but Queenie had slammed into the bathroom.
Kat headed for the beach, doubt slowing her feet.Was she wasting her time? Things were so uncomfortable here with Hugo, maybe she should catch the next plane back to New Jersey. Tell Carver how much he meant to her. Maybe even apologize to Darren for being too hasty.
She stopped dead. Carver didn’t need some hovering, smothering mom. And no matter what happened — or didn’t — with Hugo, she was done with Darren. Going back wasn’t an option.
The sand was getting hot. She walked a little ways toward the paddleboard shed. She’d already tried paddleboarding, but she liked it. And exercise was always good, especially after the meal she just ate. She would go. It wasn’t wasted time. She walked faster.
Hugo was there, handing out gear.
Dang it. She still didn’t know their names. She’d have to ask him.
“There she is,” SS said. “Took long enough.” She turned to Hugo, poked him in a pectoral, and left her finger there longer than necessary.
Hugo’s face remained carefully neutral.
Jealousy flared through Kat’s middle. She had no right to feel this way. She took a deep breath.
“Itold you,” RuPTA said to him. “Hugo here was about to go searching again.” Her tone said she was jealous of Kat, which turned her green flame of jealousy red with desire.
“No need for that,” Kat said. “I was just seeing if Queenie wanted to join in.”
The curled lips told her the general consensus was that it was best Queenie hadn’t come.
“He says you’re quite accident-prone,” RuPTA eyes went to Kat’s shin.
Kat started to hide it behind the other leg, then stopped. Both legs were scraped anyway. She spread them wide, showing her badges of courage.
“You can handle your board?” SS said. “I mean, you said you knew how to do this.” She let her finger meander down Hugo’s arm.
Kat flinched involuntarily, then walked a few paces toward the water to cover.
RuPTA followed her. She stretched, her implants straining the fabric of her bikini top, then squinted at Kat. “I’m feeling a little rusty. Maybe you’d like to demo as a refresher?”
“Me? Hugo’s the one you should ask.” The words were out of Kat’s mouth before she realized what she’d done.
RuPTA smiled. “Hugo. You heard the lady.”
Kat turned to apologize with a glance, but all eyes were on her. She quickly turned back to the water.
“It is not difficult,” Hugo said. “You merely wade out to about your waist, then climb aboard. Crouch. When you feel you have your balance, stand. Then, paddle. The waves are gentle today. You shouldn’t have any problem.”
“I’d still like to see it demonstrated,” RuPTA simpered.
“Forgive me, but I did not wear my suit.”
Kat turned but wished she hadn’t. The PTAs surrounded Hugo like some upscale gang. Three out of the four of them had their hands on him. Tiny Tot was exploring the tattoos at his waist as he stood on the board in the sand. Helmet Head had the nerve to pluck at the fabric of his sarong, as if to see if it was suitable for the water.
SS still had her manicured claw wrapped around his forearm that held the paddle. RuPTA was the only one not groping him. Her evil grin was pointed straight at Kat. Hugo wore his maddening neutral-professional mask.
“I’ll demo,” Kat grumbled. She marched up to Hugo. The PTAs retreated a step. She’d come too close. She had to tilt her head to look him in the eye, but held her ground. “Do you want me to sign a liability waiver before I go out?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, then.” She more or less yanked the paddle from his hand. Then she flicked her eyes at the board beneath his feet. He stepped off. She picked it up. The board was sandy and her hand was sweaty; it slipped from her grasp.
Ignoring the smirks, she retrieved it, grinding the gritty side into her hip so she wouldn’t drop it again, then marched down to the water’s edge. “Like Hugo said, it’s easy.”
She waded out, climbed up, and practically leapt to her feet. She almost fell off again from the shock of getting it right the first time. “That’s all there is to it. Now, time’s a-wastin’.” She paddled straight out.
The PTAs soon outstripped her. Kat didn’t try to keep up. High school was ancient history. She refused to be goaded into doing more than she felt comfortable with.
Hugo stuck around for a while, watching. Kat didn’t wave.
He was gone before she came back in. Her muscles ached. Another massage would be nice, but it was too indulgent. She needed to watch her spending.
But baths were free, as were naps. She took long ones of both without feeling a single pang of guilt. She ate a huge guilt-free lunch too,
although her stomach protested at the amount of fried plantains she consumed.
Hugo stayed behind the bar and let Esmeralda and Paola do the serving. Kat was glad. Making polite conversation — or worse, no conversation, just food orders — would have been awful. Esmeralda delivered the field guide. Kat glanced his way, but Hugo was occupied with the blender.
*
Yesterday’s hangover still fresh in her mind, Kat drank in moderation that evening. Queenie seemed to be taking the opposite tack. Sweaty and reeking of rum punch, she grabbed Kat by the neck and shouted, “Hey! Stan and the boys are up for some gaming back at their room. Wanna come?”
Kat extricated herself from the strangling arm. “Pass.”
“You sure? You could make some real dough.” Queenie’s drawn-on eyebrows rippled like centipedes.
“For . . .?” Kat let her expression finish the sentence.
Queenie’s eyebrows went still for a moment, then formed a sharp V. “No, just poker, but I like your thinking.”
Kat held up a hand. “No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Queenie careened away.
Kat stayed and danced with some of the locals. They were polite and good dancers. She discovered that she liked not understanding what they said. Smiles and nods were all that were required. Very relaxing.
At a reasonable hour, she picked up the borrowed field guide and went back to her room, then showered, lay down and shut her eyes. A moment later, her eyes flew open.
It was Josie’s birthday. She’d forgotten all about it.
Was it earlier or later back in New Jersey? She couldn’t remember. Her shin scraped the dresser as she searched for the phone. Blood seeped from the reopened wound; she ignored it.
Dialing frantically, she mixed up the numbers twice, then she blanked on the last two digits. What was wrong with her? All she did was sleep and forget things.
Contact lists were a gift from heaven. “Come on, Josie. Pick up. Pick up.”
It went to voicemail. Kat hung up and dialed again. Voicemail.
“Hey, Josie! I hope you’re out living it up tonight! I made a toast for you!” Kat crossed her fingers. And I hope you’re still thinking about coming down. Call me any time.” She hung up and sank to the floor.
Her shin stung. She leaned forward and saw she’d gotten blood on her white cotton nightdress. Great. Red on the pale wood dresser too. She dug a tissue out of her purse. The wood cleaned up easily; her nightie did not. So much for that.
Good thing she hadn’t returned Hugo’s first aid kit. Sometimes forgetting things worked out.
After bandaging her leg, she took her phone, lay on the bed, and waited for Josie to call, although she didn’t hold out much hope. When they were young, Josie used to lord it over her that she had three days’ seniority, but at some point, the tables turned and she didn’t like being the one to turn older first.
To pass the time, Kat opened up the field guide. It had all sorts of information, including the time zone of Puerto Rico. Same as New Jersey. How had she forgotten that?
She tried to read, but the words slipped right by her brain the way her feet had slid down that rock earlier. She shut the book. Was she losing it?
She reopened the guide and stared at the information about the Hawk’s Bill Turtle. She couldn’t tell if it was the same as the one she’d seen down on the beach. No matter; she read on.
The Latin classification information was listed first. The mnemonic about the classifications, King Phillip Came Over For Good Soup, came immediately to mind. That, and the gag pen Josie had given her with the googly eyeballs glued to it as a good-luck charm for her biology final.
Kat set the book down. Why could she remember all that but not that Puerto Rico was in the same time zone as New Jersey?
24
She awoke the next morning with the field guide next to her, the turtle page rumpled and slightly torn. After a frantic but fruitless attempt to smooth it, she rummaged through the closets looking for an iron; no luck. She dialed ‘9’ for reception.
Hugo answered. “Good morning, and how may I help you?”
“Is there an iron in my room?”
“No, but we will be happy to press anything for you.”
Kat pushed against the page again. It sprang back. The thick photographic paper refused to lie down. She shut the book and sat on it. “Um, I’d rather do it myself. Can someone just drop one off?”
“If that is what you would prefer.”
“It is.”
“Someone will be by.”
“Someone” again. Not him.
Kat hid the book under her pillow just in case.
Josie never called back. Kat called her and got voicemail again. She hung up and called Carver.
Voicemail. Itwas early. She tried to think of something snappy and upbeat to say, but only a teary “I love you so much” and “you are the light of my life” came to mind, so she hung up without leaving a message.
She scrolled through her contacts. Darren? Nah. Just because Queenie’s friend’s husband was the devil incarnate didn’t mean Darren was any prize.
She dialed work then felt so lame, she went to hang up but her boss had already answered. “Silvertime Center.”
“Hey, Dominique, it’s Kat.”
“Kat! Why are you calling? Oh, no! You didn’t get your vacation cut short by that hurricane I hope?”
“Oh, no. I’m still here.”
“Are you trapped? Did they lose power? I hear it can be devastating when they do.”
“No, it’s fine here.” Kat opened her door to double check. “Beautiful.”
“Oh, well, you know how the media loves to hype.”
A girl who could have been Ugly Betty’s sister was headed her way, carrying an iron.
“Sorry, Dom. Hold on a sec.” Kat mouthed a thank you to the girl, then went back in and shut the door. Obtaining the iron had turned into a non-issue. Now to fix the problem.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m having a great time. It’s gorgeous here. The owner sort of offered me a job. I’m thinking about taking him up on it.” Kat laughed as she plugged in the iron. Shoot. Nothing to lean on. Why hadn’t Hugo remembered to send the ironing board?
It wasn’t his fault; she hadn’t asked. The dresser would do.
“That’s great news. I’m so happy for you!”
Dominique’s enthusiasm seemed a little forced, but before Kat could respond, Dominique continued, “Funny you should mention it because Silvertime has decided to go with an automated check-in system.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, and I wouldn’t have said anything, except it sounds like you have something better on the line, so.”
The tiny hairs on her wrist got singed by the iron. She pulled her arm away. “I was joking.”
“Oh.”
“When is this automated system going to start?”
“First of the year.”
Two months to find a new job. But what was she qualified to do?
“Oh, gosh, Kat. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your vacation.”
Kat’s thoughts were a jumble. She concentrated on setting the field guide on the dresser. It opened on its own to the page in need of repair. She should use some kind of pressing cloth to not scorch the page, but she didn’t want to get ink on her clothes. She dug out a pair of underwear. They had a pig face on the back. A clearance rack find. Perfect: thin and not a favorite. Silvertime was never much of a favorite either.
“You didn’t,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure things out. And thanks for letting me know.” Someone knocked at the door. “Well, let me get back to my dreamy vacation.”
“Enjoy it, and if you can fit a surfer in your carry-on bring me back one!”
Kat forced a laugh as she hung up, then went to the door.
Hugo was there, holding an ironing board and a perfect little turquoise square of fabric. “Your shirt,” he said. “And Coraly said
she only brought the iron.”
He could have sent her back with the board, though. “Thanks. Who’s Coraly?”
“A new employee.”
Kat slapped a hand to her mouth. Hugo was busy setting up the ironing board and didn’t notice. She exhaled and said, “Oh, I didn’t know you were serious about hiring. I would have applied.” This time, her forced laugh sounded more like a cry of protest.
“She was . . . unexpected, a favor for a friend. Now are you sure you wouldn’t like me to do the ironing for you?”
“No. I can do it.” Kat’s eyes went to the book.
Hugo followed her gaze and saw the rumpled page. And the piggy snout underwear. His eyes slid sideways toward her.
Queenie was right; she’d make a terrible confidential informant. Strike that from the list of potential jobs. Cheeks on fire, Kat said, “I’m really sorry. I’ll be happy to pay to replace it.”
Hugo set the shirt down on the dresser, then gave a deft shake to the book. Her pig panties slid off without his touching them. He used the towel he always wore in the waist of his sarong as a pressing cloth. “It’s not exactly new, so I wouldn’t worry, but let’s see if we can fix it.”
Kat would have preferred to hide in the bathroom. Instead, she stood by and watched to see if Hugo could work some magic. His musky, coconuty scent was making her light-headed.
The page looked pretty good, until the iron dripped water on it.
“I think steam might be bad, no?” Kat said, flicking the button off.
“I hadn’t noticed. Thank you.” Hugo kept his head down. His fingers were fumbling with something. “Imiercoles.”
“What?”
“I ironed a corner down and can’t get it. Can you?”
Kat slid a nail under. “Got it.”
Their fingertips touched. That tiny bit of contact sent electricity all the way through her. She took a step back. “What’s ‘imiercoles’?”
“‘Wednesday.’”
Kat broke out in a cold sweat. “Isn’t it Thursday?”
Hugo chewed his lip. “Miércoles. It’s a way to not swear.”
“Oh.” She laughed; her stomach unclenched. “I do that too, like ‘H-E double hockey sticks.’ I started when my son was young, then I kept it up because he was big into hockey.”
