"My brother gave it to me. It was kind of a joke."
She looked down at the shirt. It was brightly patterned, far too big for him. It was the gaudy kind of shirt one associated with Hawaii tourists, but giant-sized. She wondered about the nature of the joke, decided not to ask. "Tell me about your brother," she said instead. That seemed a safe enough topic.
"Hank." Joe was very relaxed. "He's my oldest brother."
"Oldest? How many do you have?" She decided that she liked his boat. It wasn't plastic-pretty, but it was neat and looked well-equipped. It looked like a boat that had been places and done it well.
"There are five of us, all boys." She tried to imagine what a family like that would be like, but it was beyond her experience. He said, "Hank's the first. I came next, about ten months later. Hank's a psychiatrist."
She stiffened a little. "Psychiatrists are pretty establishment."
"We were all establishment." He grinned, asked, "How many shrinks have you known?"
"One or two." She played with the glass, turning it and somehow managing not to spill any although she almost dropped the whole glass. Of course, he hadn't meant it to be a personal, probing question. She said, "I was a messed-up kid. I saw a few of your brother's colleagues." He was waiting and she shrugged. "I'm not messed up any more."
"No, I can see that." He smiled, said quietly, "If you ever feel like taking about it, I'll listen."
Her lips parted, but if she ever started opening up to him there would be no end to it. "I don't do that much—talking about it." She shrugged, said honestly, "I really think making a fuss about your rotten beginnings is the coward's way out, an excuse for not succeeding as an adult."
"Are you a success, Dinah?" He was turning his drink now, passing it from hand to hand absently, his hands resting in the space between his stretched-out legs.
"More or less. I haven't fulfilled all my dreams, but I'm working on them." The hair on his legs was fair and curling slightly. If he'd put on jeans instead of shorts, then—No, it wouldn't have made any difference. It was the man, his presence, the wild things in her mind. She looked away, found the red and white pattern of the flag to stare at.
"Tell me."
That was easier. She sipped on the drink, wishing there were more because it tasted wonderful. "I always wanted to make pictures, oil paintings, really good ones. Leo encouraged me, and I got a scholarship to art college. After that—" He didn't want her life's story, for heaven's sake! "I got a job. I work for a small company that does commercial art and film documentaries. It's small, but good. Jake—my boss—has won several awards for his films. He's an artist too and I've learned a lot about Haida Indian art from him. My job is more commercial than creative, though. I do the more mundane things, the layouts for advertising circulars and some graphics for the films, billboards sometimes. I enjoy it. I'm good at it." She shrugged a little uncomfortably, but she didn't believe in false modesty and if Jake said she was good, then she was. "When I'm not working, I spend my time trying to become a better painter."
He was silent, waiting. She lifted the glass again, but there was only a trickle of moisture left. "Jake introduced me to the manager of one of the biggest galleries in Vancouver a couple of months ago. He looked at a few of my paintings." She grimaced, said, "He was quite scathing about some of them, but others—When I get enough paintings done, ones that are good enough—Well, I might have my own show." She frowned, corrected, "Not really my own show. It would be shared, a few artist's works, including mine."
"Good for you." He leaned forward, frowning, the blue of his eyes almost black. "What about Jake?" She frowned and he said, "Is he your lover?"
She jumped. "No! Jake's married. Jenny—"
"That doesn't always make a difference."
She bit her lip. "It does to me. It does to Jake." Was Joe married to Alice? She hadn't thought so, but—
"Do you want more to drink?"
"Please."
When he came back he was relaxed again. He handed her the drink and sat down across from her. Why had he asked her about Jake? Did he care? His voice has been hard as if the thought of her lover hurt him. She thought of Alice, of Joe's hand on the woman's flesh. She shuddered.
He said, "I wasn't a messed-up kid at all. I was an A student, a track star, president of my class. It was later that everything fell apart."
She was afraid to ask because he would stop talking. She remained very still and he relaxed a bit into the chair, staring at his glass. "We're talking about Hank, my brother. Hank and I were at university together. He was a year ahead, but we both went to medical school. He was always interested in psychiatry, though, had to know what made people tick, seemed to have a real need to try to straighten them out. I—" He shook his shoulders impatiently. "That's a long way back, over ten years. History."
She looked around. From medical school to a yacht on the west coast of Mexico. What came in between? Over ten years, he said. She looked at the lines of his face. A woman? Not Alice, she decided, because his eyes did not follow Alice when she walked away. There had been a wedding ring, a woman. Then something had sent him roaming the world in this boat. He hadn't lost the energy, the drive that had taken him through a demanding university course of studies, but now it was dedicated to this boat.
The boat was well-kept. She could see the woodwork shining with varnish, the metal gleaming in the sun. It would take a lot of work to keep it that way. He wasn't a lazy drifter, but he was still a drifter.
"Joe, do you ever think about going back?"
He shook the mood, smiled faintly. "You look after your Cathy. I'll look after Joe."
It wasn't her business. His voice made it plain that she had no right telling him what he should do. For all she knew, maybe her ideas weren't right for him. People had to make their own decisions. Perhaps he and Alice had a whole world planned for themselves, although he should have a woman who touched him more than Alice seemed to.
With a painful revelation, she knew that what she felt for him was much more than liking, far more than lust. It didn't take much intuition to know that Joe would walk out of her life as suddenly as he had appeared, that he would not be looking back when he did it. She knew he was attracted to her, was sure that he liked her too. She had an idea that he had no real commitment to Alice, whoever the gorgeous woman was.
But liking and attraction were shallow emotions compared to the needs surging inside her. If there had been a future in it, she might have been able to fall in love with him. He would be the only man she had ever loved. Until that moment she had not really believed in the overwhelming fantasy emotion of the books. Love. She swallowed, feeling the loss because there would probably never be another man to stir her this much.
She drew back, her hand leaving his arm, a nervous fear that touching made a pipeline for her thoughts straight into his mind. She stood up, realized that her bare white thighs were on a level with his eyes, and dropped quickly back into the deck chair.
"Joe, I came out here to see you because—"
"I know. You want me to help you find Cathy." He looked off towards the mountains behind the city. "How long have you got to look for her?"
"Two weeks. I have to start back in two weeks." If she waited that long, she would be late back to work, but she thought that if she phoned Jake, he would understand and let her take an extra week without pay.
Joe stood up, looking around at his boat. She thought he was counting up the jobs that he had to do. She said dully, "You're getting ready to go. Is there a lot to do?"
"Quite a bit." He pushed his hands into his pockets, smiled absently with his mind only half on his words. "She's been here in the sea for two years. She's not really shipshape for the open ocean after all that time. I figure on a good week's work before I can set out. I had planned to set sail next week for the South Pacific."
She said nothing. What could she say?
He shrugged. "All right. I'll help you. Two weeks, but then if we don't find
her, we've got to give it up." She winced and he added more gently, "You can't look forever, señorita. And I can't wait forever to head out. July starts the hurricane season in this part of the world."
Chapter Six
"Joe, do you ever think about going back?"
The trouble was, it was in his mind more than it should be. Dinah, with her soft question. And Hank. He'd called Hank on the telephone from San Diego last week. It was so much less expensive than telephone calls from within Mexico.
Hank's voice had sharpened near the end of the conversation. "Joe, don't you think it's time you grew up and stopped playing the irresponsible kid?"
Joe had repressed a sharp retort, had said only, "I'm not ready, Hank. Face it, I might never be ready. There's a lot to see in the world, and I haven't seen it all."
Hank had asked scathingly, "Are you seriously saying you might spend the rest of your life circling the globe in a tub?"
Joe had laughed, refused to take his brother seriously. "Listen, Hank, if I'm careful of my money and avoid the costly places in the world, I can keep on doing this almost indefinitely. I can't see a lot of reason why I shouldn't. I'm enjoying myself. It's challenging keeping this boat afloat in a storm. Also, I'm meeting a lot of the interesting people in this world. You should think about it yourself. You're closed in up there in Vancouver, talking to messed-up people."
Hank had laid off then, but the truth was that when Joe thought of going back, he was scared. The thought of other people's lives in his hands, the conviction that he didn't want to go back to an active medical practice. This way, it was only his own neck he was responsible for, and that of his crew, whoever they were at the time. Anyone who was experienced in crewing on ocean passages knew the risks, and Joe never took crew who weren’t experienced. Alice, for example. She had crewed on two Atlantic crossings, could turn her hand to anything from the galley to hauling sail.
He had planned on heading out to sea within a week of getting back to La Paz. He had told Hank that, sent a message to his parents, pushed back the restless stirrings that had been growing for the last several months, that had nothing to do with wanting to change locations or to move on.
Then he had packed his engine parts with the jar of real peanut butter he couldn't get in Mexico, had slung everything on his shoulder and stuck out his thumb in the direction of La Paz—and then ran smack into Dinah.
God! He didn't even know what her last name was. He remembered the feel of her soft, warm flesh under his hands, the deep desire that he had thought was gone forever. He could feel it again, just remembering, and he was consumed by the same mixture of reckless need and guilt.
Hank would tell him that it wasn't rational to feel disloyal to Julie after three years. If he was honest with himself, he'd admit that the guilt wouldn't have stopped him up there on that mountaintop. Only one thing had stopped them from consummating the desire that had flared so suddenly. If there'd been a drugstore within ten miles, he would have made her his under the hot sun.
He didn't sleep much, thinking of it, and again he dreamed of her. Hank would say it was progress, that it was not Julie in his dream. The fact was, Julie's face was smoothing, losing its detail. Three years, and sometimes it seemed like a lifetime.
Loving was not a risk he was going to let himself take again, but Dinah, the blonde señorita, was not about to slip through his life the way everybody else had these last three years. He had walked away from her at the hotel, telling himself it was the last he would see of her, but she would not leave his dreams. If she hadn't turned up at the boat, he would have gone looking for her.
Two weeks. He had promised her two weeks. Sometime during those fourteen days he knew they would become lovers. It was there, under the surface, an explosion waiting to happen. It would burn bright and hot and brief, then he would go and his dreams would be empty.
He told Alice that their departure would be delayed by two weeks. She didn't mind. She had wanted a chance to take the ferry to the mainland and spend ten days on the spectacular trip to the Copper Canyon.
Before Alice left, she turned back and looked Joe in the eye. "I'm just the crew, honey, but don't you think you've taken on the kind of complications that tie a man down?"
"Two weeks," he repeated, hearing the note of anger in his own voice. "I'm helping a friend look for a friend."
Alice said, "Maybe, but if it turns into more—Well, let me know so I can look for another boat, will you? It's getting late in the season and I don't want to be stuck here another year."
"You won't be," he promised. "We're going."
***
Joe had ideas that Dinah had never thought of. He knew the city, knew the patterns of the English-speaking foreigners who visited and lived here. She walked all over La Paz with him, watched and listened while he asked questions.
He checked the yachts in the harbor first. The English speaking yachts had a radio net each morning and he made an announcement on it, but no one had heard of Cathy. No one remembered seeing a red-headed gringo girl.
They checked the low-cost hotels, although Joe agreed it was unlikely that a girl with no source of income would be staying in even the cheapest hotel.
La Paz had bright, modern supermarkets, but Joe took her to the vegetable market where the farmers sold their produce. This was the least expensive place to shop for fresh food and it was here that he started asking questions.
"What's a hermana?" she asked after she had listened to him talking to several of the women who sold their wares in the market.
"Sister." He pushed his hair back. "I've been saying that we're looking for your sister. It's simpler, easier for them to understand why you're here." He was wearing a cotton shirt today, one of the loose guyaberas that the Mexican men wore. Under it were his worn and patched jeans.
"Joe, she might not be pregnant any more. She might have had the baby. We don't know when it was due." A dark-skinned man bumped into Dinah and apologized profusely in Spanish.
When he was gone, Joe grinned and said, "He was enjoying the chance to talk to you. A blonde—"
"Yeah, I know." She flushed a little. The constant attention of the Mexican men was beginning to wear on her. "I feel like I'm on a stage."
"You are." Something in his voice made her flush and she looked away, remembering how his lips had taken hers, how she had wanted him. Then, abruptly, the tension was gone and he said, "I've been asking about a woman who's expecting, or one with a baby. Either way, if there was a gringo girl hanging around over a period of time, they would notice."
The next day he took her to the trailer parks where many American and Canadian people spent their winters. Then to a rambling Spanish-style building with a palm thatch roof that he called a palapa. The building seemed to be filled with young people, all gringos, mostly artists of one sort or another. Joe introduced her to Tim, the bearded leader of the group.
"If you want a place to sleep," offered Tim, "just come on by."
She tensed inside. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm comfortable where I am." Joe looked at her oddly. Only that morning she had talked about moving to a cheaper hotel.
They left the palapa on foot, heading back towards the waterfront. It had been Joe's idea that they would be better to walk, that they would find more people to ask if they didn't insulate themselves with the car. She thought he was right. People seemed to be more talkative when they were on foot.
"Take it easy," said Joe. "You'll be exhausted in ten minutes if you keep walking at this rate."
It was early afternoon and in the heat of the day a brisk walk could easily led to exhaustion. She slowed, adopting Joe's easy pace, but her voice was tense. "I don't know how any of those people get any work done in that house. It's chaos."
His eyes were watching her intently. "I thought artists liked to work in chaos. What did Tim say that got your back up so much?"
"I—" She shrugged. "Nothing, really. It's just not my kind of place. Too disorganized. Maybe someone in th
at place will produce a masterpiece, but I couldn't work like that."
He caught her fingers, said softly, "You're a funny artist, honey. Dreams in your eyes, like an artist should have, but solid conservatism in your heart. If you really want to get that art show for yourself, you're going to have to let some of those inhibitions go."
"What do you know about it?" Her voice shocked her, harsh and cold. She pulled her hand, but he would not let go. She whispered, "That's what Jake said. That I was great at the commercial stuff, but if I was going to make it in the galleries I'd have to let down the barriers."
She pulled again and her hand was free, letting her breathe again. His eyes were intent on her and she wished she knew what he was thinking. "Joe," she whispered. "Why do I always feel like telling you things? Why do I tell you things?"
He shook his head. "I don't know, señorita. But I want you to tell me something now." Behind him a couple of women walked by, one with a full basket on her head and the other carrying a baby. "Back there. When Tim—Of course, he was hoping you'd move in and he had more than just a friendly offer in mind. I knew you'd put him off, but the way you reacted—" He pushed his hair back, said uneasily, "It's a hell of a thing to have to ask a woman in this day and age, but are you a virgin?"
She stared at him. He was frowning, as if the possibility was a problem. She had thought he could see right through her, but he could not see anything. "Well?" he asked again.
"Why should it be any of your bloody business?" Her voice was too trembly and she found her hand touching her throat as if to still the emotion there. "What's it to you?"
He stared at her, his eyes cataloguing information from her eyes, her voice, the way she stood. Finally he said quietly, "I'm planning to have an affair with you, Dinah. If you're a virgin, that changes things a bit."
"A bit?" She swallowed. She looked away from him and saw the water turning white with the afternoon wind. "You mean, because you want an affair to be quick and convenient and … over when it's over?" It hurt, saying that.
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