What Happens in Paradise

by Elin Hilderbrand

  They have a full boat today, twenty people, six of them kids, and handling that is a tall order, especially because it’s only Cash’s third day of work, his first without Wade there to train him. But Cash seems to be a natural when it comes to managing groups of strangers all keyed up for an adventure. He’s courteous and convivial, he has the gift of gab, and it’s clear that he takes his procedural responsibilities—the passport paperwork, tying up at the docks, cleaning and prepping all the snorkel equipment, and assisting with any young, old, or infirm guests—very seriously. Of course, this job offers a different roll of the dice each and every day; that’s one of the things Ayers likes about it. Occasionally there are mechanical issues with the boat or the weather isn’t great, but that’s for Captain James to deal with. Ayers and Cash handle the humans.

  Ayers goes to the top deck to put out the seat cushions. Six kids is a lot, she thinks, especially if the parents start drinking. She decides to tell Cash that she’ll manage the kids and he’ll be in charge of the adults.

  Adults are easier. Most of the time.

  From her perch, Ayers spies Mick on the top deck of the ferry, Gordon with him on a leash, garnering attention from every dog lover on the boat. Mick took Gordon with him because, with both Ayers and Mick gone all day, there’d be no one to let him out. Still, Ayers suspects Mick also brought Gordon because Gordon is a chick magnet. And sure enough, a girl with long brown hair in a cute white sundress takes the seat next to Mick. The girl puts her arm around Mick and lays her head on his shoulder, so it must be someone they know. Ayers squints; the girl lifts her head and turns.

  It’s Brigid.

  To get some stuff for the bar, Ayers thinks. Paper straws. This is such bullshit, Ayers can’t believe she bought it! Well, she didn’t quite buy it, did she? She’d had a funny feeling because Mick hated going to St. Thomas. If there was a reason to go, he’d send one of his employees. But when Ayers asked follow-up questions, he’d accused her of giving him the third degree, and she hadn’t argued the point because she was feeling guilty about the journals and about seeing Baker.

  Brigid! Where is he going with Brigid? To the recycling center and the restaurant-supply store? Or to the Tap and Still for a long boozy lunch followed by…what? Not back until late, he said. What a jerk!

  Gordon puts his paws up on Brigid’s knees and starts licking her face, and Ayers turns away; if she watches any longer, she’s going to be sick. She pulls her phone out of her shorts pocket and as she’s wondering what to text to Mick—what can she say that will make him feel as nauseated as she feels right now?—Cash calls up the stairs.

  “Paperwork is ready,” he says. “Permission to board?”

  “Permission granted,” James says from the wheelhouse.

  Ayers’s phone says it’s ten past eight. Time to get everyone on so they can leave. She shoves her phone back into her shorts pocket, then whips it back out and shoots a quick text to Mick: I saw you with Brigid. Please don’t ever call me again. It’s over.

  She feels triumphant, but it lasts only an instant.

  Brigid!

  The six children are all in the same family, the Dresslers, and they’re all boys, towheaded and tan, ranging in age from fourteen to six. They all have D-names: DJ, Danny, Damian, Duncan, Donner (“Like the reindeer,” the mother says), and Dougie.

  Who names a child after a reindeer? Ayers wonders. She’s in a foul mood.

  The kids seem relatively well behaved, and the parents—Dave and Donna—are a striking couple, tall and superior-looking. Donna carries a bag (as big as Santa’s!) that holds the entire family’s snorkeling equipment.

  You just never know what you’re going to get, Ayers thinks. Today it’s a cross between the von Trapp children and Russian matryoshka dolls.

  She finds Cash in the cabin; he’s setting out the platter of fruit and the sliced coconut-banana bread. The greatest thing about Cash is he doesn’t mind the menial jobs. He thinks it’s a privilege! And Cash is clearly skilled with a knife. The fruit is uniformly sliced and spread out in an appetizing pinwheel.

  Ayers pulls Cash aside. “I’ll keep a close eye on the boys. You take the so-called grown-ups.”

  “Got it, boss,” he says. He turns from Ayers and smiles at a young woman who is hanging by the counter. “What can I get for you?”

  “When does the bar open?” the young woman asks.

  Ayers has to wait a beat before she answers. This happens every day, but Ayers is in no mood right now for someone whose sole reason for coming aboard Treasure Island is to get shitfaced.

  “No alcohol until we’re under way,” Ayers says. “And even then, I’d urge you to be prudent until the snorkeling portion is over.”

  “Prudent is my middle name,” she says. “But snorkeling is quite a while from now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Ayers says. “Baths first—including travel, that takes two hours—then the captain will pick a snorkeling spot. We should be finished snorkeling by eleven or eleven thirty.”

  “That’s a long time to be prudent,” the woman says.

  Ayers feels herself about to snap. “Once we are on our way to Jost, you can drink as much as you want.”

  Cash says, “If Prudent is your middle name, what’s your first name?” He sticks out a hand. “I’m Cash.”

  “I’m Maxwell,” she says.

  “That’s your first name?” Cash asks.

  “’Fraid so,” she says. “It’s kind of confusing, but don’t worry, I’m very female.” She sticks her chest out at Cash, and Ayers notices a tattoo of a keyhole between her breasts. Ayers gets it—she’s waiting for the person who holds the key to her heart.

  Cash must notice the tattoo at the same time—how could he not; it’s nestled right there between her boobs, which are straining against the green cups of her bikini—because he says, “Cool tattoo.”

  Maxwell glances down at her chest as if she has no idea what he’s talking about. “Oh, thanks,” she says. Over the bikini, she’s wearing a sheer green paisley peasant blouse. She gives a tiny shrug, and the blouse slips down off her shoulder. This girl has all the moves and she has her bright gaze trained on Cash. “I hope you don’t mind my hanging around. It’s just that I came on this trip by myself. I’m visiting a friend of mine from high school who lives here but she said she has a lot of errands today because she works at night—”

  Ayers can’t stop herself from jumping in. “Is your friend named Brigid, by any chance?”

  “No,” Maxwell says.

  “Long shot, I know,” Ayers says. “You just remind me of someone.”

  “Anyway,” Maxwell says, now showing Cash one creamy shoulder, “she encouraged me to come out on this tour. She said it’s the best.” She beams at Cash, as though Treasure Island’s sterling reputation is all Cash’s doing. “I think she was trying to get rid of me. I can be a lot.”

  “You?” Ayers says.

  The boat engine starts. Cash says, “I have to go tend to the ropes. Excuse me, Maxwell.”

  “Just call me Max,” she says. “When you’re finished, will you come back and make me a painkiller, extra strong?”

  “You got it,” Cash says. He gives her a wink and shoots out a finger like Isaac, the bartender from The Love Boat, a cultural reference Ayers suspects is lost on Max.

  Ayers wrestles with her wandering mind. She told Cash she would keep an eye on the kids and let him handle the adults, but by now, all six of the boys might have drowned.

  Ayers puts on her headset. “I’m about to give the safety talk,” she says to Max. “You should listen.”

  The ride to Virgin Gorda is smooth. Ayers makes herself notice how glorious the water, the sky, and the emerald-green islands are. She is so lucky to live here, to have this job and her job at La Tapa, her friends, her community, Maia and Huck. Rosie is gone, but at least while Ayers is reading the journals, it feels like she has Rosie back. It feels like Rosie is, finally, telling her everything.

  But t
hen she succumbs to the red, hot, itchy temptation of thinking about Mick and Brigid. Brigid! If Ayers had seen Mick with anyone else—Emily Ratajkowski, Scarlett Johansson with her tongue in Mick’s ear—it wouldn’t have sickened Ayers the way seeing him with Brigid has. Why did he even bother getting back together with her? Because she was hurting? Because he felt sorry for her? Because her apartment was far more homey and comfortable than the rat hole where he and Gordon lived? Is he using her? Preying on her pain and her wobbly judgment? She’s actively mourning the loss of her best friend and she has been trying to hold it together so she can be whole and strong for Maia. How dare Mick go behind her back again after all Ayers has just been through. That is what makes this unforgivable.

  She scans the boat, looking for anyone who seems to be suffering from seasickness, but the passengers look calm and happy, their faces turned toward the sun, hair blowing back in the breeze. The six boys are sitting on a bench between the statuesque bookends of their parents, and there isn’t a single electronic device among them, which Ayers finds impressive.

  She leans toward the mother, Donna, and says, “Your boys are so well behaved.”

  Donna wraps her arm around the youngest, Dougie, who is sitting next to her, and kisses the top of his head. “Believe me, this is a rare moment of peace. We told them if they behaved today, we’d rent a dinghy tomorrow and go to the pizza boat in Christmas Cove.”

  “Good bribe!” Ayers says. “I love Pizza Pi.” Mick had said something the night before about borrowing his boss’s boat so they could raft up in Christmas Cove on Monday—eat pizza, listen to live music.

  Maybe now he’ll take Brigid.

  “How do you manage six boys?” Ayers asks. Because she’s an only child, she has always been fascinated by big families and she still harbors a fantasy of having a bunch of kids herself someday. Which will probably never happen, seeing as how she can’t even sustain a relationship. (She has to lasso her psyche! Stay in the moment!) “Isn’t it a lot, to keep track of their sports and activities and their dental appointments and haircuts and stuff?” Just looking at the Dressler family brings up visions of reminders written on a chalkboard in the mudroom, a color-coded calendar, baskets labeled with each boy’s name to hold hats and gloves and rainboots.

  “They’re all swimmers,” Donna says. “I just drop them off at the Y on Saturday morning and collect them at the end of the day. I go to some of the meets, though I’ve learned to pick and choose. I used to go to every single one and my hair turned green just from sitting in the pool balcony for so long.” She laughs. “They aren’t interested in impressing me, anyway. They want to impress their coach, their teammates, and each other. They all swim freestyle and do the IM, so it’s pretty intense competition.” She looks down to the end of the bench and whispers, “DJ has just committed to swim at Stanford.”

  “That’s so cool,” Ayers says. “Where are you guys from?”

  “Philadelphia,” Donna says. “The Main Line.”

  Sure, of course, Ayers might have predicted that. The Dresslers probably live in an old stone house that has a creek running behind it. The husband, Dave, probably takes the train downtown to work, and Donna probably makes enormous dinners—Taco Tuesdays!—that the boys devour, exhausted from a day of school and swimming the fifty-free in under a minute. Ayers feels herself falling in love with the Dressler family. Adopt me, please, she thinks.

  But maybe there are secrets, like soft spots on a seemingly perfect apple. Maybe Donna is having an affair with the kids’ swim coach; maybe Dave is a degenerate gambler who has lost the college savings; maybe the oldest boy got his girlfriend pregnant, which he’ll reveal the day they get home from this vacation, and suddenly, Stanford will be called into question.

  Ayers shakes her head. What is wrong with her today? She suspects it’s a combination of the diaries and seeing Mick and Brigid together. It feels like the whole world is hiding something.

  Ayers lifts her gaze from Donna to the cabin of the boat. The past two days, Cash has circulated around the boat and introduced himself to the guests, but there he is, behind the bar, making that chick Max another drink.

  In the seven years that Ayers has been working on Treasure Island, she has seen a spectrum of eye-popping outfits, which she and Wade have put into three categories. Category one, the most popular, was the Siren. This included teensy bikinis and wet T-shirts. Category two was the Riviera Gigolo, a gentle way of describing men who wore, instead of trunks, European-cut briefs—nut-huggers, grape-smugglers, banana hammocks. Category three was the Vampire. These folks showed up in head-to-toe Lycra—usually black, for some reason—because they couldn’t risk exposure to the sun. (The Lycra suits were always accompanied by wide-brimmed floppy hats.) Ayers was all about SPF but in her opinion, if exposure to sunlight was that verboten, then a day trip on Treasure Island—hell, a vacation on a Caribbean island in general—probably wasn’t for you.

  Once Max takes the paisley peasant blouse off and slides out of her jean shorts, Ayers sees that the green bikini consists of only three tiny triangles of iridescent material (possibly meant to reference fish scales) and some string. It’s a dental-floss thong, leaving the pale orbs of Max’s buttocks exposed. Ayers notices a tattoo on the right cheek—a pair of lips.

  Kiss my ass, Ayers thinks. Got it. Max’s body is a living rebus.

  Ayers is dismayed that Max chose to wear such a revealing suit on a family-oriented boat trip. What must the six boys think? At least half of them will be ogling her all day; it’s impossible not to ogle her.

  Donna gives Ayers a sympathetic smile. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

  That’s a generous perspective, Ayers thinks. She will bet anyone the keys to her truck that Max is going to lose her bikini when she jumps off the boat to swim into the Baths.

  Ayers puts on her headset and runs through the drill: Jump in, swim to shore, here are the life vests, and does anyone need a noodle?

  Everyone does just fine—including six-year-old Dougie—and then Max climbs up to the edge of the bow and turns around in a panic. “Where’s Cash?” she says. “I want Cash to go with me.”

  “He’s onshore already, Max,” Ayers says. “See him there?” Cash is standing on the small golden beach herding everyone toward the entrance of the Baths. He’s going to lead the tour today and Ayers is bringing up the rear. “Just jump in and swim right for him, okay?”

  “Oh, okay,” Max says. She waves both arms overhead. “Cash! Cash!” She loses her footing and falls in. Ayers peers over the edge, checking to see whether Max can swim or if Ayers will have to save her.

  To be safe, Ayers jumps in a few feet away. “You okay?”

  Max is busy doing the doggie paddle, eyes squeezed shut, and because she is, actually, making forward progress, Ayers lets her be, swimming behind her just in case.

  She can’t believe this chick isn’t a friend of Brigid.

  “Looks like you have a barnacle on your boat,” Ayers says to Cash once they’re all back aboard Treasure Island. Max had trailed Cash through the Baths so closely that whenever he stopped, she bumped into him. At Cathedral, she jumped off the ledge into his arms and clung to him far longer than was necessary.

  “Huh?” Cash says. “Oh, yeah. She’s harmless.” They both turn to see Max standing at the bar, waiting for Cash so he can make her another drink and she can show him her chest.

  James anchors off the coast of Norman Island for snorkeling because there are already three boats parked over at the Indians. Cash helps everyone with equipment, and Ayers goes to see how the Dressler boys are faring.

  “They’re all set,” Donna says. “But thank you.”

  Ayers finds herself with a free minute and she’s in a spot that has reliable cell service. Should she check her phone? See if Mick responded?

  No, she decides. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll ditch Brigid and be waiting at the dock for Ayers, smoothie in hand.

  Is that what she wants?
>
  She checks her phone despite herself. There are two texts from Mick, but Cash has started sending people into the water. She has to go.

  Ayers snorkels with the Dressler boys and encourages two of the middle ones to follow her over to a rocky outcrop of Norman where the spotted eagle rays like to hang out. She can hear the boys oohing and aahing through their snorkels, and as always, this makes her happy. Some things are more important than her romantic trials and tribulations. Things like wonder.

  Ayers raises her head and sees everyone heading back to the boat. She lets the boys swim ahead and she brings up the rear, scanning the water for the fluorescent orange tape on the tips of their snorkels.

  When she climbs up to the deck, she says, “Everyone accounted for?”

  “Yes,” Cash says.

  Ayers signals James, who starts the engine, and Cash goes to pull the anchor, which makes his muscles pop in a way that is undeniably attractive. Ayers can’t believe Max isn’t right beside him, taking pictures for her Instagram account: #coldhardcash.

  When the anchor is up and they’re moving, Ayers says, “Where’s the barnacle?”

  “Wait,” Cash says. “What?”

  Panic in the form of absolute stillness seizes Ayers. “Stop the boat!” she yells.

  Max is not dead and Max is not lost. Ayers repeats this like a mantra, though for the first thirty seconds after Ayers realizes Max isn’t on the boat (how can she not be on the boat? And why did Cash say everyone was present? Did he not do a head count?), these are Ayers’s prevailing thoughts, that Max is dead or Max is missing and will turn up dead.

  James cuts the engines and Ayers races up to the top deck with the binoculars, trying not to exude any sign of the sheer terror she is feeling. But the rest of the guests realize something is wrong. Ayers overhears Cash say, “We’re missing someone, the woman in the green bikini.” Then everyone starts looking. They spread out around the port side and starboard side and the bow. Ayers’s main concern is that Max is under the boat, that they unwittingly ran over her when they lifted anchor and started toward Jost Van Dyke.