Never Too Late

by Patricia Watters

  The water was warm, the visibility amazing, like swimming in an exploding prism of color. Kelp swaying, jellyfish propelling themselves by, sea turtles paddling around. Words failed to describe the exquisiteness, the allure of the exotic marine life. She watched an eagle ray cruise by, and saw an upside-down jelly fish. She was peering inside a pipe at a spider crab when Jerry took her arm and pulled her toward a coral reef where starfish and sea urchins and sea cucumbers swayed with the current. He pointed to a flounder lying flat in the sand, then picked up a sea star and handed it to her. She took it and it stiffened into a tight outer shell. She looked at Jerry and smiled, but he didn't smile back.

  ...Yeah, well, it's been a long dry spell...

  Too true.

  She lost track of how long they were floating in the surf, but by the time they left the water and returned to the drift log, the sun had moved low in the sky. Andrea swept off her mask and snorkel and pulled off her fins. But while she stood on the deserted beach inside the private alcove protected by mangroves and brush, while staring at the pink iridescent shells sticking up out of the sand, Jerry came up behind her, kissed the curve of her neck, slipped the straps of her swim suit off her shoulders, and dragged the suit down the length of her body. She stepped out of it and stood nude, her back still to him, waiting. She heard a swish as he removed his swim suit, then his arms came around her from behind, and his hands captured and fondled what had been his for twenty-five years. He wasn't asking, or trying to pleasure her. He was taking what he wanted. And when she felt the hardness of him pressing boldly against her from behind, she turned in his arms and took from him what she wanted. Giving him pleasure was not her objective. This was about self-gratification, taking what was legally theirs as husband and wife. Taking it without thought of giving in return.

  His mouth captured hers, demanding she open. Her tongue searched deeper, insisting he meet her thrusts. And as they fell to the sand, and the sun beat down on them, and the surf of the incoming tide washed over their naked bodies, the union was turbulent and self-absorbed, the culmination as violent and unrelenting as the waves breaking over them. And when it was over, they stepped away from each other and rinsed themselves in the sea, slipped into their swim suits like strangers on the beach, and went to their separate bungalows, as if nothing had happened.

  The subject of dinner hadn't come up and Andrea was glad. After what happened on the beach she couldn't face Jerry, even if it was across the span of a dining room. And the irony of it was, after their heated coming together she felt more like a stranger to Jerry than a wife. There had been no love play, no laughing or horsing around. No affection. What happened had been nothing more than two people, starved for sex, taking from each other what they wanted then going their separate ways. And she felt more unfulfilled than ever before.

  Deciding to order room service, and finding her stomach still unsettled from the ordeal the night before, she opted for a light dinner—chicken soup, a dinner roll, and tea. But after she'd finished and the dinner cart had been taken away, she took a long hot shower, wanting to wash away all traces of their lovemaking away, knowing the evidence of it was still deep inside her. Just as Jerry was. Maybe not inside her physically, as he'd been on the beach, but he was still there emotionally, because even after their fiery, detached, coming together, she wanted him again. But now, she wanted what they'd had before.

  She had just slipped into a pair of batik pants and a shirt when she heard a loud, impatient rapping on the door. Figuring it was Jerry, still bad-tempered because what happened on the beach had been as unsatisfying for him as it was for her, she swept the door open. And froze...

  CHAPTER 6

  "What in hell is going on here?" Andrea's father asked, eyes fixed on her.

  Andrea held her father's angry gaze, mortified that he and her mother were there, certain they'd learned something, fearing what it might be. Flying off on their private jet meant nothing. Landing on Andros Island meant the shit was about to hit the fan. "It's good to see you too, Daddy," she said. "If I knew you and Mother were coming, I'd have baked a cake. Maybe next time you'll wire first and I will."

  "Don't get testy with me," her father said, sweeping past her. "You have some explaining to do." He turned and waited for her response.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," Andrea said.

  "The hell you don't!" he bellowed. "Why do you think we're here?"

  Andrea shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe to piss me off. You're good at doing that."

  "Andrea!" her mother interjected. Walking up to Andrea, she said in a conciliatory tone, "Your father and I are here because we were worried sick about you."

  Andrea ignored her mother's look of appeasement intended to curb a confrontation that was already in motion. "I'm almost forty-five years old, Mother," she said, her voice rising with her agitation. "I no longer need a staff of nannies looking after me, or my parents following me around, breathing down my back and spying on me!"

  "Calm down, honey," Barbara Ellison said. "We're not following you around and spying on you. We're here because when the ship left the island last night, and you and Jerry weren't on it, but all of your clothes were, we got alarmed."

  "That sounds like spying to me," Andrea said. "And I'm pretty miffed that you and Daddy continue to run my life, no matter how many years I've been on my own, or how many miles away from you I am. Even when I'm on an Island in the Bahamas!"

  "Will you please stop raising your voice, Andrea," her mother said. "And we are not trying to run your life. We're concerned about you because you didn't return to the ship with the other passengers last night."

  "Which you wouldn't have known about unless you were spying on me," Andrea pointed out, wondering what else they might have learned about the infamous anniversary cruise. A lot of tongues must be wagging aboard ship if the whereabouts of Jerry and Andrea Porter were being bantered about. Or would that be the whereabouts of Valerie William's sugar daddy and Alessandro Cavallaro's lover?

  "Your cabin steward reported to the ship's hotel manager that your room had not been occupied since you left the ship yesterday," her mother explained. "A further search showed you weren't aboard when it left the island, but all of your belongings were. The girls listed us as a contact, so the ship's hotel manager called this morning to tell us. We flew here immediately."

  "Well I'm here, and I'm fine," Andrea said, with irritation, "so you and Daddy can fly back home. But thanks for dropping in."

  "Where's your husband?" her father asked, pinning her with dark, astute eyes.

  "His name is Jerry, Daddy. Not that bastard, not your husband, but Jerry. J-E-R-R-Y. Jerry. Please try to remember. You've been forgetting it for twenty-five years."

  "Seems you've been forgetting a few things too," her father said, face hard, shrewd eyes fixed on her as he waited for her response.

  Andrea was afraid of that look, afraid of what was coming. Her parents had been on the island long enough for her father to bully everyone into telling him where she was, what she'd been doing that made her miss the ship, and why she wasn't sharing a bungalow with her husband. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, testing.

  "Your husband," he replied, deliberately ignoring her request to voice Jerry's name. "Why is he staying in a separate place from you?"

  "He snores," Andrea quipped.

  Her father shot her a look that said he'd reached the end of his patience. His words confirmed it. "Who was the Dago you were with last night?"

  Andrea looked at her father with a start. Alluding to marital problems was one thing. Explaining a shipboard love interest while she was on an anniversary cruise with Jerry was a whole different matter. "If you mean Alessandro Cavallaro," she replied, assuming he was the Dago her father was referring to, "Jerry and I met him on the ship and he invited us to join him for dinner. We were having conch fritters when Jerry remembered he'd forgotten his... passport at a store and went back for it. I was just keeping Alessandr
o company while Jerry was gone."

  "Like hell you were," her father said. "You were seen holding the man's hand and smiling at him across the table."

  "Where on earth did you get that idea?" Andrea said, feigning perplexity.

  "From the owner of the dive you were in, and the people who work there!" her father bellowed, slashing a hand through the air. "When I showed them your picture, one referred to you as Cavallaro's woman, another thought you were a prostitute he'd picked up."

  Andrea stood her ground, meeting her father straight on as she said, matter-of-factly, "The people lied. I don't know why, but they did. Maybe they heard that the Ellison Learjet had arrived and hoped to cut a deal—money for keeping their mouths shut about something that never happened."

  "Your marriage is on the rocks and you're involved with a man," her father said. "I knew that bastard would drive you to something like this."

  "Umm... if I'm the one you think is screwing around, why is Jerry the bastard?" Holding her father's glare, Andrea added, "And no, Daddy, you can no longer send me to my room. I'm already here."

  "Andrea," her mother interrupted, "I'm sure there's an explanation for everything. If your marriage is in trouble you and Jerry can get counseling."

  "Thank you for that advice," she said, and added nothing more. She was in no mood to have her parents run her divorce, or interfere in what was going on between her and Jerry at the moment, some of which was actually a step forward. At least what happened on the beach was. It released a whole lot of tension. And right now she could use another dose of hot and heavy sex. But where was Jerry when she needed him? When was he ever around when it mattered? Not now to show her parents they were still a couple. And definitely not the night Scott took off. It came to her then, that for twenty-five years, Jerry had never been around when she really needed him, even if it was just for hot sex so she could block out everything else.

  "Your marriage is in trouble... has been for years," her father said. "I'll get things rolling as soon as I get back."

  "No, you will not get things rolling!" Andrea fired back. "If Jerry and I decide to throw in the towel we'll handle it on our own. That is, if we decide to go our separate ways. But then, we might stay married for the next quarter century just to irritate you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to rest. It's been a very long day." As she opened the door to let her parents out, she found two men standing in the doorway. One was the customs inspector who'd checked passports when the ship docked. The other, a man who looked to be in his mid-forties and who was dressed like an islander—faded batik shirt and khaki trousers—looked at Andrea, and said, "Mrs. Porter?"

  Andrea nodded, while eyeing the man suspiciously.

  The man flashed an ID card, and said, "I'm Inspector Schribe with the Justice Department's Special Operations Division, and this is Agent Fernandez with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. We're investigating one of Italy's largest drug trafficking cartels and we'd like to ask you a few questions."

  "I'm sorry," Andrea said, "but this isn't a good time."

  She started to close the door, but Inspector Schribe placed his hand against it. "You don't understand, Mrs. Porter. We can question you here, or you can come with us to the customs office."

  Andrea's father stepped up to face the man. "What's this about?" he asked.

  The man looked at Andrea's father, and said, "Your daughter's involved with a man we've been investigating for some time, and we want to ask her some questions."

  Carter Ellison eyed the inspector, dubiously. "How do you know who I am?"

  "Your plane, Mr. Ellison," the inspector said. "We knew who you were the moment your pilot touched down. We'd already run a background check on your daughter. So she can either answer our questions here or in the customs office, and we can either talk to her in private or in your presence."

  "She won't be talking to anyone without an attorney present," Carter informed the man in the tone he used to intimidate people.

  The man looked directly at him, and said in a voice that clearly said he was in charge, "We don't work that way, Mr. Ellison. Your daughter can either talk to us here, or we can take her in. We have enough information to hold her. I suggest she answer a few routine questions and avoid that. Sometimes it can be a very lengthy wait."

  Andrea glanced at her father, who was chomping at the bit, but holding his peace. Returning to the inspector, she said, "I have no idea what you could possibly want with me, inspector. I was on a cruise with my husband, I ate something that made me sick and I had to be taken to the medical clinic, and the ship left without us. But my husband and I will be rejoining the cruise in a couple of days."

  The inspector looked beyond her and into the room, and said, "Where is your husband now?"

  Andrea knew for certain she did not want to draw Jerry into whatever this was. The less information her father got from this interrogation, the sooner he and her mother would be on their way back to Charleston. "My husband could be on the beach," she said, offhandedly. "We don't spend every minute of the day together."

  "It seems you don't spend your nights together either," the inspector said. "But I'm not here to question you about your relationship with your husband. I'm here to talk about your relationship with Alessandro Cavallaro."

  Andrea looked at the man with a start. How did he know about her relationship with Alessandro? Jerry? Was he building a divorce case? But Jerry had little basis on which to claim infidelity, if that was his ploy. "I have not been spending time with Mr. Cavallaro," she snapped.

  "You spent the last three evenings with Cavallaro, Mrs. Porter. Two evenings with him in his stateroom on the ship, and last night with him at The Pirate's Cove here on the island," the inspector pointed out. "We've been tracking Cavallaro for some time. We know where he goes and who he spends time with. We even know the exact time you entered his stateroom each time you were there, and what time you left. The only thing we don't know is what went on behind the closed doors when you were in there with him."

  "Nothing went on," Andrea emphasized. "He asked me for cocktails. That's all."

  "Was anyone else there?" the man asked.

  Andrea folded her arms and glared at the man. "If you've been watching Mr. Cavallaro, inspector, you should already know there wasn't," she said, refusing to look at her father, feeling his eyes on her... intense, accusing, staring daggers.

  "You're right, we did know it," the inspector admitted. "I was testing to see if you'd admit to being alone with Mr. Cavallaro in his stateroom. Did Mr. Cavallaro contact anyone when you were there? Make any phone calls?"

  "No," Andrea said, her eyes shifting to her father's rock-hard face before darting away. "We had cocktails and talked. That's all."

  "That may be so for the first night, Mrs. Porter," the inspector said, "but the next night you went to Mr. Cavallaro's stateroom as soon as you returned to the ship after having dinner in Nassau with your husband, and you remained there until four the following morning. I have to assume you and Mr. Cavallaro were doing more than just sipping cocktails."

  "Then you assume wrong!" Andrea cried.

  "And your husband?" the inspector pressed. "Where was he while you were overnight in Mr. Cavallaro's stateroom?"

  "I suppose he was in his own stateroom," Andrea replied.

  "Then you acknowledge you didn't share a stateroom with your husband while on the ship," the inspector said, "and that you spent at least one night with Mr. Cavallaro in his stateroom?"

  "Yes," Andrea admitted. She glanced at her mother and saw a face frozen in disbelief. How could it not be? Her mother was witnessing the annihilation of her daughter's self-respect.

  "Then your husband didn't object to your spending the night with Mr. Cavallaro?"

  "I did not spend the night on purpose!" Andrea insisted. "I fell asleep on his bed after having a cocktail. I hadn't eaten much dinner that night, and since I don't drink often, the liquor went to my head. As for my husband... We have complete trust in eac
h other."

  "Enough that he doesn't worry about his wife being alone in a stateroom all night with a man she'd only just met?" the inspector asked. "Or perhaps you've known Mr. Cavallaro for some time before the cruise?"

  Andrea had no idea what it was the man was after, but the fact that government agents were tracking Alessandro was not something she should take lightly. "I assure you, inspector, I only just met Mr. Cavallaro the first day on board the ship."

  "Was Mr. Cavallaro with you in bed the entire time you were asleep?"

  Andrea bristled. "Mr. Cavallaro was not in bed with me at all, inspector," she emphasized, annoyed with a line of questioning that continued to imply she'd had sex with Alessandro Cavallaro, when she had not.

  "Then, where was Mr. Cavallaro while you were asleep?"

  "I don't know, inspector. I was asleep!" Andrea said in a sharp voice. "But I was not in Mr. Cavallaro's bed. I was on top of it, fully dressed!"

  The inspector didn't seem completely convinced, confirming it when he said, "During the time you were with Mr. Cavallaro, did he have access to your handbag, maybe while you were... umm... distracted, perhaps in the bathroom... afterwards."

  "Afterwards?" Andrea glared at the man. "You continue to imply that I had sex with Mr. Cavallaro. I assure you, nothing of a sexual nature took place!"

  "Actually, Mrs. Porter, your insisting you didn't have sexual relations with Cavallaro leads me to believe you were in his stateroom for other reasons."

  "And what would that be?" Andrea snapped.

  "That's what we're trying to find out," the inspector said.

  "Everything is exactly as I told you," Andrea contended. "I had a drink, became drowsy, and fell asleep. When I woke up early the next morning, Mr. Cavallaro was gone, but he left a note saying he was in the casino. I spent the night on top of the bedspread, in my clothes, and apparently alone. That's all there was to it."