Caribbean Crossroads

by Connie E Sokol

  CARIBBEAN CROSSROADS

  by

  Connie E. Sokol

  Copyright 2012 Connie E. Sokol

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  Published by Connie Sokol

  Kindle Edition

  License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To my fabulous and hilarious family, who gives me unintentional yet continual writing material. And to all talented, clean romance writers everywhere for their gift and inspiration.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  The blind date was late.

  Megan sat on the edge of the couch and glanced again through the window, watching and dreading the promise of another awkward evening. She moved her tennis racket to check her watch. Five more minutes, and counting. Dates got a max of ten minutes wait time, no exceptions. But why even wait? This tennis date was another one of Jillian’s ideas, not hers. Then again, it was still better to trust a well-intentioned roommate than her own intuition right now.

  Through the window a movement on the opposite balcony caught her eye—a group of animated college students headed toward the stairs. The perk of many apartment complexes at Nevada Groves University was the fishbowl square, allowing each apartment—at a glimpse—to know their neighbor.

  Who was that? Was it… Megan jerked forward, a quick dread filling her stomach. Could it be Jackson? She carefully noted the gait and size—no, it wasn’t him. Not supermodel enough, just a blond guy with Jillian and jolly company. Megan exhaled, relieved, and automatically plied the tennis racket strings with her fingers, straightening the small squares. Unbelievable that after all he had put her through, she could still react to the possible sight of him. Megan sat up and took a deep breath. That was six months ago and she was a whole different Megan now.

  Wasn’t she?

  The chatting group moved down the stairs, laughing and talking like they were at a cocktail party. Jillian led the pack with all the confidence of a congresswoman. Megan frowned. She used to have confidence too. Before …

  Nope. Not going there.

  The small herd of people now headed toward Megan’s apartment. A few minutes later the door burst open and the crowd of people crammed in, throwing out greetings—“Hey Megan, lookin’ hot,” and, “Are you getting stood up?” Finally, a throaty “Hi, Meg,” from Damon, who looked her up and down in a way that made her wish she had dressed in a muumuu.

  She turned away from him.

  Men.

  Jillian entered last, talking to another coed in a too excited tone—the kind of tone that usually meant work. As in, “Let’s put on a benefit concert to raise $100,000” or, “Let’s save the blue dung beetle and fly to Africa for a rally.” Megan braced herself.

  “Megs, you’re still here,” said Jillian.

  “Not for long.” Megan checked her watch again.

  Jillian funneled the group to the small kitchen while she wrapped her straight blonde hair into a French knot at her nape. “Come on, Megs, it’s Robert Gentry. What if he just got a flat tire?”

  “He’ll have to carry a spare next time.”

  “You’re ridiculous. But glad you’re here, we need to talk.” Jillian tugged Megan’s arm and with the new girl, stepped into the tiny hall separating the front and back of the apartment.

  “It’s no, whatever you’re pitching this time,” said Megan.

  “Okay, this is big. Very large. Supersized.” Jillian stood close, ignoring Megan’s words. “Are you listening to me? Focus. We need you, this very summer, in fact right now … to take a cruise.” She smiled triumphantly.

  “A what? You mean, go on a trip?”

  “Yes—sort of—but better than that. You get to”—she paused dramatically—“perform! And, you get paid, just like me!”

  “What? What are you talking about? Perform? Summer cruise star is your gig, not mine.” What was Jillian thinking this time? Megan was definitely not the glam performer type.

  Jillian and the new girl bobbed their heads. “You’re perfect. You’ve done this kind of thing before, and you’re athletic, and enthusiastic—okay, decently enthusiastic when you’re not in a severe depression which is, thankfully, just about done. And you are almost done with it, right? See, you’re exactly what we’re looking for.”

  Megan stared at both girls. “Jillian, you know me, that’s not my forte. I mean, I did some dancing a few years back, and one singing group, but it was completely cheesy stuff.”

  “That’s perfect! That’s all we do is cheesy stuff—lots of makeup, big hair, cheesy moves. They already have the main people doing the hard stuff. We’re sort of the ladies of Vegas with the big headdresses.”

  “But fully clothed,” the new girl clarified. “It’s a family-friendly tour.”

  Megan shook her head. “No can do. If I want to go full-time with the temp agency I have to start the hours next week.” Another watch check—two minutes to go. She looked back at Jillian, more like a sister than her own, and almost smiled. Oh, to have her carefree attitude about life! When would that come back to her, or would it ever?

  “Megs, come on—that’s not a real job.”

  “It’s safe.”

  “What’s happened to you—where’s my old Megs? She would have jumped at the chance.”

  “Well, the Old Megs was a pushover. Welcome to the New Megs who is done with the looks-good-on-the-cover opportunities.” Jackson came unbidden to her mind and she quickly pushed him out.

  Jillian put her hands on her hips, intimidating in the small hallway. “Megs, it’s a temp agency. She can get a fill-in for you, that’s what she does. Besides, we don’t leave until Tuesday.”

  Tuesday! “Jillian, NO—I seriously don’t think that word is in your vocabulary.” Megan felt between laughing and yelling. “Do you know how many of these things you’ve roped me into? The dancing bear for the hospital kids? Blowing up two-thousand balloons, with a broken tank? My lips were sore for a week. No, Jillian, this time I won’t be reeled into your next big project.”

  “No, no, no,” said Jillian in a soothing tone. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you—getting outside of yourself, serving others.”

  Megan made an exasperated sound. “You really need to run for office. I can’t believe you’re even asking me this. Used to dance, can you please hear what I’m saying? I’m done with humiliation, on all fronts.” How could she help Jillian understand? It all seemed so simple
to her. She was happy-go-lucky, in love, and bent on getting Megan out there, meeting people and “back in the scene.” Because, of course, that’s what you did with formerly engaged girls who got dumped by their fiancé. What would Jillian truly know about that? She was sky high with Derek, at the beginning of the Love Roller Coaster with no idea how that ride could end.

  Jillian pouted. “Now you’re safe and sorry.”

  And staying that way, thought Megan. “Making me mad will not get me to say yes.”

  “How can I then?”

  “Promise me that all my troubles will go away and I’ll come back deliriously happy.”

  “Done. Look at your life. You just graduated, you’ve got no serious prospects, and your spring contract is almost up. And seriously Megs, a cruise ship. Don’t you remember me talking about the gorgeous men and awesome food? I met Derek, didn’t I? And you, in this state of couldn’t care less how you look in a swimsuit—not that it matters, as you look sickeningly great—I ask you: if that doesn’t define bliss, what does?” Jillian switched to a pleading tone. “Listen, it’s absolutely the chance of a lifetime. Marla is out with mono and we are in need—”

  “—desperate need—” added the friend.

  “—and you don’t even have to audition, I’ve already spoken for you. Trust me, people would give their eyeteeth for this opportunity.”

  Megan felt the beginning of suspicion. She wasn’t the best choice by far. Why were they so intent on her? Clasping the racket to her chest, she leaned back against the narrow hallway wall. “People giving their eyeteeth, huh? Why not ask them?”

  “Because we need it signed today.”

  Pause.

  Megan looked between them. “And?” she said slowly.

  “And … you’re the only one we know that we like.” Jillian’s eyes pled.

  “And who has the cash,” said the new girl.

  “Cash? I thought I got paid.” Megan looked hard at Jillian, who gave the girl a look and turned back with a shrug.

  “You have to put down a deposit. Non-refundable.”

  “How much?”

  “A thousand dollars.”

  Megan shook her head and began walking away.

  “No, listen for two seconds,” Jillian said, grasping her arm. “It’s for plane fare to Florida and a costume deposit, which is reimbursed—absolutely. And, you get paid six thousand dollars for the three months’ work—dancing, Megs, dancing.”

  Megan plucked at the small string squares. She could care less about the men offerings or “chance of a lifetime,” but the logistics were compelling. A summer spent on a cruise ship and getting paid for a few dances, compared to a dead-end but steady paycheck that had nothing to do with her degree. And then there was not going home for the summer, dealing with Jackson. And Kara. It was a no brainer. She had no other job offers in the wings, but that was her fault. For the past year all she’d done was the agency job and, of course, cleaning the guys’ apartment part-time. Her stomach twisted. For the last six months she hadn’t been planning a career, she’d been preparing for a future, one that didn’t look at all like now. Still, past experience with Jillian showed that anything could happen, especially if that anything was inconvenient, frustrating, or unexpected. And it usually was.

  Megan shook her head slowly. “Jillian, I want to help—you know I do—but I’ll end up saying, ‘What was I thinking?’”

  Jillian jumped on the softening tone. “Megs, if you don’t do it, they might cancel the tour, and Derek and I will spend the summer apart. And he is this close”she showed half an inch with her fingers—“to popping the question. Do you really want that on your conscience?”

  Megan gave her a look—cancel the tour my eye—and checked her watch one last time. “Time’s up. I’m off to the library.” Turning back to Jillian, she smiled and added, “I’ll think about it.”

  ***

  In the late cool of the evening, Megan lay on her cranberry colored duvet, immersed in the soothing lamplight of the apartment bedroom. Ultimately, the Blind Date had called with a legitimate roommate emergency—she could hear the intercom announcement for a doctor in the background—so she had stayed at the apartment, being spared her typical Friday-night trek to the library.

  Gazing at her bulletin board to the right, she reached up and fingered a tarnished gold running medal hanging from a silky blue ribbon. Next to it, she traced down her “My Goals” list. It seemed an era ago, though it was just last fall. Megan had felt the same senior zest as her friends, knowing this degree was it, unless she inherited a fortune. Already she had taken longer than most to finish, paying her own way through. But education and all that went with it made her tingle—it was opportunity and adventure, and she was zealous to make it count. Or had been. Megan stared at the goal sheet, line after line of overactive sentences in red: Learn Italian, Climb the Alps, Get a Master’s Degree.

  And then he had come, softly padding through her life like a patient predator, waiting. Promises and playing her, pulling her in, making her feel that she was everything—loved, adored, The One. His world became her world until she’d lost sight of her own horizon. And she had forgotten those goals, at first for the joy of him. But then, with the betrayal, and numb shock of the truth, she’d been unable to conceive of achieving anything at all.

  Megan rolled over, her back to the bulletin board. Tuesday—three short days. A once-in-a-lifetime experience, Jillian had said. People gave their eyeteeth for it, she had said. Three days to a new start and another world, or at least avoiding the old one. It wasn’t a tough choice. This was the New Megan after all. So what was stopping her?

  A gray feeling settled on her, suffocating her potential summer joy. Megan closed her eyes. She hated this feeling that obstructed her happiness just when something new or good entered her life. The past was over, done. That was then. She could move on—needed to move on—but an invisible hand grabbed at her waist and held her back from happiness, making her doubt herself and unable to trust those she loved. Or wanted to love. Or thought she loved.

  She could still see him, sitting there on the couch, arms spread out across the back, his legs relaxed, like he was enjoying himself. Smiling that smile, with the dimple, telling her it was over. He’d made his choice and it wasn’t her, or the three others she hadn’t known about. Then he had told her, easily, about dating all four of them at the same time—for an apartment contest, no less. How he and his roommates had ranked them on a list of essential things—body shape, cooking, cleaning, income potential after marriage. And described the cartoon racing lanes with little magazine swimsuit bodies, and moving them toward the finish line.

  She had stared at him, disbelieving, her emotions fluctuating through surprise, disgust, anger, and then numbing shock. His expressions, his arrogance, his cool deliberateness about it all. It was beyond her understanding. He had pursued her, lured her on the pretense of love, even talked to her about marriage and family. Jackson had been everything to her, had made himself everything.

  When she’d found her voice and asked why, he had laughed outright. It had been a game, he said. Too bad the girls had taken it so seriously, and she had lost, didn’t she get that? That’s when he had shaken his head. Pathetic, he had called her. Naïve. And to make sure to clean the bathroom as it was Thursday.

  She had turned and left then. Days later she had still sifted through the shrapnel. He had been her first true love. Shell-shocked, she had tried to comprehend this new Jackson she had only now seen—cold, callous, completely foreign. And suddenly, she was ten years old and being told that Daddy had left and wasn’t coming back. Those same feelings had washed over her—stunned, betrayed. At the time she hadn’t known how to react. Following her mom’s lead, she stuffed her feelings far down inside, avoiding difficult emotions and putting her energies into non-emotional things—track, tennis. Facts she could record, things she could hold onto, or hit. Or pretend to run away from.

  Megan cringed. She still regr
etted going back to Jackson at all, returning the next week to follow through on her commitment to the cleaning contract. But mainly it was to prove he hadn’t won, that he hadn’t devastated her the way he thought or seemed to relish. At first, showing him the same ambivalence he had shown her, she had cleaned. But it had felt wrong—this wasn’t her way of doing things, and playing his game only made her more like him. That had been the moment of realization, of understanding just how much he had influenced her. So she had quit, and made sure he got the message loud and clear.

  And yet, even after saying so, even after finally leaving, he still had some kind of hold on her that she couldn’t figure out. With any other guy she wouldn’t have put up with being treated that way for a minute. But she had taken it, and that’s what bothered her. Where had she gone? How had she, Megan, lost herself in this man, without even seeing it?

  Well, it wouldn’t happen again.

  Megan took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It had taken months to get to back to where she was. Now she was faced with a new reality, a possible cruise ship full of those same kinds of people, those kinds of men. Superficial. Stage performers. Say one thing and do another. Had she learned enough yet? Could she trust herself to recognize hypocrisy, to be safe from making the same mistake?

  Megan sat up, clearing her mind and clinging to the facts. This cruise tour could be the opportunity for a fresh start. With the money earned she would have options, even to create a new life somewhere else—no distractions, no detours. And the truth was clear: it was either a cruise and The Unknown, or a summer dealing with the presence of him, the Must Forget.

  I can do this, can’t I? Megan tried to recapture her old bold self. I can do this until I know what else to do, to find the real me, to trust myself again.

  But after Jackson, was that possible?

  Before more doubts cascaded down her mind, she picked up her cell phone and dialed. “Jillian? Okay, you win. I’m in.”