One Way Ticket

by Tricia O'Malley

  “Well, now, that’s just plain churlish.”

  “Isn’t it? I now have no place to live, no job, and no boyfriend. So, yes, it’s been a bad day for me as well. What’s your story?” Paige couldn’t believe she was unloading on this poor woman, but CeCe seemed genuinely interested.

  “My events manager quit! Just up and quit, for no reason at all. With a high season full of retreats coming up. Can you imagine?”

  “I can imagine that is quite stressful.”

  “I’m in a right tizzy about it, I am.”

  Paige heard ice cubes clinking in a glass in the background, as though someone was swirling their cocktail in the air.

  “Well, I’m canceling the retreat for Yoga Soulone as they won’t have a coordinator to run it while on Poco Poco Island. That should ease some of your immediate stress.”

  “Wait!” CeCe exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry, I just don’t see how it would work. I handle everything for Horatio. He’s going to realize that once I leave and this retreat will fall apart.”

  “Forget Horatio. But, what a name, if I do say so myself. Anywho, darling, I’d love it if you’d come work for me.”

  “Excuse me?” Paige said, pulling the phone away and then putting it back to her ear.

  “Yes, yes, this is exactly what’s needed. You dropped into my lap at the most prolific of times.”

  Paige wasn’t sure “prolific” was the correct word, but she didn’t have time to question CeCe as the woman rattled on.

  “You’re a coordinator. I just lost a coordinator. You know yoga and all that…woo-woo stuff.”

  “Woo-woo stuff?” Paige raised an eyebrow again. Oh, if only Horatio could hear this woman.

  “Oh, please, my dear, don’t let me offend you. To each their own and all that. It’s how we make our money anyway. Say you’ll take it, please.”

  “Take it…the job, that is? You’re offering me an events coordinator job at your hotel?”

  “Well, we can’t really be called a hotel. Perhaps we are. A small hotel. A boutique hotel!” CeCe exclaimed. “And we’d love to have you come work for us. At least for the high season? See how it goes?”

  “But…what about work visas? Residency? Can I just do that?”

  “Of course, darling. Americans can come for six months at a time before they need residency,” CeCe said. “Wait, are you American? Where did you say you were from?”

  “From the Yoga Soulone Studio in Santa Cruz, California.”

  “Of course, lovely to meet you…”

  “Paige.” Paige almost laughed.

  “Paige! Perfect. Darling. Please. Help an anguished woman out? I’d be destitute without you.”

  “Um…”

  “Room and board are included, of course. We’re right on the water, with a lovely beach. I’m sure you’ve seen our brochure?”

  Paige picked up the glossy brochure on the desk in front of her. Her tear had smudged the lettering on the front. Despite her current turmoil, the sandy beach with its striped umbrellas and colorful hammocks did look incredibly appealing. Or maybe it was because of her current turmoil that it was even more appealing? Hard to say, really. Either way…

  “You’ve got a deal, CeCe. When do you need me?”

  “Tomorrow?” CeCe asked and Paige shook her head and laughed.

  “I’ll see about changing my ticket and email you with my details.”

  “Perfect! Oh darling, what a serendipitous day it has been. Mariposa! Another martini please…”

  Paige stared at the brochure as CeCe clicked off and wondered if she’d lost her damned mind or if, for once, things were actually working out in her favor.

  Chapter Three

  Paige grabbed the seat in front of her as the plane lurched, dipping on the wind, her stomach dropping with it. She eyed the pilot, who mopped his face with a towel a few seats in front of her. Was he sick? Or was he just sweating this much because it was ungodly hot in this tin-can of an airplane currently hurtling toward a speck of an island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea? Tearing her eyes away from the pilot, she trained her gaze outside the window and focused on the propellers blurring as they moved. That didn’t help either, Paige realized, as she eyed the screws holding the wheels of the plane on. It would just take one to pop off and the wheel would plummet to the crystalline water below them.

  Gulping a breath, Paige hugged her purse on her lap and wondered again why she’d had to change her flights. Surely, another week couldn’t have mattered that much, not when Tranquila Inn was hiring internationally? Instead, she’d rescheduled her flights. Because this was an “off” day to get to Poco Poco Island, apparently, the travel agent had routed Paige through a sister island.

  The travel agent had failed to mention she’d be offloaded from her air-conditioned jet to a six-seater prop plane, however. Grateful she’d decided to only bring her one duffle bag, for that was all the weight limit allowed on this small plane, Paige had tucked into her miniscule seat and closed her eyes for takeoff. Even she was surprised when the whirring of the engine threatened to send her to sleep, but that was more likely due to the last two nights of minimal rest. Paige had crashed at her friend Jane’s house, who’d kindly offered up her couch for sleeping. With three kids under the age of five, there wasn’t much that could be done about noise or sleep, but Paige had been grateful to have a place to stay anyway. Jane had been kind enough to stash the rest of Paige’s stuff in their shed out back, and with a quick goodbye, Paige had been off on her adventure.

  Another dip in the plane ensured she’d not actually be able to fall asleep – what with the threat of an immediate and painful death and all – and instead Paige worked on her yoga breathing to calm herself.

  “Not long now,” the man in the seat across from her said, the music of the islands in his voice. “It’s only a short flight.”

  “Thanks,” Paige said, biting her lips together.

  “Are you on vacation?”

  “No, I’m headed to Poco Poco Island to work, actually,” Paige smiled.

  “Ah, that’s nice. It’s a small island. I’m certain we’ll see you around. Where will you be working?”

  “At Tranquila Inn.”

  The man’s eyes widened in his face and he slapped his thigh, letting out a loud laugh, before he nudged the man next to him and spoke quietly to him. His seat partner craned his neck to look at Paige, before shaking his head and murmuring unintelligibly.

  “Is that a bad thing?” Paige piped up, eager for more information, grabbing the seat in front of her again as the plane took a particularly large dip.

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine. There, see? We’ll be arriving now.” The man pointed out the front window and Paige was distracted by the small landing strip that seemed to be coming at them way too fast. Closing her eyes, she held her breath until they bumped across the tarmac, skidding to a stop much too haphazardly for Paige.

  “All right, everyone!” the pilot boomed, startling Paige and the other three people on the flight. “Welcome to Poco Poco Island! If you live here, welcome home. If you’re visiting, we hope you enjoy your stay.”

  “Not if you’re working for Tranquila,” the man next to her said, and everyone on the plane broke into laughter.

  “Wait…what does that mean? What am I getting into?” Paige asked, but by then the pilot had opened the door and put a little stool on the tarmac for people to step down. She was the last off, and by the time she waited for the pilot to hand her the duffle bag he’d stored in the back, the other passengers were gone.

  “Sir, is there something wrong with Tranquila Inn?” Paige asked the pilot, who had shaded glasses covering his eyes.

  “Not at ’tall, miss. Don’t let ’em get to you.” With that, he disappeared to fill out a clipboard and motioned to a few people who waited on the tarmac, their luggage at their feet. It appeared the pilot and his plane would load up, turn around and go back to the other island – like a taxi – and she wondered
how often people bounced around the islands that way.

  Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, Paige pulled her sunglasses from her purse and walked across the boiling hot tarmac toward the customs sign, regretting her choice of jeans. She’d already tied her cardigan around her waist, but there wasn’t much else she could do but sweat and wait to get to her new home so she could change out of her long pants. It wasn’t worth digging through her pack in the airport bathroom just to feel marginally cooler.

  Breezing through customs, as she was the only one in line and the agent wasn’t interested in making conversation, Paige walked to the front of the small airport and into the carpark. There, she shaded her eyes and looked around for a woman who would resemble one Ms. CeCe Alderidge. Not that she had any clue what this woman looked like, but she’d painted a picture of a free-wheeling older woman draped in a colorful sarong, or perhaps a wide-brimmed hat.

  She never did respond to your email.

  That thought had worked its way through Paige’s mind more than once on the trip down, but she’d taken it with a grain of salt. Clearly the woman was overwhelmed, and likely managing everything on her own. She’d been very adamant about offering Paige a job and Paige had every faith she’d make good on it. Or was that Horatio’s voice in her head? She’d been second-guessing everything he’d taught her over the past couple of years, and one of them was that they were supposed to innately trust the good in people. But how could she trust the good in people when the person teaching her that lesson had lied? Well, in his version of events it wasn’t lying, but Paige was not ready to entertain that version even in the slightest.

  It pleased her to no end that he’d already started calling, and leaving voicemails with questions about the business. Actually, only with questions about the business. She’d ignored every call, and in doing so, slowly took her power back. It would be baby steps for a while since she still felt shaky, but there was nothing like a new adventure to force her to keep moving forward.

  Looking around and seeing nobody in particular who looked to be waiting for the occupants of this flight, Paige moved into the shade and cursed her choice of jeans once more. Dropping her pack at her feet, Paige pulled the hair tie from her wrist and bundled her mass of dark hair in a ragged knot on top of her head. Immediate relief greeted her as the breeze tickled the back of her neck, and she leaned against the wall to take in her surroundings.

  “Taxi?” A man called to her from where he sat playing dominos at a rickety table on the sidewalk with another man.

  “Um, maybe. I thought someone was supposed to pick me up, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “You let me know.”

  “Okay,” Paige said, sliding her phone from her purse and turning it on. While it searched for data, Paige went back to observing where she’d landed. The parking lot of the airport was small, maybe fitting thirty cars at best, and a ragged road brimming with potholes ran parallel to the airport outside the car park. Across the street was a small food truck, a pebble beach, and the bluest water Paige had ever seen. She immediately wanted to take off her clothes and dive in. The vibrating of her phone in her hand pulled her attention back from the water, and she looked down to see a few emails and text messages show up.

  None of which were from Tranquila Inn.

  “Sir?” Paige called, picking up her bag and striding to where the men continued their fierce game of dominos.

  “You do need a taxi.”

  “I do.”

  “Where you headed?”

  “I’m going to Tranquila Inn.”

  “Oh, I can’t help you then.” The men’s eyes met over the domino board.

  “What? Why?”

  “Can’t do it.”

  “Why not? You just asked if I needed one. Please…I don’t have any other option.”

  “How you payin’?” The man, clad in jeans and a button-down, with not a drop of sweat on his face, leaned back to look at her.

  “I can pay.”

  “Did they say they’d pay?”

  “Who? The inn?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, they didn’t. I will pay. I have cash.”

  “Let me see it.”

  “That’s…no, I’m not letting you see my cash. That’s not a smart thing for a woman traveling alone to do,” Paige huffed.

  “She’s right,” the other man pointed out.

  “Fine, fine. I’ll take you. But you give me the cash before you get out or I will drive you right back here.”

  “Ohhh…kay…” Paige drew that word out. “How much?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Is that the local price or the tourist price?”

  “That’s your price.” The man looked her up and down.

  “Listen, I don’t have a lot of money and now I have no clue what’s going on with my job at Tranquila Inn and I’d really like it if you were fair with me.”

  “Oh, you’re working there? Hmm, okay, I’ll do it for twenty. Mainly because you’re going to need the money. Unless you talk to Jack. Make sure you talk to Jack. He’s good for it.”

  “Who’s Jack?” Paige asked, following the man as he grabbed her duffle bag and put it in the back of a truck before ushering her inside.

  “You don’t know Jack? You’ll need to be knowing him if you plan to get by at Tranquila.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’ll see.” The driver shrugged and turned his reggae music up, bursting out of the parking lot at a speed that had Paige’s pulse rocketing. Looking around for a seatbelt and seeing none, she clutched her purse on her lap and prayed, for the second time that day, that her death wouldn’t be imminent. Since conversation seemed to be out, Paige gazed out the window and did her best to take in her new home.

  The road they zipped along hugged the water until they got closer to town, where the brightly colored buildings clamored over each other for precious waterfront space. Shops painted in bright gold, brilliant blue, and hot pink were tucked next to restaurants and hotels, and for a small island there seemed to be a fairly vibrant downtown. All five blocks of it, Paige realized, as they cruised through the main drag and back to the winding road in a matter of seconds. That might take some adjustment, she realized, as she saw not a single sign for a Starbucks or a Jamba Juice anywhere to be found. Hotels lined the water on this side of the little town, and Paige eagerly read each sign as they passed, wondering which one was Tranquila Inn. Only when the hotels faded away, as did any other buildings, did Paige begin to wonder if the taxi driver was taking her for a ride.

  “Sir? Is it not in that row of hotels?” Paige pitched her voice above the music, and the driver turned and just shook his head at her before continuing to drum the beat of the throbbing music on his steering wheel. Ten minutes later, as they wound along the island, the taxi driver took a sudden left and bumped the taxi down a road overgrown with bushes that slapped against the sides of the van. Paige’s eyebrows rose as her stomach did a weird little flip. Was this where he was taking her to kill her? Only when they turned a blind corner and rolled to a stop in front of a large thatched reception hall with a hand-carved sign proclaiming “Tranquila Inn” did Paige let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “Let me see the money.” The taxi driver turned and looked at her.

  “Oh, right.” Paige dug in her purse and pulled out a twenty, as well as a few bills for a tip, and a smile spread on the man’s face.

  “A tip? That’s not common here. I like Americans.”

  “Oh, well, thank you.” Paige made a mental note to learn the customs, though she doubted she’d get out of the habit of tipping anytime soon.

  Without another word, the driver deposited her bag in front of the taxi, all but hauled Paige out, and tore away before she could rethink her decision. She took a moment to breathe, trying to let her chakras open or whatever Horatio seemed to think she needed, and surveyed her most recent life decision.

  Tranquila Inn was comprised of a clust
er of thatched cottages that spread out toward the sea, with the main reception area smack dab in the middle. With a high roof, an open-air design, and a scattering of wicker chairs with tropical patterned cushions, the reception hall was breezy and welcoming. Tranquila Inn seemed to live up to its name. Surrounded by green on three sides – the bush that the taxi driver had torn his way through – and the blue of the ocean out front, Paige could now understand why it was set further away from town. It was meant to be an oasis of sorts, she surmised, and picking up her bag, went to find the reception desk.

  “Who are you?” A voice like a whiskey-soaked razor blade rasped at her from a cove of bushes by the entrance. Paige shrieked and dropped her bag, holding her hand to her heart as a man, who had previously been crouching, stood to study her.

  “Oh my,” Paige breathed, looking him up and down. He was easily over six feet, wearing a baseball hat, sunglasses, and no shirt. Paige had to gulp at the tanned muscles that rippled across his chest. For a moment, her brain slid sideways into a decidedly naughty image of a very sweaty and very sexy island romance, before she caught his scent on the wind from the ocean. Deodorant was obviously not something he believed in. Or cleanliness, for that matter, judging from the dirt and sweat that streaked across those lamentably stunning pecs. Sighing, Paige pushed her fantasies aside and smiled at him.

  “Hi, I’m Paige Lowry. I’m looking for reception?”

  “We’re not open yet.”

  “Um, aren’t you a hotel? As in you’re always open?”

  “Not until the first group of the season arrives.” The man turned as though to leave her, and Paige surprised herself by reaching out to grab his arm — a very muscular arm which Paige barely resisted squeezing. She dropped her hand.

  “Wait. I’m not a guest. I work here. Can you direct me to the owner?” Paige assumed he must be a maintenance worker or the gardener, judging from his appearance.

  “You work here.” It was said in the same tone as someone who’d just found a hair in their food.

  “I…I do, yes,” Paige said, straightening as he took a long slow look. At five feet three and a quarter inches tall, Paige could credit yoga for keeping her muscular, but there wasn’t much she could do about her ample hips or generous bosom. Sometimes her curves got in the way during yoga, not like the much bendier Lily or Nadia—the two women she’d found in her bed not forty-eight hours ago. Sweat dripped down her back, her front – hell, even beneath her boobs – but she held the gardener’s eyes – well...his sunglasses – until he looked away.