“Of course you are,” Allie said. “You’re going to show Jennifer Lopez a thing or two.” She draped Tina’s arms over her shoulder, half-carrying her as if she was a wounded athlete needing assistance off the field. “Another few steps . . . come on, Tina, keep walking . . .”
“How much did your wife have to drink?” Savannah asked Gio.
“I wasn’t counting,” he said. “But it couldn’t have been more than the rest of us.”
Allie was easing Tina into a cushion-covered lounge chair and covering her with towels. “I think we need to get something nonalcoholic into your system,” she said, her voice carrying easily over the water. “Maybe some Evian now, and a few crackers in a bit.”
Savannah tuned out and began to wonder if Gio would go to bed at the same time as Tina, or if he’d stay up. She didn’t feel like going to sleep, not now. It wasn’t even midnight!
She glanced up as Dwight pulled himself onto the dock. He and Gio were complete opposites, she thought as she treaded water and considered them. Dwight was the guy who’d bring you flowers and open your car door on your dates. Gio was the bad boy with the motorcycle and tattoos who’d drop you off on your doorstep and roar away without waiting to see if you’d gotten in safely.
She’d always thought Gio was devoted to Tina, but tonight she’d definitely picked up signals from him. They were the only two in the water now. What would happen if she glided closer to him, maybe giving him a peek at her breasts through the transparent veil of water?
An unexpected image of Gary and The Nurse, together in bed, floated into her mind. Those visions had tortured her during the first few weeks after Gary left. She’d been unable to sleep some nights, wondering if he and The Nurse were having sex as she lay there, alone.
Maybe they were having sex at this very moment! Gary could be pulling that slut into a supply closet at work, flashing his perfect teeth in a smile as he lifted up her white skirt and she squealed a protest that wasn’t truly a protest . . . Damn it, he was still officially her husband!
Since her husband was screwing someone else, shouldn’t Savannah be allowed to flirt with someone else’s husband? She blinked as she tried to think through the logic. It seemed flawed, but she wasn’t sure how.
She knew what she should do. She should get out of the water and help Tina into the house and maybe have some water and a few of those crackers herself.
But she didn’t want to.
Chapter Eight
* * *
Tuesday
WHERE WAS GIO?
Tina rolled over in bed and groaned. The digital clock reported that it was just after three a.m. Her head throbbed, and her mouth felt stuffed with cotton. She forced herself to sit up and, clutching the edge of the mattress for balance, swung her legs over the edge. She had to pee so desperately it was painful.
She stumbled toward the bathroom, sat down on the toilet, and felt instantaneous relief in at least one part of her body. But a moment later, she realized her teeth and tongue felt vile. She cupped her hands under the sink’s tap and gulped water, then reached for her toothbrush. Had she gotten sick last night? Yes, she remembered. Allie had held back her hair while she’d vomited into the toilet.
The thought of it made Tina’s stomach lurch again, but she took a deep breath, rinsed out a washcloth in cold water, and rubbed it across her face until the nausea passed.
She’d forgotten how awful a hangover felt. Her hands were shaking, and even her eye sockets felt sore. She brushed her teeth, then started to get back into bed before remembering it was empty. Gio hadn’t come to their room last night. Something was bothering her, something that had happened while they were all in the water. She fished through hazy fragments of memories until it came to her: Gio had called Savannah “babe.” Maybe it wasn’t the most creative term of affection, but it was Gio’s private nickname for Tina.
Jealousy flared in Tina, and she suddenly felt wide awake. She remembered how the two of them had flirted in the water—she couldn’t remember the details, but she recalled feeling angry at a distance. Last night the alcohol had put up a barrier against the full force of her feelings, but now her rage surged. Where the hell was her husband?
She flung open the door of their bedroom and walked down the hall, to Savannah’s room. The door was shut. Tina didn’t bother to knock—she tore it open. But the bed was empty.
Where were they? They couldn’t be down at the beach, could they?
She rushed into the living room and found them.
Gio was on one couch and Savannah was sprawled on another. Half-full margarita glasses littered the coffee table. They were both sound asleep.
“Get up,” Tina said, nudging Gio’s shoulder. He opened his eyes but didn’t seem to see her.
“What are you doing out here?” Tina demanded.
“Sleeping.” His eyes closed again.
“Oh, no you’re not,” Tina said. “Get up and come back to our bed!”
Gio groaned, but he stood up and followed her down the hall. He flopped on their bed, still fully clothed.
“What in the fuck happened between you two?” Tina asked.
Gio rolled over and looked at her. “Babe?”
“Don’t you dare call me that!” Tina’s anger hit a fever pitch. She’d devoted herself to raising their family—sacrificing part of herself in the process—and Gio was flirting with her friend while she lay in bed, sick. What did he do on the job all day? Were there women there, too—interior designers who tottered around in short skirts and high heels to survey the property? Or maybe some of the construction workers were women—fit, strong chicks who cracked jokes and clinked beers with the guys at the end of the day. Did Gio take off his shirt in the heat, strutting around like a rooster while she scrubbed toilets and cared for their children?
“Nothing happened,” Gio said. His face wore a wounded expression. “I can’t believe you’d think that.”
“You were flirting with her all night!” Tina said. She knew her voice was bordering on a yell, but she didn’t care who could hear. She was still half-drunk, and all she could see was Gio calling Savannah “babe” and— Wait, another image was coming back to her. Savannah pulling off her dress and jumping in the water, and Gio following her.
“I could kill you,” Tina hissed. “This was supposed to be our vacation. Ours!”
“It is our vacation,” Gio said. “Come here. Do you honestly think I’d do anything with Savannah? You were the one who told me to be nice to her! You said I should talk to her!”
“Don’t touch me,” Tina said, but her voice wasn’t as angry as before. She had said that to Gio, after telling him about the separation.
“You weren’t being nice,” she finally said. “Nice is holding out her chair at dinner, Giovanni. Not naked wrestling in the water.”
“Look, babe—” Gio began, but Tina cut him off.
“Don’t ever call me that again! You called her that!”
Gio exhaled and began again. “Tina,” he said. “Nothing happened. We didn’t wrestle, and I wasn’t naked. Sure, I paid some extra attention to Savannah because you told me she’s going through a tough time. I like her; she’s a fun girl. But that’s it. I wouldn’t touch her.”
Tina studied him. Should she believe him? She knew how religious Gio was; adultery was a big sin, and she’d never suspected he’d cross that line. But damn it, he’d gone too far. Or had the alcohol addled her perception of the night? Her head felt thick, and her throat was dry; she was too confused to continue the conversation.
“Don’t be nice to her anymore,” Tina finally said. “Treat her like everyone else. No—leave her alone, okay? Don’t go near her.”
“Okay,” Gio said. “Whatever you want. Will you come to bed now?”
Tina shook her head. “I’m getting some juice.”
She left the room and walked through the house to the kitchen, passing Savannah’s form on the couch. Savannah must be cold in nothing but her skimpy—no, mak
e that slutty—dress, but Tina didn’t bother to cover her up with the throw from the back of the couch. Let her get sick. Maybe her nose would become all red and runny and disgusting.
She made her way into the kitchen, filled a tall glass with lemonade, and drank it down quickly. There were some chocolate-chip cookies on a plate, and she gobbled one to help settle her stomach.
Then she started to wander back into the living room, but something—a faint noise, or maybe just instinct—made her turn in the opposite direction. She stepped through the darkness until she was at the edge of the room and looked out toward the pool.
She could barely make out two figures sitting close together on the lounge chairs. They weren’t touching, but they were leaning toward each other, talking intently.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized it was Allie and Dwight.
What the hell was going on in this house?
* * *
“I think I’ll get a cup of coffee,” Pauline said to her mother. “Would you like one?”
She’d arrived at the hospital a few hours earlier, after taking a cab from the airport to the house to pick up her car. She’d checked in at the reception desk and had been directed to a small waiting room. She found her mother there, sitting on a couch. The first thing Pauline noticed was that her mother wore a navy suit with a string of pearls and low heels, and her posture was perfectly straight. Change her surroundings, and she could be at a country club for a ladies’ lunch.
But as she drew closer, Pauline realized her mother’s face betrayed her turmoil; she was pale, and her rose-colored lipstick had rubbed off. Most of her lips’ natural color had been worn away, too, by age, leaving her looking unexpectedly vulnerable. Pauline had always borne a strong resemblance to her mother, and she realized with a start that she was looking into a mirror of herself in the future. She became aware that her own hand was moving up to touch her mouth, and she stilled it.
“No, thank you,” her mother said. “I better not have any more caffeine.”
“Be back in a minute,” Pauline said.
She stood up and glanced at her slim Chopard watch as she moved down the quiet hallway: a few minutes before seven a.m. Therese’s condition hadn’t worsened since Pauline arrived, and a nurse had said she’d inform them of any changes. A doctor would also come by around eight to check on Therese and answer any questions Pauline had. She could think of only one, but she knew the doctor wouldn’t be able to answer it: How much longer, exactly?
She didn’t want to be away from Jamaica for another night. Such an absence would only raise questions from Dwight and the others, but more important, she’d been feeling a strange undercurrent forming at the villa. It was the same sense she always picked up at parties: You felt it when the wine was flowing, when the food was good and abundant, when conversations were clicking and a buzz of energy was building in the room. And you knew when things were falling flat, even if all the right elements seemed to be in place. Sometimes it took just one spark to set things down either course—an outrageously funny comment to turn around a dull conversation or, conversely, a few yawns that became as contagious as the flu.
The source of magnetic energy in Jamaica, she suspected, was Savannah. And it wasn’t completely positive.
Pauline hadn’t been able to turn on her iPhone in the main part of the hospital, but as the elevator doors opened into the lobby, she switched it on. No new calls. She thought of texting Dwight to say good morning, but she didn’t want to wake him.
She blinked against the bright morning light flooding in through the hospital’s big windows as she walked to the kiosk by the front doors. The lobby was almost empty at this time of day, with just two women working behind the front desk and a guy flipping through a well-worn Reader’s Digest in the waiting area.
“A large latte, please,” Pauline said to the middle-aged woman behind the kiosk’s counter.
“Anything else?” the woman asked. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ballerina’s bun, and her hands were slim and elegant—not what you’d expect from a barista who spent all day around steam and heat. Maybe it was a new job for the woman; she could be a recent divorcée who’d had to go back to work to make ends meet. How sobering to think that one bad choice could change the entire course of your life. Pauline said a silent prayer of gratitude for Dwight.
“Sorry,” Pauline said to explain the pause. “Just thinking . . . A cup of herbal tea with honey, too.”
“The honey’s by the napkins,” the barista said as she accepted the twenty Pauline held out and made change. Pauline tucked a five-dollar bill in the tip jar, then doctored the drinks and carried them back to the little waiting room. Her mother didn’t seem to have moved.
“I brought tea, just in case you changed your mind,” Pauline said, setting it on the table in front of her mother and sitting back down.
“Thank you,” her mother said, but she didn’t touch it. She cleared her throat. “We should go in to see Therese in a bit. Maybe after the doctor comes.”
“Of course,” Pauline said, even as her heart sped up. She’d been following her mother’s cues, and although she’d wondered why they hadn’t gone into Therese’s room yet, she didn’t want to ask why. She didn’t want it to come across as an accusation. And then there was the fact that being so close to death frightened Pauline. Her father had been healthy up until the day the brain aneurysm instantly killed him. His casket had been closed at the funeral, so Pauline’s final memory of him was a vision of him standing on his front steps, waving good-bye as she climbed into her car after joining her parents for a Sunday dinner.
Would they be there at the moment Therese passed away? she wondered. Probably, she decided. She wondered if she had any Valium in her purse.
She took a sip of coffee and tried to think of something to say. Her resemblance to her mother was more than skin-deep; neither of them felt comfortable with emotional talks or gushy physical displays. But that didn’t mean they didn’t love each other; love was what had made Pauline run for the plane as soon as she’d heard the news.
“I thought maybe you’d like to come stay with us for a bit . . . afterward,” Pauline said. “Or maybe you and I could take a little trip. Just somewhere for a few days together.”
“I’d like that,” her mother said. “Yes, getting away would be good.”
They sat quietly again, the silence broken only when Pauline finished her coffee and set the empty paper cup on the table.
“Have you thought about arrangements?” she finally asked. Bringing it up felt almost unseemly in this small, sterile room just steps away from where Therese lay, still breathing. But Pauline felt compelled to ask; she needed to give her mind something to focus on. Because in the silences, she was beginning to picture her sister. Had she changed much in the months since Pauline had seen her? Was her hair still blond? Would her blue eyes be open when they went into her room?
“I thought just a very small service,” her mother said. “Family and Therese’s caretakers only.”
Pauline nodded. She knew there would be no death notice in the paper, no sympathy cards from acquaintances. There would be only a gray gravestone and a wreath of flowers. What would Therese like? she wondered. Not roses. Something soft and pretty, with no thorns. Daisies, maybe.
She’d have to tell Dwight about Therese’s death, but she wouldn’t tell him that it had happened during his birthday trip, and that she’d been in the room. She could say it was sudden; maybe she’d pretend Therese had died on the day they were scheduled to leave. She didn’t like lying to him again but couldn’t see any other way to avoid putting a big damper on the vacation.
A man in a white coat lightly rapped on the open door of the waiting room. “I’m Dr. Klavin.”
Pauline and her mother both stood up.
“Is she . . .” her mother began.
“I just checked on Therese,” the doctor said. He was short and balding, with big brown eyes, and Pauline was struc
k by the thought that he looked more like a plumber than a doctor. “No real change.”
“I see,” her mother said.
“How much longer, do you think?” Pauline blurted. She almost gasped from the shock of releasing the question that had been lurking in her mind.
“I don’t think it will be more than a day or so,” the doctor said. He didn’t seem to think the question was unusual. Maybe, Pauline realized with a hot rush of shame, it was because he thought she was dreading the event and wanted to steel herself.
She ducked her head, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” the doctor said.
Pauline forced herself to nod before he walked away.
“We’ll go see her now,” her mother said. She took a deep breath.
Pauline swallowed. “Do you mind if I just use the ladies’ room first?”
“Of course,” her mother said. “I’ll wait here for you.”
Pauline hurried down the hallway and found a small bathroom. She set her purse on the counter by the sink and fumbled into the zippered inside compartment, but she’d taken her last Valium on the plane the previous night, so she could get some sleep.
“Damn,” she whispered.
She turned on the taps and washed her hands, because she couldn’t think of what else to do. She ran them under the air from the hand dryer, welcoming the heat. Then she twisted the door handle and walked back out, toward Therese, the woman who both was and wasn’t her sister.
* * *
They’d needed this lazy day, Savannah reflected. Without Pauline flitting about, organizing activities and checking on everyone, the mood at the villa had become much more relaxed—or maybe it just seemed that way to Savannah. The strong sun was tempered by a delicious breeze, and everyone had wandered down to the beach after a late breakfast. They’d carried books and magazines, and Allie had dug out that badminton set. A few people had played a game or two, and the guys had tossed around a Nerf football in the shallows, but mostly everyone had just lain on the sand, lulled by the crash of the waves that had gained in strength since the previous day.
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