The Cursed Canoe

by Frankie Bow

  The wine bottle dropped from my hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “DAVISON! WHAT ARE you doing here?”

  Davison didn’t seem embarrassed at all. He grinned at me, like a kid who’d found an unexpected gift under the Christmas tree. Surprise!

  He raised himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. I quickly looked down at my feet, but it was too late. I already had a vivid new image for my catalog of Reasons to Never Touch the Hotel Bedspread.

  “No need pretend like you’re surprised. I heard Dad leave you the message about him and me switching rooms.”

  “What message?” I shouted at the floor as I backed toward the door. “Why did you switch rooms?”

  “He wanted a nonsmoking room.”

  “Where’s your father?”

  “He’s all the way down in 310. Hey. Get over here.”

  Donnie was down on the third floor. That information must have been in the second voice mail. The garbled one, the one Emma had talked me out of answering. I’d have a word with her about that.

  “I’ll get out of here and let you get dressed,” I stammered, fumbling for the door handle.

  “Come on, relax!” Davison’s hot, minty breath was in my ear. “We don't have to tell Dad!”

  I felt like I was going to pass out from the combination of embarrassment and overpowering cologne. Somehow I managed to get the door open.

  “Eh, no big deal, ah?” He called after me as I fled down the hallway. “Thanks for the wine!”

  Already halfway to the stairwell, I hesitated. The wine! I’d spent so much time choosing something I knew Donnie liked, good quality but not too extravagant. Should I go back and get it?

  Don’t be an idiot, Molly. Cut your losses and run.

  I sprinted down the fire exit stairs all the way to the lobby, speed-walked to the hotel gift shop, and hastily grabbed an overpriced bottle of mediocre merlot. The stairwell entrance on the ground floor had locked behind me, so I took the elevator back up to the third floor, trying to ignore the elevator music, an instrumental version of “Afternoon Delight.” I no longer cared who might see me walking around with a bottle of wine. I had mortification fatigue.

  I reached my room, pulled the door shut behind me, and deadbolted it. Davison’s noxious fragrance was clinging to my skin and clothing, so I stuffed my clothes into the plastic laundry bag and took another shower. Once I had dried off and dressed again, I called room 310. The room phone rang unanswered, so I tried Donnie’s cell phone next. It went right to voice mail.

  Room 310 was just a few doors down. I wasn’t feeling in any way amorous, but I wasn’t about to let Davison ruin my plan. I buttoned up my blouse, pulled my hair back into a bun, and took the newly-purchased bottle of wine the few yards down the hall.

  Donnie opened the door before I finished knocking. He was talking on his cell phone.

  “Oh, here she is now,” he said. “Dress nice for dinner. Don’t be late. Okay, see ya.”

  He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it.

  “Molly. You got my message. More or less. Come on in.”

  Donnie had the shades pulled all the way back. Hot afternoon sunlight flooded the room.

  “I brought us some wine.” I realized, as I handed him the bottle, that it still had the hotel’s price tag on it. Great. Nothing says “I care” like a last-minute purchase from the hotel gift shop.

  “Thanks, Molly. That was sweet of you.” Donnie set the bottle on the dresser next to the television.

  “You leave your bedspread on the bed?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Who was that on the phone?” I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

  “Davison.”

  Did I detect an accusing note in his voice? Maybe I was imagining it.

  “Hey,” I ventured, “You’ll never guess what just—”

  “Yes, he told me what happened.”

  “Seriously? He told you?”

  Donnie shook his head. “The poor boy is so embarrassed.”

  “He’s embarrassed?” I repeated, incredulous. Davison was capable of remorse? This was a day full of surprises.

  “Of course he is,” Donnie said, “you walking in on him when he wasn’t decent. Molly, I know you mainlanders can be very progressive and modern and everything, but we’re a little old-fashioned here.”

  “What?”

  “It’s fine,” Donnie said. “He’ll be all right.”

  “Will he? Well. That’s a relief. As long as he wasn’t traumatized by the experience or anything.”

  “Anyway,” Donnie continued, “I told him to make sure to keep his door locked from now on. You should remember that too, Molly. You never know who could be hanging around.”

  “Great advice.”

  “Well, no harm done,” Donnie said, as if he were trying to convince himself. “I’m sure you didn’t see anything you shouldn’t have.”

  “I...okay, sure.”

  I realized it would be impossible to get my wine back now. The good bottle, I mean, the one I left in Davison’s room. If I hadn’t seen anything I shouldn’t have, as Donnie clearly wanted to believe, what would explain my dropping the wine bottle and leaving it there? Or worse, Donnie might think I lingered longer than necessary, and forgot about the wine. No, my Vino Nobile was a sunk cost. No point in worrying about it. Maybe Davison would surprise me and return it out of fairness and common decency. I wasn’t about to bet on it, though.

  “Donnie,” I protested, “I thought you were staying in that room. I was not expecting to find Davison there. I didn’t even know he was here with you.”

  I pulled out my phone.

  “Here. Let me show you the messages I got from you.”

  Donnie read the transcribed messages.

  “I left you this? Ah. I’m a broom, three-ten.”

  “Oh!” I laughed. Well, more like half-laughed, half-sobbed. “That was supposed to be I’m in room three ten! Sheesh. Next time I’ll call first.”

  “I don’t know why you didn’t. You should have.” Donnie wasn’t laughing.

  I didn’t like his tone, but I let it pass. Arguing about the incident would force me to relive it. And I could tell Donnie found even Davison’s sanitized version of the incident troubling.

  “Well,” he sighed, “you made it here, that’s what matters. And it looks like we have a little time before our dinner reservation. Would you like to—”

  Donnie’s cell phone rang. It was the default ring tone. No frivolous song snippets or movie dialog for him. He snapped it open to check the caller ID.

  “Molly, I’m so sorry. This is Travis. I really have to take this. See you at six for dinner?”

  Donnie hugged me and mussed my hair a little, but he was already well into his conversation. I left him to discuss receivables with his accountant.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I WANDERED OUT INTO the humid afternoon, located the outdoor bar, and ordered the largest and most vulgar item on the cocktail menu. Equipped with an umbrella-topped, fruit-festooned goblet big enough to last me for several hours, I found a just-vacated poolside table and settled in. Tiny towheaded children, lobster-red moms and dads, and corpulent, bearded bikers all frolicked in the hotel pool. The laughter and shrieks of the children and the occasional hearty expletive from the bikers punctuated the steady rumble of motorcycles on the road past the hotel. White vog, the sulfurous, eye-stinging discharge from the island’s active volcano, blurred the horizon. With all of those particulates hanging in the air, tonight’s sunset would be spectacular. At least there was that to look forward to. I sipped my drink—it was tangy, sweet, and disappointingly weak—and tried to relax.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised that Donnie’s work had followed him over here. The surprise was he was able to get away at all. This is what you sign up for when you go into business for yourself. You never truly get a day off. I’d told this to my students many times, but now I was experi
encing it for myself. If Donnie and I ever did get married, I’d have to get used to it.

  But right now I had more immediate concerns than the prospect of Travis the Accountant tagging along on our honeymoon.

  Tonight was my much-anticipated dinner with Donnie, and instead of looking forward to it, I was dreading it. Sure, from Davison’s perspective, I may have come unbidden to his hotel room all perfumed and unbuttoned and holding a bottle of wine, but why did he have to assume I was there for that? I mean, I wasn’t, not with him. I was furious with myself for letting Emma trick me into this whole scheme, which now seemed desperate and sleazy. And the wine! It wasn’t just the money I’d paid for it. It was the time and care I’d spent on choosing something I knew Donnie would like. And the money.

  There was no tactful way to avoid having dinner with Donnie and Davison. Ditching them and joining Emma and her crew would be unfair to Donnie. He had arranged his weekend to come out and spend time with me, after all. Also, if I had dinner with Emma, naturally she would wonder what happened with Donnie and me, and she’d grill me about it in front of everyone. So, no. I couldn’t see any way to get out of it gracefully.

  I worked on my drink until it was nothing but a puddle of pale-blue slush. Then I went back up to my room to change and shower one more time. My mandarin collar cheongsam dress, black satin with red-and-gold embroidered dragons and pavilions, was hanging up in the bathroom to steam out the wrinkles.

  Down by the pool, I had observed my fellow vacationers favored a more casual look. Amphibious shoes, easy-fitting cropped jeans and sherbet-colored t-shirts were the prevailing style. Something like that probably would have been more comfortable than what I’d brought. But the dragon dress, from a vintage boutique in San Francisco, was one of my favorites. And unlike some of the other clothes I’d brought over from the mainland, I could still zip it up.

  Donnie had managed to secure a table out on the lanai of the hotel restaurant and was waiting with Davison by the hostess station when I arrived. The view from the outdoor tables looked like the cover of a tourist brochure. A blazing coral sun melted into the ocean, flanked by silhouetted tiki torches. The natural air pollution from the volcano rendered the sunset as brilliant and florid as the Technicolor drinks they were serving at the outdoor bar. The scalding afternoon heat gave way to pleasant warmth as the sky darkened. To the untrained eye, this might have looked like the start of a pleasant dinner.

  Donnie was dressed appropriately for the occasion, in a pressed navy blue aloha shirt with a white lehua print and black trousers. Davison had thrown on a black tank top featuring an artist’s rendering of a snarling pit bull. The illustration had the effect of a black velvet painting, which I’m sure in Davison’s universe made it classy enough for dining out. Couldn’t Donnie even make him put on a proper shirt? I suppose I should have been grateful that Davison was wearing anything at all.

  The young woman at the hostess station smiled at Donnie.

  “What a beautiful family!” she exclaimed. I felt a little annoyed that Donnie was somehow entitled to take credit for the three of us. Why not compliment me? Not that I’d want anyone to think I was in any way responsible for Davison. The hostess now turned her attention to him:

  “You look exactly like your dad!” Donnie beamed, and Davison preened. I tried not to grimace.

  I ended up sitting across from the two of them as if they were interviewing me. Donnie seemed more relaxed than he had earlier this afternoon. He was probably happy to have Davison along. Come to think of it, this was probably Donnie’s unfinished business in town. Rounding up his prodigal son to come along and ruin my weekend.

  Donnie suggested splitting a bottle of wine and I concurred, perhaps a little too eagerly. Davison, not yet of legal drinking age, ordered a soft drink. I fumed silently as I imagined Davison chugging my Vino Nobile straight from the bottle. Or, worse, making wine coolers out of it. The hostess left the three of us to unfurl our napkins and clank our silverware in uneasy silence. Thanks to the stiff fabric and close cut of my dress, I had no choice but to sit with my back perfectly straight and my knees together. This did not add to the comfort of the situation.

  “The hotel is nice,” I remarked to Donnie. “I like that they have a fridge and a coffeemaker right in the room. You don’t even have to go outside if you don’t want to.” I hoped it didn’t sound like I was planning to stock up on provisions and barricade myself in my hotel room. Which, at the moment, was a tempting idea.

  “It’s not bad,” Donnie said. “I have a view of the pool and a little bit of the ocean.”

  I wondered if he had seen me sulking out by the pool earlier this afternoon. I hoped not. I wanted Donnie to think of me as self-sufficient and unflappable.

  “There was a cockroach in the bathtub when I checked in,” Donnie continued when we had placed our orders, “but the rest of the room seems fine.”

  “I bet Aunty Molly’s afraid of cockroaches.” Davison was talking to his father, but staring directly at me. “I know she’s scared of scorpions. Especially big ones.”

  Over Donnie’s shoulder, I glimpsed Emma and her crew seating themselves around the outdoor bar. And there was Sherry. What were they doing down here drinking when they had a race tomorrow morning? Weren’t they supposed to be having bone broth and wheat grass juice for dinner and going to bed at seven? Fortunately, their backs were to us, and Donnie and Davison’s backs were to them. Unfortunately, Emma had spotted me and was on her way over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I WISHED I COULD SEND Emma a telepathic message: Don’t come over here. Stay right there at the bar. Better yet, leave now and take Sherry with you before anyone sees her.

  “Is that right, Molly?” Donnie asked. “Are you afraid of scorpions? You know, they’re pretty rare in Hawaii.”

  “What?” I tried to bring myself back to the conversation. “Scorpions? They’re disgusting. I hate them.”

  Emma was climbing down from the bar stool and heading over to our table.

  No, Emma! Go back!

  “Those bugs do have a nasty bite,” Donnie agreed. “You have to be careful when you handle them.”

  Davison leaned back in his chair, tucked his fists behind his biceps, and smirked at me.

  “That’s right, Aunty. Careful how you handle.”

  “Davison,” I asked pleasantly, “when do you leave?” I glanced over at Donnie and added, “I mean, when does your school term start?”

  “Gotta go back pretty soon.” He held eye contact with me far longer than necessary. “Better enjoy me while you can, Aunty.”

  I glared back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of having stared me down.

  “He’s flying out Saturday night,” Donnie said. “The flights were better from this side of the island. Davison, I’m glad you could get away from your girlfriend and spare a little time for your family while you’re here.”

  “Eh, Sherry was fun,” Davison declared, “but we’re done.”

  Emma pulled up just as Davison uttered these words. She probably hadn’t recognized the back of his head when she was approaching our table. Now she cast a panicked look back at the bar, where her crew members had settled in.

  I had cringed when Davison mentioned Sherry’s name, but Donnie didn’t seem to connect the dots. Also, “Sherry was fun but we’re done?” Yuck.

  Sherry was still seated at the bar, her back to us. There was no mistaking her distinctive cloud of hair.

  “Oh, your mystery woman has a name now?” Donnie noticed I was looking over his shoulder and turned around to see Emma standing there. “Emma, would you like to join us? We have another seat.”

  Davison turned an ingratiating smile on Emma. “Good evening, Professor Nakamura! Are you here for the Labor Day Race?” Emma glanced down at her outfit. She had been out on the water earlier and was still wearing her board shorts and acid yellow paddling jersey. To her credit, she refrained from sarcasm and said, simply, “Hi, Donnie. Davison, what a
surprise to see you. Molly, I just wanted to come over and say hi. Well, have a nice—”

  “Professor Nakamura,” Davison interrupted, “You, uh, here by yourself or what? Where’s your crew?” He looked past her, back toward the bar where Sherry was sitting.

  “They’re resting up for tomorrow.” Emma deftly stepped to the side to block Davison’s view. He leaned the other way, and she stepped again.

  The waitress arrived with the salads, and Emma took advantage of the distraction to excuse herself. As Donnie and Davison dug in, I watched Emma speed over to the bar and urge her crew members off their bar stools. There was some initial resistance, judging from the indignant arm-waving, but Emma managed to hustle them away from the bar and shoo them offstage, to another section of the hotel. I relaxed and started to eat. I saw Davison sneak a look behind him, but by this time the bar stools were occupied by large men in leather biker vests.

  Davison wiped up the last of his salad dressing with a piece of bread, popped it in his mouth, and licked his fingers. When he was finished with that, he clasped his hands behind his head, flexing his latissimi dorsi and treating me to a panoramic view of his armpits.

  “Sherry was cool,” he declared. “She taught me a lot.” He grinned at me. “Older women, yah?”

  Oh, for crying out loud. I fixed my gaze on my lap and rearranged my napkin so Donnie wouldn’t see me rolling my eyes.

  “So what exactly did she teach you? That you’re able to discuss in mixed company?” Donnie’s indulgent tone infuriated me.

  “She knows a lot about computers,” Davison said. “She showed me this thing online where you can search for someone by clicking on their face. You don’t hafta know their name even.”

  Well good for Sherry, remembering what we talked about in class.

  “Did you search for pictures of yourself?” I asked.

  “Nah,” Davison laughed. “Not me. I’m not that egotistical.”