Playing the Part

by Kimberly Van Meter

  The urge to break something or plug the toilet was strong but when she considered how disappointed Lindy would be, she corralled the impulse and decided to hit the beach instead.

  But as she started down the path, she heard a whole bunch of racket and decided to detour. Whatever was making that noise had to be more exciting than what she had planned.

  She found the source: Lindy’s grandpa, and he was banging around in the garage behind the main building, appearing frustrated as he tossed tools around.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, slamming a tool down on the small workbench and causing the rest of the tools lying around to jitter. “Where is my ratchet set?”

  “What’s a ratchet?” Carys asked from the doorway, curious.

  The man—Lindy called him Pops—jumped at the sound of her voice and smiled, motioning for her to enter. “There you are, sugar bird. I can’t seem to find my favorite ratchet set. I know I left it somewhere in here but I can’t remember where exactly that is. Would you mind helping me look around?”

  Carys hesitated. He’d called her a sugar bird...what was that? “Sure,” she said, sliding into the room, curious. He seemed a nice enough old man. “What are you building?”

  “Your grams has been after me to fix her birdhouse and I’m going to do it if it kills me. Have you seen Grams this morning?”

  Carys stared at the older man with a quizzical expression until she remembered what Lindy had told her about her grandfather’s memory. He must’ve thought she was one of his granddaughters. It was on the tip of her tongue to correct him, but she figured there was little point. He’d probably just freak out, like Lindy said he did when anyone intruded on his fantasy. And to be honest, Carys kind of liked the idea of belonging to this crazy family, if even for pretend, so she played along. “She went...to town,” Carys lied with a smile.

  He looked at the ceiling and pretended annoyance as he muttered, “That woman and her need to shop. You’d think by the way she comes home with bags and bags of stuff on each shopping trip, that there’d be nothing left to buy on the whole island.”

  “Well, you know Grams,” Carys said with a sigh, secretly delighting in this charade where she belonged with the Bells. It’s funny, her own grandparents—on her dad’s side, of course, because her mom’s parents had died before she was born—were stiff and stale as old pancakes. They sent her an obligatory birthday and Christmas card with a crisp twenty-dollar bill, and it was a rare occasion that she was invited to visit. They were nothing like this adorable old coot and Carys already liked him far more than those people who were actually related to her. “So, Pops...what’s with Grams and the birdhouse? I mean, is it special or something?”

  His eyes turned warm and he chuckled, getting that look on his face that told Carys a story was coming and she gleefully settled in to listen.

  “Your grams, bless her heart, is a bit of a nut, which I’m sure you’ve already figured out by now. And she’s always had a thing for birds. So when we moved here to the island and saw all the bananaquits bouncing around, she just fell in love. It’s also why we nicknamed all you girls sugar birds. It’s our connection to the island and our connection to you girls. It just seemed right. Anyway, a regular birdhouse simply wouldn’t do for the bananaquits because they love sugar.”

  “Is that why they’re called sugar birds?” Carys asked, intrigued.

  “You got it.” He winked before continuing. “As I was saying, the regular birdhouses didn’t have a wide enough base and opening for a small bowl of sugar water. So your grams had me make special birdhouses so she could see her sugar birds every day. Kind of like hummingbirds, you know?”

  Carys nodded, smiling. “You sure do have a lot of birdhouses around Larimar,” she noted.

  “That’s what I said,” Pops said drily. “But your grams said we needed one more. So I made her one more. Then we had a monster storm come through and it fell and broke to pieces. Oh, your grams was mad.” He chuckled at the memory. “You’d have thought someone came along and broke all of them. She insisted I fix it. And to be honest, I’ve been putting it off. But...well, I don’t think I should put it off any longer.”

  There was something about his voice that caught her attention. She glanced up and noted the laughter had faded from his eyes and he seemed to stumble on something in his mind.

  “What’s wrong, Pops?” she asked.

  The older man paused to stare at Carys, a look of confusion on his aged face as if he couldn’t quite decipher what she’d just said, and then returned to his tinkering with a slightly quivering lip. “She’s real sick, sugar bird. Real sick. But I’m going to fix this birdhouse for her, don’t you worry. I just need the right tools.”

  Carys nodded, feeling sad for this man. She’d hate to relive what her mother went through. It’d been bad enough the first time around. “What does the tool you’re looking for look like?” she asked, glancing around the messy garage.

  The old man blinked and concentrated on his answer, forming the words with difficulty as if pulling the memory from molasses. “Well, it’s a circlelike thing, and it fits like this.” He pulled two pieces of wood and held them up. Carys saw a bolt of some sort on the one piece. Carys started looking for a tool that might fit, like a jigsaw puzzle piece. She spied something on the shelf above her and reached for it. “Is this it?” she asked, handing him the tool.

  His aged face, browned from the sun, lit up with a smile. “Hot damn. I believe that’s the one I’m looking for. Good job, sugar bird. What would I do without you?”

  Carys smiled, warming under the praise. Her grandparents never gave her pet names or spoiled her like some grandparents did. If and when Carys saw them, they always called her by her proper name and rarely spoke to her beyond superficial questions that required little more than a polite response. She wondered what it would be like to have a grandparent who was in her business, in a good way? One who cared about her grades, her friends, and wanted to spend time with her, just because they liked her company. She swallowed the lump that had risen and called out a quick goodbye, making a hasty exit before any tears started to fall.

  * * *

  LINDY PASTED A bright smile on her face for Paul’s benefit and accepted the hug and kiss on the cheek when she arrived on set.

  Paul Hossiter, a man who was known for throwing lavish parties in his Malibu mansion with his plastic-

  perfect wife, Danica, was also a consummate man-whore who slept around as much as his wife—

  sometimes, unknowingly with the same people. He’d been trying to get into Lindy’s pants for a year now and she’d always sidestepped his offers, preferring her one-night stands to have less frequent-flier miles. Because of her refusal, Paul had taken on what he’d perceived as a challenge to get her into bed.

  “Honey, you look amazing,” he said, openly admiring her body from head to toe. “The Caribbean agrees with you. Now tell me why you and I haven’t spent some quality time at some ridiculous expensive resort exploring each other’s bodies?”

  “Because you’re married,” she reminded him by way of an excuse, but honestly, she would never sleep with Paul. Rumor had it, he had a penchant for filming his escapades and holding on to the footage for blackmail purposes later. And there was no way in hell she’d risk that, not for anything in the world. But as she glanced around she couldn’t quell the pang of envy at the lavish set and the top-notch costuming for the adventure movie. It was a multimillion-dollar production and they were sparing no expense to get the right look, hence the exotic locale.

  “Such a stickler for the rules,” he teased, though his eyes had lit up with lecherous zeal. “And what if I invited my wife along.... Would that help change your mind?”

  Eww. She faked a sweet smile. “I’m not into chicks. Sorry.”

  He exhaled in disappointment and said, “All right, I tried. So, I have to s
ay I was surprised when I got a call back. Usually, you ignore my texts unless you’re pestering me for a part in something.”

  “Which you never give me because I don’t give it up,” Lindy quipped, daring him to disagree.

  Paul shrugged, as if to say guilty. “Hey, I’m just a man and you have a body that would tempt the Pope.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” Lindy said drily. “Listen, I wondered how things are going with the lodging here in St. Thomas for your above-the-line people. Everything good?”

  Paul shrugged. “It’s nice. It’s not Fiji, but it’ll do. Why?”

  “You may not remember this, but my family owns an upscale resort in St. John and I thought if you wanted to get a real feel for the islands, you ought to come check it out. We have five-star accommodations and a private beach.”

  “I’d love to, baby, but we’ve already locked down the hotel accommodations for this shoot. But...I’d love to see it. Would you give me a personal tour?”

  Lindy quickly sifted through Paul’s seemingly innocuous query for any hidden meaning and came up with a moderate suspicion that Paul wanted a personal tour of her bedroom and nothing more. “Listen, St. Thomas is the port of call for every major cruise ship out there. How are you going to keep your actors free from prying eyes with all that exposure? Didn’t I hear that you were trying to keep this production hush-hush because it’s running neck and neck against the new Michael Bay flick and you don’t want the press making unfair comparisons?”

  At the mention of Michael Bay, Paul’s face darkened. “Don’t even get me started...”

  “Larimar could give you the privacy you’re looking for,” she interjected before he could get ramped up about his current scuffle with the Hollywood A-lister. “Think about it.”

  He wavered, which gave her hope, but ultimately he shook his head. “Listen, gorgeous, I’d be happy to spend some quality time with you at your resort but we’re committed and locked into where we’re at for this production. Our hotel is a short drive from the location and everything we need is easily accessible. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah,” Lindy said, disappointed. If she thought it would make a difference, she was almost tempted to take one for the team and let Paul finally get what he wanted, but just the thought made her skin crawl. “If you change your mind, just let me know,” she said, covering her sharp frustration with false cheer. “I’ll be here helping my family out for a little while longer so I’ll be around if you need anything.”

  A speculative light entered his stare, and she wagged a finger at him, saying, “No, no, you perv. Keep it PG-13.”

  “Bah. Where’s the fun in that?” he asked just before a production assistant who looked like he ate antacids for breakfast came to him with a look of pure panic. He listened for a moment and then, Lindy forgotten, Paul followed the assistant, bellowing orders as he went.

  “Damn,” she murmured, watching him leave. There went her big chance at being the hero. Back to square one.

  She called Billy, letting him know she was on her way back to the boat.

  And to please, please, have some rum ready.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LINDY DIDN’T WANT to admit defeat just yet, putting off the inevitable discussion with Lora until she had no choice. Plus, by the time she’d returned to St. John and then Larimar, she’d consumed quite a bit of rum and wasn’t up to talking to anyone.

  She’d safely made her way past the front desk lobby and was headed for the main house when she ran smack into Carys and Gabe. Lindy wanted to groan and run the other way, but her legs were a little wobbly and she doubted she’d manage a brisk walk much less a run.

  “Lindy?” Carys said, frowning. “Are you...drunk?”

  “You shouldn’t even know what drunk is, kid,” Lindy said, pointing at Gabe. “Geez, Gabe, what are you exposing your daughter to?” Then she giggled and tried to move past them but she stumbled and nearly landed in a bush. Gabe’s firm hand kept her from getting a faceful of tropical foliage and for that she was grateful, but even in her inebriated state she knew this was a terrible mistake letting Carys and Gabe see her like this. “In my defense...I’ve had a shitty day,” she said, deciding a good offense was the best defense.

  “Dad, I think she needs to go to bed,” Carys said, watching as Gabe hoisted Lindy into his arms.

  “I think you’re right,” Gabe agreed grimly, settling Lindy’s pliant body more securely in his arms.

  “You’re surprisingly strong for a suit-wearing kind of guy,” Lindy remarked, happy to lay her head on his shoulder for just a minute. “I never saw that coming....”

  “Maybe we should just take her to our place, Dad,” Carys suggested and Gabe must’ve agreed because they were heading in the wrong direction for Lindy’s room.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Lindy said, sighing. “But I think you’re right.... I don’t really want to deal with my sisters right now. Or Pops. Or Celly. Or anyone associated with Larimar. Frankly, I think I just want to go back to L.A. where everybody in my circle is simply a superficial fame-whore—Carys, don’t repeat that—who would sleep with their own mother if it got them ahead. And don’t get me started on the whole eating thing. I think I’ve gained five pounds already.”

  Damn, it felt surprisingly good to be nestled in Gabe’s arms. It felt...right.

  No, it had to be the alcohol fuzzing her brain. She hated this kind of intimacy. It was too...intimate. She wasn’t a cuddler by nature and yet, this was pretty close to cuddling and she was so comfortable her eyelids were fluttering shut.

  “Gabe...has anyone ever told you, you have a great chest hidden beneath those hideous Hawaiian shirts? Just perfect for this...”

  And then she was asleep.

  * * *

  GABE PUT LINDY in his bed and then closed the door behind him to talk to Carys.

  “Is she okay?” Carys asked, concerned.

  “Yes, I’m sure she just needs to sleep it off. Sometimes adults overindulge—”

  “Dad, please,” Carys interrupted with a condescending expression. “I’m eleven, not five. I know what happens when people drink too much. I go to a public school, remember? You’d be surprised what I know.”

  That statement didn’t make him feel better...if anything, it made him want to homeschool her for the rest of her school career and then enroll her in a nunnery for college.

  “Oh...okay,” he said, biting his lip as he wondered how to proceed. “Well, let’s keep it down while she sleeps. Or better yet, maybe we ought to leave the bungalow and do some sightseeing. She might be a little embarrassed when she wakes up, and seeing us will be the last thing she wants to do.”

  “Why would she be embarrassed?” Carys asked, intrigued. “Lots of people drink. Miranda Potter’s mom drinks every night. She was passed out cold the last time I spent the night at Miranda’s house. It was cool, though, because then we had the run of the house and we tried on all her jewelry.”

  That uncomfortable feeling earlier was just eclipsed by the more uncomfortable feelings he had now. It was obvious he needed to pay better attention to the types of people his daughter was hanging out with. “Where was Mr. Potter when all this was going on?” he asked.

  Carys shrugged, but then she grinned with a mischievous light in her eyes. “But according to Miranda, he was probably sleeping with his secretary, which is why her mom was drinking so she could forget.”

  Gabe resisted the urge to clap a hand over his face in total chagrin. He had no idea the Potters were so dysfunctional, but then he only saw them when they were on their best behavior. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t too keen on letting Carys continue to have sleepovers at their place. “Okay, well, that’s gossip and we don’t traffic in gossip,” he admonished, hating this conversation. “If it’s not true, it would be very hurtful i
f the other person heard it. And if it is true...well, it’s still hurtful because they’re obviously going through something painful in their marriage.”

  Carys nodded. “Yeah, Miranda acts all like she doesn’t care, but I think she does,” she said, pausing a moment to regard Gabe with serious eyes. “Dad...did you ever sleep with your secretary when Mom was alive? Miranda says all dads do it because they’re pigs and can’t help themselves.”

  Even though he remained standing, the question knocked him on his ass. He floundered, unable to fathom the kind of conversations his preteen was having with her girlfriends, but worse, he was flabbergasted that Carys would even think that he’d do that to her mother. He took her hand and held it firmly between his and stared her straight in the eye as he answered solemnly, “I don’t know how other people live, Carys, but I can tell you with complete honesty, your mother and I didn’t have that kind of relationship. We had our problems, but fidelity wasn’t one of them. I believed in my vows and never took them lightly. That’s the way it should be.”

  Carys’s eyes watered and he gathered her in his arms, surprised at the sudden show of emotion. “I miss her, Dad,” she whispered, and he hugged her more tightly.

  “I know you do, sweetheart. I miss her, too.”

  Gabe held Carys for as long as possible before letting her go. His own eyes pricked with moisture. This was why he didn’t like to talk about Charlotte; it sucked up all sorts of muck that he didn’t have the time to wallow in.

  He hadn’t lied; he’d never cheated on Charlotte.

  But there’d been a time, right before she’d gotten sick, that he’d been sorely tempted.

  And the question that lurked deep in his heart was would he have strayed if Charlotte hadn’t gotten sick?

  The question nagged at him.

  He hated to think he might’ve but he remembered the illicit thrill, which had contrasted so starkly with the staid complacency of his marriage and he feared that eventually, he would’ve succumbed.