Somewhere on St. Thomas

by Toby Neal

  One last look around at my crew, half of them going below to rest, the other taking the watch to keep the ship from running aground, and I go in the hatch and down two levels to our bow stateroom.

  Ruby’s wide-awake, sitting in bed in flannel pajamas one of her sisters sent for Christmas; they have pink pigs with wings on them. She takes one look at my face and clambers out of bed with a cry.

  “Oh my God! Rafe! You look exhausted!”

  “Pretty beat,” I say through chattering teeth. Now that I’ve let go of the tiller and the effort to get us here, I am coming apart physically.

  Ruby pulls off my yellow rain gear, throwing it into the tiny head. She strips off my clothes, and I’m already falling asleep as she’s getting a warm washcloth and wiping down my sweaty, trembling body.

  I wake up hours later. It’s night, I know, by the pitch-blackness we’re in, intermittently lit by lightning flashes. The wind is a terrible banshee howling outside, and the ship shudders periodically with its blows. We’re moving; the sea heaves around us, but the motion of the Maid has a very stable feel, and I can tell our anchors are holding. I’m warm and the bed is comfortable, but I’m totally rigid and aching in my hands, arms, and neck from the battle with the wheel.

  Ruby is wrapped around me like a snuggly koala. She must have dressed me in something, because I can tell I have a shirt on, but nothing below. Must have been too hard to get underwear on me.

  I think about her coming topside and feel a tremor of that primeval terror again. She’s not a sailor, never has cared to become one, and if Freddie hadn’t told her about the safety lines…There’s nothing to do in these dark hours of the storm but recharge our batteries and pass the time, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with my wife.

  “Ruby.” I have to shake her a bit to wake her, but the pain is bad. “Can I get some help? My hands are all locked up.” I run the back of one of my curled hands across her soft cheek. “There’s some of that muscle massage cream in the head.”

  “Of course. Poor thing.” She gets up and pads into the head. I’m glad it doesn’t seem like she’s been seasick. She comes back and, in the dark lit by flashes of lightning, she works my hands with the heating cream.

  I can’t help groaning as she rubs my fingers with Bengay, gradually straightening and opening them, working her way down the wrists and deep into the bulging, tight muscles of my forearms. She strips off the shirt and gently rolls me over. She straddles me and begins working over my shoulders and neck.

  My moans and groans of painful pleasure at the rolling touch of her strong little hands and drilling thumbs would be embarrassing if anyone heard them, but it’s just me and Ruby here in the womb of storm-filled dark.

  She disappears for a moment, and I must have drifted off, because the next time I wake up, she’s rolling me onto my back again.

  “Listen. I have to tell you something,” she says. I’m pretty groggy, but I realize she’s tying my hands with something silky to the handles on the sides of the bed where we have storage below. “I can’t decide what to do, and it’s not fair not to tell you about it. I forgot my birth control pills after I got the call about Dad. I haven’t been taking them, and I don’t have them on the voyage. It might be too late already, but it’s too soon to tell right now. So my question is, do you want to wear a condom or not?”

  I tug at my hands and realize I can’t get them undone. “What the hell, Ruby?” I growl, the implications barely penetrating my fogged brain. “What are you doing?”

  My erection has a pretty good idea of what she’s doing, and it’s been interested for a while now.

  “You have Bengay on your hands,” she says primly. “I’m going to be taking care of you tonight.” She applies her mouth to my nipples, stroking up and down my chest and abs. I can feel the length of her hair trailing over me like feathers. Her strong thighs clench my hips, and I can feel how hot her center is, how close it is, how sweet it is.

  Everything on my body rises to full alert: every hair, every muscle, and of course, my cock, but I’m still trying to process what she was asking me.

  Condom or no condom? I’ve gotten spoiled by her being on birth control, and I’m not even sure I have any. Is she saying she might already be pregnant?

  My hard-on gives a joyful leap of excitement as she gets to it with her mouth and those skillful hands. I’m groaning now, in an entirely different way than from the massage. “I’m going to get you back for this.”

  “I expect nothing less.” She kneels between my legs, takes me deep in her throat, and reaches up to work my nipple with her other hand.

  I arch up off the bed with a hoarse cry, overcome by surprise and sensation. There’s nowhere I can go with all the pleasure I’m feeling, the firing of nerves intense as she works me in all the different places. I’m reduced to twitching, quivering, moaning jelly, and I’m tied up, wrestling with my own neckties and total sensory overload.

  Just the thought of what she’s doing to me makes my balls tighten. I’m at the very edge. She can tell I’m about done for because suddenly all is withdrawn. I collapse, gasping like a gaffed fish, throbbing painfully.

  “Ruby. You witch,” I moan.

  “Condom or no condom?” Ruby asks again. She’s rising up before me, her white skin lit by flashes of lightning, her long hair around her like a cape and black in the shadows. I can’t see her eyes, but I can see her delicious curvy body in those flashes of storm. She’s up on her knees, straddling me, and everything in me is straining toward her, going yes, yes, yes.

  I finally manage to say, “No condom. Ever again.”

  She leans down to lick my nipples. “Good answer,” she says, and sits down, taking me into her.

  It feels unbelievable, as if my shaft is connected to my whole spine, and all of it’s wrapped in tight, hot, tingling pleasure.

  Of course I’ve had her this way before, on top, but she’s never tied me up and tortured me this way before, and she’s never been possibly pregnant before. Something about it all, and the storm, makes us both crazy.

  I buck my hips helplessly, trying to get deeper into her, but she raises and lowers herself, controlling the movement, emitting little panting gasps. I can tell she’s barely hanging on, trying to make it last. One of my straining arms breaks loose and then the other.

  I’ve got her by the hips and ass now, and I’m holding her hard and driving into her. She loses all control, bucking out of rhythm, hair flying as she rides me, but I’ve got her where I want her—so deep, so deep. I need only now this minute. Oh God—and we come explosively together.

  She’s down across me, and my arms are around her. I’m pretty sure I’ve just had a stroke, because the top of my head feels like it blew off. We both can’t do anything but pant for a good while.

  “I should have known you’d break those ties,” she mutters.

  “So you think you could be pregnant?” I ask. My world feels a little off-kilter. I’ve wanted this a long time, actually, but haven’t brought it up. She’s had goals, school, plans. She’s a planner, my Ruby. For her not to plan this, too, surprises me.

  “It’s possible.” She sits up, gets off. It feels like loss, being separated from her, but she pads to the bathroom and gets a washcloth and comes back. I look out the portholes—there’s an eerie stillness of sea and sky now. She sees me looking. “What is it?”

  “I think we’re in the eye of the hurricane. See how calm it is outside?”

  “Do you want to go topside and check it out?”

  “No.” I draw her down beside me after we both use the washcloth. “The guys have it handled. I just want a few more hours with my wife.” I tuck her in against my side and draw the blanket up over us.

  Chapter 25

  Ruby

  I’m at my favorite place in the bow of the Creamy Maid as we motor into Charlotte Amalie on Saint Thomas, under engine, as the last of the hurricane has moved on and would have left us becalmed outside that venerable old ha
rbor.

  I’ve felt different ever since the night of the hurricane. Sad still, but managing it better, and it’s a good thing, too, because I have a sense that Mom’s going to need all the help she can get packing and dealing with my sisters, each a handful in her own way.

  Pearl’s almost eighteen, a senior in high school, and according to Mom, has “gone off the deep end” since Dad died, partying late every night, sleeping until noon on the weekends, and barely passing her classes. Jade, the baby at fourteen, has gone total responsible and is cleaning everything, OCD-like, and trying to boss Mom around.

  I glance back. Rafe’s behind the wheel, and the wind picks up his blond-streaked brown hair. He has his shirt off, and the sight of his muscled arms gleaming in the sun, that eagle tattoo seeming to fly as he moves, does something to me. I feel a deep tug inside. I keep wanting to find a time to talk about maybe getting pregnant, but we haven’t found it. Instead, we’ve gotten insatiable with each other, as bad as when we were newlyweds and twice a day was normal.

  I’ve never stopped loving Rafe or being turned on by him, but this crazy passion since the hurricane four days ago…This is a weird way to grieve. I feel guilty that he makes me feel so good.

  He sees me looking at him and quirks his eyebrow questioningly. I blow him a kiss and turn back to the view.

  The town of Charlotte Amalie grew up around the harbor, and it’s the capital of Saint Thomas, a mix of utilitarian modern and gracious old-world charm, all white stucco and red clay roofs. Palm trees are everywhere, and the city is immaculately groomed for all the tourists from the cruise ships that constantly line the great harbor walls. The turquoise water that makes the Caribbean so special glitters with sunshine.

  Being in Saint Thomas always takes me right back to growing up here—the smells, of overripe banana and plumeria mixed with the tang of the sea and the smell of unfiltered exhaust. The cries of parrots and mynah birds, the kids running through the streets chasing soccer balls—all of it is dear and familiar, though it feels so small to me now.

  We drop anchor with plenty of room around us from other boats, and Rafe and I pack overnight bags to stay at my family’s house near Magens Bay. We could easily have sailed into Magens Bay itself, and we may move the boat there if we have to stay long, but we need to restock and the guys need to be able to go ashore for provisions and recreation, too. The ship came through the hurricane pretty well, considering, but there are definitely some repairs to get done before we try to sail back to the States.

  Rafe and I take the Zodiac tender in with Sven, register the boat at Yacht Grande Harbor, and go on the hunt for a rental car.

  We end up with a battered old Citroën from a guy who knew my dad and rents five or six used vehicles.

  “Such a shame about your father,” old Pietro says, hugging me and smelling strongly of his ever-present Gauloise cigarettes. “He’s gone too soon.”

  “You’re telling me,” I say, sniffing back tears. It’s my first time talking to another person who knew him since I was here for the funeral.

  I make a quick call to Mom at the yacht club to tell her we’re on the way. “Oh, thank God,” Mom says, her warm voice cracking. “I was so worried about you during the hurricane.”

  “Rafe was amazing,” I say, looking right into my husband’s eyes as I say it. “He found us a secret harbor on an atoll, and we were fine. Do you need anything from town?”

  Trips to Charlotte Amalie have always been a big deal since gas prices are so high on the island. Mom has us pick up some extra rice and staples at the market, and we’re on the road. The Citroën doesn’t have air-conditioning, so we roll down the windows as we drive out of town. I rest my head in the window frame, and Rafe reaches over to play with a piece of hair that’s escaped my braid.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Okay. Sad, but okay. I feel like something changed for me the night of the hurricane.” I turn to look at him. “I think I decided to let a few things go the way they wanted to. Not to try to control so much.”

  “Like getting pregnant?”

  I nodded. “I think it’s okay for it to be whatever it is. Just let nature take its course. Because we just never know, you know?” I find myself blinking back tears, and I look back out the window. We’re rising into the mountainous area around Saint Thomas, and green surrounds us. It’s beautiful jungle and reminds me of that first hike I took with Rafe.

  Rafe puts his hand, that long-fingered hand with its wonderful calluses, on my smooth, bare leg. “This might be our last chance to help nature along before we get to your mom’s.”

  I smack his arm. “You’re bad.”

  “That’s why you love me.”

  “A little bit, yeah.”

  He keeps massaging my leg, igniting tingles as he slides his rough palm up and down. “God, you’re so silky here,” he says, exploring that area.

  “For goodness’ sake,” I gasp. “No fair.” So I turn and begin an exploration of his lap. In short order he’s frantically looking for some sort of exit off the main road. We end up turning down a muddy driveway heading into the jungle, and as soon as the jungle thins enough to pull off the road, he pulls the Citroën over and hauls me out of my seat and into his arms.

  We keep our shirts on in case of interruption, laughing as we bite and caress and kiss each other, mad with a crazy lust that makes no good sense. I end up on his lap, the manual gear shifter stabbing one thigh and the steering wheel in my back, totally uncaring as he spreads my ass cheeks wide and digs his fingers in, creating a brutal sweet tension as he penetrates me. I arch and cry out, then bite him and ride him hard until we’re done.

  Not a long time, it turns out, before the windows are steamed over and we’re both temporarily sated.

  He reclines his seat and I sprawl across him. “God. I needed that,” he says.

  “What’s gotten into us?” I wonder aloud. “I mean, we were getting kind of sedate back in Boston. Couple or three times a week, like normal people.”

  “I think you feel better when we’re together,” Rafe says. “And it’s my mission in life to help you feel better.”

  “I can go along with that. But maybe you’re just trying to get me pregnant as fast as you can now that that’s on the table.” I’ve crawled back to my side and am doing my best to get my clothes back on and tidy up.

  “Not gonna deny it. That possibility makes the Captain really happy,” Rafe says, waggling the aforementioned appendage playfully.

  “Don’t do that to him. It’s beneath the Captain’s dignity. Let’s get going, or I swear Pearl will guess what we’ve been up to and give me crap about it,” I say. “That girl is way more sophisticated than I was at that age.”

  “If she’s half the firecracker you were, the world’s in trouble,” Rafe says, and we get on the road.

  Chapter 26

  Ruby

  The house I grew up in is a sprawling old plantation-style with a wide, deep veranda for shade and catching the breeze. It’s on a tiny knoll and has a sliver of a view of Magens Bay, that gorgeous deep pocket in the side of the island with such a sandy bottom that the water glows as if lit from within. My mother meets us on the porch.

  “Mom!” I get out of the car, running to embrace her. It’s been only six weeks since I saw her for the funeral, but her tall, sturdy body feels fragile in my arms. She’s lost weight, and her deep auburn hair is filled with new threads of silver.

  “Ruby. So glad you’re okay from the hurricane.” Mom squeezes me. She smells like the lemon oil she uses for polishing. “We’re getting ready for another garage sale, and Jade and I have just started on your old room.” She embraces Rafe and receives his kiss, and I turn to my sister Jade, who’s pushed open the screen door.

  I see the source of the lemon-polish smell. Jade is holding a bottle of oil and a rag, which she sets aside.

  “Oh, sweetie,” I say, hugging her close. Jade is as tall as me but with a different build—long, coltish legs, a slen
der, short waist, and small breasts. She has big green eyes that many have said are similar to mine, but she inherited Mom’s dark auburn hair. She is going to be gorgeous, but right now that promise is hidden behind braces and a pair of thick glasses. I hope it will stay hidden a lot longer. Mom doesn’t need another Pearl on her hands.

  “Where’s Pearl?” I ask.

  Mom shakes her head as she leads us back into the house. “She spent the night with a friend last night. She was supposed to be back by now.”

  “Why don’t I go get her?” I say. I’m eager to see my little sister and eager to give her a piece of my mind.

  “That would be great,” Mom says. “She might even come home with you.”

  “I’m having a hard time imagining Pearl outright defying you, Mom,” I say.

  “The grief counselor we’ve been seeing says Pearl is grieving in her way,” Jade says. “But she’s awful to Mom.”

  “Where is she?” Looking at Mom’s caved-in cheeks and sad brown eyes, I can’t wait to chew a piece of Pearl’s fine ass for adding to her stress. Mom gives me the address, and I know right where it is—the Carvers’ house in the tiny hamlet of Peterborg.

  The Carvers have a reputation. Not a good one. I knew and avoided the Carver boys and experienced their pinches on my butt firsthand.

  “I’ll be back soon.” I give Rafe a quick kiss goodbye as he goes back into the house to help Mom move some furniture outside for the garage sale. I’m glad we took the time for that session in the car. I have a feeling privacy is going to be in short supply now that we’re here at the house.

  A short time later, I pull the Citroën up outside the Carvers’ compound of lean-to shacks held together with corrugated roofing. As soon as I turn off the car, big loose dogs swarm around, barking. I’m in no mood to deal with the Carvers’ unruly pack, and I remember how visitors get attention at their house.