Bahama Breeze

by Eddie Jones

  “It’s Harvard, you doofus.”

  “I know where you went to college. Was just making the point that a guy like me with just a high school education was never going to play at that level. If we’d tried to stay together, you’d have hated me for it. Not right away. But, eventually my leaving was for the best and you know it.”

  She glared at the back of him through the mesh screen and felt drained. The talking had ripped open the old wounds. “Did I ever once get onto you about not going to college? Of not trying to make something more of yourself? Ever?”

  “I’m not dumb. Wasn’t then, or now. We were headed different directions. Even I could see that. Now I admit, me joining the Army, that might have been…”

  “Stupid? Rash?”

  “Was gonna say the smartest thing I ever did.”

  “Well, you sure didn’t waste any time moving on with your life, that’s for sure.”

  “Anna, what else can I say but I’m sorry?”

  She’d begun to feel lightheaded and sick to her stomach. She needed to sit, but not with him. “I’m going to close the door. You can stay until your ride returns.”

  “So am I forgiven?”

  She’d started to push the door shut, but hesitated. “You dumped me, Sonny. You, an overweight, C+ student. I know I was just a dorky girl back then with glasses and frizzy hair, but think of how your leaving made me feel. I was crushed. I started college twenty pounds heavier because of you.”

  “I was only trying to do the right thing.”

  “By breaking my heart? Anyway, it doesn’t matter, now. It’s water under a burned bridge. Sorry you went to all this trouble with the flowers and candy and everything, but if you’d have just called, I could have saved you the trouble. I’m over us, Sonny. Was a long time ago, and you need to get over us, too.”

  She hooked the screen door latch and was about to shut him out for good when he spoke.

  “Anna, I’ve got cancer. I wanted to tell you in person, not over the phone. That’s why I set this up like I did.”

  She paused, slumping against the doorframe. “How…?”

  “How does anybody get it?”

  “I meant how long?”

  “Who knows? Couple of months. Maybe less. “

  She found herself stepping onto the porch. “Oh, Sonny. I’m so sorry. When did you find out?”

  “A few weeks back. Was in the garden department carrying a bed of potted plants. It was one of those tissue-thin, flimsy black tray things loaded with petunias. I bent down to set the tray in my basket and when I did, I just collapsed. It was the oddest feeling lying on the cement with dirt and pansies covering me, like I was already buried. The store manager hurried over, yelling at me not to move. Said the paramedics were on their way. I tried to tell him I was fine, but I think he was afraid of getting sued.

  “Hospital checked me out, ran blood work and told me go home. A few days later, I got a call from the VA hospital telling me to come in for a ‘consult.’ I show up, but the doctor kept mispronouncing my name. Kept calling me ‘Mr. Kaye’ instead of ‘Mr. Key.’ Kid had a diamond stud in his nostril, spiked blond hair and about as much business playing doctor as I do. If I was going to sue anyone it’d be our government for the way we treat vets.”

  She eased the screen door shut behind her and flipped on the porch light. She walked toward him and rested her backside against the porch railing. For the first time she saw the exhaustion in his face, the dullness behind the blue eyes that had always sparkled when she’d stared into them.

  “I kept asking Ziggy Stardust what the prognosis was, but those doctors, they wouldn’t know a straight answer if it beaned them in the head. Finally, he admits what I’ve got is stage four pancreatic cancer. Imagine that. I could barely get out of high school and I jumped a whole three stages of cancer without even trying.”

  “So how are the treatments going?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair. “You look pretty good, considering.”

  He exhaled deeply. “It’s not falling out, if that’s what you’re checking. I decided to skip that drill. Figured, why bother? I know how it’s going to end.” Reaching back, he took her hand, lacing her fingers in his. “Just wish I knew why is all. But I’ve stopped asking that one. There aren’t any answers for why. I’m tired of having well-meaning friends tell me that all things work for the good to those who love the Lord. Maybe they do, I don’t know. But a God who does something like this is a God I want no part of.”

  “You need to give Him a chance, Sonny. Give yourself a chance.”

  “I’d rather give us a chance.”

  From up the path, a car horn honked. She looked and saw the winking headlights of the taxi. She kissed his knuckles and pulled away. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “Marry me.”

  “Besides that.”

  The horn blared again.

  “Then I guess there’s nothing you can do, Anna ‘My Good Fortune.’” He pushed himself from the chair and kissed the top of her head. “Better go. Don’t want to miss my flight.” He worked his feet back into the shoes and then he cupped her chin, lifting it toward him. “I left because I loved you—still love you. Maybe my leaving was a mistake, but I was only trying to set you free.”

  “Thanks for not telling me over the phone,” she said. “Maybe if we’d had more time…”

  “We did,” he said, thumbing away a tear. “A whole lifetime. And I wasted it.”

  She watched from the porch until the taxi pulled away. Then she drifted inside and fell onto the bed, burying her face in a pillow. The lyrics to an old Jackson Browne song rattled off the walls of her mind and after a few moments, the tears did come again, as though a great dam had burst.

  Just when she’d thought she’d gotten over him, she hadn’t.

  Just when she’d thought she could make it through without missing him, she couldn’t.

  Just when she’d thought she was strong enough, she found he was still her mighty warrior.

  Her heavy sobs and the suffocating warmth of the pillow almost, but not quite, drowned out the fog-horn bellow of the Wicked Witch cruise ship.

  Sitting up, she peered out the window, watching as the vessel pushed away from the dock and steamed out to the harbor.

  18

  If not for the tropical storm, busted golf cart, time in jail, and Joe leaving the room locked, maybe Sonny’s romantic reunion with Anna might have gone better. But it was over, and that was that. He’d given it his best shot and whiffed. Tossing his gear into the taxi, he slid into the back seat and watched Anna watching him until there was nothing left to see.

  He found that riding to the airport in a 1967 Chevy BelAir station wagon driven by a seventeen-year-old Bahamian to be the most exciting part of his vacation. Even more exciting than bungee jumping from the top of the sailboat. There seemed to be only one rule for driving in the Bahamas and that was, under no circumstances were you to slow, stop, or avoid hitting anything—especially pedestrians.

  Night fell over the island, and traffic ground to a halt near the intersection of Cockroach Cay’s lone stop light.

  “Is there another way?” asked Sonny. “I should already be at the airport.”

  “Hang on,” said the driver.

  The driver, turned into on-coming traffic, hopped the curb and stomped the accelerator, retracing their route. “We’ll take de long way. It’s quicker.”

  The clapboard homes of the village faded from view as they raced into the night heading in the wrong direction.

  Sonny opened his soggy wallet and unfolded his sticky note. The ink had run but he could still make out his short list. “Sail to (or in) the Bahamas, write a best-selling novel, surf chest-high waves on a reef break, get cured of cancer, and marry my high school sweetheart.” He’d come close with the sailboat. Would’ve worked, too, he thought. If I could’ve gotten it out of the slip.

  The high-beams of an oncoming vehicle caused him to look up. His driver di
d not. His driver fiddled with a radio knob. They’d pulled alongside a long line of cars, trucks, tractors, and one bus. He clicked off the vehicles as they passed the convoy. Tan Celica, blue Bonneville, purple KIA, white van, a moped, Massey Ferguson tractor, a school bus painted a violent shade of yellow, and a large wooden sign with the words “Welcome To Cockroach Cay Airport” illuminated by floodlights.

  All the vehicles except the tractor turned into the airport.

  “Wasn’t that our turn back there?” asked Sonny.

  “Another one down here,” said the young driver, pointing through the windshield.

  Sonny saw runway lights ahead. Through a chain-link fence the red and green lights of a turbo-prop aircraft winked while passengers climbed a boarding ladder.

  Baggage handlers slung luggage into the hold of the bird’s belly. When the last bag was tossed onto the tarmac, the trolley-cart backed away.

  Sonny’s taxi reached the end of the pavement and swung onto a service road, but they only traveled a few yards before the driver braked. Ahead was a locked gate. The driver jammed the car into reverse and accelerated backward, slinging gravel against the undercarriage. They turned around and sped back toward the main entrance. Beyond the fence, a flight crew member pulled up the boarding ladder and sealed the passengers inside.

  The station wagon turned into the main entrance. The aircraft revved its engines and moved away from the terminal.

  At last, the station wagon screeched to a halt in the passenger drop-off lane.

  Sonny bolted from the back seat, grabbed his bag and sprinted through the lobby, jumped a row of blue plastic chairs and slammed his shoulder into a door that marked Arrivals Only. Near the empty trolley-cart a security guard yelled for him to stop, but Sonny was in stride now, legging it out, his bag partially tucked under his arm like a forty-eight pound football.

  The airplane taxied to the end of the runway. Sonny summoned a final burst of speed. Propellers spun, flaps flipped. Sonny leapt across a grassy median dividing the two runways, stumbled, but recovered, angling toward the gleaming white cone of the aircraft.

  With propellers whirring, the plane accelerated. Behind him, someone yelled, “Stop!” A wingtip shot past. He ducked. The thrust from the propellers sent him reeling onto the pavement. He rolled backwards like human tumbleweed, coming to rest on his belly as the airplane banked into the night sky. A knee pinned him to the pavement where he continued to flop like a fish.

  Seconds later, he heard the voice of his driver. “It’s OK, ease whit me.”

  “You?” asked the guard.

  “I give him a ride to de airport.”

  “Would you please get off me?” said Sonny.

  “You’re not going to run after another airplane, are you?”

  “Are there other flights?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Then, no.”

  The pressure released. Panting heavily, Sonny crawled onto his feet, brushing flecks of pavement from his white (and now) oil-stained sport shirt. He was missing a shoe. The strap to his bag dangled by his side, ripped free where the stitching had given way.

  “Need a lift back to de motel?” his driver asked.

  Sonny mentally counted the remaining cash in his wallet. He’d used most of what the Congressman had given him on the spare room key and ride to the airport.

  As if reading his mind his young driver friend added, “No charge.”

  “In that case, drop me off at a bar.”

  Half an hour later, Sonny found himself standing at the base of a winding path littered with broken bottles and discarded chicken bones. At the top of the rise, porch lights shone and the pulse of Calypso music throbbed through the air.

  “I’ll put your bags inside de rented sailboat,” his driver said. “Day be safe dare.”

  Sonny looked up the hill, anxiously eyeing the shadowy figures standing along the crest. “But will I be?”

  His driver shrugged. “Tourist, day no come out dis way, much. Maybe I just take you to de boat, too.”

  “Just follow this path?” said Sonny, starting up the hill, following the chicken-wire fence that ran along one side of the path. In the weeds lay plastic soda bottles, empty foam containers and a pair of blown-out flip-flops. He reached the top of the ridge and paused to take in the harbor below. Mast lights blazed bright. Torchlights appeared as tracer bullets marking the path leading to the Tiki Bar. A few hundred yards further lay a row of cottages and the thumbnail of sand in front of Anna’s bungalow. A strong breeze cooled his face. Across the harbor, the stern of a cruise ship glowed large and bright as it headed to sea.

  He’d been wrong about Anna. He knew that now. She was over him and apparently had been for some time. But then, lately he’d been wrong about a lot of things. Maybe Joe had a point. Maybe there was a tumor pressing against his brain and restricting the flow of common sense. He sure had made a lot of boneheaded moves these past few weeks—coming here to find her being the biggest. But he had to try. And now he had.

  He walked a short ways down the other side of the hill towards a sign that read OASIS DISCO & LOUNGE - BURGERS, BEER & CONCH. He pushed open the wooden gate that guarded a single story, clap-board home. A dog lay in the shallow ditch with its tail resting in a puddle of water. Men lounged on the porch beneath the yellow glow of a bare bulb. Inside, strobe lights flashed. The crowd danced to the baritone voice of Lord Kitchener as music blasted from speakers.

  He strode onto the porch steps. A teenage boy with dreadlocks straddled a metal washtub of long-neck bottles buried under crushed ice. Sonny pointed to one. The teen thrust his hand into the tub, uncapping a bottle as he pulled his hand out. Sonny placed a folded five in the teen’s shirt pocket and slipped into a corner of the porch.

  He was the only white man in the place, a pale stain in a crowd of dark faces. If the men on the porch resented the tepid tone of his skin or his presence at their bar, they were careful to hide it. Taking a long pull, he savored the shock of the chilled beverage against the back of his throat. Maybe in the end this was all there was to life.

  A sea breeze, the smell of rain, and a cold drink to wash away the pain of missed opportunities. He had good memories, too, though. Head-high surf on a beach in the China Sea, a snow-capped afternoon atop a Rocky Mountain, a thick steak and good cigars with other salesmen at awards banquets. Little league games and park picnics and long walks on the beach with nothing but the sun on his shoulder.

  Anna was both a missed opportunity and a good memory.

  Massaging the cool dampness of the glass into the blisters of his palm, he thought back to the evening before when he’d tried to get the halyard down from the mast, ripped the roof from the golf cart and ended up in the water. Grits for brains, that’s what I have. That and a tumor in my gut the size of a grapefruit.

  He took another sip. A large woman leaned through a window, resting her elbows on the sill as she surveyed the men on the porch. Smiling at him, she winked and moved away, only to reappear moments later on the porch, her bare feet landing heavy as she walked in his direction. She wore a simple white dress brushed with strokes of indigo and marigold. Taking his hand, she led him inside like a docile child, pulling him deep into the mass of gyrating dancers.

  They danced apart at first, her brown feet slapping the hardwood flooring. Her thick cord of raven hair swung side-to-side as she bounced and swayed. Then she moved up against him, her anaconda arms squeezing him tight while she gently guided him, helping him catch the rhythm.

  He nuzzled his face into the soft meat of her neck, savoring the sweet fragrance of perfume. It had been so long since he’d held a woman, held anything other than his own dark fears. He found himself trying to hang on and slipping, his tears leaving a salty sting on his lips.

  He’d wanted so much to hold Anna in this way, would’ve given anything to have danced with her like this. To have had one more kiss.

  But there weren’t any do-overs, his dad used to say. You only get one
shot at life, boy, and then they plant you in the dirt, so grab all you can on the way down ‘cause there’s no party where you’re going.

  He’d hoped his Dad was wrong. For a time he’d believed there was more than the transient testimony of a solitary life, even prayed and sang as much in church. But really, how could anyone know for sure? The bitterness of his unanswered prayers had robbed him of the small faith he’d once had. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe life is a dead-end trip.

  With substantial strength, he coiled his arm around the waist of his partner, and squeezed until his muscles ached. He wanted to shuck his skin, release his soul.

  Suddenly he felt her pulling away, found his fingers pried loose and rejoined into another, smaller and more tender hand.

  This new dancer came in a petite package, smelling of soap and shampoo and with the supple features he knew so well.

  “Apology accepted,” Anna purred, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Know who I would see about borrowing a sailboat?”

  19

  The gull’s loud cry yanked him from sleep. The first hint of daylight seeped into the cabin. The second hand of a wall clock ticked off another minute. Beneath the clock hung a small mirror shaped like a bronze port. Same with the barometer. Tucked in a corner of the sailboat’s cramped cabin, a plastic fan sprayed damp, warm air across his bare chest.

  Turning onto his side and away from the light Sonny sought to recapture the dream. He’d been sitting in a leather recliner. Outside the cabin, an owl hooted. Tree limbs creaked as the wind blew through the pines. Logs crackled in the fireplace.

  Anna sat in his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin. Skin silky smooth, hair soft. He gently cupped her chin, lifted her face toward his and kissed her cheek, causing her to laugh. Not exactly the reaction he’d hoped for.

  Sonny realized now the gull’s squawking had provided the laugh track. From outside the cabin came a heavy thump and the boat began rocking as someone stepped aboard.