by Cherry Kay
It had been a simple enough explanation for the despair that was to come to them. Caryn never forgot where she came from, and while she had moved on, she knew she could never welcome her father into her heart completely.
Tomorrow would be Christmas, the day her world had shattered, the day she became truly alone, even if her mother had been a fleeting presence while under medication and her depressive episodes.
What was she going to do tomorrow? She couldn’t escape the island. Caryn had always gotten over every Christmas, because she traveled around alone, taking long train lines until they ended in remote stations, taking lonely bus rides into remote towns, just to sit in silence. That was how Christmas was. She could drive here and finish everything in two hours or so.
She would walk, then, she thought. She would walk to kill time, just for Christmas to be over and done with. She hadn’t visited her mother in years, and the grave had had moss and weeds growing around it. Perhaps, she could be morbid and visit the island’s only cemetery.
There was an exclusivity to the island, she realized, there was a single billionaire actually living in it, there was just one hotel, there was just one hospital, one cemetery, and one unsure, black and white byproduct- that was her.
She sighed and got up from her desk, and was about to close the windows, when she heard a knock on her door. Her heart leapt, hoping against hope that it was him… She didn’t say anything, but she peered through the window by the door, and she saw his figure, underneath the lamp.
Taking a deep breath, Caryn opened it.
His face was solemn, as were his eyes, but as soon as she said hello, his face lit up into something beautiful.
*
“Hi, why are you here?” she asked him.
Why? For real? Wasn’t it obvious, he was here for her? He cleared his throat. “It’s almost Christmas. I figured we both needed company,” he said carefully. “I brought a some stuff along,” he added, jerking his thumb towards the wooden table on her porch, where a large wooden box sat on it.
“What is that?”
“Stuff we need to tide this holiday over,” he said begrudgingly. “I think it’ll last us until morning.”
“But I”-Caryn began, and he frowned a little, which made her stop. She opened her door wide, and let him in.
Grunting, David lifted the box into the house, setting it down her new dining table (good for four people), with little difficulty. Man, those home-based workouts are really working, he thought. There was nary a Christmas decoration in sight. She was just like him, he thought.
“Want some champagne for later?” he asked her.
She nodded, clearly still overwhelmed by his sudden appearance.
“I’ve got chips, healthier chips, three bottles of red wine, a bottle of whisky, too; some sandwiches, sliced ham and three types of cheese; and a pineapple. Which one will it be first?”
He saw the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile, and something told him it was her first smile today. Her eyes were far more soulful than he remembered, and her posture made her look tiny. It didn’t help that standing inside her cottage made him feel taller than ever beside her, either. She was about 5’3, compared to his easy six feet, and even if she was way shorter than him, her legs were well proportioned enough to make her seem like she was beyond 5’7.
He noticed she did a little arranging, a product of her writer’s block, he guessed. She didn’t seem to be the obsessive-compulsive cleaner.
“What does the island do for Christmas?” she asked him, taking out the stuff from the box and arranging them on the table.
It made him think for a moment. He had spent two Christmases here, and in a few hours, it would be his third. People didn’t do much, he figured. He didn’t want to pry on Leilani’s and her family’s celebrations. He always gave them double pay during the holidays, and they didn’t even have to work until January 4th. Yes, what did the people from Lānaʻi do?
“It’s quiet during Christmas, even New Year’s. There’s no fireworks, it’s damaging to the environment,” he added. “I guess the biggest event here is the festivals of Aloha.”
“Which I’m guessing you don’t even attend,” Caryn told him.
“I support them in my own ways,” he replied, not mentioning he gave the city council a fat check. Basically, it was more than the money needed by the people, but he had given explicit instructions for discretion. So, it ended up being reported that some random millionaire from the mainland gave them $100,000 for that annual soiree.
“You’re anti-social,” she said.
“Look who’s talking,” he retorted with half a smile. “There are just some people I prefer to be with.”
“Like yourself,” she murmured.
David couldn’t help but laugh out loud, the first good laugh he had had in days, since his family left. He saw the look of surprise on her face, which was replaced by delight in seconds. He felt vulnerable and yet it made him strangely happy to see her face like that. He hadn’t felt this pleased to see someone pleased because of him in so long, someone that wasn’t family.
She grinned, while he grabbed a bottle of the chilled champagne. “Let’s ring in Christmas, shall we?”
She nodded, grabbing plain water glasses. “Sorry, I don’t have anything fancier. That looks like expensive champagne.”
“It’s not the glass,” he told her, “it’s the company.”
He put her glass in front of her. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Caryn responded, taking a sip of the golden liquor.
He took a seat on her new couch, a couch good enough for three people. She made sure to give him some space before sitting down. Still as awkward as I am, he thought. Perhaps, more liquor would do them good, and he had told himself beforehand that they were going to have a drunken Christmas celebration, or a sober one without sex. The thought briefly flashed in his mind, as he packed his little box of goodies to bring over.
It was a sudden idea, after he had ended his conversation with his parents and siblings who were together in California for the holidays. He was alone, she was alone. Might as well be alone together, right?
He packed what he could, packed what was quick, and he made sure to have some liquor. No good conversation started with a salad, maybe a sandwich, but not a salad. He had a wine cellar in his home, something she hadn’t seen, as his father enjoyed his nightcaps quite often, as did his mother. He grabbed the champagne and the wine as an afterthought. He knew she was going to be just at home, where else could she go? She didn’t seem like the partying type. Even the island’s hotel didn’t have a great Christmas party, so he was going to her house so they could have one, just for introverts.
Caryn sipped the rest of her drink in silence, while throwing him furtive glances, glances he found quite endearing in all aspects. Perhaps, this was her way of flirting? A woman of the world who doesn’t know how to flirt. That is something new in my life, he thought. He refilled her glass, enjoying the breeze that came from the open windows. She didn’t even have a television set. They were going to talk, he told himself.
This was a good way to start a friendship. I’ve already slept with her, anyway, he thought. A friendship? What in the hell was he thinking? He hadn’t made friends since elementary. It was either be alone, or end up in a group project. It was like some social experiment, he thought. He was torturing himself in a way, but it was a torture that might just be worth it. What was a little vulnerability to be beside an attractive introvert such as Caryn X?
She was Caryn X. While working, he had resisted the temptation of looking her up once more. It was easy, it would take a few hours at most, but it would be easy. That was what his former colleagues did, anyway. A betrayal of public trust didn’t matter, as long as they made billions, and the government had millions of data for easier profile access. She would be Caryn X until when?
She didn’t even ask about him, he realized. She tried, but he always shut her down. Perhaps, they could start
tonight?
“So you’re from New York,” he began, taking a subtle breath.
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve been writing for the same company since-?”
“Two years ago. I started as a beat reporter. Did boring articles. Gardening,” she said with a muffled laugh. “Can you imagine? Gardening? I mean I like plants, I like nature, but gardening for six months…ha.”
“And now?”
“I write for myself,” she replied. “I saved enough to survive for a while. Still write news articles, but it doesn’t pay as well as I’d want for it to, but I like learning.”
“About people?” he said, looking at her.
“That,” she admitted. “Among other things. What about you? Why are you here? You had so many awards-“
“Ah, now that we’ve come to that… there were certain parts of my life I didn’t quite enjoy. So I sort of became a recluse here. I still work, of course, but I prefer working with minimal physical contact.”
“You were with me…” her voice trailed off.
“That’s another thing,” he said mildly.
“I figured it was just a spur of the moment. Thrice,” she breathed out, visibly irked. “Same as you, huh?”
The sarcasm was palpable in the air. He cleared this throat. “We both knew what we were doing. And it’s not like you didn’t like it.” Then he closed his eyes, realizing it was a stupid thing to say.
Her eyes widened, and he quickly tried to placate her.
“Look, I’m not good with this. I avoid people as much as possible, especially people who are only after the things I’ve worked hard for, things I’ve wanted to achieve—"
“You’re not the only one with that problem,” she told him, “except some of us work hard, and still barely scrape by.”
“You make it seem like you’ve had a difficult childhood.”
“Every hood in my life has been difficult, from childhood to adulthood,” she commented wryly.
David burst out laughing. “Hood! Hood!” he sputtered out, unable to believe that she had said that.
“What?” she said with a frown.
“I had thought you meant for that to be funny, or punny, or whatever,” he said, still laughing. “Still, that was hilarious!”
She gave a shy smile, and continued to drink her champagne. She looked proud of her comment, even if she had realized it a bit late.
“I get why you write,” he said, “There’s so much you can say.”
“What is it that you do exactly?” she asked him.
“I’m in the internet business,” he replied hesitantly.
“Like Google?” she looked confused.
“Kind of like Google, but different,” he said, trying to break things down for her in a simpler manner. “I do know the founders,” he added.
“So, what is it? I don’t think I’m that ignorant.”
“It’s best you don’t know much about it.”
“Is that why you’re here? So you can work on it?”
“I’m working on something else at the moment,” David answered back carefully.
“Still on the internet?”
“Still on the internet,” he repeated. But tons nicer. “What are you going to write about while you’re here?”
“I’d like to work on my life story, if that’s even of interest. I can embellish it to make it interesting, but we’ll see how it goes. I’d hate to stretch the truth or fabricate a lie just for it to be published.”
He nodded. “I’d like to read that, someday.” He saw her eyes flinch a little, and he knew she wasn’t comfortable with the idea.
“You’re still not going to tell me your family name? This is based on trust, not some cross examination.”
She took a deep breath, as if weighing her consequences. “Caryn. Caryn Porter.”
“Caryn Porter,” he repeated, committing it to memory.
The grandfather clock sounded off, counting the seconds until twelve midnight. David quickly refilled their glasses with champagne.
He raised his glass in midair, as she did hers.
“Merry Christmas, stranger.”
Chapter8
She woke up to see him sound asleep on her bed. They had a few more drinks, they laughed and shared personal things. So, they slept with each other again… she felt a smile creep up her face. Caryn couldn’t think of a more perfect way to ring in Christmas Day. What did she plan to do again? Walk around the island? Mope in the memories of misery? It was early, not quite eight in the morning. Caryn did sleep better with, didn’t she? Or perhaps it was the lovemaking. Yes, the lovemaking was that good, wasn’t it?
She silently alighted from the bed, wondering what to prepare for breakfast. They still had leftover sandwiches from last night, which would do. It was a hot morning, with barely any breeze coming in, but she didn’t mind.
“Good morning,” he said, interrupting her.
Caryn looked up, surprised to see him awake. “You’re up. I thought I’d let you sleep in for a bit.”
“The bed got cold,” he admitted, and she saw him blush just a little bit, and it made her smile.
“We’re having leftovers,” she told him.
“Your domestic cooking skills are nada,” David commented.
“I’m in the process of learning. I do write quite well,” Caryn said, stung by his words. It was true, though.
“That’s why you’re thinner than most. Not that I’m complaining,” he said, walking for her, “isn’t it time you add some healthy weight to you?”
She frowned, knowing what he meant, but she pretended not to. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t have much of a choice here, no fast-food joints or canned food or-- ” “Instant noodles,” she finished, suddenly missing her little packets of ramen, wherein she ignored the high sodium content completely. It satisfied her cravings, anyway. She popped the sandwiches in the toaster, hoping they wouldn’t burn halfway through heating.
David apparently got the gist of her plot, and he stood by the toaster, eyeing it once in a while. “We finished two bottles, and we were still sober,” he began.
“I hope you aren’t making justifications for what happened last night,” she said, not looking at him. She felt weird now. Did he regret it? Maybe he wasn’t as innocent as she’d like to think he was. Maybe all he wanted was to sleep with her, like some sex starved man, trapped on a deserted island. Didn’t he have porn?
“Don’t make this into some porn plot,” she suddenly said, then she bit her lip, realizing what she had just said.
He gave a hollow laugh. “Just when we thought the morning was going to be as romantic as it was last night. You said my name, and you can barely look at me now. And you mentioned porn. What’s the connection?”
“Liquor, two horny adults, bed,” she breathed out.
“I dislike porn, but I have a master data base of every person who’s ever bought porn or watched porn online,” he said wryly. “It’s part of my work. A database.”
“You use people’s sensitive information,” Caryn said flatly.
“They did, not me,” he muttered. He cleared his throat. “A long time ago, I used to do that, I made a database software, it was specific, far more specific than most. Didn’t make me happy. These were private people, exposed for their personal interests.”
“If they are crimes--” -“
“They weren’t. I’m not part of some FBI intel. It’s just that… a few years ago, a couple of former friends- they wanted things done differently, far from what I’d envisioned. I guess it was a thin line after all, it is a data base…” his voice trailed off.
He realized he was saying too much, and to ask him to continue would only make him shut himself off even more. She nodded, acknowledging what he had said, but never prying. David quickly flipped the sandwich, noticing the toast had gotten darker.
“Oops, sorry,” she said, grabbing a plate.
He shook his head an
d smiled a little, as if he was right all along. She barely had any cooking skills, and this embarrassed her. Here he was, a nerd, a nerd who could cook, a billionaire nerd who was single, lived alone in a large house- and he was in her house, and he had made love to her in the most exquisite way possible. It was a Christmas gift that proved far too unique to forget…
“What will you do now that your laptop died?” he asked her.
She remembered how he had given her back her smashed laptop. It was irreparable, and he looked at the laptop as if he were in pain as well. Typical computer nerd.
“Write by hand,” she told him.
He grimaced. “The only time I write is when I sign stuff.”
“That isn’t how I work,” she told him, popping the sandwiches onto individual plates. “You okay with pineapple juice?” she asked him.
He sighed. “Support the local pineapple industry, even if I’m getting tired of having pineapples every day. I guess a plant can wear you down… What would you have done if you didn’t become a writer?” he suddenly asked her.
It made her think. What would she have done? She wasn’t blessed with her mother’s height of 5’8, and she wondered why. She couldn’t have been a model, she knew it would have bored the crap out of her. She wanted to think. She wanted to travel.
“Maybe a travel host” she said, thinking of all the freebies. “But I need to get rid of my shyness first,” she added with a short laugh. “I’ve been painfully shy, even if I try to be assertive. It took years to learn the whole ‘I’m so tough’ façade.”
“What makes you think you aren’t?” he asked.
Damn it, so many questions about life, she thought. “There are certain things I can’t face, yet. I think you have them, too.”
“Don’t we all?” he said, pouring himself some pineapple juice.
“Who- who was she?” she found herself asking.
“Who was?”
“Your former girlfriend.”
