Balefire

by Barrett

  She picked up her iPod and pushed play then closed her eyes. The author began, “Chapter two.”

  Chapter Seven

  “THERE’S A LIFE jacket under the bench. You may wanna put it on.” Kenrick steered the long, narrow boat away from the dock.

  His hands and sandaled feet were weathered. As he prepared the boat to launch, she watched with fascination the care with which he looped each line and wiped down the seats and rails.

  He stood with feet planted and both hands gripping the wheel. Kirin guessed he was in his early twenties. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but had broad shoulders and a stocky build. A charming sweet smile and a tanned boyish face lent out his innocence to her.

  As they rocked over a few incoming waves, the twin engines sputtered. The waves crashing against the barrier reef revealed that it wasn’t that far away. The reef provided protection for Ambergris Caye, the mainland, and the other smaller cayes. Kirin tugged her Packers cap down on her head as Kenrick nosed the boat in a southerly direction and pushed the throttle. Within seconds, the hull lifted as the boat planed.

  The wind and salt spray felt good on her hot skin as it stung her cheeks. She held onto the side rail and watched the brightly colored buildings along the shore as they sped past. The iridescent shades of blue water around them glistened and contrasted with the frothy white wake. How had she missed this startling beauty when they had arrived? Had she been comatose?

  Occasionally, he pointed out some landmark and shouted the name. But the wind and the noise made conversation impossible. All she could do was lean back and let the sun, the wind, and the spray envelop her. As difficult as it was to admit—and she would never tell Esther—her assignment relocation was becoming more delightful. Of course, considering it began in a hurricane, it really had nowhere to go but up.

  She smiled. If this piece about the hurricane aftermath was as good as she hoped it would be, she might be able to do more freelancing and fewer travel reviews. She had a break, thanks to a kind stranger. If only she had more time to work on that mystery. Silke was an easy companion, thoughtful, gentle, and soft-spoken. She also had a quick, dry wit. Still, she sensed something deeper. What was beneath her calm exterior?

  Kenrick was motioning at the shoreline. As he cut the engines back to a slower speed, Kirin moved closer to hear him. The hull of the boat dropped back into the water.

  “That is Belize City,” he yelled over the wind and pointed. “We will stop there on the way back if you want. They had flooding but not too much damage. The south got the most. Because there is no electricity and the houses are not so strong, the small villages get no weather alerts.”

  Kirin cupped her hands around her mouth. “Have you been in many bad storms?”

  He shook his head. “Not bad ones. Only a few hurricanes come this way. Most go the other direction. We have many inches of rain and often strong wind. I go closer to shore so you get pictures.” He swung the wheel to the port side and pushed the throttle.

  For the next hour, Kirin made notes and took pictures of the landmarks Kenrick pointed out—smashed piers, overturned fishing boats, and a toppled lighthouse. The heat and humidity would have been much worse if they had not been moving.

  By late afternoon, Kenrick steered the boat to a public dock in Danriga. There was only one small place serving decent food. They landed amongst the locals.

  She stood at the sink in the ladies room and tried to wash off some of the salt spray. Even with the sunscreen, her skin was glowing pink, probably from the wind. Kenrick had assured her that Placencia was only a few miles further. “We will stay at my cousin’s Land’s End Resort at the north end.”

  When she returned to the table, he was still talking on the phone. It felt good to sit on something that wasn’t moving for a while. She added a couple of notes in her journal. Fatigue washed over her even as her mind raced with story ideas. It was probably a good idea to stop soon so she could write down more details. Kenrick gave her a nice story about a fisherman who rescued his elderly neighbor’s dog.

  Kenrick returned to the table. “My cousin is very pleased that we can visit. I have not seen him since last year. Three years ago when his father died, he took over the small resort. It is not very fancy, but I think you will be comfortable. Would you like something else to drink?”

  She finished her water. “I don’t think so. I suppose we should get going. I’d like to get more photos before dark.”

  SILKE HUNG HER wet green bathing suit on the porch railing. The sun had dipped behind the resort, and she had promised to have dinner with Diane and Mark.

  She pulled her damp hair up and clipped it. The satiny fabric of her sarong brushed against her with the evening breeze. She chuckled. Without societal constraints, she could easily be a nudist. Whenever possible she chose light, loose clothing to avoid any kind of restriction. After the choking incident with Rachel, this became the neurotic, almost-unthinking response.

  “Hi, sugar. You about ready to go?” Mark’s voice startled her.

  “Hey, Mark. You didn’t have to come all the way over here. I told Diane I can find my way to your house—as I do every year.” She locked the door, unfolded her cane, and took his hand as she went down the steps.

  “Are you kidding? This is the perfect way to get out of kitchen duty. I spend enough time in kitchens without having to do it at home.” He pulled her sideways. “Watch that rock. Besides, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since you arrived. Diane told me you had a pretty rough flight, so I’m glad there was someone to help you.” He laughed. “We got an earful from some of our guests. They were downright cranky about that—especially the ones that couldn’t make it out here. Believe me, it was no better for the people whose departures were canceled. Fortunately, we had the space to accommodate everyone. But if that ever happens again, call me. I’ll send someone to town get you.” He stopped and picked up two stray palm fronds and stuck them in a trash barrel. He returned to her side, brushed his hands together, and offered his arm.

  Silke slid her hand around his elbow. “It wasn’t too bad. One of the airline personnel recommended a youth hostel near the airport. The price was right and easily accessed. Kirin said it looked more like a hospital than a hotel. And it was just as quiet.”

  “What’s the story with Kirin?” He pointed toward the new house. “Diane said she’s some kind of a writer and wants to do a side story about the resort. Is that for real?”

  They walked around the main building and office to Mark and Diane’s private residence—a beautiful two-story rustic bungalow-style home. Mark designed it like a bunker with all the features they both wanted from their original home in Wisconsin. They incorporated solar energy along with a state-of-the-art water recycling system.

  He pushed open a decorative wooden gate for her.

  “Honestly, I don’t know that much about her . . . thanks.” Silke stepped forward. “Circumstance threw us together, and we’ve been navigating through the nuances. When we first met at the airport, I never would’ve dreamed we’d end up sharing a room. Even though we haven’t talked that much, she’s intense, a type A—always on the edge.”

  “Watch your step, I just set this flag stone walk and there are still some uneven spots.” He held her elbow.

  Her mind stayed on Kirin as she walked through the gateway. “The nicest thing happened after we arrived here. She sort of deflated. I think it’s because of the magical air of Ambergris Caye. Well, that and the fact she got excited about a new assignment.”

  They climbed a series of steps, and Mark opened the front door. “Dee, we’re back.”

  Silke stopped and exhaled. “That’s an impressive climb. I certainly worked up an appetite.” She brushed her hair around her ear and smiled.

  Mark laughed. “I wasn’t taking any chances with storm surges or flooding. There’s a long gradual ramp to the back deck for deliveries or moving, and the ramp ends close to the resort kitchen. Any emergency, we’re ready to go.
”

  The kitchen was large and awash with warm tones—reds, golds, and orange accents. The floors and walls were bamboo. Diane was listening to classical music. Debussy or Ravel? An exhaust fan buzzed near the stove.

  “Whatever you’re cooking smells divine,” Silke said.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Diane embraced her and pulled out a stool at the kitchen counter. “Sit here,” she patted the seat, “and talk to me while I finish up. Wine?”

  “Sure, whatever you’re having.”

  “I’m due to check on the grill.” Mark patted her back, and she heard the sound of the refrigerator opening and bottles clinking. “Don’t talk about me while I’m gone.”

  Silke and Diane laughed.

  “You have nothing to worry about, my dear.” Diane pushed him out the door and closed it behind him. “Some days I think he’ll never grow up.”

  Seeing Mark and Diane together always made Silke a little jealous. “You guys are so perfect together the way you complement each other. It always gives me hope.”

  Diane rinsed her hands and sat down at the end of the counter. “Don’t forget, we had some really hard times when we started this business. I wasn’t sure we’d make it. But we both wanted it so badly there was no turning back.” She sipped her wine. “Did I tell you that my precious daughter and her husband agreed to lease the house?”

  “How are they doing? I haven’t heard from Stacey in ages.” Silke overshot as she tried to reach her glass.

  Diane slid it in her sightline. “They’re great, still trying to get pregnant. I have encouraged them to be patient and just work on building a relationship.” She paused. “I know she’s been remiss about keeping in touch with you, and I’m sorry. It’s just . . . she’s a little uncomfortable. You know she adores you, but the accident with Rachel has upset her.”

  A tiny knife-like pain pierced Silke’s heart. She was Stacey’s godmother. “I’m so sorry. I guess I never thought about that. I just assumed Stacey would always feel free to talk to me about anything. Do you think I should call her?”

  “She loves you but is confused and worried about you. So am I. What are you going to do?” Diane took a long swallow of wine and viewed Silke with a furrowed brow.

  Silke knew the look. A familiar queasy feeling rose up inside her, then a flash. She felt rage tightening around her neck. Running away to Belize seemed a logical a solution, but eventually she’d have to go back and deal with it. Maybe for the first few days at home Rachel would be solicitous, but eventually the bickering would resume. Last year, the fighting had escalated slowly until the incident eight months ago. She didn’t fully trust their current shaky peace treaty.

  “I don’t know. There’s no turning back time. And if I’m honest with myself I will never trust Rachel again—I can’t.”

  “I understand. Let me ask another question. What would you like to do?”

  The air she held in her lungs escaped. “I’d just like to be free and do my art. I . . . I thought by now that Rachel would tire of the status quo and tell me to leave. If she did, I’d go in a New York minute.”

  “Where would you go?”

  “I’d move into my studio. There’s plenty of room and it wouldn’t take much to fix it up.” Silke felt a pleasant sensation of peace when she thought about her hideaway.

  “Can you afford it?” Diane used a small towel to wipe the already clean counter.

  “Sure, the rent is less than my half of the mortgage on the house. Between my salary from the university and a few sales of my sculptures, I think I’d be okay. I could take in private students if I had to.”

  Diane went to stir the sauce on the stove. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought, which begs the question . . . Why don’t you just do it?”

  Dread always showed up like an icy cold fist in Silke’s chest. When confronted with the obvious, she always defaulted to the passive. She gulped the last of her wine. “I’m afraid. Not that I can’t take care of myself. I’m afraid of Rachel’s reaction.”

  “Oh, honey. We have to fix that. Can we talk to Mark about it?” Diane’s determined expression both reassured and caused her to waver.

  THE MOSQUITOES WERE fierce as Kirin made her way back to the small bungalow at the Land’s End resort. Kenrick and his cousin, Arthur, were lost in memories of “remember when . . .” on the screen porch. She didn’t think she could stay awake for any more stories. The sun, the surf, and the previous six months of nonstop activity had taken a toll. The sun was just setting, and she knew she couldn’t keep her eyes open much longer. Cousin Arthur had a friend who was willing to drive them inland to talk to some of the local farmers. He wanted to get an early start before it got too hot, so she made her excuses and left.

  She took a quick shower and climbed between the sheets after cranking the fan up to high. Even after all the water she drank with dinner, her lips were chapped, and her body parched. Her body relaxed quicker than her brain. She closed her eyes and formatted the article in her mind. She’d compare and contrast recovery between lands devoted to tourists vs. agricultural areas. Clearly, the third world country with limited resources needed to prioritize. Long-term infrastructure problems, temporarily cured by immediate cash flow from the tourist trade was a potential part of the puzzle.

  As her eyelids grew heavier, she floated and wondered how her new friends at the resort were faring. Odd, but she missed Silke. The memory of her surfaced: her unconstrained, grounded demeanor was transformative for Kirin. By comparison, Kirin could barely exhale most days because of the self-imposed strangling of schedules and deadlines, always playing catch-up. Silke Dyson was unaffected. How does she maintain that cool?

  Chapter Eight

  THE YOUNG MAN set the small box of groceries on the kitchen counter.

  “Gracias, Ramon.” Silke tipped him and watched as he left. After lunch, she had walked over to the tiny convenience store behind the restaurant. It was next to an even smaller Laundromat. Both came in handy.

  She put away the soup, the lemonade mix, sweetener, and crackers, then stowed the cheese and sliced ham in the refrigerator. She stopped. I probably should have asked if Kirin had any requests before she left. She closed the door. Had Kirin mentioned how long would be gone?

  After filling a canvas bag with sunscreen, water bottle, towel, hat, sunglasses, and her iPod, she slipped on her bathing suit and pareo. Because so many of the islands’ visitors were divers, the pool area was empty this early in the afternoon. She picked a lounge chair near one of the palm trees. With any luck, she’d be able to finish the book she had started earlier. Worst-case scenario she’d fall asleep. The lull of sleep and dreaming—paradise . . .

  “It just feels wrong to disturb someone who looks so peaceful and so beautiful,” Diane sat on the foot of the lounge chair. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”

  Silke cracked open one eye. “You are only rarely disturbing.” A few puffy white clouds drifted across the sun, dropping the temperature. A seagull swooped close the pool deck, squawking. Behind her was laughter from the bar.

  “Why, thank you. I won’t stay. I just wanted to let you know that Bren and Katie were here. You remember them from two years ago?”

  Silke sat up. “The funny couple from North Carolina?”

  “Yup, the same. They’re unpacking, but they promised to come up for the Belizean Night. The first thing they asked about was you.”

  “Oh, I’m really glad you told me, we had a blast the last time they were here. And thanks for reminding me about tonight. I almost forgot.”

  Diane stood. “Okay. Get back to your book. I’ll see you later.” She stopped and turned back. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

  Silke shook her head. “I’m good. Oh, Diane, thanks again for last night. You guys are wonderful.”

  The clouds had moved off and sun again warmed her. Silke pressed play and closed her eyes.

  ARTHUR’S FRIEND DROPPED Kenrick and Kirin at the dock after thre
e. Arthur stubbornly refused money for driving them around all day. She worked him with her beguiling charms, and he finally relented with a big hug. She knew he needed the money.

  “I’ll grab my stuff while you get the boat ready.” When they had left at seven a.m., he had encouraged her to take nothing but her camera and a notebook. He agreed to lock her backpack in his office.

  She was glad he did. Wherever they went, they tried to be unobtrusive. The people they met were gracious and welcoming. Away from the tourist centers, living conditions were much harder. The storm and flooding had swept through like the arc of a giant scythe, indiscriminately hacking the earth and the homes. During her writing career, she’d traveled all over the world, but mostly to review tourist destinations. This was altogether different. She seldom looked behind the curtain where the workers lived.