The money was now passed on to the sole survivor of our father’s estate, but I decided to spread the wealth a bit including two of my oldest and dearest friends…Selma and Maya. Dad left Laura and me to want for nothing and now it was the nothing that money provided which made me feel hollow within. What was the purpose of great wealth if one did not have joy? What was joy without my sister to call on the phone to share savory details within the everyday? My heart became an empty vault of nothingness and I doubted that I would ever feel any sort of hope again.
In truth, my relationship with Laura was often based on extending much patience towards her. It was only after her accident, she overcame many of her petty quirks and we finally established a closer relationship. Sometimes through adversity we abandon the past and focus on getting through such challenges connected and together. Maybe she realized that we were a testament to each other, that her past was my past and my people were her people. Maybe...maybe, but then again Laura was never the type to consider anything of depth and value. She was rather self absorbed and had a tendency to make unquenchable demands, especially, if it meant at the sacrifice of those around her, above all me.
None of it mattered though, none of it because she was gone and I was left behind standing alone. It felt as if my left hand were cut off and now I had to figure out life with only the use of my right.
The music of my heartbeat was pumping out of synch. I had lost an important part of my life and there was no comfort in anything familiar for even the familiar was suddenly changed forever. I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t cry. There was no pillow soft enough, no drink stiff enough, no pool deep enough to carry me away from such an overwhelming burden of grief.
So, I withdrew for a planned week isolating myself from the world...watching, carefully watching the world from my perch on the top floor penthouse of the Grand Resort Hotel.
Housekeeping would interrupt me each day at one fifteen and I would pause just long enough to shower, change clothes and force a dry sandwich into my gut. I had lost my appetite not only for food but for life itself. This forced routine worked to keep me sustained until I ordered the next case of the finest French numbing potion. If I could have kept the potion flowing through an IV, I would have.
When the phone interrupted the “round and round” of memories from the better times Laura and I shared, I believed it was some trivial question by my former secretary whose only wish was to tie up loose ends so that she too could close the books from the past and move on. Unfortunately, it was the front desk nagging me about how my time at the resort had expired. They insisted I needed to go.
Apparently, the new guest had arrived and they wanted immediate access to prepare. I quickly offered double the price squelching their insistence. I basically told them to piss off and I explained how my extended presence was unforeseen…and that I should be left to myself, to lick my wounds and to continue drinking my way into oblivion.
I poured another glass and allowed the wind to toss my hair in an unbridled manner. I had lost my desire to keep up appearances and wanted nothing more than to fade out unnoticed…dim the lighting, pull the plug.
A few minutes later, the front desk interrupted my grieving process once again. With a momentary lapse in judgment, I agreed to share the suite with the unwelcomed guest who was supposed to take residence had I left. I would have agreed to anything just to stop that blasted phone from bringing me back from the wave of despair I was emotionally set to float away on.
I wanted my sister alive once again and there was nothing I could do, say or bargain with to make that happen.
My first impression of the American was how she projected attitude. My good deed of sharing accommodations was not a good deed from her perspective. She scoffed that I should give up the suite for she had booked several months in advance. She called ME selfish. I thought her to be an arrogant American…and I wasn’t offered the chance to catch her name before she locked herself in the main bathroom. I’m not sure when she came out exactly, nor did I care.
I laughed at her as I poured the remaining burgundy into my glass. At least I was laughing…maybe it wasn’t the most ideal way make use of a laugh, but none the less, it was a laugh.
The American was blonde, slender and who I believed the profanity “bitch” was intended to describe. She looked all California and emitted a sense of spoiled entitlement.
“Stay locked in the bathroom.” I shouted in Spanish. I said a few other choice things to her. The truth was, I didn’t know her or what circumstances brought her to the island and there was no reason to verbally abuse her other than to make use of an easy target that her presence offered. She was someone to direct my hurt and grief towards…she became the release on my overburdened pressure valve.
I’m not sure if I said everything that had been simmering below the surface since my sister died or not. I passed out somewhere between calling the American a whore and masterfully insulting her mother in Spanish. When I awoke the next morning, I was on the sofa with a comforter blanketing my body.
Imagine the guilt I felt as the American showed compassion for a loud mouthed foreigner who didn’t deserve an ounce of her kindness. Her simple deed awoke something that I thought was buried along with my sister: decency.
I felt immediate remorse. I entered the small kitchen area, opened the wine crate and dumped the full stock into the garbage.
“There is no excuse for the mistreatment of others.” I said in English. The time had come to finally move past the bottle and to cope with my grief sober. After two and a half weeks of binge drinking, I finally realized that I still was responsible for myself and how I treated those around me. This of course was the perfect motivation to pull myself up from the emotional mess that I had become. UP as it turned out, was the only direction to swim.
Chapter 03: Chicago is NO where near California
A slight din penetrated the floor from below as I imagined someone on the housekeeping staff running a vacuum. The noise was faint until a clog became wedged beneath. Even with ceiling, beams, subfloor and carpet between, the high pitched squeal of the belt was ear piercing. I assumed the maid either pulled the plug or clicked the unit for everything fell off in an abrupt silence.
I yawned and stretched not quite certain if I was ready to begin my day or not. The king-sized bed was too firm, the air too humid and the company snoring from the sofa in the next room unacceptable. I felt disillusioned. What I imagined for this trip did not seem to be lining up with reality. I had been looking forward to this escape since my divorce from Travis and I deserved to have everything perfect...but there was a huge disappointment in the next room, in the form of an insulting, fire breathing Spanish speaking She-Devil.
On the remote next to the bed I pushed a button. Immediately the draperies parted and the full expanse of ocean was presented before me along the two outside walls. A multitude of turquoise hues reflected throughout the seascape with the exception of triangular highlights that danced from the movement of water. The view was absolutely breathtaking.
An ocean liner, one similar to the one I arrived on, slowly followed a path forward along the horizon. I laid there in bed gazing out to the amazing wonders before me, somehow feeling great promise.
Whispering Falls Island located in the tropics was only known to those who had means and unlimited privilege. Travis had promised me this experience as a belated honeymoon, promised me each and every year for ten years and as part of the divorce agreement, I held him to that promise except on this voyage he would not be joining me. He instead remained behind in Chicago, only married now to his career.
My husband’s law firm represented him and I hired who I believed was a competent attorney. Our assets were split during mediation, but not in equal portions. Since Travis had great connections and ability, his take was bloated and top heavy. Not only did he stake claim to our condo on the Gold Coast, most of our finances and investments, but he claimed exclus
ive right to all of the friends we had shared, in addition to the only family I had ever really cherished, his.
I sighed heavy as I stumbled from the bed and stood front and center along the huge wall of windows. Sunlight shimmered and bounced throughout the room as it reflected off the waves below.
If I remained in that spot a hundred years, I would never tire of awakening with such magnificence. Back in the city, Lake Michigan was only visible from our sitting room and since I moved, that view was no longer part of my day. Here there was beauty surrounding every room from the remarkable architectural design showcasing what I imagined to be paradise.
“Travis,” I said under my breath, “You’re an ass.”
I wrapped myself in a plush robe and shuffled into the enormous sitting room. The other tenant was already up and clanking around in the kitchen. She glanced up briefly as I entered. In an instant she sized me up and I averted my gaze, wishing to avoid any sort of confrontation that could possibly sidestep the rejuvenation I had gained.
“Good morning,” she said attempting a welcoming tone through her thick accent. I nodded in response, hesitant to befriend a squatter that refused to leave my penthouse claim.
“I’m brewing coffee; can I pour you a cup?”
“Look,” I said rather curtly. “I’m not here to get all chummy with you or anyone else. My purpose is to cleanse myself from a ten year marriage that ended horribly. I deserve this trip and I deserve to be left to myself to regroup.”
“Fine,” she replied as her brown eyes softened. Somehow, she saw right through me. Her accent was thick, her appearance sexy and her presence annoying as all hell.
“What are you still doing here anyway?’ I asked with a snip. I tried to keep my irritation under wraps but lost. “This suite was promised to me. I needed this place all to myself…if my husband, I mean ex-husband were here, no one would dare pull this sort of nonsense on him!”
“So you’re here and he’s not.” The woman said in a dismissive tone. She continued, “You’re here and no one is stopping you from enjoying yourself regardless...”
There was a certain charm to the foreigner’s argument and a quick smile broke through my tough girl façade.
Have you ever met someone that emitted irresistible magnetism that with one look at them, all defenses fall to the wayside and you would just about agree to anything they want?
This woman, exotic as she was, enchanted me. I suddenly found myself surrendering my vacation to her on a silver platter. If she were a thief, I would have been handing over not only my purse, but my bank account numbers, credit cards and SUV title without a second thought.
She smirked at my apparent unraveling as she studied me with interest. “I’m Dora…Dora Alavaro.” She wiped her hands in a towel then extended her right hand in my direction.
“Carmen Davis soon to be Adams…I’m taking back my maiden name.”
Dora nodded as if trying to comprehend.
“Are you married?” I asked.
“I never saw a reason or a purpose for it.” She answered as a matter-of-fact.
I smirked feeling very agreeable to that idea considering all that I had been through with Travis.
Dora lifted the phone. “I’m about to order breakfast, hungry?”
“Yes. What’s good here?” I asked.
“Not the sandwiches.” She replied without thought to her response.
I gazed at her with intrigue.
By the time I showered, dried my hair and clothed myself for the day, the food had arrived. A waiter remained behind so as to serve us a formal breakfast on the veranda overlook.
Dora reclaimed the seat she was sprawled in when I arrived the evening before. Her colorful silk robe flapped in the bursts of wind revealing glimpses of an elegant chemise and subtle cleavage. I did my best to avert my gaze but the manner for which the material moved, I was reminded of a neon sign blinking in the dark of night, "vacancy." I felt embarrassed that my eyes kept returning to her personal flashing sign and I hoped that she did not notice or take offense.
The food was flavorful, crisp and exotic. The fresh salad included chunks of fruit that were artistically carved and unusual. I pretended to not be impressed, but I was. The bread had intricate weaves that did not seem possible.
“Have you seen any of the sights on the island?” I asked Dora in an attempt at making conversation. I wanted to buffer the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between us.
“No. I haven’t left the room since I arrived over a week ago.”
I gazed at her with surprise.
“I’m going through a bit of…what did you call it? Oh, yes regrouping…”
“To regrouping…” I said lifting my coffee and nodding with appreciation for finding something in common with the stranger after all.
“I’d love to rent a scooter and motor to the waterfall on the other side of the island today. I've seen the many pictures in the travel brochure and am intrigued by the history of this place.” I said.
The waiter piped in. “No need to rent, the resort provides them for our guests as a courtesy.”
“I’d like to do it then.” I said suddenly unsure if I could figure out the workings of a Vespa.
“Consider it done.” He responded excusing himself to accommodate.
“You want to join me?” I asked Dora spontaneously.
“Me?” She smiled taken aback. Her expression led me to believe she was looking for an excuse so as to decline.
“You probably have a million things to do.” I said back-pedaling my invitation.
“No, actually that would be...” she paused as if trying to find a fitting word, "Nice."
We sat there a moment in silence. It was awkward, the sudden change of weather between us. I had to ask myself what I was thinking. Of course if I were to dig for the reason why, I think I sensed she too was all alone in this world, just the same as how I was feeling...and then there was the fact that I found myself inexplicably drawn to her.
Her thick accent broke through the silence in a startling manner. “Here’s the deal as I see it." She grinned sheepishly. "I’ll site see today with you if you accompany me in sort of a "trade" on something I would wish to do.”
“A trade?” I asked.
“Yes, a trade for companionship....a trade so as to not be so alone on this island full of the hoity-toity.” She responded. Even though a simple nod would have sufficed, I extended my hand and we shook on the deal.
I had dressed all for comfort, with gym shoes, a small satchel to carry my valuables and a camera that I looped to prevent escape from the side pocket of my pale blue over shirt. I chose a pair of lightweight Capri's. Everything matched but it was apparent that I was an American. It was the shoes, the shoes lacking in heels or style that were a dead giveaway.
Dora on the other hand, wore a skirt, some sort of slip on clogs, a wrap around blouse. Even though I guessed us to be around the same age, her attire made me feel as if she was the grown up and I was but a mere child. She pulled her hair back and her sunglasses were a style that I had not yet seen in the Midwestern United States. Everything about her emitted wealth and even though Travis and I had always been financially comfortable, I suddenly felt a bit inadequate.
She nodded as she mounted the scooter and glanced at the instructions for transport. In no time she was following the path along the beachfront, turning the Vespa in slow circles to offer me a chance to catch up.
In the moments before take off, the resort valet had sensed my concern and quickly instructed me on how to work the small battery powered bike. As it turned out, there was nothing to stress over. With ease, I too was zooming forward along the northern path of the island in Dora's wake.
Palm trees moved in rhythm as the wind ricocheted gusts from the water. Dora maintained the lead weaving her bike in a soothing manner. I couldn’t see her face but there was something about the freedom she projected that led me to believe she was driving the bike with her eyes closed.
The sun was unbearable and the movement of the Vespa kept discomfort away. About ten minutes later, we reached the turnoff to Whispering Falls. Dora slowed for the turn then accelerated at full throttle. I followed, matching her intent.
Another few minutes in, we stopped at an overlook to the most amazing falls that I had ever seen. A rickety bridge of rope and wood slats extended in front of the water with a warning declaring the bridge unsafe. The caution sign was written in four different languages. I had trouble with the kick stand and Dora helped with surprising patience as the mechanism finally cooperated.
The waterfalls and the area surrounding sparked curiosity for most of the island appeared to be resting at sea level. Obviously there was a great amount of pitch to the small body of land since on the side opposite, the side where the resort had been built, seemed flat and lacking in rock. The falls however, were something nature chopped into the landscape. If I hadn’t read about the history of the island, I would have believed the boulders to be transported from the Appalachian Mountains, rock after rock. Truthfully, it didn’t make sense, nor did the fact that we were standing on a high overlook studying a crystal clear lagoon. The water was so pure that schools of fish were seen in fine detail from below as if being captured in high definition.
Neither of us said much, but instead gazed at the view before us with great appreciation. I pulled my camera and began to click some pictures to remember my first trip, free and clear from Travis.
“Dora.” I said. She turned and I captured her in front of the strings of falling water. She smiled politely, even though it must have been awkward for a virtual stranger to steal a snapshot of her.
The mountainous cliffs were the main tourist draw for visitors. Whispering Falls had been discovered back in the 1800’s as a port for cargo ships to replenish their fresh water supplies. The ocean was naturally filtrated through the island's sand, rock and slant. Not many knew about the exclusive resort secretly built in the late 1930’s. The island was used as a covert meeting place during WWII for allied leaders to discus strategies and make plans to thwart Germany. The island then became the sort of place one used to escape reality and the scrutiny of the general public.
Falling Whispers, Love & Curses Page 2
