“That works.”
Jake switches on the pressure washer and a loud, repetitive blast fills the air as he starts to hose down the sidewalk. Holly shuts the door to keep the water out.
Chapter 31
The stars are out that night as people pull up to the curb in their golf carts. Holly and Bonnie stand on the top step of the B&B holding cameras and snapping photos like paparazzi as the islanders step onto the sidewalk.
“Hi, Holly!” Emily Cafferkey climbs out of the back of her parents’ golf cart in a pink knee-length satin dress. Her blonde hair is twisted up and clipped on top of her head, and Iris has applied a swipe of pink lipstick and some mascara to her daughter’s face.
Holly holds up her camera and snaps a photo of Emily standing next to her mom. “Hi, ladies. You look beautiful!” She and Bonnie hug both Iris and Emily as they ascend the stairs, holding hands for support in their dress shoes. Jimmy Cafferkey gives a wave and then pulls the cart forward to park it up the street.
Bonnie is dressed in a silver top with sequins and a long black skirt, and her red hair has been curled and coiffed by Millie just that afternoon. After spending the day hanging spray-painted gold stars that look like the ones on the Hollywood Walk of Fame around the dining room, Holly had raced home to change. She’d spent fifteen minutes scrubbing under her nails to get rid of the paint while a conditioner sat in her hair, and she’d quickly applied two coats of red polish to her nails as she sat on the lanai to let her hair dry. Without a closet full of dressy clothes to choose from, she’d settled on a knee-length black sheath that she’d worn on a weekend trip to Miami with Jake one time, and she’d accessorized with bare legs, black high-heeled sandals, and her grandmother’s diamond earrings.
“This is a real bang-up event, Mayor,” Wyatt Bender says, holding her hand in his and leaning in to place a kiss on her cheek.
“Thanks, Wyatt. It’s not every day that Christmas Key is on the verge of becoming a household name, you know?”
“Indeed.” Wyatt lets go of Holly’s hand and turns to Bonnie. “Miss Lane,” he says, bowing slightly at the waist. “You take my breath away. No goddess of the silver screen has ever been so lovely.”
Bonnie flushes hotly under the B&B’s porch lights. “Well, you do have a way with words, Wyatt Bender,” she allows, watching him as he takes her hand and kisses the top of it. “If you play your cards right, I might sit with you during dinner.”
“I would be honored, ma’am,” he says in his thick Southern accent.
Once Wyatt has disappeared inside the B&B, Holly leans over to Bonnie and whispers in her ear. “Shouldn’t Wyatt have gone back to Texas by now?”
Bonnie’s blush deepens. “I suppose he usually leaves around April first.”
“And yet here we are at nearly May first, and old Wyatt is still kicking around the island…” Holly lifts her eyebrows. Wyatt is one of a handful of islanders who still spends summers somewhere other than Christmas Key, but if Holly were to place bets, she’d be willing to wager that he’s more than a little worried that leaving the island—even for a season—might mean he comes back in the fall to find Bonnie shacked up with a pirate or hitched to a fisherman who’s just passing through.
After everyone has arrived and the guests have filtered through the dimmed lobby and passed through a doorway ringed in twinkling lights, Holly and Bonnie close the front door and head into the dining room. It looks amazing with the white tablecloths, gold stars, and hundreds of flickering candles. The happy chit-chat of the islanders fills the room as they visit and sip cocktails.
Everyone who pitched in to prepare the meal has changed into their own fancy clothes, and a buffet table along one wall is laden with plates and silver serving dishes full of chicken marsala, garlic mashed potatoes, and green beans florentine. Buckhunter nods at Holly from behind the bar in the corner as he tips a bottle of rum over a glass and adds a splash to the drink he’s mixing.
“Are you nervous?” Jake asks, materializing at Holly’s side.
“Not really. Are you?”
He shrugs. He’s wearing a black blazer and a collared white shirt. Holly can smell his aftershave.
“I feel pretty confident that I won’t embarrass myself,” Jake says. “But it is kind of weird to think that strangers all over America are about to watch me on TV.”
“Yeah. And it’s weird to think that people will be seeing our beaches—our island—for the first time. I wonder what they’ll think.” Holly folds her arms. Her eyes fall to her own cleavage, and she realizes how low-cut her black dress is. When she looks back up at Jake, he’s staring at the giant screen that they’ll project the show onto.
“They’ll probably think it’s paradise,” Jake says. People get up from the tables, leaving their drinks behind as they trickle over to the buffet to start serving themselves dinner. “They won’t see it as the lonely place it really is.”
Holly frowns. “Jake,” she says, putting her red-tipped hand on his arm. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”
He smiles and a quiet laugh that sounds like a sharp exhale escapes him. “Well, Hol, sometimes I am. I can’t win for trying here. And you and I go back-and-forth on a daily basis: are we angry today, or are we joking? Are we friends? Are there still feelings? I never know which way is up with you.”
Holly smiles at the triplets as they walk past with full plates in their hands. “We’re friends, of course,” she says, pressing her lips together. “Always.”
“But?”
“But what?”
“But you weren’t sad at all when things didn’t work out with me and Bridget, and you’re still talking to River, right?” His left eyebrow lifts a fraction of an inch, but in this small movement, she senses a challenge.
Holly’s been trying to keep her face neutral so their conversation will look like nothing more than friendly cocktail chatter to anyone who passes by.
“Right?” he presses.
“Yes. I am still talking to River.”
Jake nods. “I decided that I’m going to take a leave of absence,” he says. “Maybe if I disappear for a few weeks, I can clear my head and come back here with a different outlook on things.”
“Jake, you don’t have to go…”
“No, I do. I feel like if you and I don’t spend some time apart, I’m going to have to leave for good.”
Holly bites her lower lip. She hasn’t been looking forward to this moment. “I mean, you don’t have to leave,” she pauses, “because I am.”
Wyatt turns on the projector and an Olive Garden commercial fills the screen. They’re just minutes from the start of Wild Tropics, and everyone is taking their seats.
“Where are you going?” Jake lowers his chin, looking at her intently.
“Europe. For three weeks. I’m leaving on May eleventh.”
Understanding registers on his face. “With River.” It’s not a question.
Holly looks down at the criss-crossing straps of the sandals on her feet. “With River,” she confirms.
“I guess that will give me time, won’t it?” When Holly looks up at him again, his Adam’s apple is bobbing in his throat. He swallows repeatedly. “We should get dinner.” Without looking at her again, Jake walks over to the buffet and serves himself a plate.
“Mayor,” Wyatt whispers loudly to get Holly’s attention. “I can put this on mute if you want to say a few words.” He points at the projector.
Holly takes one last glance at the back of Jake’s dark head from across the room before heading up to the podium that she uses for the village council meetings.
“Hi, good evening,” she says into her microphone. The candles on the table closest to her make her earrings sparkle. “Welcome to the world premiere of Wild Tropics,” she says. “I hope you all think this Hollywood-worthy evening is as much fun as I do.” Applause breaks out around the room. “Thank you. We’ve been through so much together, and this reality show is the next step on our journey. I don’t know a
nything more than you do at this point—no one has sent me a sneak preview of the pilot episode, and nobody from the network has given me a heads-up about how it was received by test audiences—so I’m going into this as blindly and as hopefully as the rest of you.”
Holly looks around at the faces of her neighbors, so different when they’re lit from beneath by candlelight in her dining room as compared to when they fill the chairs in broad daylight to discuss the basic operations of the island.
“It’s always an honor and a privilege to live amongst people who care about each other the way you all do, and I hope the rest of the world sees this beautiful place for what it is.” On the screen behind her, the commercials end and the opening credits of the show begin. The islanders whoop with joy, holding their drinks in the air in a toast. Holly glances over her shoulder. “Here we are! So, without further ado…”
She ducks away from the podium and takes a spot at the round table in the center of the room where Fiona and Buckhunter have saved her a seat.
Everyone cheers when Jake appears for the first time, and there are jolts of excitement as people recognize island landmarks and familiar spots.
Fiona leans her shoulder into Holly’s to get her attention. “What’s with Jake?” she whispers, lifting her chin in his direction.
“I told him I was leaving for three weeks,” Holly whispers back. The candles on the table flicker hotly, blurring her view of Jake as he sits in his chair with a drink in one hand.
“Ohhhh,” Fiona says. “Poor guy.”
“Why? My trip has nothing to do with him,” Holly says, feeling defensive.
Fiona puts her hand on top of Holly’s on the white tablecloth. “Of course not,” she says. “It’s about you and River.” There isn’t a hint of sarcasm in Fiona’s words, but Holly knows her well enough to know that she isn’t totally convinced.
Arguing the point will just make it sound like she’s in some sort of denial, so Holly stays silent all throughout Wild Tropics. It’s pretty amazing to see the show come to life. Even when Bridget and Jake interact on screen and their interest in each other is evident, Holly is impressed with the way the island looks. It’s clearly an undeveloped paradise, and the network has already laid out the premise for the viewers, which means that this first episode sets up the fact that the competitors are actually on a Christmas-themed island without knowing it.
“What time do you leave tomorrow?” Holly asks Fiona when the show goes to commercial break.
“We’re taking the boat to Miami at three o’clock.” The swim to Cuba that she’s been prepping for all spring is this weekend, and she and Buckhunter are heading over on Friday afternoon to stay on South Beach and enjoy a weekend away. It will be the first time Holly can remember that Buckhunter hasn’t been around to open Jack Frosty’s on a weekend, but she’s happy for them; they deserve to get off the island as much as she does.
“Make sure Buckhunter takes lots of pictures of you swimming and sends them to me so I can put them on our Instagram,” Holly says, fishing her silenced phone out of the black clutch purse in her lap. As she’d suspected and hoped, her phone is full of notifications from all of the island’s social media accounts: people have already looked up Christmas Key and started following them on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. “Wow,” she says under her breath, using one finger to scroll through all the notifications.
Fiona leans over to see the screen. “Holy cow,” she says in shock. “Are all those new followers?”
“Yep,” Holly says, distracted. “All new.” There’s a moment of confusion inside her that feels like a storm brewing; it’s exciting to have people be so curious about the island, but it’s also surreal. Strangers are now following Christmas Key on Instagram and looking at photos of Cap holding up a giant marlin on the dock, Millie standing in front of Scissors & Ribbons with her arms spread wide on opening day, and Ellen and Carrie-Anne smiling behind the counter of Mistletoe Morning Brew as the sun shines through their brand new front window. Holly realizes for the first time that viewers will have opinions about Jake and Bridget’s relationship on the show, and that people she might never meet will comment on her photos and posts.
Holly swallows hard and locks her phone, putting it back inside her purse. She reminds herself that she’s invited these changes, she’s waited for this day, and she welcomes the potential influx of tourism and interest. It’s all going to be fine.
When the pilot episode of Wild Tropics ends, the islanders sit in the dim room and talk by candlelight, dissecting the first show. Holly makes the rounds, stopping at the various tables to hear what everyone thinks. The comments are overwhelmingly positive, and there’s a general feeling of excitement, even from those who were most reticent about the initial idea of a reality show.
By ten o’clock, Holly’s sent the last stragglers home, and even Bonnie is looking beat. They’ve gathered all the dinner plates, silverware, glasses, and serving dishes, and Holly kicks off her heels on the carpet of the dining room as she pulls the tablecloths off the tables and collects napkins from chairs.
“Here, hon, let me start that load,” Bonnie says, holding out her arms and taking a huge pile of linens from Holly. It’ll probably take two loads to get everything washed, but Holly will be happy if they get just one done tonight.
“Bon,” she says, lifting up her right foot and examining the blister that’s formed where her sandal bit into her skin all evening. “Why don’t you throw that in the wash, and then we can just call it a night. I’d rather come back in the morning and do the dishes.”
“Are you sure?” Bonnie calls over her shoulder on her way to the laundry room. She sounds tired and Holly can tell that it won’t take much convincing to send her home.
“I’m positive,” she says, picking up her sandals and purse from the floor. She takes a look around the dining room. It’ll be just as easy to rearrange the tables and chairs and run the vacuum in the morning; this room can wait.
Holly tosses her shoes and purse onto a chair in the small lobby and bends over to pick up the end of the red carpet. She drags it toward her, rolling it on the ground like a snowball and gathering more carpet as she goes.
“Are we sending everything back tomorrow?” Bonnie walks into the lobby, unfastening the earrings on her lobes as she does. She tosses them into her handbag.
“Monday. The carpet, projector, and screen should all leave on the boat heading for Tampa at noon.”
“Perfect. And you’re sure about leaving the dishes for morning, sugar?” Bonnie wrinkles her brow.
“Of course. Thank you for all your help, Bon,” Holly kicks the rug with her bare foot and it rolls to the side. She opens her arms and pulls Bonnie in for a quick hug. They hold each other for just a moment longer than is necessary. “I’m so glad you’re home,” Holly says in Bonnie’s ear.
Bonnie squeezes back with so much force that it feels like Holly’s ribs might snap. “Honey, I’m so glad to be home. I never should have left—it won’t happen again.”
The women pull away and look into one each other’s eyes. “But don’t ever stop looking for love and adventure, you promise?” Holly searches Bonnie’s gaze intently. “I want you to be happy.”
Tears fill Bonnie’s eyes and she blinks fast. “Sugar,” she says, taking Holly’s hands in her own. “I’ve never been more happy.”
Holly watches as Bonnie walks out of the B&B and onto Main Street. Her cart is parked within view, so Holly locks the front door behind her and switches off the lights in the lobby. With no guests on the island, she’s the only person left inside the B&B. It’s rare to have an empty inn and to be there totally alone, and Holly basks in the silence for a minute, looking out at the darkened storefronts on Main Street from her own unlit lobby.
After Bonnie switches on her headlamps and pulls away, Holly wanders the hallways. She’s still shoeless, and her footsteps are muffled on the floors of the carpeted hallway. The wall sconces light her way to the kitchen, where H
olly switches on the little silver radio that sits on a shelf. She messes with the dial until she gets a fuzzy station all the way from New Orleans. Prince’s “Raspberry Beret” is playing.
The counters are stacked high with dirty plates, and the glasses are filled with food-caked utensils. The pans that the evening’s chefs had used to prepare everything have already been run through the industrial-sized dishwasher. Holly pulls the door open and steam puffs out and fills the air. It takes her about ten minutes to get everything from the dishwasher hand-dried and put away, and then she spends the next hour rinsing the dishes from the dining room with the hand-held hose in the deep, stainless steel sink. She washes off the remnants of dinner, and stacks the plates and cups and silverware in the huge dishwasher.
The announcer on the radio station comes on to let his listeners know that someone has called in to request Milli Vanilli.
“Y’all think I’m joking here,” says the deejay in a husky voice, “but I take my music seriously. So Benjamin Carl, if you were only playing around with this request, then you’re now being punished. Crank it up good, my friends—we’ve got “Blame it on the Rain” by the unforgettable Rob and Fab.”
Holly wipes her brow with her wrist and dances around a little as the opening beats of the song fill the kitchen. She knew when she sent Bonnie home that she wasn’t going to leave until the kitchen was clean, and there’s something cathartic and right about doing the job herself.
By eleven-thirty the dishwasher is humming again, and the counters have been wiped until they shine. Holly’s swept the kitchen floor and run the steam mop over it, and everything—the olive oil, pepper grinder, bottle opener, and even the can of cornstarch—is back in its rightful place, tucked into cupboards or drawers like sleeping soldiers.
She switches off the kitchen lights and heads to the lobby to grab her shoes and purse. The night has been a success, and it’s invigorating to think about where Wild Tropics might take the island. It’s still amazing to Holly to think of people all over the country watching a show that takes place on Christmas Key, but this moment has been inevitable since the second that she officially signed on with the network. Still…the reality of it is going to take some getting used to.
The Edge of Paradise: Christmas Key Book Three Page 24
