Somewhere on St. Thomas: A Somewhere Series Romance

by Neal, Toby

  “Shellie!” I exclaimed, bursting into her room and waving Rafe’s latest letter with the postmark from Panama on it. “I think Rafe’s coming here!”

  “Panama is a long way from Boston,” she snorted after I explained. She’d begun dating a new guy, Phillip, a thin, arty type with Fu Manchu whiskers. He was smoking a doobie in her room, and I thought he might make it to the weekend before she kicked him to the curb.

  “The Panama Canal’s part of that famous trade route between Boston and San Francisco,” Phillip said with more enthusiasm than I’d ever seen from him. “It’s the shortcut alternative to sailing around Cape Horn. Does he say anything about the ports they’re going through?”

  “No,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up at talking about Rafe, whom Phillip seemed to think was really cool. “He actually doesn’t talk about the overall voyage much. I don’t know where their destination is. He talks a lot about what he sees, the sea life and birds and such.”

  I didn’t really want to share any of what he said in the letters. They’d changed from our early passionate exchange of fantasies to more like a travel journal, with little vignettes about crew members and stories of fishing and weather and his hours working on the deck. He seemed to be trying to share his adventure with me, and I’d come to love the raggedy letters that arrived every few days, postmarked from all sorts of South American towns I’d never heard of.

  “He’s really kind of cagey about that, come to think of it,” I said thoughtfully.

  But I knew what he’d promised to do.

  Come and get the ring in person.

  Chapter 12

  Things had reached critical mass with my stage production and classes were winding down to finals several weeks later. One evening at around nine p.m., I walked out of the backstage door onto campus, surrounded by laughing, talking new theater friends.

  A shadow detached from the wall, and I felt a hand on my arm. “Ruby.”

  I turned. The exterior light fell on a familiar face. “Henry!”

  “I’ve been watching rehearsals. I didn’t know you could sing. And act! You’re amazing.”

  “Thanks.” I mopped my face as I walked with one of the rough towels we used for removing makeup. “I tried out on a whim, and it turns out I’ve got a dramatic flair. I learned that from Juliette, at least.”

  He fell into step beside me as we headed toward my dorm. We dropped behind my gaggle of loudly talking friends.

  “I miss you.”

  “I’m sorry. I haven’t changed my mind about breaking up being the right thing,” I said.

  “Ruby, I am not going to creep you out by hanging around the theater anymore, but you know where I am if you change your mind,” he said, and then leaned down to kiss me.

  I let him.

  It was soft and gentle.

  It was goodbye.

  I broke away with a little wave and ran to catch up with my friends, still feeling bad I’d ever let Henry get that attached to me.

  * * *

  This must be the week for confrontations.

  That was my thought as I opened the door of the suite and there stood Sam, his broad back turned to me as he talked to Phillip, who’d turned out to have a lot more going on than I’d initially given him credit for and seemed to be making Shellie happy.

  I looked a mess, I knew, with my hair in twin braids for my role as Nancy the pickpocket and wearing a sweaty ragamuffin outfit I’d planned to wash that night. I stuck the key in my door, determined not to get into anything, but Sam’s hand dropped to my shoulder.

  “Hi, Ruby,” he said. “Can we talk?”

  “I’m really tired from rehearsal,” I said. “How about tomorrow?” I kept my bare, greasy face turned to the door, my cheeks hot with anxiety. I wasn’t tired. I was keyed up and antsy, but I didn’t want a fight with Sam right now.

  Or ever.

  “Listen.” He’d drawn close. His bulk felt like a solid wall behind me. “I was an ass, coming onto you in your own bed like that. I don’t take competition well. I’m sorry.”

  I blew out a breath, sagging so that my forehead rested on the door. “Can I at least shower first?”

  “Of course. I’ll fix you a drink.” He moved away, back to Shellie’s side, where a party was in the process of developing.

  I slipped into my room.

  It was a mess from my crazy schedule. I took five minutes to throw the worst of the clutter and dirty clothes into the closet and to make sure there were some pillows and a chair for us to sit on. I didn’t want to end up on the bed with him in any form.

  In the shower, I ticked through my reasons for my man-free season: I’d messed up with everyone by lying, and people had gotten hurt. I had been confused, not sure who I wanted. I felt like I’d lost my way, forgotten who Ruby Day Michaels even was in all the drama.

  I hung my head. Warm water streamed off the ends of my deep scarlet-red hair, now long enough to brush my hips after a year with no time in the ocean, which had always given me split ends on Saint Thomas.

  What did I know now, after my season of being single?

  I’d discovered new talents and creative passion through my theater work.

  I didn’t need to hide behind a persona anymore.

  I liked both Sam and Henry, but I had fallen in love with Rafe. He was the only one who’d stuck by me through my wavering, through our breakup, through my experimentation with others’ affections, through my rejection and confusion.

  Yes, it was Rafe I’d fallen in love with.

  But was he right for me in the long run?

  I still didn’t think so.

  On that painful conclusion, I turned off the water and got out to hear what Sam had come to say. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted with me, other than to make sure his sister was appeased that there was no awkwardness between us. Shellie’s news about his promiscuity had gone a long way to assuaging my guilt in his regard.

  I went into Shellie’s room, where the music was cranked up and the room was packed with bodies and inebriation of various levels. Sam elbowed through the crowd toward me, a red plastic cup in either hand.

  “Come in.” I held the door of my room ajar.

  I wore ratty old gray sweats, no makeup, and a towel turban on my head. I wasn’t making myself pretty for him, and he seemed to get the message that was sent as his eyes skittered away from my face. He strode ahead of me into the relative quiet of the hastily tidied bedroom, sat on the chair and handed me one of the cups.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Mystery punch.”

  “Ugh.” It tasted like cough syrup. “Shellie mixes this up only when she’s feeling cheap and trying to make the vodka go further.”

  “I know. It works, though.” Sam took a sip. He was wearing a black waffle-weave Henley shirt with an open button at the neck that showed a tuft of chest hair that matched his neatly trimmed tawny beard. Black jeans and dark, scuffed motorcycle boots completed the impression of a Viking on the lookout for some pillage.

  “I appreciate the apology,” I said, rubbing my wet hair with the towel. “As I said before, I’m sorry, too. I should have found a way to be honest with you. It’s good if we can get along. For Shellie’s sake.”

  “I’d like another chance.” Sam’s golden eyes were sincere. He stood slowly, as if trying not to spook me with his size. “I told you in New York I knew I needed to bring my A game to win you from these other guys, but that’s not what I did. I called you on Fridays and felt virtuous that I wasn’t banging other women. I was waiting to bang you.”

  “Try not to overwhelm me with your sweet words, kind sir,” I intoned, in one of the English accents from the play.

  Sam laughed. He looked adorable when he did, and I remembered the easy humor that had always been my favorite thing about him.

  “Anyway.” He now made a theatrical gesture and a showy bow. “I never did any of the things that were suggested to me by experts in the field of love. Send you flower
s. Compliments now and again during our phone calls. A card, a gift, even a visit one weekend. Meanwhile, that pirate Rafe really was bringing his A game. Shellie told me about his letters.”

  My cheeks and neck flamed. “She shouldn’t have!”

  Sam shrugged. “She got sick of my bitching after the two of you made up. She told me anyone would have given in to the relentless romancing that guy was up to. He’s employing some serious long-distance juju on you. And what was I doing? Acting like a spoiled brat. Ambushing you by lying naked in your bed and thinking you’d be happy to hop in with me.” He shook his head. “Not a class act. I’m ashamed of myself. Truth is, I’ve never had to work that hard for anything I wanted. I couldn’t quite believe you didn’t just fall all over me like everyone else had.”

  “So did you really bang all those women and tell Shellie to pass the numbers on to me?” A hard note had crept into my voice. “Because I’m hearing a whole lot of disrespect toward women here. Using them for sex, throwing them away. And it seems like I’m only desirable because I’m the one who turned you down. You’re acting like I’m something you can win as a prize—with your A game.”

  Red stained Sam’s high cheekbones, and his golden eyes were hot.

  “I said that about banging chicks because my pride was hurt. I was hurt. I wanted you to be hurt, too. And yeah, I’ve had a drunken encounter or two in the last couple of months, but nothing like what I said.”

  “You’re one of those men who will someday cheat and tell his wife, “It didn’t mean anything, honey. It was just sex,” I said, furious. “I’m not your bone to fight over with Rafe or anyone else. I’m single by choice. I’m not playing any games, A or B or C.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Noted,” Sam said. “I obviously have a lot to learn about having any kind of real relationship. But I’m willing to learn, if you’re willing to give me another chance. I can’t seem to get over you.”

  I was taken aback to see a shine of moisture in his eyes, and that more than anything about this stiff-necked, prideful, privileged man made me step toward him and put out a hand. He took it, turned it over. Kissed the palm. His lips were soft but firm, and that beard tickled deliciously and reminded me how much I’d enjoyed his kisses, his vitality, his laughter, his brute strength and playful personality surrounding a steely will.

  “I’m a jerk. I know nothing about women. Teach me, your humble servant. You can start by putting me over your knee. And spanking me. Hard. Oh, so hard,” he said, batting those lovely eyes.

  I was the one to laugh this time.

  “I’m not ready for anything right now,” I said. I let him hold my hand, though, and now we sat on my bed, something I’d sworn to myself wasn’t going to happen. “Why don’t you tell me how things have been going this semester?”

  We sipped from our red cups and tentatively felt our way toward something a lot like our old comfort with each other.

  “I’m done already with finals,” he said. “But I needed to see you, to try to clear things up. I know it’s not a good time to be in your hair with your play and finals and all, but I’ll be around. I’m going to be staying at the Alpha Chi frat house.”

  “I’m sure that will be a real hardship,” I said. “All those parties to keep up with.”

  “Hey, I’m working! I’m helping with their applications for next year as one of the frat leaders from my school. The future freshmen visit next week, and we’re supposed to help convince them they want to pledge our frat. Once they do, that’s when the abuse can begin.” He grinned evilly. “So what’s up with that skinny dude Shellie’s seeing? It’s not serious, is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said thoughtfully. “Phillip’s got more substance to him than I thought at first. I think Shellie needed someone to really adore her, and he does. He came along at the right time.”

  “Well, he better not hurt my baby sister,” Sam growled. “I’ll break him in half.”

  I couldn’t help grinning. “You sound just like Shellie when she confronted me after spring break. She was ready to beat me up in the hallway for breaking her brother’s heart. Called me a lot of names and pushed me around. Kicked my door, too.”

  Sam smiled. “You did break my pride, at least. And my heart, too, a little. If I’m totally honest.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “It hurt me to hurt you.”

  And next thing I knew, I was in Sam’s lap and he was kissing my neck, that delightful beardy feeling sending shivers of pleasure to my entirely too-celibate hot spot. He nuzzled between my breasts and moaned with the delight of rubbing his face between them, mashing them against his cheeks with his big hands, a feeling like a delicious marauding that made me arch and moan.

  Finally we were kissing, and Sam’s huge arms seemed to fold me into his body, making me feel tiny and petite but also powerful. Because I knew without a doubt now that, somehow, Sam the frat-boy football player, Viking son of privilege, had fallen for me.

  “I want you to teach me,” Sam whispered, his rough voice stirring the hair beside my ear. “Teach me how to be the kind of man you could love.”

  I pulled back and held Sam’s face in my hands, stroked his bearded cheeks with my thumbs. The gesture reminded me wrenchingly of when Rafe had done the same thing to my face, wiping away my tears with the balls of his thumbs.

  Oh, Rafe.

  Could he really be sailing all the way from San Francisco to meet me? The latest letter I’d received was postmarked North Carolina, and that had been a week ago. I couldn’t tell what I felt about the possibility of his arrival—a terrible excitement? A frightening joy, a sickening anticipation, a scared euphoria?

  Everything was mixed up in my feelings about Rafe and always had been.

  How I felt about Sam would always be simpler. Easier.

  “You’re already someone I could love,” I said. “You big Neanderthal. You always were.” I kissed him, and he squeezed me so hard my ribs creaked and my spine crackled, and he stroked his hands through my damp hair, growling puppy noises into my neck, and made me laugh.

  Chapter 13

  I hit the top note of the last song with the rest of the cast, and the curtains whisked shut on our last performance of Oliver! At this moment in May of 1989, I’d just survived my freshman year of college, finals week, and my first acting and singing experience in a major production. And I was, regrettably, still a virgin.

  Applause lifted around us in a rolling, enthusiastic wave, and my castmates and I grinned at one another, giddy with excitement.

  I ran to my curtain-call spot. The curtains whisked open. We held hands and bowed, and then, in turn, each of us in major roles stepped forward.

  I felt my cheeks flame to match my red hair as a rose bounced off of me when I stood from my bow, causing a ripple of laughter. I was almost sure I heard Sam’s baritone voice bellow, “Yeah, Ruby!”

  I scooped up the rose and stepped back. The curtains closed with a swish, and we turned to one another, hugging and hysterical.

  It was a good while later when I came out into the lobby, changed out of my greasepaint and costume and wearing my usual jeans and Northeastern University hoodie.

  “You were amazing!” Sam, my not-boyfriend, swung me up in his arms, spinning me around so that my legs flew out. I squeaked with delighted surprise. “I had no idea you had pipes on you like that.”

  “I’m full of surprises,” I said, and then Sam’s sister, Shellie, was hugging me and pressing an armload of roses on me, along with their parents, who’d come down to help Shellie pack to return to New York for the summer.

  The reminder of summer gave me a quaver of worry. I had no idea what I was doing this summer, and I was pretty sure I couldn’t just camp out in the dorm.

  The chaos of well-wishing went on awhile, as this was the last performance of the season, on the last weekend of school of the season, and on the way out of the lobby I even hugged Henry, my first-ever not-boyfriend, and
thanked him for the silver rose he handed me shyly.

  “For your pile,” he said.

  Sam looped an arm possessively over me, but I shrugged it off. “Thanks, Henry. Have a great summer.”

  I pressed on, past Henry and the rest, determined to get back to my room for a shower before the big cast party being held at the drama professor’s house. Sam refused to be brushed off and followed me.

  Meanwhile, my eyes kept searching.

  Searching, searching, searching through the full lobby. Looking, whether I wanted to admit it or not, for a tall figure with shoulder-length, bronzy-chocolate hair, big shoulders, and cobalt eyes that could see for miles across an open sea.

  I was looking for my most devastatingly attractive not-boyfriend, Rafe.

  But Rafe McCallum wasn’t there.

  I turned to Sam with a bright smile. “I’ll race you back to the dorm. Here.” I thrust all the roses and flowers into his arms and ran out the door.

  I used all the adrenaline from the performance and all the angst I’d felt in a disappointment I wouldn’t even admit to myself, to power myself at top speed across the open campus, dodging around groups of people. Sam laughed somewhere behind me—impromptu racing wasn’t unusual behavior for either of us.

  I ran through the moist, cool night as fast as I could, trying not to feel crushing disappointment that Rafe hadn’t seen my performance.

  I knew I’d sung and acted better tonight than I ever had, imagining him in the audience. I didn’t even know where Rafe was right now, except that he was somewhere on the ocean on the Creamy Maid, the yacht he crewed for, and it had seemed from the letters he’d posted along the way that the ship might be making its way from San Francisco to Boston.

  I’d hoped it was. Wished it was. The last letter I’d had from him had been a week ago, postmarked from North Carolina. It had seemed possible that the Maid might have made it this far by now, but I was probably deluding myself.

  I could hear Sam thundering along behind me, his laughing shout. “Ruby, you wild woman! Slow down. I can’t see over all these flowers!”