by Junie Coffey
“Well, if Tiffany went into the water, she might have a better-than-average chance of making it to shore,” said Nina. “She has her own built-in personal flotation devices.” It was a weak attempt to break the tension and defuse residual bad feelings, and she regretted it the moment she said it.
“Whoa, Nina! Meow!” Danish made a cat scratch with his hand.
Nina sighed. “You know, Danish,” she said, still cringing at her own behavior, “that’s sexist. Characterizing any difference of opinion that might exist between two women as a catfight.”
“OK, I have no idea what that second part meant, but you think cat talk is sexy? Gee, Nina. You’re a bit kinky. I had no idea.”
“Not sexy, Danish, sexist. Do you know there’s a difference? Don’t you have to take gender-sensitivity training in the postal service?”
“Yes, Nina. As a matter of fact, I am very much in tune with my feminine side, and I must say, I found your remark about Tiffany’s perfect fake boobs a bit sexist. In the twenty-first century, a woman should be able to dress the way she wants without being subject to public judgment.”
Yes, he’s got a point, thought Nina. It was a low-class joke at someone else’s expense.
“You’re right, Danish. That was in bad taste, especially under the circumstances. I apologize.” Nina felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Ted Matthews was leaning against his boat with his hands in his pockets, watching them. His expression was unreadable behind his aviator shades.
“Apology accepted,” Danish said magnanimously.
Ted stood up straight. “Well, if we’re done here, I think I’ll head out. Nina, can I give you a lift home?” he asked.
“Thanks,” she said, putting her bag back in the boat.
“Hey, Ted, man. I owe you some cash for the charter. It’s not your fault we found squat,” said Danish as he dug into his pocket.
“Consider it my contribution to the cause,” said Ted, pushing the boat out from the beach and hopping in. He and Nina sped down the shore, past the town center to the beach below Ted’s lodge. He pulled the boat up onshore and threw the anchor into the sand above the waterline.
“Afraid I’ve got to run,” he said, looking at his watch. “I’ll see you later, Nina.”
“OK. Bye, Ted,” she said.
They turned away from each other, he heading up the path to his lodge, and she strolling down the beach to her cottage. The morning had left her discombobulated. The snorkeling had been amazing, and she had enjoyed Ted’s quiet, steady company, but Danish’s stupid prank and her own faux pas had spoiled the outing. And all that arguing in front of Ted. It was embarrassing. She tried to remember that although she liked Danish, and he was basically a kindhearted, amiable guy, he was still young. He was the same age as some of her students. Some people are grown up when they’re twenty-five, and others are not. Her own parents were married, with a child and a mortgage, by that age. She wasn’t much older when she got married, although that didn’t say much about her maturity. Still, it was almost impossible to imagine Danish in that role.
After lunch, Nina decided it was time to get serious about getting her new house in order. She changed into her painting clothes, then found a plastic bucket under the sink and filled it with warm water and a capful of lemon householder cleaner. She put on her headphones so she could listen to music while she worked. Then she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves; dipped a big, thick sponge into the bucket; and started scrubbing the walls in the kitchen. The accumulated grime and dirt washed away, and the walls brightened. It took her a couple of hours and several changes of water to clean every inch of the walls and window frames in the large room that contained the kitchen and living room. The air smelled lemony clean. Now she just had to give it a few hours to dry; then she could give the room a fresh coat of bright-white paint. It was time for a cool glass of iced tea on the veranda and a swim. She stood back and admired her work, pulling the headphones off.
Nina became aware of loud screeching and rumbling noises coming from outside. She could hear the buzz of a chain saw and the beep, beep, beep of a piece of heavy machinery backing up, followed by the nerve-jangling sound of metal scraping on rock.
What on earth is that? she wondered, stepping quickly to her front door and out onto the sidewalk. About a hundred feet away, up the road toward Ted’s fishing camp, a big yellow bulldozer was digging a giant hole in the ground next to the road. A man in a yellow safety vest and orange helmet was chainsawing through a tall pine that had been felled on the piece of scrubland between her cottage and the point. Standing beside the big hole in his white shoes and golf shirt was Barry. Nina walked up the sidewalk toward him. He turned to meet her with fake friendliness.
“Hello, Miss Spark. How are you? Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Barry, what is going on?”
“Well, when you told me you didn’t wish to sell Sundrift Cottage to me, I was in a real quandary as to what to do with the piece of land I have here between you and Mr. Matthews. I admit, it had me stymied for a few days. What can I do with a piece of roadside scrubland with no water access? Then I had a fabulous idea! I bought a Crispy Fried Chicken franchise, and I am going to build a drive-through on this side, with a miniature golf course on the other side, overlooking the water. Something the kiddies will really enjoy year-round. I can just imagine their screams of delight! Of course, I’m going to need a lot of parking, so I’ll put that over there. Very convenient for families with young children, and a nice place for teenagers to get together on weekends—or anytime, really. A good rainy-day activity for the tourists.”
“You can’t do that. This is a residential neighborhood,” said Nina, stepping in front of him with her hands on her hips.
“Oh, please, please. You’re trespassing now. Step off my property, please, or I’ll have to alert the authorities.” He waved her back across a line spray painted in fluorescent orange in the dirt. Nina saw that it ran from the road back about fifty feet toward the water, demarcating a narrow wedge of land abutting both her property and Ted’s. Ted owned the wide swath of waterfront next to hers, as well as the point, but not the narrow strip of scrubland along the road behind it, a short distance from her lovely little cottage.
“To answer your question,” he said, “I think you’ll find that this property was rezoned for commercial development last year. The members of the town planning committee found my arguments in favor of economic development on Pineapple Cay very persuasive.”
“What is your problem, Barry? Why don’t you just build your big hotel somewhere else? It’s a big, wide world,” said Nina.
“The problem, girlie, is that nobodies like you and little Miss Sunshine at the Candyland real estate office do not get to decide what people like me can do,” he said, sneering at her.
“You’re a petty, vindictive little man. I would have thought you’d have more important matters to worry about these days,” said Nina, feeling herself losing her temper. “A casual observer might get the impression that you don’t care about your wife at all. She’s been kidnapped, and you’re out shopping for fried-chicken franchises and playing in your big-boy sandbox with your toy bulldozer?”
His face was rigid with anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said disdainfully. “You’re so smug, with your college education. You and Matthews and Poitras. You and the rest of the local snobs have got the quaint, genteel lifestyle you want, so now no more development allowed. Big, bad Barry with his big, bad hotel. How gauche! What about the jobs the resort will create? Or is no one else allowed to want something better out of life now that you’ve got your dream house on the beach?”
He took a step closer to her and pointed his finger in her face. “Keep your nose out of my business, or you will regret it,” he said menacingly, then turned abruptly and stalked back to his car, which was parked on the side of the road. Nina just stood there, watching him leave and breathing fast. She was rattled. She didn’t like confrontation.
All of a sudden, for the first time since she’d arrived on Pineapple Cay, she felt lonesome and homesick. What was she doing here? What kind of nut buys a house off the Internet, gives up a steady job, and moves to a ramshackle hut on an island? Maybe he was right and she was being selfish. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked slowly down the sidewalk to her front gate. For a brief moment, she felt a strong urge to go inside and call her mother in Maine. But she wasn’t ready to hear the silence on the other end of the phone that meant “I told you not to do it.” No, better not worry her parents. She glanced at her watch. Louise would be feeding the girls their supper. It wouldn’t be fair to call her in crisis mode yet again. She’d deal with this on her own.
The sun was low, and although she’d been sweating all afternoon while washing the walls, now she felt chilled. A hot shower seemed like a good idea. She went inside, stripped off her clothes, and turned on the shower. She stepped in and let the hot water warm and massage her tired muscles. When she was done, she gently patted herself dry with a towel and smoothed some soothing sesame oil into her skin.
Then she pulled on her soft jersey skirt and a cozy long-sleeve T-shirt with her sweater over top. She grabbed her keys and wallet and pushed herself out the door and down the beach to The Redoubt. She didn’t really feel like talking to anyone, but she wanted to be somewhere filled with lively people and happy sounds.
It was just before six o’clock on a Wednesday night, and the restaurant was about half-full. The booth in the back corner was vacant, so Nina slid into it, sinking back into the corner. From there, she had a view of the whole room. Danish was working, delivering an order to a large table of laughing vacationers. He saw her in the corner and ambled over.
“Hey, chum. Why so glum? I hope you’re not still upset about this morning,” he said, sliding into the booth and pressing up next to her. When Nina felt the warmth of his body next to hers, she started to cry. He looked at her, wide-eyed. Concern, fear, and horror mingled together in the expression on his face.
“Oh, no! Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry!” He patted her hand like it was possibly radioactive. She sniffled, digging in her pocket for a tissue.
“Hold on! I’ll get you a tissue. Don’t worry.” He jumped up and pulled a napkin out from under some cutlery at an empty table setting. “Here you go, Nina. Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be all right,” he said, although he didn’t sound too sure of it.
“How do you know it’s going to be all right?” asked Nina, blowing her nose. “Maybe it’s just going to get worse and worse. You don’t know. Maybe my roof is going to cave in, maybe the toilet is going to back up all over the yard, maybe Barry is going to build a drive-through fried-chicken restaurant and mini golf next to my house. Maybe Tiffany Bassett has been murdered! Maybe my employer will decide I can’t work from here after all, and I’ll have no job! Maybe my cheating louse of a husband was right. I am no fun, and I should wear more makeup!” The tears were flowing steadily down her cheeks, and she dabbed at them with the soggy, snotty napkin, turning her face to the wall in the hope that no one could see her. Fortunately, the other customers were focused on what was going on at their own tables.
“What happened?” asked Danish with his hand on his forehead. “This morning you were so happy. Snorkeling away there with Ted. I’m going to get you a big margarita. Just hold on.” He jumped up again and bounded over to the bar. She could feel her tears subsiding. She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with her fingertips, and her face with the heel of her hand. There.
Danish came back. “Here. Drink this. Eat this cake. It’s got chocolate and a pile of ice cream on it. Here are some more tissues.” He put a two-inch-thick stack of paper napkins, a large margarita, and a piece of chocolate cake in front of her.
“Where is Pansy when you need her? She lives for stuff like this,” he said, looking around the room. “Oh, look. There’s Ted, the neighbor you have the hots for. That ought to cheer you up.
“Hey Ted! Over here!” he shouted across the now-noisy room.
“Aw, Danish, no!” she said. That was the last thing she needed.
Several heads turned in their direction, including Ted’s. He had just come in with a group of four happy, tanned gentlemen Nina assumed were clients. He motioned for them to sit down at a table near the door, excused himself, and ambled over to where Nina and Danish were sitting. As soon as he saw Nina’s face, his own assumed a look of concern. She guessed her eyes and nose must be red, and she looked down at the table for a second, embarrassed.
“Ted, man, praise the lord. Pinch-hit for me here, will you? I’m the only waiter on the floor until six o’clock, and we have a crisis situation. Something about overflowing toilets, a fried-chicken drive-through, and whether or not Nina should wear more makeup. Thanks. Nina, don’t worry. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” He patted her shoulder and took off.
What is that supposed to mean? Nina wondered. She looked up at Ted and rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, really. I’m done, don’t worry. Everything is fine.” She forced a smile.
He sat down across the table from her and continued to look at her without speaking for a moment. “I have three sisters and fifteen years on Danish Jensen. It takes more than that to scare me,” he said. “I don’t want to pry, but is there something the matter?”
She shook her head. Over his shoulder, she saw Barry Bassett walk in with three other men she’d never seen before. They looked like out-of-towners. They all seated themselves around a table, and Barry raised his hand, looking around for a waiter. Unconsciously, Nina gave an angry snort.
Ted followed her eyes across the room to where Barry was playing the genial host to his out-of-town guests, smiling his pasted-on smile. Ted turned back to her. “Is this about the new dirt pit next to your house? I saw it on my way home. Don’t worry. Barry doesn’t have the permits to build anything there,” he said. “Has he been bothering you?”
“What if he’s right? What if I am being selfish, just wanting to keep my cottage the way it is and standing in the way of people around here who might benefit from the jobs and income a hotel would bring to the island?” she asked.
“Is that what he told you? Listen, the chamber of commerce took a poll six months ago to see how much public support there was for Barry’s proposed development. By a wide margin, the residents of Pineapple Cay said no, they don’t want it. There’s a lot more potential in developing other kinds of businesses here. He’s not some great humanitarian, as I’m sure you have discovered by now. He’s in partnership with an offshore company, which would take most of its profits from the resort out of the country, not spend them here in the community. His proposed hotel-and-condo development would put all twenty people on my staff at the lodge—including me—out of work, as well as jeopardize the jobs of the hundred people who work at the Plantation Inn. We pay decent wages to keep good staff, and we pay local taxes. Big operations like the one Barry is cooking up don’t operate like that. The company will squeeze what it can get in profits out of the resort by building cheap and paying the lowest rate possible for everything, then selling off the carcass. So, please, don’t feel bad about wanting to live in your little yellow house by the sea. You’re not hurting anyone, and who knows, you may end up making things better around here.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Now, will you excuse me for a moment? I’m afraid I’ve got a table of guests waiting for me. I’ll be back later.”
Was he annoyed with her? She watched him walk straight over to Barry’s table and say something to him, gesturing for Barry to follow him outside. They went out the front door onto the street together, out of sight. Surely Ted wasn’t the type to punch someone in the nose for making a woman cry, like in some Popeye cartoon? Nina poured the rest of her margarita down her throat.
The two men came back in a few minutes later. Ted looked grim but shook it off as he went back to his guests. He put his hands on the shoulders of two of the men as h
e stood between their chairs; then he pulled up a chair and joined them. He looked around for a server, and a waitress wove her way between the tables toward him. She took Ted’s order, and a couple of minutes later came back to the table with a tray full of bottled beer. Ted glanced over at Nina and nodded, then returned his attention to his guests.
Barry had trailed behind Ted into the crowded restaurant, a sour, brooding look on his face. He glared at Nina across the room, then turned his back on her and sat down with his friends again. Their meals arrived, and they all became occupied with cracking and eating the lobsters heaped on a platter in the middle of the table.
“I brought you another margarita,” said Danish, reappearing beside her. “Everything OK now?”
“I’m fine, Danish, thanks. Cheers.” She raised her glass in his direction.
“Good. I’m off in twenty minutes; then we can talk it out.” He hurried off again.
She picked at the chocolate cake he’d brought but didn’t have much of an appetite. She dug a few quarters out of her change purse and strolled over to the jukebox. She leafed through the selections and then chose “Sunday Shining” by Finley Quaye, “Easy’s Gettin’ Harder Every Day” by Iris DeMent, and “Fever” by Peggy Lee. A song to sway to, some good hurtin’ music, and something to get her back into fighting form. As she wandered back to her seat, she glanced over at Ted. He was watching her. She slid back into her booth and sipped on her drink, taking a good look at the buoys, nets, and old photographs on the wall as her selections played on the jukebox. When Iris DeMent came on, some guy in the middle of the room yelled, “Oh, come on! Just shoot me already!” There was a smattering of laughter. Nina just sipped her drink and looked out the window by the bar, where Veronica was looking in her direction.
Lance entered the restaurant alone, no Beer Commercial in tow. He looked around, and his eyes stopped on Barry. He walked past Barry’s table and out onto the deck, which was now mostly in darkness, just the faint light from inside spilling out onto the wooden picnic tables. A minute later, Nina watched as Barry stood and followed Lance outside. Lance was standing in semidarkness in the corner of the deck against the wall of the restaurant. Only Nina could see him from inside. He didn’t glance in her direction, and neither did Barry. She watched as they stood close together, talking angrily. Abruptly, Lance pushed past Barry, bumping him with his shoulder as he went, hurrying down the beach stairs and around the side of the building in the dark. Barry stood for a second, watching him go, and then he spun around with his head down and stalked back inside. He did not look in Nina’s direction. He seemed to have forgotten she was there, but even so, she pressed her back into the corner of the booth, out of the circle of warm light cast by the candle flickering on the table.
