“If I leave here tomorrow…” she hummed.
Oh… bad song… stopping now…
The musty coolness of the concrete building goose-pimpled her skin. The worn, green floor tiles echoed as she stepped. The air smelled of disinfectant and vestiges of whatever the disinfectant failed to disinfect. The yellow fluorescent lights dimmed as the island sucked electricity from mainland Florida. A man with a pony-sized Rottweiler waited in line at the information desk. In front of him, a woman holding a toddler on her hip chatted with the librarian. The dog panted and drooled, while pressing its nose into the baby’s diapered butt as it dangled in front of him. The child squealed in delight at this game while the unconcerned mother continued her conversation. The toddler squirmed in her arms until he was put down onto the floor – to play noisily with the 200-pound dog.
Not exactly the Chicago Public Library.
Peg found the Wi-Fi code listed on a poster hanging next to a desk with a snoring library patron; head back, throat exposed, his pungent breath filling the air. Finding a small table in the corner that had goodish ventilation, she sat down, picked up the bottom of her shirt and wiped the sweat from her face, not caring who might see her exposed fleshy belly – something she would never have thought of doing in her past life – just months ago. Energized with having a project to distract her, she began her studying.
This time I’m going to be PREPARED.
She logged into Google and typed in: “How to catch a Florida lobster.”
A Florida lobster travels forward by walking slowly. When they are scared they flip their tail and propel backward. They have no claws.
Like this is gonna be hard to do? They are slow, backward-moving, with no defense.
Locate a lobster under a rock or in a hole.
The water is clear with good visibility. Check.
Use tickle stick and slide it behind the lobster. Gently tap on its tail. If it doesn’t walk forward be more aggressive.
Aggressive with a tickle stick – sounds almost humane.
Place net behind the lobster and trap it between ground and net. If it doesn’t respond, tap it on the forehead.
I’ve had college roommates wake me up the same way. It works.
Swoop net around so lobster is trapped. Close the net.
Easy. Peasy.
Must measure the lobster’s body, needs to be at least three inches from eyes to end of carapace.
Carapace? Sounds like an Italian pasta.
No pregnant lobsters.
Gross.
Can only catch six lobsters per person per day.
How about how many per MINUTE? Because I’ll be so AMAZING.
Peg rolled her shoulders and closed her eyes for a moment’s meditation. Her jaw muscles relaxed as she mentally visualized her success. Formulating plans followed by researched execution of project goals – this was her wheelhouse. She predicted her future success with positive imagery.
I will rock at catching lobsters.
When she opened her eyes, Peg noticed a skinny teenage girl staring at her. Behind that girl, stood a few boys and behind them, two more girls. The gang of teenagers hovered over the table.
“Can I help you?” Peg asked as they moved in closer.
“Are you Peg Savage?” The skinny girl spoke. “Tom texted me you’d be here.” She took her finance book out of her backpack.
“Yes, I am. Ahh, okay. I recognize that book.” Peg made eye contact with each student. “Do all of you need help?”
“We have to pass this summer school class or we can’t graduate. So unfair,” a boy with an ’80s mohawk groused. “It’s really hard and the teacher doesn’t have time to tutor outside of the classroom. Some dumb excuse like she’s teaching a bunch of other classes and she’s got a million kids of her own.” The others nodded their heads and grunted in solidarity. “Like she wants us to fail.” He threw his backpack to the floor for effect.
“Well, it does sound like she’s stretched in a lot of different directions.” Peg stood up and looked around the room. “Okay, well, everyone grab a chair and let’s see what we can do. Normally, I would think that it would bother the other patrons in the library to have a teaching session, but since there are no other patrons here, I think we’re all right.”
“I’ve never been in the library before. It’s so old school,” one girl said as she sat down.
A boy added, “I hadta pick up my dad from here once. He borrowed a tape for his ancient VHS player. VHS – what a dinosaur.”
Peg added, “Well, I thought the Beta recorder was the way to go. Who knew VHS would be so popular?” When no one joined in with an opinion, she continued, “Enough high-tech talk. Do you all have the same study guide as Tom?”
All nodded.
“Please take it out and we’ll start there.”
“I really hate this subject,” the skinny girl whined as she removed the stapled papers from her notebook.
Peg held up a pointer finger. “Just so you know, workers in the finance industry have the lowest incidence of fatality in the workplace. We’re safe and sound.” When she saw the eyes roll she added, “I mean it’s something to think about. World’s deadliest catch or cushy office?”
The teen mumbled, “I’d rather risk my life as a bullet tester.”
“Right… okay… moving on… So, who has questions?”
The hands went up.
After the last finance book and backpack departed, the library was quiet aside from the occasional snort and phlegm cough emanating from behind the bookshelves. Peg rose from her chair with a sense of accomplishment and gathered her belongings.
She glanced over to the counter displaying newspapers. A Spanish headline caught her eye in the Tribuna de la Habana.
Havana… as in Cuba…
A large picture took up most of the front page. In it, a collection of people crowded next to each other. They linked arms and smiled as if someone in the gathering had just told a joke. The women were tanned and slim with long dark hair. The men were dark skinned, fit and–
Peg yanked the newspaper from the rack. Folding the paper to get a better look, she honed in on the image of the man at the edge of the group. His biceps bulged as he draped his arm across the shoulder of the insanely gorgeous woman next to him, her thick dark mane gathered to one side, cascading in rivulets down to her tiny waist. Their laughing mouths opened wide as the man and woman faced each other in what seemed like a private moment captured in a public venue. The man’s toned legs pointed down to huarache sandals bought from Target (size 11).
Clark.
Peg stopped breathing. The newspaper’s black ink smudged as her clammy hands soaked the words.
This is why he’s too busy to talk to me? He looks busy all right.
The room spun.
Can’t breathe. Gotta get out of here.
The moldy, stale air closed in on her. Without thinking, she jammed the newspaper in her backpack and moved in the direction of the exit, inadvertently stepping on a man curled up in the library foyer. Briefly staring at him without apology, she ignored his boisterous admonitions and continued out of the door.
Her brain froze in a protective zombie state as she autopiloted back to the house – right at the light, left at the corner, left into the gate.
Not noticing the pile of pig-ear throw-up next to the coffee table, she sat down on the couch. The dog jumped up next to her, confused by the lack of greeting. His anxious eyebrows flicked up and down as he nudged his head under her lifeless hand. Since the hand refused to pet him, he sat up and licked Peg squarely on the lips. The pig-ear vapors and sandpaper tongue broke her trance.
“Nipper.” She hugged the dog.
Regaining use of her panic-stricken fingers, she picked up her phone, swiped and…
Nothing.
She held the newspaper close to her face.
He’s touching her so casually… I know that touch… I know that look…
The tears dripped slowly
at first, but soon rivers of black ink trailed across the soggy paper. Her heart squeezed so tight that she clutched her chest as the sobs choked out in loud gasps. She stood up and paced around the room, the concerned dog at her heels.
Gotta think… gotta get a grip.
Teeth gritted, she pounded her fists on the top of her head and rope-jumped her feet in full tantrum.
Hands covering her face, she cleared her lungs with a deep exhale. When she pulled her hands away, gooey strands of prior postnasal drip clung to her fingers, making a cat’s cradle of snot.
“Yuck.”
Clasping her hands back together, she big-stepped to the kitchen counter and plucked a tissue with such force the box flipped to the ground.
“Son of a…” She kicked the box and watched it sail in the air, across the wood floor, under the table, next to the couch and through the unattended pile of puke, making a chunky trail before it tumbled to a stop.
“Arrrrgh.” She blew her red nose with a high-pitched squeak.
Get it together.
While she was assessing her pity-party damage, the doorbell rang. The dog vaulted over the back of the couch, barking with joyous excitement, practically knocking Peg over as she turned the knob to open the door.
Internet guy… I forgot.
Had Peg looked out of the window first before answering the door, she most certainly, positively, without question, would not have opened it. There stood before her the most colossal ruffian of a man.
“Ahh.” Peg took a step back. “I mean, hello.”
“Hello, ma’am, I’m with the cable company.” The dog rose to his back feet and hugged the immense waist of the visitor. “Hi there, Nipper.” The man leaned over and nuzzled the dog.
“How do you know–?” Peg stopped when she noticed the telltale Adam’s apple tattoo – skull and crossbones – rising and falling. “Big Jim?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pointed to his name tag which said – James McPhearson ATT&T Technician.
“You’re not doing the moving company stuff anymore? Nipper, get down.” Peg reached for the dog.
“He’s okay. Remember me, boy?” Nipper licked Big Jim’s scruffy handlebar mustache. The dog hesitated for a second, chewed a bit of something then resumed his task. “Haha. He must have found a bit of lunch in there.”
Peg winced.
“I still do the moving company. It’s slow right now – summertime. I moonlight at this job – during the day.” He laughed a big guffaw and the crossbones criss-crossed.
“Please come in – that is, if you can get around Nipper.” Peg opened the door wide and the massive man tenderly placed the dog back on all fours and then lumbered past her into the narrow hallway.
“The cable box is at the end of the hall.” Peg pointed and let the oversized technician lead the way. Big Jim barely fit between the walls.
“I just come from a restaurant down the street. Best part of this job is eating for free at the local establishments. Y’ever been to Nimfo’s?” Big Jim asked over his shoulder as he sucked at his teeth.
“No, um, not yet. The name… I don’t know,” Peg stuttered. “I’ve had takeout from Fishy Delight though. That was good.” Peg spoke to his broad backside.
Big Jim stopped short. Peg bonked into him like a flea into a rhino. He turned to face her, “Ma’am, I wouldn’t go to Fishy’s if I was you. I do the Internet installations at all of the restaurants – and, believe you me, I see all kindsa nasty stuff in some kitchens, and Fishy’s? They’re the worst. Rats. Cockroaches. Termites. No hand-washing, if you get my drift.”
“Oh my God.” Peg’s stomach recoiled when she remembered the green stuff in Fishy’s fish tacos. “How can they stay in business? What about the health inspector?”
“Money talks. Health inspector walks.” Big Jim chuckled. “Ma’am, you all right? You look a bit under the weather. Where else you been eatin’?”
“I’m fine. Thank you. Just a summer cold.” Peg glanced at herself again in the mirror as she walked by. “Oh my, I do look horrible, kinda like rode hard and put up wet.” She paused. “I mean if I was a horse… that was ridden hard… and well… put back in the stall without anyone taking care of it…” Her voice trailed off.
Big Jim patted her on the arm. His gargantuan calloused hand felt incongruously tender and soft on her skin. Peg let his hand rest there longer than she intended.
My God, I really am lonely… don’t cry… don’t cry…
Pivoting around to face the other direction, she opened up the nearest closet door. “It’s kind of a small space.”
“This is Key West. I’ve seen tighter squeezes.” Big Jim winked a huge eye. “I’ll have you up and running in no time.”
Some ‘Splainin’ To Do
Peg held the newspaper to the phone to take a picture of Clark and the woman. She scrolled in so that the couple’s laughing faces took up the entire screen.
Click
Copy
Contacts
Clark
Text message from Peg to Clark
?
SEND
Peg paused for a few minutes then decided to add:
Text message from Peg to Clark
Looks like you are too busy working to communicate with your WIFE.
SEND
Text message from Peg to Clark
I’ve noticed that you don’t seem to have any issues cashing checks in Cuba. Maybe it would be easier for you to communicate with me by writing notes on the bottom of the cashed checks. They come in faster than your emails.
SEND
Not ten minutes later, Peg heard the not-so-familiar ding of the phone notifying her of an email.
Email from Clark to Peg
I am so sorry that I haven’t been able to be in touch with you. Yes, the hotel has been so accommodating and agreed to cash my checks. I have been working long hours and it is next to impossible to communicate inside or outside of this country. The picture you sent me was with my translator, Ita. I can explain. It’s not what it looks like. I know this isn’t what you were expecting when we moved, but it won’t be forever. The world is changing and it is exciting to be a part of it. You are doing your part too. I appreciate your patience and support. I love you, both you and Nipper! Give him a big kiss for me. (Happy Face Emoji)
Clark
Peg read the email several times.
She folded up the newspaper photo and placed it in the drawer on top of the wilting drunken-napkin agreements.
Text from Peg to Clark
Get your ASS home.
Lobster Mini-Season Day
Happy to have the day planned out, Peg woke up early on lobster mini-season day. Randolph had texted the day before that he would pick her up at 6.30am.
The image of a shirtless, wet Pierre out on the open water kept popping up. She told herself not to think about what if Pierre DID like her in that way? What would she do?
Nothing… you would do nothing… you are being ridiculous…
The night before, after self-administering the hot-caramel-auburn hair coloring, she loofahed, exfoliated, shaved, shaved again, moisturized, moisturized again before she washed, rinsed, blew dry, straightened and then straightened again the hair that had not been out of a rubber band for months. Aware that any sudden head turning during sleep would encourage the hair to re-crinkle, she slept on her back, strategically placing her silky hair on the pillow, and willed her subconscious self to remain immobile. Every hour or so, she woke to check on the status, tamping and smoothing until she was satisfied with her hair’s compliance.
That morning, there was a tiny bit of not-hotness in the air and she was relieved to discover that the lack of sun, on the 5.15am dog walk, allowed for minimal head and body sweat. She applied waterproof mascara, face foundation and a touch of lipstick. Opening the bottle of Clark’s favorite perfume, she held it to her nose. She hesitated, then defiantly turned the bottle of perfume to her neck and pushed her finger on the squirter.
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Never hurts to put your best foot forward.
Ahhh Ooooga. Ahhh Ooooga.
The dog popped his head up at the sound of the horn. She walked over to pet his cheek and he relaxed. “Nipper, you be a good boy. You’ve had your breakfast and a long walk, and done all of your business. You’ll be fine for six hours.” She talked more to herself than to the dozing dog who lay sprawled across the couch in centerfold fashion.
AHHH OOOOGA.
“Coming. Good grief.” Peg grabbed her towel, beach bag, hat and purse and made sure that she had plenty of sunscreen. Double-checking herself in the mirror near the door, she adjusted the underwire of her slimsuit, wiggled everything into the proper place and scurried out the front door.
Randolph tossed his dive bag behind him to make room for Peg in the passenger seat of the Flintstones-mobile. “Come on, Doll. Let’s go get some lobsters.” He waved her in.
“Hi, Randolph. I’m ready.” She showed him her large beach bag, “…and I froze the water bottles – thinking ahead.” She pointed to her brain with her forefinger.
Randolph stared at her as she put on her hat. “I see that you are ready.” He turned his body to face her. “Your hair looks very nice. I’ve never seen it straight before. A new color too?”
“Oh. Yes. Long overdue.” Peg dismissed the attention.
“We’re going on a boat, you know. A fast boat. It will mess up your hair.” Randolph kept staring.
“I know that. Of course. Doesn’t matter at all.” Peg imagined the breeze blowing her silky auburn locks as Pierre admired her beauty. Hoping to change the subject she asked, “Where is Lulu today?”
“At home snuggled in her furs and diamonds. She’ll be so bitter when I get back. Hates it when I leave her.” Randolph pointed to Peg’s beach bag. “Pierre will have a cooler of water on the boat, but always good to have more.” He pressed his Sperry to the gas pedal and they putt-putted away. “I brought bottles of bubbly.” He leaned toward her conspiratorially and elbowed her elbow. “What is a day on a fabulous boat without champagne?”
Island Life Sentence Page 11
