I grit my teeth and pick up my jeans.
She puts her hand on mine, hands me
a package from her and the girls.
“Too hot here for denim.”
I unwrap the gift. I’m getting
dang good with my broken hand.
Can do almost anything if I enlist
my teeth. I shimmy into a short,
soft T-shirt dress that hits me
mid-thigh. Yellow as the sunshine.
The top is striped with turquoise
to match the jeweled water.
No zippers, no buttons, no snaps.
I hug her and cry.
“Hush now, we’ll see you on
Wednesday. Don’t forget your
exercises.” She watches me
get my sling back on by myself,
hands me a cute yellow baseball hat
to match the dress. She winks.
“Make him take you shopping.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Good idea.”
I wait in the garden, breathing
in gardenias, wondering if
his mom knows my brother yet.
Michael arrives, red-faced and muttering
about customs tearing his bags apart
hunting for drugs. “You should have
shaved.” I’m jealous that the hair
on his face is already longer than
the itchy growth
that shadows my head.
“I like your hat.” He helps me to my
feet. “And the dress is way hot.”
He strokes the few inches of bare
thigh exposed between cast and hem.
His fingers send pulses up my legs.
I inch the skirt higher and will
his hand to follow. The fingers retreat.
He shakes one at me like I’m three
and naughty. “Let’s go.”
We drive along Seven-Mile Beach,
through the honking, packed
downtown core onto a wild
highway that hugs the coast.
All the way the water’s too turquoise
to be real. Looks painted, fake—until
a wave rolls up and crashes
into the coral coast, spurting
white spray high in the air
through funnels in the cliffs that amplify
the power. I want to stop and watch,
but Michael’s late. Working
the PM boat.
We pull into the resort parking lot.
Rectangular buildings built
to deflect storms. Three stories.
Colored a dark echo of the water.
Not much after Seven-Mile swank.
He grabs my bags. “Most of my
stuff is gear. I’ve got a locker down
by the dock.” He totes my duffel bags
up all three flights of stairs
and bursts in through a door at the top.
I’m dizzy and hurting by the time
I catch up.
“Hey, Leese. This is Alex.”
He disappears into a room.
An over-tanned girl
with uber-short hair
gives me a hug.
“Welcome to the hovel.”
I feel the muscles in her
arms. She wears a rash
guard over a bikini.
Her legs are solid muscle—
like a skinny weight lifter.
She lets me go.
“You’re late,” she yells
at Michael like a boss.
“Our boat leaves in fifteen minutes.”
I find Michael in my new room.
It’s dominated by a giant
king-sized bed.
Alex hollers on her way
out the door, “They’re bringing
our new beds in an hour.
Can you let the guys in?”
Alex and her last roomie shared?
That makes me nervous.
What did Michael leave out?
“Is she gay?” I need to know.
What if I say the wrong thing?
Michael shakes his head. “Brokenhearted.
Her boyfriend took off.”
“One of the defectors?”
He nods. “Gabriel says she sleeps
on the floor. Can’t stand
to get back in that bed.”
“The other woman was here, too?”
“She was with Seth.”
“Poor Alex.”
“Yeah. You’ll be good for her.”
He kisses me good-bye.
“Unpack. You get half
the closet and these drawers.”
I wave with the last
tidbit of endurance I possess
as he evaporates from the room,
collapse on the forbidden bed,
close my eyes, drift
on the pain that radiates
out from my collarbone,
dwarfing every other malady.
I dream I’m in the pickup
screaming at Phil, defending
my Michael. Tires screech.
Glass explodes into pellets.
Metal shrieks.
Again.
The buzzer ringing and a loud
hammering knock shaking the door
startle me awake.
I hobble fast as I can to open it.
Two guys. Two mattresses.
“Where do you want these?”
I lead them to the room.
They shift bedding off the big
mattress and pick it up.
I retreat into the kitchen
to get out of their way.
A major ripped guy bursts from
the other bedroom, clothed
only in boxers—glares at me.
“What the eff’s going on?”
I manage to squeak,
“Just moving in,” around
the nervous shock that clogs
my thought process with,
Flight, flight, flight.
He looks at me like I’m
circus freak meat.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Leesie.” More squeaking.
He heads into the bathroom—
doesn’t close the door.
I decide it’s time to enjoy
the view from the balcony.
The moving guys finished fast,
wave good-bye.
I’m chicken to go
back inside. I’m alone
in this dump apartment
with a total stranger.
But Michael knows him.
Maybe? Trusts him.
Who knows?
It would serve Michael right
if this boxer jerk attacks me.
He stuck me here with the creep.
I hobble back in the apartment
prepared for the worst.
No sign of the guy.
His door’s closed again.
I trip over cots, towels, blankets,
and a pulled out hide-a-bed
hurrying to make it back to my room.
Pull the door tight. Lock it.
Go in the ensuite bathroom.
Lock that door, too.
Slip my right hand free
of it’s sling, splash water on my
burning neck and cheeks,
pull the chain with my ring
over my head, fumble to get
it unlocked, slide the ring off
and jam it onto my left hand,
third finger so I can wave
it in that guy’s face if he
comes near me, wishing
Michael was here
to take me floating again.
I sit on the toilet and gather
strength to face my afternoon’s labors.
I move at last—unlock the door,
unzip my first duffel bag
scared of what I’ll find inside—
muddy damp refuse from
the side of the mountain?
No. The clothes are fresh laundered,
folded sloppy-sweet like a guy did it.
Jeans and sweatshirts. Useless here.
Two pairs of capris, my old one-piece
swimsuit, ugly work-out shorts, socks, panties,
a couple of embarrassing worn out
double A bras that have always been
too big. Lots of T-shirts.
As I put the T’s in the second drawer down,
I pick up a shirt that’s not mine.
Navy. Guy cut. BYU logo across the front.
I see it on Phil the day before we left.
Drop it.
Panic.
Breathe fast.
Sweat.
I kneel down,
stare at it,
willing it to move.
It doesn’t
so
I
do.
Chapter 9
MATES
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10
Dive Buddy: Guiding
Date: 05/09
Dive #: 7
Location: East End, Grand Cayman
Dive Site: Barrel Sponge Wall
Weather Condition: sunny
Water Condition: 3’ surge
Depth: 107’
Visibility: 100+
Water Temp: 82
Bottom Time: 49 minutes
Comments:
Felt bad dumping Leesie in that trashed apartment and bolting, but boats don’t wait. Maybe this isn’t going to work. She didn’t look happy when I left. Not that I expect her to look happy. Lost. Scared. Wiped out. Hurts to look at her.
I thought about buying us our own condo down here or even a house, but we can’t stay there alone if we’re not married. We could get married, but I’m convinced she’s so eager to tie the knot because I’m off limits. Marrying me is as taboo as shacking up with me. It wouldn’t be “major sin,” but when I asked her before Christmas, she insisted I believe all her Mormon stuff and join up before she’d even consider putting on my ring. She’s so screwed up now. She’s got to be thinking a lot straighter before we get married. What if she comes out of it in a year and hates me forever because I took advantage of her when she was desperate?
I don’t think she’ll ever be a hundred percent like she was before. I’ll take fifty—twenty-five. Heck, I’d be pumped if she just came clean about the accident. I’m crazy to think she’ll be close to that by the end of summer. Whenever I think of getting married “tomorrow” like she wants, I get this dark feeling. I’m not going to be the evil infidel who carries off the virgin. I’m not going to let her do drugs or smoke. Freak. I won’t even let her drink a stupid cup of tea. So what do we do? No clue.
And then all of a sudden these guys need me and Alex needs a roommate. Perfect answer. Almost. Me dumping her there and running off to dive—even if it’s work—is so not perfect. I beg her to trust me and then do this to her.
I grab my bag of gear out of the back of the RAV, tote it down to the dock, and hand it into the boat to Alex.
“Have you got everything you need?” She shades her eyes with her hand and squints.
“No idea.” I step down into the dive boat, take my bag, check it to make sure Claude actually sent all my gear. It looks good. I give Brock, an Aussie dude who’s captain today, a thumbs up, and Ethan and Gabriel, who will leave later on the other boat with Cooper, cast off the ropes. I catch one. Alex gets the other. Brock motors towards the break in the reef and the wild three foot swells beyond it.
He guns the boat through the cut and we’re into the pulsing ocean. Our divers hang on tight. “This is calm for East End,” Brock yells down to them.
Alex and I get the clientele geared up and thrown over-board. She gave me all the jocks. Nice. We go deep first dive.
I push my group to the edge to get down to my favorite swim-through at this site. We wind through the coral cave that narrows into a tube. One of the divers gets hung up. I send the others ahead—fin back and help his useless buddy untangle the dude’s hoses. The group misses the turn that takes them up to the top of the reef. I get their attention banging on my tank with a heavy metal d-ring I keep hanging on my B.C. I motion them to return and follow me. They maneuver around in the tight space. Eventually, we’re, one by one, carefully rising through a chute forty feet to the top of the reef.
We finish off the dive, toss around in the boat until we motor back inside the reef where it’s calm enough to wait out the interval without all the divers puking their guts up. So far no one’s blown chunks. Good day in East End.
I change over all the gear while Alex cuts up fresh fruit and passes out bottles of water. I figure I owe her. I don’t mind doing the heavy work.
Second dive is shallow, strong surge, and too short. A couple of my divers suck through their tanks too fast. I let the rest explore this easy site on their own, get the goons topside and safe on the rocking boat, and when I go back the rest are surfacing, too.
As the boat makes the dash through the break in the reef, I notice somebody lying on the beach. Nobody much uses this beach. It’s kind of there for show. Everybody who comes to this resort dives all day long. We get closer, and I recognize Leesie.
I hustle, heaving up gear bins and empty tanks. The other boat got in before us, so there are lots of hands to help. Alex is strong as a guy. She hands up tanks and gear almost as fast as I do.
I climb out of the boat, pick up my gear bag, and dump it in the soak tank. I’ll deal with it after I check in with Leese. She hasn’t moved since I first saw her.
“Hey, mate.” Brock calls after me. “When do we get to meet your fiancé?”
I stop, turn back. “Now’s good. She’s down on the beach.”
“I’ll gather the mates, and we’ll present ourselves to your lady. See you in ten.”
“Cool.” I hustle down to the beach to warn her.
She’s sleeping in the sand wearing only that ugly T-shirt I bought her and the bikini bottoms. She looks way too sexy like that to meet her new apartment-mates.
“Hey, babe.” I nudge her with my toe.
She doesn’t stir.
I drop onto the sand on all fours hanging over her. “Babe.”
She opens one eye. “Hey.”
I sit next to her and speak low. “What’s with the wet T-shirt contest?”
She yawns and opens both eyes. “I couldn’t tie those stupid strings.”
“You could have left your bra on.”
“My sling covers everything.”
“Not everything. Here.” I hold out my towel. “Use this. The guys will be here in a few minutes. They want to meet you.”
“You don’t want them”—she glances down at what’s showing through her damp T-shirt—“to see that?”
“No.”
“You’re jealous?” She sits up and takes the towel.
“Protective. These guys seem nice—divers and all—but did you see the bathroom? Animals.”
“I can clean it up for you.”
“Don’t go near it. It’s toxic. You’ll end up back in the hospital.”
“I’ve cleaned up after guys back—” She closes her eyes tight and puts her hand over her mouth to hide her trembling lips.
I sit next to her, wrap my towel around both of us, loop my arms around her shoulders and pull her in tight. “It’s okay, babe. You can tell me.”
She shivers and puts her head on my shoulder. “I found his T-shirt mixed in with my stuff.” Her whisper is so quiet I can barely hear her.
I chafe her shoulders. “That’s why you’re down here half-naked?”
“I guess.” Her voice quivers. “I dropped it. Couldn’t pick it up. Isn’t that stupid? It’s still on the floor.”
I squeeze her. “Not stupid at all. I’ll go up and take care of it.”
A shudder runs through her body.
“Do you want to meet these
guys later?”
“I already met one. Why didn’t you tell me there was a guy asleep in the other bedroom?”
“I had no idea. Was he nice?”
“Hardly.”
“Must be Seth. I guess he has a right to be grumpy. I heard Ethan and Cooper had to pull him out of some bar late last night. He must’ve been sleeping it off.” I start to get up. “I’ll go tell the others you’ll meet them later.”
She holds me next to her. “Too late. They’re here.”
I stand up, leave Leesie the towel. “Hey guys—this is Leesie.”
She stays sitting in the sand, waves and even manages a smile. “Sorry I can’t get up. Both ankles are sprained.” She tips her head towards her blue post-op boots cast off beside her.
Brock squats down in front of her. “I’m Brock. These goons are Gabriel, and my Commonwealth brothers, Ethan and Cooper.”
Gabriel acknowledges her with a nod and a flashy smile and trudges through the sand toward the condo building, but Ethan and Cooper sit down beside her. I take up a proprietary station behind her, slip a possessive arm around her waist.
She glances from side to side at Ethan and Cooper. “Where are you guys from?”
Cooper, who has bleached blonde hair and a perpetual burn, smiles and says, “Guess.”
Leesie squints her eyes. “You don’t have an accent.”
Ethan tips his head close to hers. “Aye, he does lass. Get him to say ‘eh.’”
“Canadian?”
Cooper’s face gets a little pinker. “Guilty. And Ethan’s a loud mouth Scot.”
He leans forward so he can glare at Cooper. “She was supposed to guess.”
Brock settles cross-legged in the wet sand in front of her. “That leaves me. I’ll give you a hint. I’m not here to get out of the gloom and cold like these other two blokes are.”
“Braggart.” Ethan flicks sand at him.
I lean forward and whisper in Leesie’s ear. “He called me ‘mate’ like a thousand times today on the boat.”
“That could be English? No. Australian.”
Brock laughs. “No fair, mate. You gave it away.”
“Sorry, dude.” My arms tighten around Leesie’s waist. “I don’t like to see my damsel in distress.”
Brock takes the hint. “Well,” he stands, “we’ll leave you two to it.” He drags Ethan and Cooper off their butts. “Let’s give the lovers some peace.
Cayman Summer Page 7
