That Birthday in Barbados

by Inglath Cooper

  “And now?”

  “The company isn’t really the same since we went public. Being accountable to other people means editing decisions for reasons I might not have before.”

  “Has that been hard for you?”

  I tip my head, concede the truth. “Type A, oldest child, not good at taking advice or orders from others. That’s me.”

  He smiles. “Also the reasons you were able to build the company in the first place.”

  “Double-edged sword, I guess.”

  “Most things have one.”

  “It was so exciting to think we had reached a point where others would want to heavily invest. I went in to work the morning the IPO was to be announced feeling on top of the world. The memory has gotten a little muddied by the fact that it was also the day my marriage fell apart.”

  He looks a little shocked. “That sucks.”

  “Is what it is,” I offer back.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Act like it’s no big deal.”

  I shrug. “I try not to re-dig the hole on a regular basis.”

  “Are they together? Your sister and your ex?”

  I shake my head.

  “Have you and your sister worked things out?”

  I look out at the ocean, try to keep my expression neutral. “I can’t seem to go there.”

  “And who could blame you? But maybe you need to. For you.”

  I hang my gaze on the sun, now fully in charge of its sky again, and wait for the always present wave of bitterness to cascade up from the wound deep inside me. But it doesn’t come today. I don’t feel anything, actually, except a completely surprising wash of calm. Which brings with it, a single question. What if he’s right?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “How ridiculous and how strange to be surprised at anything which happens in life.”

  ― Marcus Aurelius

  Catherine

  ANDERS HAS GONE into the kitchen to get us another bottle of water when a knock sounds at the door.

  “Probably just a delivery,” he calls out. “Would you mind checking?”

  “Sure.” I walk through the foyer to the door, pulling it open with the full expectation of seeing a guy in a brown uniform holding a package. But that’s not what I find. Instead, a beautiful young woman stands at the entrance. I stare at her for a moment, taking in her glossy long, dark hair and green eyes. She’s five-ten in flat sandals and short-shorts, her arms and legs lean and toned, her posture that of a runway model.

  “Oh,” she says, her hand poised in mid-knock again. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” I say.

  She peers around me, obviously surprised to find me answering the door. “Is Anders here?”

  “Ah, yes, he is,” I say, stepping back.

  She stops me with, “That’s okay. I wanted to surprise him. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

  “Oh. Sure. And you are?” I can’t resist adding that, even as I realize it is none of my business who she is.

  “Celeste. Antoine. I pop in whenever I’m on the island for a shoot. Are you staying with-”

  I don’t let her finish the sentence, “Oh, no. I was just leaving, in fact. If you don’t mind, I’ll grab your taxi.” I wave a hand at the white van that has started to back out of the driveway.

  “You don’t have to go-” she calls out behind me, but the driver has stopped, and I’m running across the pavement to slide open the side door, climbing in with a quick, “Can you please take me to the Sandy Lane Hotel?”

  He looks at me from the rearview with a question in his eyes, but says politely, “Of course. Not a problem.”

  I glance at the front door where Anders is now standing with the beautiful Celeste, watching me go with a look that gives away nothing of what he is thinking. It is impossible not to notice what a magnificent pair the two of them make, young and absurdly gorgeous. Perfect for each other, in fact.

  And as the van winds its way back down the drive to the main road, I stare out the window, feeling every bit my age. And then some.

  *

  BACK AT THE hotel, I really don’t know what to do with myself.

  In my room, I stand before the bathroom mirror, studying my reflection under the undeniable realization that I have been acting like someone I am not, a woman I have never been. Had I really thought there could be something between Anders and me?

  Heat splashes up my neck, reddens my face. I force myself to note the color in my cheeks because I am fully aware that I have made a fool of myself. What had I been thinking? Had I been that starved for attention? Suffering from a neglect so intense that I had no problem offering up my dignity in return for the feeling that a man like Anders might be attracted to me?

  I drop my head back, let out a long sigh. In this moment, I really hate myself.

  Did I do this deliberately? Set myself up for another round of humiliation?

  I lift my head, stare down the mirror. Get real, Catherine. Life is not a book. Life is not a movie. There really aren’t any happy endings. Interludes of things that look like they could go that way, maybe. But if the price to be paid for such temporary self-delusion is another crack in the heart, it’s not a price I can afford.

  I’m a divorced forty-year-old, on vacation, alone. It’s time I started acting like one.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Honesty is the fastest way to prevent a mistake from turning into a failure.”

  ― James Altucher

  Anders

  WE’VE BEEN A casual thing, Celeste and I.

  We met at a party on a yacht full of Europeans spending a week docked in Barbados. I’d been invited by a couple staying at the hotel for a few days. Celeste had been traveling for a couple of weeks with the owners of the yacht who were old friends of her parents in Paris.

  Neither of us was interested in anything other than casual, and by mutual agreement, we spent time together whenever she was in the area. I had never minded the other times she dropped in out of the blue, and I certainly can’t be unhappy with her for doing so today. Until now, I’ve had no reason to mind.

  We’re standing in the kitchen, making awkward small talk. She walks over to the fridge, pulls out the half bottle of white wine she’d left unfinished her last visit, grabs a glass from the cabinet and pours it three-quarters full.

  With her back to me, she takes a long sip, then turns to face me with a question in her eyes. “Would you rather I go?”

  “Celeste, I’m sorry. I-”

  “It is okay. I did not tell you I was coming.” She lifts her shoulders. “I am understanding of our agreement.” She leans against the kitchen counter, crosses her arms and holds the glass high to the right. “We have not asked commitment of one another.”

  “No,” I agree. “We haven’t.”

  “Maybe I should have, hmm?” she asks with a small smile and a flirty look.

  We study each other for several drawn out seconds. “I don’t really know what’s happening with me.”

  “You are interested in her?”

  Even if I answered yes, it wouldn’t change the fact that it has no hope of going anywhere. “She’s only here on vacation.”

  “So another me?”

  “No,” I say, but I’m not sure it’s for the reasons she’s guessing. Casual isn’t what I feel about Catherine.

  “She looked hurt,” Celeste says quietly. “She has feelings for you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I think so.”

  We hold each other’s gaze, and I feel bad because I’m the one who’s changed things.

  She sets her glass of wine on the counter, walks over and stands in front of me, less than an inch of air separating us. We stand that way for a string of moments, and I can feel her letting my body remember her. She leans in then and brushes my mouth with hers, her eyes closing and then opening, gauging my response.

  “You say you don’t know what is going o
n with you where she is concerned. Why don’t you let me help you to figure this out?”

  When I don’t turn away, she kisses me again, this time opening her mouth fully to mine. I feel my reluctance, but admit my own need to decide if anything has changed. Since the moment I set eyes on her, my head has been full of Catherine Camilleri. To a degree even I realize makes no sense.

  I loop an arm around Celeste’s waist and reel her in.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “One must be careful not to take refuge in any delusion.”

  ― James Baldwin

  Catherine

  IT’S BEEN A full day since I left Anders’ house, and I’m at loose ends.

  In the twenty-four hours since then, I feel like I’ve crashed from a sugar high. I’ve been in the movie, indulging in Coke and Milk Duds in the dark, and now the movie’s over, and I’ve got to walk out into the too-lit lobby and acknowledge my sin.

  Vacation without the undercurrent of sexual tension.

  It’s not like I didn’t do it to myself.

  Had I really thought there could ever be something physical between us?

  The answer is yes. Somewhere, deep down, yes. Had started to yearn for it. Want it in the way of something you know is impossible but let take root inside of you, anyway.

  Foolish and forty. That’s me.

  What I know is that if I’m going to stay here for the rest of my vacation and not head back to Manhattan as the more sensible me would do, then I need to hit rewind and finish out the version of this escape I should have been doing all along.

  Having spent the morning at the beach, I decide to go to the pool.

  It’s a short walk across from the main part of the hotel. The pool connects to the spa, the tile a beautiful deep blue, the water appealingly tempting. There’s a swim-up bar, and I see a few people seated on the bar stools ordering drinks.

  The pool attendant welcomes me and leads me to a chair which he covers in a thick blue towel. I give him a tip, and he leaves me with a smile. It’s nearly four o’clock, the sun still hot in its now clear sky. I decide to take a swim and spend the next twenty minutes paddling from one end to the other, snagging a float and climbing on face down.

  “Why, hello!”

  I look up to see Madeline from the plane sitting on the step at the edge of the pool. She’s wearing a pretty green one-piece, and I have to admire how she has taken care of herself. She’s proof that muscles don’t have to atrophy, skin doesn’t have to wrinkle. “Hi, Madeline. You look so pretty.”

  “Why, thank you, dear. I’m hoping this suit doesn’t scream ‘made for someone much younger’.”

  I smile and shake my head. “It’s perfect. How is your trip so far?”

  “Exactly as I had hoped it would be. And yours?”

  “It’s been wonderful,” I say, skimming a hand through the refreshing water.

  “Been?”

  “Is, I mean.”

  She gives me a long look, as if she knows I’m leaving something out. “Have you met anyone?”

  “Everyone’s been really nice,” I say, avoiding the question.

  She laughs lightly, on to me. “Anyone special?” she persists.

  “Out of my league, I’m afraid,” I finally admit.

  “Who could be out of your league?” she asks, sounding truly surprised.

  “Ah, he is,” I say, unwavering.

  “Why ever?”

  “Younger, gorgeous, taken.”

  “The first two, no. The last? Hm.”

  “Yeah.”

  “At least you’re putting yourself out there.”

  “I didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened.”

  “How do you know there’s someone else?”

  “I met her, actually.”

  Madeline’s expression falls, and I can see she’s truly sorry for me.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Holiday romances only happen in novels and movies.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “I’m proof that’s not true, but I’m sorry yours didn’t work out. I have an idea. Why don’t we ask if there’s availability for a massage? My treat.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to,” she says, standing to step out of the pool and grab the white robe on a chair behind her. “I’ll be right back.”

  I watch her walk inside the spa, certain she’ll have success with the appointments. Madeline approaches life as if it can’t possibly tell her no.

  And it doesn’t. She’s back in less than five minutes, smiling. “They can take us in half an hour. Want to make use of the sauna before then?”

  “Why not?” I get out of the pool, towel off long enough that I’m not dripping water as we make our way into the inviting spa, stopping at the front desk to confirm our appointments and taking the elevator down to the first floor where we make use of the changing area. The white robe is fluffy and comfortable. We follow the hallway to a door that leads outside to the dry sauna and an outdoor hot tub.

  We try the sauna first, and in less than five minutes, Madeline opts for the hot tub. I sit on the wooden bench, not minding the sweat that trickles down the back of my neck. Through the glass front of the sauna, I watch Madeline step into the water and paddle out of sight.

  I lean back and close my eyes, startled a few seconds later when the door opens. I look up to see a very tall, very familiar figure stepping inside.

  It can’t be.

  But it is.

  She realizes it’s me in the same moment I recognize her.

  “Oh,” she says, and it is clear she’s not really happy to see me. “Hello, again.”

  “Hi,” I say, more than a little puzzled to find her here in the sauna with me instead of back at Anders’ house. And in his bed.

  “This is awkward,” she says, taking a seat on the far side of the bench.

  “Sorry,” I say, standing to leave.

  “No, no,” she says, waving me back onto the seat. “We are both adults.”

  Me more so than you, I want to say, but don’t.

  “I’m not exactly used to rejection,” she offers in a low voice.

  I give her a full look, noting the clear hurt on her face. I have no idea what to say. “Rejection?” I manage.

  “Not my normal experience with men.”

  We’re silent for several long seconds, and then she adds, “You are in his head.”

  To say the words shock me would be an understatement. “I don’t think you’re right about that.”

  She laughs softly. “Oh, I’m right. Believe me.”

  She drops her towel, fully naked under a sheen of sweat. I’m still wearing my robe, and even though I’m at the point of my skin igniting, I’m not about to take it off and suffer the comparison.

  “Is this a casual thing for you?”

  “Ah, it’s not a thing. We haven’t-”

  “You certainly have something to look forward to then. Anders is-” She breaks off and finally adds, “Difficult to live up to.”

  I’m pretty sure I know what she means by this. “Are you in love with him?”

  “I could be,” she answers honestly. “If he would give me the go ahead.”

  “Go ahead?”

  “Some indication he could love me back.”

  “Oh.”

  I hear the longing in her voice, and oddly enough, I feel sorry for her. In the past twenty-four hours, I’ve done my share of mooning over Anders, and I’m sure she has real history to mourn. I only had the fantasy of it.

  “I shouldn’t be a reason for you two not to-” I break off there, not sure how to finish.

  “Yeah, well, when one’s not into it, kind of not the same.”

  “I find it hard to believe any man would kick you out of bed.”

  She shrugs. “Anders is different. There’s got to be a connection there. I thought we had one, but apparently you’ve made him see it differently.”

  A young woman dressed in a spa uniform appears at the door, opens i
t to say, “Ms. Camilleri?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “The masseuse is ready for you.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” I stand, sweat dripping down my face and neck to be absorbed by the robe. “I’m sorry for the disappointment, Celeste.”

  She makes an attempt at a cheery smile. “Just don’t let it be for nothing. Anders says your heart has been broken,” she says. “He is worth the risk.”

  *

  MADELINE HAS ALREADY gone in for her massage, and I follow the young lady who had come to get me down the marble floor hall with its wall sconce lighting to a room where she knocks once and opens the door for me.

  The masseuse is waiting inside, a woman with kind eyes and hands that prove to be up to the job of dissolving the knots of tension in my shoulders and back.

  “Ooh,” she says. “You have not been doing enough relaxing. More time on the beach, less time in your head.”

  She uses the bottom of her hand to knead a particularly resistant knot. I moan under the pain-pleasure of it, trying not to let my thoughts wander to the very unsettling conversation I’d just had with Celeste.

  Which is impossible.

  Don’t let it be for nothing.

  Had he really turned her down?

  And could it really be because I’m in his head? Me?

  “Blank mind,” the masseuse orders. “At least let me get rid of the knots before you start putting them back again.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, force my thoughts to something neutral, something that doesn’t inspire tension. Easier said than done.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “There is no point in using the word ‘impossible’ to describe something that has clearly happened.”

  ― Douglas Adams

  Anders

  I’VE BEEN BETTING myself she won’t show up for class again this morning.

  When I see her walk in the door, my stomach takes a nose-dive, and I have to wonder what the heck is going on with me. First, ending things with Celeste. And now I’m acting like a teenager waiting to find out if the first girl I’ve ever liked likes me back.