Two Weddings And A Bride. Anne Eames
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meeting her angry glare.
“I bet,” she snapped back. “With what—the pad of your little finger?”
“Look, I’m going down to the beach.” He glanced at his watch and stifled a smile. “Orientation is in half an hour. Maybe I’ll see you there.” He started for the door when she stopped him with another of her barbs.
“Be sure you get a good look.”
At first he didn’t catch on, but then he followed her gaze to the binoculars in his left hand and realized what she was thinking. He thought about offering an explanation, but he knew she was in no mood to accept it. “Oh, don’t worry. I will.” He winked at her and left the room.
All the way down to the beach he imagined her slamming things around the room, lumping all men in one ugly cesspool of angry words. It was just as well, he thought. Let her blow off a little steam. After what Studly had done to her, she was entitled. In the meantime, though, he’d give her wide berth.
As six o’clock grew near, empty chaise lounges around the pool grew scarce. Jake waited patiently for the show to begin, idly watching the tall, lean Jamaican reviewing his notes. The binoculars lay on the adjacent seat, saving it in case Catherine decided to show.
“Is this for me?”
Jake shielded his eyes with the side of his hand and looked up. He removed the binoculars and motioned for Catherine to sit just as the social director began.
For the next forty minutes, the fresh crop of mostly pale bodies listened to the long list of amenities—tennis, volleyball, snorkeling, windsurfing, sailing, horseback riding. There was a disco and a piano bar with Karaoke. Then there were special events, such as a toga party, a pajama party, a catamaran cruise and a fifties dance contest. Everything, including meals and cocktails, were included in the package. No tipping and no need to carry money—unless you wanted to pay for something at one of the five shops. Even then you could charge it to your room.
Before it was over, Jake wondered where he would go to relax after this so-called vacation. Finally the director said there was one more thing they needed to know. There were two beaches.
The nude. And the prude.
Out of the corner of his eye Jake saw Catherine fold her arms across her chest and heave a sigh, leaving no doubt where she stood on the subject.
Someone from the crowd asked, “Where exactly is the nude beach?”
The smiling Jamaican said, “You’ll know when you get there,” which Jake noticed brought a laugh from everyone except his companion.
Great, he thought and rolled his eyes. If there had to be just one finishing school graduate in this place, why did she have to be with him? He reminded himself she wasn’t really with him. With a sigh he pushed out of his chair and offered her a hand.
“The dining room’s open. Ready for dinner?” She stared at his outstretched arm a moment, looking as though she was weighing the possibility of contamination if she touched him, but then she gave in and honored him with her hand. Ignoring her mood, he bent her arm in the crook of his and pulled her closer as they strolled inside the main hall.
Dinner consisted of a variety of buffet tables, artistically presented with ice sculptures, animal-shaped breads and an abundance of tropical flowers. There was more than enough food to feed the troops. Jake guessed the size of the crowd at about four hundred or so. Guests sat at cloth-covered tables on three different levels surrounding a dance floor. On both sides of the raised bandstand were wide, wall-free spaces, allowing diners a panoramic view of the pool, beach and tropical gardens. Since there were no bugs, there was no need for doors or screens and everyone walked in and out freely throughout the evening. In spite of lively chatter from an inattentive audience, a local vocalist was singing her heart out on the bandstand as if hoping someone would notice she was the next Whitney Houston.
Jake took it all in, surprised he didn’t miss the hustle and bustle of Detroit. He’d made the call home and covered things at work. Now, after polishing off a generous plate of standing rib roast and potato salad, he sat back and watched Catherine pick at her salad and nibble daintily on a bread stick. He couldn’t believe he was still hungry. It had to be all the fresh air. The dessert table caught his eye.
“Want anything while I’m up?” Jake asked, pushing out his chair. Catherine wrinkled her nose and waved him on. When he returned with a raspberry-covered wedge of chocolate torte, he thought she showed a little more interest, but she averted her gaze and sipped demurely on her tea.
“Sure you don’t want a bite?” Jake raised a forkful in her direction.
“Positive.” She kept her eyes lowered and drank more tea. Jake realized she’d been sick earlier, but he wondered if the whole week was going to be this way. He didn’t consider himself a conversationalist, but this was ridiculous. By the cold shoulder he was getting, you’d think he was the one who’d cheated on her. He turned his chair to get a better view of the singer and took another bite of torte, trying not to let her get to him.
After the third consecutive love song Catherine said, “I’m not really in the mood for this.”
No kidding, Jake thought, feeling a little restless himself. When she stood to leave, so did he, making one more stab at bridging the ever-widening gap between them. “I was thinking about taking a stroll around, check out the place. Wanna come along?” He tried to appear as if he couldn’t care less whether she joined him, but in truth, he wished she would. She cocked her head, weighing the idea, then graced him with a small smile.
“Okay…for a while.” She turned and led the way out. They passed the pool and made their way down a long, winding path. Jake watched her almost black hair. Combed free of its tie it swayed behind her with each long stride. Just as at the wedding he had an overwhelming desire to reach out and stroke it, to feel its silkiness between his fingers. Controlling himself, he looked beyond her.
The last rays of sunset mirrored the surface of the sea beckoning them to the water’s edge. Without a word they removed their sandals and padded lazily across the wide stretch of smooth sand, foamy waves lapping at their toes.
Suddenly Catherine stopped. Jake took a few more steps then paused, waiting and watching. She gazed into the dusky sky, a gentle breeze brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes closed and Jake wondered where she was. Was she thinking about that dreadful reception? Or had she dealt with it at all. They’d barely been apart since it happened and he’d yet to see her cry. He was about to broach the subject when she turned and walked on, kicking a breaking wave in front of her.
Jake hated chatterbox women, but he wished she’d say something. Anything. But she didn’t. He followed her from the shore to the trail leading toward their room. When they reached the door he stepped ahead of her and used his key. She passed in front of him without making eye contact, then went to the far door wall and peered out.
Her back still to him, she spoke. “Why don’t you use the bathroom first. I’ll wait until you’re settled in the other room.”
Jake stared at her rounded shoulders a moment, not ready to call it a night, but not knowing what else to say or do. Slapping his hands on his thighs, he sighed and said, “Okay, fine,” and headed for his duffel in the next room.
A few seconds later, armed with toothbrush and paste, he returned and went about his nightly ritual in record time. He paused at the connecting door when he’d finished. She still hadn’t moved.
“Well…good night then,” he said and shut the door behind him.
The steady lapping of waves tugged Jake from a deep sleep. He lay with his eyes closed and remembered other mornings when similar sounds began his day, when the motion beneath him hinted at what kind of a sail he could expect