Bermuda Heat (12 page)

“Imani,” Joel said. “Let us talk about something else—”

“I wish that were so,” Imani said. “I would change the world if I could.”

“Listen,” Chris said earnestly. “You’re a good kid. I didn’t mean to lay that kind of heavy sh—stuff on you.”

“Kid again,” Imani said with a rueful laugh. “I gotta wonder if I’ll ever grow out of that.”

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“Sure you will,” Chris said, trying to lighten the mood now.

He was all too aware that diners at nearby tables were turning to watch them. “When you’re old and gray and your grandkids come to visit. Trust me, they’ll think you’re plenty old enough.”

“Gee, thanks. I think.”

“Hey, I’m always good for it.” He met David’s gaze and sighed. “It’s funny, I’ve never been a political animal. My friend Des would tell you he’s been trying to get me to care about his causes for years now, but I never got involved. But there’s been so much negative stuff lately that it’s hard not to.”

“I’m going to confess I never really thought about it before.”

Imani said.

“S’okay,” Chris murmured. “Most people don’t. They have their own worries to occupy themselves. They find it easier to believe what they’re told by misguided church leaders.”

David snagged the bill as soon as it was presented and insisted on paying for the meal, over Joel’s protests. He guided Chris out of the pub, his hand firmly in the middle of Chris’s back. Chris didn’t need to be a mind reader to know David was still angry.

Joel didn’t seem very happy about the way things had gone, either.

Chris squared his shoulders, for once not ready to back down.

Tough if they didn’t like it.

In silence, they left the cooperage through the sunlit atrium.

Across from the pub was a craft market. Joel led them inside.

The market was a treasure trove of maps, old and new, glass sculptures, the typical shells and beach knickknacks, fresh Bermuda honey and something called Outerbridge’s Sherry Peppers. David picked up a bottle. “Hot?” he asked Joel.

“Burn your tongue,” Joel said cheerfully.

“Try that one out on Martinez,” Chris said to David, still trying to ease the mood. He hated it when David was unhappy with him.

“Who is Martinez?” Imani asked.

“My partner,” David said. “My LAPD partner. He’s always BeRMudA heAt
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challenging everyone to serve him something so hot he can’t eat it. No one’s succeeded yet.”

Chris wandered off in search of cedar. He came back with a couple of small pieces that he proudly showed David. One was a sinuous carving of a Bermudian woman, her hair piled high, limbs raised in dance. “Des will love this.” The second sculpture was a pair of leaping dolphins. He got that for Becky, along with a T-shirt that proudly proclaimed its wearer was a Bermuda Onion.

The sculptor’s house was a single-story lavender building surrounded by verdant green. The man who answered the door made David think wrestler instead of sculptor. He was huge, bald-headed, with his arms and thighs as big around as telephone poles. He hugged Joel, dwarfing the large man, slapping his back.

Imani was swept into his arms.

“Girl, you get prettier every day.”

When Joel introduced Chris and David, Trotter held out his hand and gripped David’s.

“You the one who wants to see my tables?”

David shook his head. He jerked a thumb back at Chris.

“Him.”

Trotter held out his hand. Chris took it gingerly. He felt the calluses against his soft, white-collar skin. “Come, I’ll show you my studio,” Trotter said.

Skylights and a broad bay window flooded the room with natural light. Raw blocks of curing cedar were stacked in one corner; the rich smell of cut wood filled the room. Lying against the far wall were several planed boards, stacked and ready to be turned into art. David took a deep breath and tried not to watch Chris go into a rapture over one piece after another. Then he spotted the biggest table, hidden away in the far corner, under the bay window. Light danced over the burnished surface. There was nothing ornate about the piece. The legs had been shaped slightly into graceful curves. The tabletop itself was sanded and buffed with obvious love and attention to detail.

“Oh, this is exquisite,” Chris cried. “How much?”

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Trotter had kept up with Chris, giving him the history of each item. The table, he said, had been started two years ago from a choice piece of Bermudian cedar. “It called out for something special.”

“It is special,” Chris said. David wasn’t surprised when his next question was, “How much are you asking?”

He really wasn’t trying to listen, but the silence in the room was so complete he could hear faint traffic sounds coming from Middle Road, and a nearby kiskadee calling out its question.

“Normally I ask thirty thousand for a piece this size.”

David almost bit his tongue. He tried to catch Chris’s eye but it was obvious Chris was avoiding him.

All Chris’s attention was on Trotter, and even from this distance David recognized the gleam in his eye. He was in bargaining mode. Sometimes David thought Chris loved the challenge of bargaining as much as the resultant purchase.

“Twenty.”

“It took nearly two years to make this piece.”

“And it shows,” Chris said. “Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-eight and not a penny less.”

They finally agreed on twenty-six and a half, which still made David’s teeth ache.

They talked about having it shipped and what kind of duty Chris could expect to pay. Chris signed over a VISA check with all his personal information. Imani touched David’s arm.

“Is he always this way?”

“What way?” David said through clenched teeth.

“This impulsive? That’s a lot of money—”

“Don’t tell me what I already know.”

“You must love him very much.”

“Why, because I don’t kill him when he spends that kind of money on a table?”

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Imani grinned. “Well, yeah.”

David sighed. “Yeah, I do.”

“You’re lucky. Not many people find that kind of love.”

“Not many people could afford it.”

“There’s that, too.” She laughed. “I wonder if he knows how special you are.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Chris bounced over to them. “Ready to go? I’m all done here.”

“That’s good to know,” David said.

Trotter called them a cab, and it arrived soon after.

David took Chris’s arm and followed Joel and Imani out to the cab. Chris couldn’t help but grin at him. “Making sure I get out with a few checks still in my wallet?”

“You’ll thank me one day,” David growled, but he couldn’t hide his amusement. He knew damn well Chris was never going to change.

Out in the driveway he was still holding Chris’s arm. A car flew by and through the open windows they heard a rough male voice shout, “Take it home, faggots. Your kind ain’t welcome here.”

Monday, 4:25pm Rose Grotto, College Hill Road, Devonshire
Parish, Bermuda

They pulled into Joel’s driveway to find two scooters and the pickup truck present. No one came out to greet them. Imani raced up the steps and threw open the front door, but instead of entering, she spun around and stormed to the edge of the veranda.

“Did you hear those ass—those jerks? God, do they ever stop?” She was almost in tears. She clenched her hands into fists.

“It makes me ashamed to be Bermudian.”

“Now, honey,” Joel said. “You don’t mean that. You know as many good people as I do. It’s not fair to paint everyone with the same brush.”

As though to challenge his words, Imani’s brothers came out of the house. Baker was a lithe, dark man barely out of his teens; Jay favored his father in height and build. Neither of them looked any too pleased to see Chris or David.

“It’s not enough you drag them all over dis rock,” Jay said.

“Giving all our friends a chance to stare and laugh, shaming us all, but you have to bring them back here when we said they wasn’t welcome.”

“You’re a nasty piece of work, aren’t you?” Imani jammed her fists against her side, glaring at each brother in turn. “I’m ashamed to be related to you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Baker snapped.

“It ain’t natural. No real man sleeps with other men.”

Chris nearly looked heavenward as though for help. Next they were going to start quoting Leviticus. He felt David’s body tense and he waited for the outburst, but it came from Joel rather
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than his son.

“You’re all my sons, but you overstep yourselves. You are being rude to my guests. I thought I had raised you better.

Apologize.”

“But poppa, he’s—”

“He’s my son, and Chris is the friend of my son. You will respect that or you will leave.”

Instead of cooling them off, Joel’s words only served to fuel their fury.

“I’ll leave all right.” Jay stalked down the steps to the lawn, brushing past Chris and nearing knocking him over. “And I’ll stay gone until you come to your senses and send this sick fuck out of here.”

“Jay! That kind of language is unacceptable. I insist you apologize—”

“Screw that.” Jay straddled his bike and jammed his helmet down on his head. “I’ll be back once this pervert leaves. I can’t believe you thought he could help me. Really, Dad, I thought you knew better.”

He threw the bike into gear and popped a wheelie on the way out onto College Hill Road, spewing gravel as he slid onto the pavement.

Imani looked stricken. Joel merely looked grim. “Fool,” he muttered. He shook his grizzled head and turned to face David.

Before he could speak, David took Chris’s arm and drew him toward him. “I think we’ve done enough damage for one day,”

he said. “Thank you for inviting us. I hope we can see each other again before we head home.”

“No!” Imani said. She looked at her father. “You can’t just let them walk away like that. Not because of Jay or the other island bigots. That’s so unfair.”

David tried again. “I think it’s better for all of us—”

She did everything but stamp her feet. “No, it’s not better.

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How can you say that? I’m your sister, this is your dad. Maybe you’re still pissed that he ignored you for all those years, but that wasn’t his fault. Don’t you see, he wouldn’t have stayed away if he’d known.”

“Let them go.” Baker sneered, clearly enjoying the show from his vantage point on the veranda. He stuffed a sweet roll into his mouth and chewed noisily.

When the door popped open again everyone turned to look at the young man who stepped out onto the veranda. He was followed by two others who, in sharp contrast to the first man, looked like street thugs. One bore an armful of tattoos and the other had a thick mat of Rastafarian hair that looked like small animals might nest in it. The first man was a real beauty, rich bronze skin with startling gray eyes. His hair hung nearly to his shoulders, but on him it looked right. His gaze swept around the frozen tableau.

“I’m interrupting. Sorry.” A lazy smile said he really wasn’t.

Chris was startled to see Imani blush and duck her head.

“Daryl. I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t even know you were back.”

Joel stiffened and Chris could have sworn a flash of dislike crossed the older man’s face before he suppressed it. The smile he gave the younger man was clearly forced. “Daryl,” he said. “I had no idea you were home. What happened to your school year in Florida?”

“Nothing,” Daryl said quickly. He never looked away from Imani. “I’m just back.”

Chris looked away from the trio quickly when they looked at him. He was no coward, but he knew better than to get in the face of hostile straights. Guys with a chip on their shoulders usually weren’t open to reason. But his eyes were drawn back again to Daryl. He didn’t seem as unfriendly as the others. In fact he seemed more relaxed than anyone else in the fractured tableau, including Joel and David.

Imani certainly seemed thrilled to see the newcomer.

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Chris watched their interaction with curiosity. Joel strode up, interrupting the two.

“But I don’t understand, Daryl,” Joel said. “Your father sent you to Florida. Am I right?”

Daryl smiled. “Miami. Mom got sick so I had to come back.”

Joel spun around to face Baker and Jay. “You should have told me your friend was back. At the very least you should have told me Mary was ill.”

“Pop, he asked us not to. He didn’t want to make a fuss—”

“He’s right, sir,” Daryl said. “Mom wasn’t really that sick and she didn’t want it blown out of proportion by well-meaning friends. No offense, sir.”

“I’ll still speak to your father about this. This isn’t right, you throwing away your schooling. I’m sure your father will agree.”

“Please don’t do that, sir,” Daryl said. “We’ve already talked about it. He understands.”

It was clear to Chris that Joel didn’t agree. Probably just unhappy Daryl was back in Imani’s life.

“But please, enough, join us for a drink, Daryl. I’ll call your father tomorrow.” He looked at Chris and David. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Chris answered first. “No, not at all.”

“Excuse me,” Joel said. “I should introduce you. This is Thomas and Emmanuel Cray, and this young man is Daryl Billings. His father and I are cousins. We worked together many years ago on one of his deep-sea fishing boats until I decided I’d rather dig in dirt than water.”

Chris held out his hand. “Hi, Daryl, I’m Chris, this is David.”

Daryl’s easy smile sent Chris’s pulse thundering. He barely noticed Imani slip in beside Daryl, laying her hand possessively on his arm. If Chris had been a better family friend, he would have hooted with amusement. David’s little sister had a big time crush.

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Joel still didn’t look happy, but then having a good-looking man courting his young daughter was bound to tie any man’s shorts in a knot.

“I thought we were heading out to St. David’s,” Baker whined.