Island Promises (11 page)

“We’ll have to walk across the sand.”

“You can do it, I know you can.”

They ran to the water. Mitchell jumped in while Riley took her time. She was used to the waters of Lake Michigan, which even in the height of summer, were chilly. The water here, though, was so warm her brain had trouble processing it.

“This is heaven,” she said when they got beyond the surf line and were squatting shoulder deep in the clear, sultry ocean.

“And you want to leave all this”—he pointed at the beach, the white sand glistening, the palm trees ringing it with the promise of cool shade, the sky so blue it could break your heart—“for concrete, snow, and mostly-cloudy most of the time.

Did she want to leave? If she stayed, the weather might be part of it but the man who whispered to her in the middle of the night was the biggest part. Before they fell asleep, after they made love, Joe would hold her, stroke her, pat her hair. The whole time he would tell her things—how beautiful she was, how he liked having someone to share a bunk with, where they could find a deserted cove for some skinny-dipping.

Despite all her Chicago toughness, Riley found herself melting under his touch and his words. Her feelings for him were growing every day. What had started out as a fling was turning into a much deeper relationship. She was falling hard and fast. The complications were enormous. A career, a man, a life were waiting for her in Chicago, expecting her to return. Day by day that life was fading and the allure of this man and this life were becoming irresistible.

“There’s somebody from up north,” Mitchell said as a thin figure dressed in black long sleeves, long pants, and calf-high boots came toward them. They had taken a few days off and now the crew was together again, ready for the next charter which was scheduled for tomorrow. “Honey,” Mitchell continued, “she is in desperate need of an island makeover. She looks like she belongs to an advertising agency for a funeral home. Even her skin fits the bill; I’ve never seen anyone so white.” He pried Riley’s fingers off his forearm. “I may need circulation to that hand sometime in the future. Settle down, girlfriend. I’m sure she’s not into island witchcraft. Fashion suicide, maybe.”

Riley took off running toward the figure. The woman recoiled in horror when Riley grabbed her by the shoulders and wrapped her in a bear hug.

“Mildred, what are you doing here? I’m so glad to see you.”

Seeing Mildred, all buttoned up and stiff in this free-flowing environment should have been comical. But to Riley, it was overwhelming. To her embarrassment, she found herself close to tears. This was the first person from her old life she had set eyes on in weeks. In Chicago, Mildred had been her producer, her best friend, her partner.

Riley didn’t realize how deeply she had missed her dear friend until Mildred was standing before her. They were more than work acquaintances. They’d shared the pain over lost loves, delivered ginger ale and tissues when they were sick, and were genuinely happy for each other’s successes, not an easy thing to find in the cut-throat world of Chicago journalism.

“Riley? Oh for heaven’s sake, Riley, is that you?” Mildred stepped back, eyes narrowed.

Self-consciously, Riley ran a hand through her hair. Several strands had gotten stuck in a curl and she had to unwind one from her thumb. She tucked in the oversized shirt and hitched up the old shorts.

“Looks like I came not a moment too soon,” her boss repeated.

Riley fidgeted under Mildred’s gaze. She’d come to accept how she looked on the island. Now
she was seeing herself through the eyes of someone who knew her before and was astonished at the change. The honey brown hair of a Chicago reporter was gradually vanishing into a hive of white waves. The complexion she had paid lots and lots for in Chicago to keep blemish free and unwrinkled was developing freckles and tiny lines around her eyes from squinting into the sun. The soft body that was never thin enough had become hard and defined by walking and sailing.

“What are you doing here?” Riley repeated.

“Right now, looking for some shade, a cold beer, and you. One out of three ain’t bad to start.”

“Come on.” Riley threw an arm around her and they dragged her luggage behind them down the dock.

“You’ll like
Reprieve
.” Mitchell was nearly running to catch up to them. “She’s great for a cruise. Has all the amenities and good food. Of course, liquor is included in the price.” Mitchell’s babbling made Riley realize she’d forgotten all about him in her joy and surprise at seeing Mildred.

She stopped on the dock. “Mildred, my good friend, Mitchell. Mitchell, this is Mildred, my boss from Chicago.”

At Mildred’s raised brows, she grinned and added, “She’s a good friend, too.”
More like best friend and confidant
, Riley acknowledged to herself and gave Mildred a sidewise hug.

“Nice to meet you Mildred,” Mitchell said. “Any friend of Riley’s is a friend of mine.” He paused, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, anxious to be accepted into this circle of friendship. “I’ll tell you how I met her over a few drinks.”

When Mildred didn’t seem at all interested, he added, “Let’s just say it involved a dark night, a ship’s cabin and Riley’s bed.”

Before Riley could defend herself, she spotted Joe and Anthony driving up in the Jeep.

“We’ll take those,” Joe said, as he and Anthony met them. “You’re early,” he said to Mildred as he easily picked up the luggage Riley had been putting all her weight into hauling behind them.

“And you’re much different than Riley let on,” Mildred said arching one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

“We can stow your gear but
Reprieve
isn’t cleaned or provisioned. You were supposed to show up tomorrow.”

“I like surprises.”

Riley cringed as Mildred made an obvious show of giving Joe the once-over. Her friend’s eyes flickered over his tanned arms, his sandy hair, his clear brown eyes, which didn’t flinch under her hard gaze.

“What’s going on here?” Riley bobbed her head from one to the other.

“This is our next charter.” Joe nodded toward Mildred.

“But you’ve never sailed, that I know of,” Riley protested. “You don’t swim. You won’t even come to a BBQ in the summer because you have a phobia about bugs.”

“The brochure said there’s air-conditioning so I shouldn’t be outside and I have no intention of this boat ever moving from the dock.”

Joe’s mouth flew open but before he could get any words out, Riley put her arm around Mildred and turned her back the way they had come. In Chicago, they never touched, just air kisses at the annual Christmas party or drunken hugs when the station won an award, but in the space of a few minutes, she had been hugging and touching Mildred as though she were a demonstrative person. Which she most certainly was not.

“We’ll grab a table,” Riley shot over her shoulder to the three men. “See you at Rosalee’s.” Turning to Mildred, she said, “You’re going to love this place, the best views on the island, and you can fill me in on Chicago.”

Forging full-steam ahead, Riley headed to Rosalee’s. By the time they reached the cool shade of the inn, sweat was pooling in the jersey knit top Mildred wore and she was limping.

Guilt kneaded Riley’s stomach. She hadn’t taken into account Mildred’s black clothing and her designer boots, with just the hint of a heel but a pointed toe. She had also forgotten how much Mildred hated to walk anywhere. Back in Chicago, the most she walked was a block or two to the bus stop, and when the weather was bad, she had a cab pick her up in front of the building. “I’m sorry, Mildred.”

“Water,” Mildred croaked, before collapsing into one of the wicker chairs opposite the hotel desk, kicking off her shoes and rubbing her feet. She mopped at her forehead with an old tissue.

“Can I get you a table?” Henri appeared in front of them.

“As close as possible to the air-conditioning duct.” Mildred didn’t even look up at him but he cast a glance at Riley.

“We don’t have air-conditioning here, the island breezes are enough.”

“What kind of a place is this?” Mildred asked. “Whoever heard of a restaurant with no air-conditioning? Let’s go somewhere else, Riley.”

“You can go,” Henri said. “But there’s no air-conditioning in any of the restaurants on the island.”

Mildred finally focused on him. Henri’s pale blue, flowered shirt and the white pants set off his skin, kissed to a golden shade by the sun. His dark eyes met her challenge and he didn’t flinch under her hard gaze.

“Well, then, maybe you can put us at what passes for a good table here.” Mildred stared at him, hard. “Bring us some ice water.” She was using the imperious producer’s voice she used to scare interns into working 16 hours a day but not putting in for overtime. “If, in fact, the concept of ice has reached this outpost.”

“Mildred.” Riley blushed with embarrassment. Had she, Riley, been this hard, this condescending, when she’d first arrived? If so, she should apologize, not just for her friend but for herself.

“Oh, we have ice,” Henri shot back. “We have little island children molding it into cubes with their bare hands after they’ve trekked it down from the mountains in big chunks on the backs of donkeys. Every Christmas Eve, we let the locals come in and touch it as a present from us to the island. They’re so inspired by the sight, many of them fall onto their knees in gratitude for this marvel of civilization.”

“Did anybody ever tell you—”

Before she could finish that thought, Riley took her friend by the arm and shepherded her into the dining room. Mildred limped along, holding one shoe in her hand.

“He is the most arrogant, difficult, exasperating man,” Mildred said as they sat down.

Riley studied her menu, hoping Mildred would change the subject. “What do you say to some local specialties? They do a great fish here, fresh from the sea, and the fruits are to die for, so different, so exotic.”

“Here he comes again. Is he the only person who works in this godforsaken place?”

“Where is everyone?” Riley asked when Henri set down the silverware, taking longer than needed to make sure Mildred’s place setting was just right.

“Rosa and Stanley went over to the university for a poetry reading,” Henri said to Riley. Then he turned to Mildred. “Another thing we do around here, expose the islanders to words that rhyme. Anything to broaden their horizons.”

“No one else is working?” Riley hoped to see another waiter, even a bus boy, who was willing to serve them. Hell, she’d do it herself, even though she didn’t officially work here anymore. Anything to av
oid this tension between the two of them.

“I’d like the pleasure of serving you myself,” Henri said. “After all, how often do we get visitors who might teach us something about the big world out there?” He filled the water glasses, taking extra care to drop the ice cubes in one by one.

“At least they train them in service,” said Mildred after Henri left the table, “since it seems he doesn’t have much of a chance in any other career.”

Riley started to tell her about Henri’s MBA from Harvard, about the offers he’d gotten from big corporations but had turned down when he made the choice to come home and run the business. She wanted to explain about Rosa and her doctorate in philosophy, but they were interrupted by the arrival of Joe, Anthony, and Mitchell.

Lunch never got any better. Mildred and Henri sparred through most of it. Riley could see other wait staff—she waved to those she knew—and several times she suggested to Henri that they would be fine with a younger, inexperienced waitress, that she could fetch the coffee herself and refill the rolls. But he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from getting up and smiled falsely, aiming his words at Mildred.
No, he wouldn’t hear of anyone else waiting on them. He would do it himself just to absorb the atmosphere of the outside world that Mildred introduced, just so he could learn something new, poor, sheltered, island boy
that he was
.

For her part, Mildred ordered him around like he was her personal assistant. On the scent of a big story or up against a deadline, Mildred could be brisk, commanding. That’s what her job demanded. But Riley had never known her to treat waiters in Chicago the way she was treating Henri.

Riley ate very little. The three men ate as quickly as they could and then found an excuse to leave. Mitchell had tried to start a conversation, complimenting Mildred on her designer handbag but it went nowhere.

Before they left, they agreed to drop Mildred’s luggage at the hotel. She was going to stay there tonight while
Reprieve
was still being provisioned and cleaned since she had shown up a day early. Done eating, Mildred clicked her fingers for Henri, who took his time reaching the table. “Will you see that my bags are sent directly to my room when they arrive?”

“I will handle it personally. Although I can’t make any guarantees. That is, unless you’ve attached a picture of yourself to the outside. You know how hard it is for us poor islanders to make out all those big words on the tags like ‘Chicago’ and ‘United States.’ But we plug along.”

“Mildred.” Riley frowned. She was going to try and get through to Mildred about Henri. Not just about him, but about all of them here, how they were no different than the people in the rarified news world in Chicago. In fact, they were probably better. More honest, more caring, less willing to crush people to make their own ambitions come true.

Once again she was interrupted, this time by Henri. “Your room is ready,” he said in a clearly subservient, mocking tone.

Mildred immediately got up, gave Riley an air kiss, and followed Henri out of the dining room.

The sun was only a faint shadow when Riley stretched and yawned. Half asleep, she reached for Joe but his side of the berth was empty. She had grown accustomed to his hours, left over from his days in the Navy. He was up before the sun, on deck and working, sipping coffee. When
Reprieve
was at sea, he slept in four-hour increments, when he was off-watch.

She marveled at his ability to fall asleep quickly and come fully awake just as quickly. He was so in-tune with the boat. Noise on deck or in the galley never woke him but a shift in the wind, a slight tilt from
Reprieve,
indicating a sail change was needed, and he was out on deck within minutes.