Left on Paradise (61 page)

Now a producer working behind camera waved until he caught the reporter’s eyes—who then looked into Ryan’s face.

“We have time for one last question,” Marla announced.

Ryan told her to continue.

“Tell us one important lesson,” the reporter said, “you learned from this experience and hope to communicate in your film.”

“I suppose,” Ryan said after a pause, “I’ve learned how fragile tolerance and diversity really are. The intolerance of our world is so difficult to escape. It takes education and deep social consciousness to make a transition from the old way of life to a new one. A few of our people weren’t up to the challenge and ruined things for everyone else. It’s the same problem we face here in the United States. And I guess I’ve also come to realize the best way for me to effect change isn’t to live with a few dozen like-minded people on a tropical island, but to use the platform of stardom to reach as many people as possible. It’s my obligation to produce movies that entertain and raise social awareness. That’s how I can help to make America a better place to live. That’s where my audience is.”

When the interview was finished, Ryan invited Marla to dinner. Off-camera, he told stories of life in a tropical paradise: of the battle with the cannibals and his effort to save Maria from the northsmen. He also told how Maria had threatened to sue for child support and how he would stand by his child with whatever it took to insure the best schools and career opportunities—even though Maria trapped him into fatherhood, wasn’t entitled to child support by the laws of Paradise (where the child was conceived), and had repaid his loyalty by corresponding with a Marine sergeant deployed to Egypt.

Marla was impressed with Ryan’s decency and spoke of it throughout the night. The next day, she ordered breakfast in bed—believing it the very least Ryan deserved—then stayed over for the weekend after sending resort staff to purchase bikinis, bras, and women’s boxers at a nearby boutique.

Kit dressed in a sleeveless cotton shirt with the top buttons unfastened and sweats that hung loose from her hips and bunched at the ankles. Her arms remained slender and strong (still a little tanned from the hard sun of Paradise) and her shoulder-length blond hair was wrapped in a loose bun atop her head, only a few missed strands falling behind her ears. She stood beside an ironing board, pressing wrinkles from a stack of clothing—her breasts dancing and hips swaying to the rhythm of her work. What was soft rippled with every bend of the knee and trembled with every twist of the waist—though Kit paid heed only to the task at hand, determined to smooth every shirt with hot steel and scalding steam. She worked fast and it wasn’t long before several folded shirts were stacked on a nearby table. As she finished the last shirt, the telephone sounded.

Kit answered on the third ring and smiled.

“Hi, John.”

“Just ironing a little.”

“I do too,” Kit laughed.

“Your church shirt.”

“You need to look nice for the baptism of the children.”

“God might not care, but I do.”

“A pressed shirt isn’t a vanity. I should know.”

“This coming weekend.”

“He said the second Sunday of the month.”

“I’m sure he meant September, but I’ll call to confirm.”

“I think it’s September 10 or 11. No, that’s wrong. Sunday is September 9.”

A moment later, Kit grew serious. “We don’t have a choice,” she said. “No one knows his given name.”

“Morales doesn’t know their language very well and I doubt he paid any attention to children’s names—except maybe a few of the girls. Besides, I like Jonathan Augustine Smith. It sounds very ... reasonable.”

“It’s not like he’ll want to use the whole thing.”

Kit listened for several seconds.

“Just a short one. Right after lunch. The girls watched Brittany and the baby while I slept.”

Again Kit listened before talking.

“Oh, I figured out why he was so restless last night.”

“Not that,” Kit said. “He’s cutting his first tooth. Cindy says he’ll be cranky for a few days.”

“Just baby Tylenol.”

“Maybe some numbing paste if he fusses at night.”

“No. She stopped by a few minutes ago to get the girls. We talked over tea. I like Cindy. She’s a nice neighbor. And a big help since she’s already raised four children. At least to puberty.”

Now Kit grew serious and she pressed both hands to the cordless telephone as she spoke. “Yes, I watched him.”

Kit listened for a couple minutes with unspeaking nods. “Believe me,” she eventually said, “I worked in Hollywood. You don’t have to tell me what they’re going to do with the truth.”

“Not at all. John, you have to listen to me. I swear to you ... I swear to you on the grave of my grandmother I’m content here. You didn’t make me turn down the role. I didn’t want it. Besides that, Ryan never asked.”

Kit grew more serious yet.

“I promise.”

“Yes.”

“Listen,” the former actress finally said with a touch of irritation to her voice, “I’m telling the truth. From my heart. This is what I want. This is what I wanted in the beginning. Nothing more. Hollywood was a fantasy, a dream. No, a nightmare. But it’s over now and the less said of lost years, the better. I have the husband I desire, the children I love, and the home I need.”

Kit fell silent for nearly a minute.

“No. I love Omaha. I don’t want to move.”

“The people are nice, it’s affordable, and I like Cindy.”

“So do the girls. Right now they’re in the backyard with Cindy’s daughter and that Jones boy.”

“No. He’s a nice boy from a good family. I think they’re Presbyterian too.”

“Really? He’d do that for us?”

“If your brother will sell to us, we should stay here. I love this house.”

“It’s big enough.”

“I like being so close to the children.”

“Even if we could afford something that size, I don’t want empty rooms. They’re too cold.”

“Not that kind of cold. I mean, lifeless. They’d just remind me of what I was.”

“Ryan can keep it. I like this house—our home.”

Now Kit spoke with an unbending tone. “You’re full of worries today,” she said. “I’m here for good. You’re stuck with me. In case you didn’t notice, Ryan left me. I committed to him for good if he’d have given me the chance. I’ve never left a man in my life.”

Kit laughed out loud.

“Is that what this is about?”

“No, I’m not still married to him. The lawyer told us in Honolulu.”

“He’ll pipe down when I swear off alimony.”

“John,” Kit finally said, “we married before God and before God we are married. Even the minister says so. The paperwork will sort itself out. It’s only been a few weeks. Since we followed the law of the land where we lived, like it or not, you’re my husband and I’m your wife. And you’re also the legal father of the children to whom I am the legal mother. All the lawyers admit that much. And since the state no longer exists, neither you nor I can even think about leaving each other. There’s simply no way to do so.”

“We have enough. I don’t want his money.”

“Besides, someone would just sue us for it. Everyone else will want a share and it was Ryan’s name on the paperwork, not mine. I’d be really surprised if he doesn’t face dozens of lawsuits before it’s all over.”

“Breach of contract. Wrongful death. Reckless endangerment.”

“And foolish idealism too.”

“I guess we were all guilty of it.”

Kit moved the receiver to her other ear. “It’s not just Ryan on television, is it?”

Kit’s voice softened. “What’s bothering you, John?”

After a moment, Kit laughed a little.

“Oh, for goodness sake.”

“For you or for me?”

“You promise?”

“If you’re just worried about me, stop. I don’t need any more children. Mind you, if we have another, I wouldn’t object. But I don’t need to have the ligation reversed.”

“Because four is enough. Linh’s daughters are really hurting and I’m learning to be a mother at the worst time for them. Brittany never stops talking and the baby does nothing but eat. Can you imagine what it’d be like if Sally’s sister and Tiffany and Brent’s parents hadn’t wanted their children? I’d be having a nervous breakdown.”

“I’m fine. It was good to get a full night’s sleep. The bags under my eyes even cleared a little.”

“No,” Kit protested, “I’m really not against another child.”

This time she fell silent for a long while.

“He’d take monthly payments?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s just that ... well, it sounds silly, but I’ll tell you the truth. It just seems spending the time and money to reverse it when I have four kids to take care of would be even more frivolous than getting them tied in the first place. I’ve had enough of self-indulgence. God willing, I want to consider someone else’s needs for a while.”

“Really?” Kit batted her eyes. “Me too.”

“Come home early and I’ll give you proof of my happiness.”

“Cindy already offered to babysit.”

“I’ll be dressed in an hour.”

“Of course, I have to dress. We’re going out first.”

“Dinner’s enough. No movies.”

“Because I’ve seen enough of what Hollywood has to offer.”

“John, stop talking like that. I hope there’s no one around your desk.”

“The only reason I’d check into a hotel would be to sleep. We can do everything else in the privacy of our own home. For a lot less money, too.”

“Yes, I’ll see if Cindy can keep the older children for the night. We can have the others in bed by eight.”

Kit listened for a long while. “I realized something when Ryan was interviewing,” she finally said. “Do you know what our big mistake was?”

“Not just Dr. Morales.”

“No,” Kit said, “I realized I can’t change the whole world and it was chasing the wind to try. What I can do is make a new world—a nice home—for a few loved ones and maybe a couple strangers. Do you think that’s enough from one human life?”

“I hope so too.”

A moment later, Kit said goodbye, then switched the phone off and returned to her ironing (where only two dresses and a white blouse remained in the basket). Soon, short bursts of steam and the hard press of a hot iron removed every wrinkle from the white blouse. As Kit folded the blouse, she looked at the pressed garment and her eyes misted as she remembered that one like it was to have been the centerpiece of her bridal ensemble. Then she remembered how she married John wearing nothing more than rags and decided to dress formal for their evening together.

Looking out the kitchen window, Kit saw Linh’s daughters playing with their friends—then heard the footsteps of a toddler upstairs, followed by the cries of a baby. Kit unplugged the iron and fetched a bottle of milk from the refrigerator, hurrying upstairs to feed the baby and change his diaper. She needed to collect the children’s overnight things and change clothes, as well as to prepare a quick supper for the children. Both girls had inherited their mother’s skill in the kitchen and required further instruction before they could be trusted to prepare real food.

Kit hurried up the stairs, hoping to finish her work before John returned home—he was due within the hour.