Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 02 - Elective Procedures (5 page)

Becky went off with Chichi, and Jen was at the clinic for preop tests. Susan and I were going to go to the beach, but as we were about to leave, she got another phone call from her office. I waited. I sat. I stood. I sat again and glanced out the sliding doors, intending to look at the ocean, seeing only the balcony railing. My feet tingled, reminding me how flimsy that railing had felt when I’d stood on it. Again, Claudia’s hand reached out, trying to grasp mine. I stood.

Susan was still on the phone, deep in conversation, taking notes. I couldn’t wait any more, signaled that I’d meet her on the beach. She nodded and waved. And an elevator ride later, I was skirting the concrete deck by the alligator waterslide and the pool, collecting a towel from the beach hut, strolling through sand. I kept my eyes forward, didn’t look at sunblock-slathered sunbathers or vendors peddling souvenirs. I concentrated on finding a quiet spot. A couple of chaise lounges under a palm tree not too far from the water but as far from other tourists as possible. I wanted to hear no voices, just the rolling of the ocean and the crash of waves. To close my eyes and feel the sun frying my body. To lie back and let time pass without thinking or remembering.

At the edge of the hotel’s property, I found the perfect spot. Spread my towel on a lounge chair and moved it out of the shade of a palm tree into the sun. Dragged another out for Susan. Slapped coconut-smelling sunblock onto my limbs and face. Lay down. Closed my eyes. Let the sun pour over me, felt its heat sucking tension out of my muscles until my body was limp, draining thoughts away until my head was empty. A breeze tickled my feet, caressed my face; the sun embraced me like a mom soothing her child.

“You alone?”

I didn’t respond, assumed the question was for someone else.

“Mind if I join you?”

I opened an eye. A woman with a striped bikini and wide-brimmed sun hat stood over me, surrounded by a halo of light.

She was blocking the sun. Before I answered, she plopped down on Susan’s chair.

“That’s actually for my friend—” I began.

“That’s okay. I’ll leave when he gets here.”

“It’s a she.” I don’t know why I told her that.

“I just want to look like I’m not by myself. Someone’s following me.”

I opened the other eye and sat up.

“Don’t look around. Act like we’re just chatting, okay?”

She was young. Maybe twenty-five. Skinny. Blunt features dotted with freckles.

“What’s going on?” I watched her settle onto Susan’s chair, removing her hat, releasing long dark hair. Lying back.

“His name’s Luis. He’s creeping me out.”

Luis? As in Chichi and Luis? “You mean the guy from the hotel?”

“Don’t look around. He was just following me. He’s probably standing by the bar, watching me.”

I couldn’t help it. I looked toward the bar. Saw a cluster of people there. Waiters, patrons.

“You must know who he is. He’s one of the activity directors.”

“I know Chichi.”

“Right. Chichi’s the other one.” She watched me as I looked at the bar. “You see him? He’s wearing a hotel shirt and khaki shorts. He’s about five foot eight or nine.”

I didn’t see him, shook my head. Scanned the area around us. Saw no Luis.

Finally, she sat up, looked up and down the beach. “Thank God. I didn’t think I’d ever get rid of him.” She faced me. “I’m Melanie Crane, by the way. Here with Grandma Crane, who’s recovering from her third facelift.” She smiled, stuck out a bony hand.

“Elle Harrison.” We shook. I searched the beach, hoping to see Susan.

“I’m from Montreal. You?”

I told her, Philadelphia.

“Just for fun? Or are you having work done?”

Why did she think it was her business? “Just visiting.” I lay back, closing my eyes, indicating that I didn’t want to talk. That she could leave. But she didn’t get the message.

“At first, I was flattered. He flirted with me, and he’s cute. So I had a few drinks with him one night. Now, it’s creepy. He won’t leave me alone. He shows up everywhere I go. I hate to say it, but it’s like he’s stalking me.”

I thought of Chichi and Becky. “Maybe he sees you here, a single woman on her own, and he thinks it’s part of his job to keep you entertained. I bet he flirts with a new woman every week.”

“No.” Melanie was adamant. “This is more. It’s no passing flirtation. He’s persistent. It’s really creepy.”

I glanced at her. She was on Susan’s lounge chair, lying on her side, facing me. “Maybe you should go to the hotel manager. Complain that he’s making you uncomfortable.”

She sat up. “Maybe I will. If he doesn’t stop.” She picked up her hat and looked at the ocean. “The waves look good. Up for a boogie board?”

What? We were buddies now? Hanging out and riding waves? “I don’t think so. I’m waiting for my friend.”

She stood, heading off. “Okay, later then. We should get a drink sometime.”

As quickly as she’d arrived, Melanie Crane was gone. I propped myself on an elbow, looking for Luis. Or Susan. Seeing neither, I plopped back down and baked.

Susan didn’t show up. After an hour or so, I checked on her, found her sputtering at her laptop at a desk in the lobby. When I asked how long she’d be, she glared at me so fiercely that I backed away and left her growling about judges and clients and prosecutors and partners.

I spent the rest of the morning alone on the beach, losing
track of time. Whenever I opened my eyes, vendors would lug their wares to me across the hot sand—sundresses, coconut shell masks, animal woodcarvings, silver jewelry, sunglasses, hats. They carried heavy loads of goods all day, hoping for a tourist like me to buy. But I kept replaying Claudia’s death; my mind wasn’t on shopping.

At some point, I got up and wandered over to the pool. Becky was there, playing water volleyball. Chichi refereed, offering tequila shots for each point scored, and Luis cheered and announced the plays over a loudspeaker. I studied Luis as he followed the game. He was engrossed in the moment, his voice rich and enthusiastic. He seemed happy, fun loving. Was it just a guise? Were stalkers happy and fun loving?

“Elle!” Becky spotted me. “Come play. We need you.”

I waved and smiled, shook my head, no. Not me. And noticed Melanie, preparing to serve for the opposing team. Luis watched her from the announcer’s platform.

“All right,” he stretched the long vowel sound into three syllables. “Punch it!”

The ball flew into the net. Melanie dunked under the water, came up glistening, smoothed her hair. The ball came back to her and she held it up, ready to serve again, but hesitated, glancing at Luis.

“Come on! You can do it! Go for it!” His voice blared.

Melanie punched the ball and it soared over to Becky’s side. Someone hit it back, but a tall guy on Melanie’s team smashed it over. Point: Melanie’s side.

“Seven-Five,” Chichi called as he passed the tequila around to Melanie’s team.

People who weren’t playing lay around the pool, eating, reading, listening to music. A guy flew out of the alligator’s mouth into the deep end of the pool. A couple strolled over to the spot where Claudia Madison had landed just hours before. It had been hosed down so there were no stains. No sign that
she’d ever fallen. I looked up six floors at the balcony. Saw her again, dangling there. Saw myself stuck halfway across the wall. Felt the railing under my feet, the cool morning breeze. Closed my eyes, heard a thud.

“Señora?” The woman’s eyes were sad, her skin dark and wrinkled. She held an array of floral dresses. “Which one you like? I have something special for you.”

Salsa music pumped. Chichi and Luis cheered and the players yelled.

“No, gracias.” I backed away from her. Passing the recreation hut, I grabbed a boogie board and hurried into the ocean, paddling away from shore until I couldn’t hear music or voices, only the motion and splashing of water. For a while, I floated, bobbing up and down, rocking on the board. Then I rode the waves, letting the ocean lift and carry me, tossing me onto the sand. More than once, as my body slapped down against the beach, I closed my eyes and felt Claudia’s thud. I wondered if she’d felt it. Or if, hitting the ground so hard, she’d had time to feel anything at all.

Around lunchtime, I went to the hotel lobby again to check on Susan. She wasn’t there. I called the room.

“What?” She sounded pissed.

“Are you coming down?”

“If I could, Elle, don’t you think I would?” Not just pissed; sarcastic.

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Are you suddenly a lawyer?”

Okay. I’d tried.

“My brilliant colleagues screwed up a filing, and I seem to be the only one capable of fixing it. Sorry. Gotta go.” She hung up.

On the way back to the beach, I saw Chichi and Becky among other couples at the beach bar, their heads leaning together. Becky was smiling, whispering into his ear. His arm
was around her waist. I closed my eyes, imagined myself there with Charlie. Smelled the salty ocean on his skin. Felt his body heat beside me. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt over his bathing trunks, and we were sipping margaritas. Dammit. I opened my eyes. Why was I always thinking about Charlie? Even if he hadn’t died, we wouldn’t have been drinking together. By now, we’d have been divorced for months. Even so, the air beside me felt empty, as if marking his absence. Probably it wasn’t Charlie I was missing; it was being part of a couple. Having somebody to sit with at the bar. Somebody to whisper to. I looked out at the ocean, and there he was again, standing in the froth. Charlie was everywhere I looked, present in everything I did. Pathetic. Why was I so stuck? Was I still raw from his death? Or had Claudia’s brought it all back?

I kept walking, moving. The sky was cloudless, the sun relentless. Even the breeze was hot. I stayed at the water’s edge, where the sand was wet and my toes dug in. Where the warm waves washed my feet and backed away. I walked past rows of couples on beach chairs and under umbrellas, past guys offering to take me parasailing, past women wanting to braid my hair. And with every step, every heartbeat, no matter what, I missed Charlie.

Stop it, I told myself. I picked up a seashell, examined it. Dropped it. Kept on going, moving to a silent drumbeat, pounded by the sun.

I went beyond the line of waterfront condos and resort hotels to an undeveloped stretch where the beach was narrow, lined by untended dense foliage. Even then, I didn’t turn back. I kept going, feeling alone. Not just alone. The kind of alone that was isolating and deep. The kind that had begun when Charlie died and the whole world shifted. The kind where even my best friends seemed altered—not quite tangible, as if they, like Charlie, had drifted out of reach. The kind where everything around me seemed different. Even colors—hues of red and yellow—lost their vibrancy and faded.

I moved into the water, wading ahead ankle deep. Watching the shimmering waves, wondering at the gray-blue water, if it looked brighter to others. Aware of each splashy step. Each breath.

For months, I’d been wandering this altered world, trying to adjust. Becky, Susan, and Jen had been concerned when I’d taken a leave of absence from teaching. They’d asked what I would do with my days. The question had stymied me; I didn’t want to do anything. Even so, for a while I’d read travel brochures, imagining dining in Paris. Going on safari in Africa. In the end, I’d stayed put. The place I’d wanted to go wasn’t listed in any brochure or pictured on a website. It wasn’t a distance of miles. It was a distance of time. I’d wanted to go back to my former life—to be with Charlie before life had fallen apart, to get a second chance. I’d had no desire to be anywhere else. So I’d stayed in my house, watching time pass, wondering if red would ever be red again, or yellow, yellow.

When Jen had called, announcing that she was taking Susan, Becky, and me with her to Mexico, that she had booked a two-bedroom suite for the second week of December, I’d been hopeful. Maybe the change of scenery and traveling with my friends would jolt me out of my post-Charlie darkness. I’d tried to convince myself that a new place might mean a new beginning. And to believe that when I went away, I could somehow leave myself behind.