Paradise Island: Complete Edition (3 page)

Yeah, I know I found like a miserable cow, as Lucy would often say. Most girls would be jumping from joy to be in such close proximity to Jack Stark, movie star. In his own home (or for the time being, anyway) no less. But all I felt was a mix of fear and self-loathing.

I joined him by the fire and warmed myself up and let my shirt dry. I put my coat next to the fire as well. Jack made me take off my big boots as well.

It was nice sitting next to him by the fire, watching him watching the flame, and then watching the flame myself. 

It felt simple. Pure. He didn’t say anything for a long time, and neither did I, and I felt a little more at ease. No expectations to answer questions or nod and smile. Just to be. I closed my eyes when I saw the lightning outside, but I felt a little safer with Jack next to me.

“Want me to pull down the shades?”

I wanted to say no, don’t bother, but I nodded instead. If I couldn’t see the lightning, I would feel a lot more at ease.

He got up, barefooted and went around closing all the shades, leaving us in darkness. Then he went out of sight and came back with a couple of big candles. he used the fire to light them and positioned them around the room. I immediately felt better.

“Want anything to drink?”

“Yeah, sure. Water or tea would be good.” My throat felt awfully dry.

He went to the little kitchenette area and put some water to boil in the tea kettle.

“I’ve got a bunch of flavors here,” he said. “Which one would you like?”

I couldn’t believe that a famous actor was making me tea. That kind of stuff never happened in real life, Lucy had told me last night. She told me that I should be over the moon that he was even willing to talk to me. Personally, I didn’t like the way she talked about him as if he were some kind of god who was better than us regular folk, the mortals. He was just a person, like the rest of us. Sure he was wealthier and famous, and very good looking, but he felt the same things the rest of us felt, too, right? At least I hoped he did.

I gathered up my courage and saw his collection of teas.

“Peach blossom,” I finally said.

“Good, that’s my favorite.”

“Really?”

“Yup. See,” he lifted the box. “It’s the only one that’s open. The whole lot came with the house.”

Indeed, it was the only box that was open. I checked the date discreetly, a habit from my work, and saw that it was fresh. He must have had a really nice realtor. He was a movie star, so it wasn’t a surprise that he would get some extra perks with the house. Probably a full cupboard and fridge as well. I couldn’t see him doing his own shopping, for some reason. He was after all, hiding out on the island.

We settled back by the fire with our steaming cups of tea and some unopened tea cookies Jack found in the cupboard (it looked like my instincts were right). I dipped a cookie in the steaming tea and immediately put it to my mouth before it could dissolve. Of course, some of it ended up in my tea, anyway.

Jack laughed.

“It’s not funny,” I said, looking sadly as the cookie settled on the bottom of my cup.

“Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll get you a spoon so you could scoop it out before it dissolves completely.”

I waited patiently for my spoon and saw he got one for himself as well.

“It happens to all of us,” he said as way of explanation.

And that’s how we spent the rest of the afternoon, sipping tea and eating cookies. It felt more and more like we were in one of his romantic comedies, but I refused to voice my thoughts. The last thing I wanted him to think was that we were on some kind of date or a courtship thingy.

After the storm passed, I was ready to trudge on home. My jacket and boots were dry and I had no reason to waste any more of Jack’s time.

Just as I refused his offer to walk me home, I noticed a couple of boxes on the other side of the room.

“Still moving in?” I asked, curious about what an actor would bring to his hideaway.

He looked at the boxes. “Oh, that stuff. It’s not mine. It came with this house. Apparently when they renovated this place they found some of that stuff in the walls of the original house. Still don’t know what I want to do with any of that stuff. Probably throw it away or maybe donate to the local library, if they can use it.”

“There are books in there?” Suddenly he had gotten my attention. I loved books, especially the old ones no one ever reads anymore.

“Journals to be exact. Haven’t really looked closely at them.”

Before I could stop myself I was kneeling by the boxes on the floor.

“Can I take a look? I love stuff like this.” I hoped I wasn’t annoying him, but if he was going to throw this stuff away anyway, it couldn’t hurt to take a look, could it?

“Oh, be my guest,” he said and brought a couple of candles with him. Even though the storm had passed, the power was still not back on.

I was excited beyond words. I was about to look at books, or journals, that no one had seen in who knows how many years, much less read.

I opened the box carefully so as not to disturb its contents. I looked up at Jack and he had an amused look in his eyes. He found my excitement amusing, but I decided to ignore him and focus on the task at hand.

I carefully took out the first leather bound journal from the box. It looked pretty old, and the pages had yellowed with age. I opened it to see beautiful cursive writing filling the pages. Dates passed by as I carefully flipped through the journal. I felt a rush of excitement go through my body.

“Wow,” I said, not able to keep my excitement to myself.

“You can take it with you, if you want. It’s not like I have much use for it here.” He said, pointing to the whole box.

I looked through the box and saw a couple of more journals. I picked the one with the latest date and one earlier one.

“Wow, thank you,” I said as I got up to go. I still couldn’t believe what I was holding in my hands.

“Come back any time,” he winked. “You sure you don’t need any help with those? What if it rains again? You should probably at least borrow an umbrella.”

And borrow one I did. I knew I was going to have to see Jack again, and not just because of the journals I took from his house. Or the umbrella. He was definitely different than I imagined he would be like and I was rethinking my decision to keep to myself for the rest of my life.

I walked down to the shore and watched as the clouds slowly cleared. It didn’t look like it was going to rain again. At least not today. I hurried back home, but instead of getting there, I ran into another familiar face.

“Oh, hi there Sophie, didn’t know you were out and about today?” A familiar voice greeted me. I looked down to where he was kneeling.

“Hi Henry,” I greeted him back, hoping that he wouldn’t keep me for too long. The journals in my hands were almost hot with the need to be read and devoured.

A
las, it was not meant to be. The skies had cleared up and I really didn’t want to piss Henry off. He was the nicest guy on the island. He was somewhat of an amateur photographer, and he always begged me to pose for him, but I always refused.

Thankfully, he didn’t press the matter today, for I was in no mood for an argument.

“What are you taking pictures of?” I asked as I watched him set up the camera towards the sea.

“Mostly just horizon shots. Not my favorites, but they are in demand. Digsby, over at the lone motel, wanted some for a brochure he was making. I told him that no one wants to vacation on this island, but he promised to pay, so I have to give him something.”

I couldn’t imagine who would want to vacation here either. Well, except poor old me. I still felt out of place, after almost a year in the place, and I got here by accident.

It’s not a very interesting story, but I guess I’ll tell it anyway: I met Lucy in the city and she told me about the place she called home. I was scared, my first day in London, not really knowing where the hell I should go. I didn’t think through my little runaway trip all too well, I guess. Before I had a chance to be swallowed by the city, Lucy had rescued me and taken me with her. She found it fascinating that I was from America, and since the diner she worked at needed another waitress, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. It was Lucy who took me to the city to get all my papers in order. I knew I had to go back home eventually, but I told myself I was on an extended vacation.

Pretty soon Lucy got bored of asking me about my hometown, which wasn’t much different than hers. I kept out many details. I never mentioned him. Soon, Lucy got the hint and didn’t ask me much about my family or the people I left behind.

“I didn’t leave anything behind,” I had told her once in a moment of hopelessness, “I thought I did. But some things you can never leave. They stay with you forever.”

And here I was today, sitting in the sand, watching Henry trying to take the perfect picture for the brochure that might not even materialize.

I absentmindedly leafed the pages of one of the journals, breathing in the wind as it played with my hair. I smiled when Henry looked up, but I was somewhere else. The memories tried to make their way to the forefront of my mind, but I pushed them back.

“I’ve gotta go, Henry,” I said. “Gotta get these journals somewhere safe.”

“What are those, anyway?” he asked, as if he had just now noticed they were there.

I lifted them up, in case he wanted a closer look. I inspected the worn leather covers of one of them, but couldn’t find anything really distinctive that caught my eye. And then I noticed the almost completely faded marks on the bottom of the spine. VII one of them said. Journal seven. How many journals did this person keep? And why did they stop writing? Or a much better question: who hid these journals in the wall of the house that Jack’s own had torn down to replace? So many questions ran through my mind, and I knew the only way to find some of the answers was to sit by the warm fire and actually read the words within.

“I’m not so sure what they’re about, yet, but I want to find out,” I said and stood up. I gave Henry back the blanket he let me borrow to sit on, since the sand was wet from the downpour earlier. It was going to get dark soon. I left Henry to capture his sunset in peace, while I trudged toward home, the journals safely underneath one arm, and Jack’s umbrella in the other.

After lighting the fire and getting comfortable, I had a difficult decision to make. It was like
Sophie’s Choice
, only much harder. Shall I start reading from the earliest journal (with closer inspection, I found I had III, V, and VII in my possession), or shall I go to the last one I had, hoping all the juicy details would be in there?

I leafed through the last journal. When in doubt, go to the end, though if it were a fiction novel, I definitely would have started at the beginning. But this wasn’t a novel. These were someone’s most inner thoughts, foolishly committed to paper, for anyone to find and read.

You must realize by now that I find the whole journaling thing a bit perplexing. If you don’t want anyone to read it, why keep a personal diary in the first place? Once something is out, from mind to paper, it must forever search for eyes to be laid upon it and to revel in its confessions.

Now I was starting to sound like those heroines from the novels of times long past, probably written by women who hadn’t had much experience in the real world, so they made up stories of forbidden love to lull themselves into a false sense of hope. Hope that would never become anything tangible. Would never become something that they could touch, but only dream about. And like a thief in the night, when the sun comes in through the shutters, it shatters those dreams, and the fragments fade away to be lost forever.

––––––––

T
he sun shone that morning like it had never shone in my lifetime before, for I was in love. The man in question did not even know my name, but soon he shall, and we shall spend day and night together, in each other’s arms for the whole world to envy us. For our love will be the talk of the town and

––––––––

I
put the journal down. It was one of those. Just when I had resolved to forget Jack, or any other man for that matter, here fate had dropped into my hands the journal of a lovesick girl. It was just too much.

I tried to read more, to give it a good old try, but I just wasn’t in the mood to read about budding romance. Soon I found myself drifting away.

Minutes, or hours, passed, and I woke up with a jerk. Once I had oriented myself to where I was, I saw it was only Lucy coming in from work. I searched for a piece of paper and used it as a bookmark. The last thing I remember was our Ms. Browning (Josie Browning, to be precise) making extravagant plans to seduce a married man. It read like fiction, that was for sure, for I couldn’t believe any girl would be that daft and then have the audacity to brag (err, write) about it. Her plans hadn’t come to fruition, yet, but it was only a matter of time. If her entries were to be believed, she wasn’t a bad looking gal, and though the man she wanted was handsome, he was also older than her.

“What’s all this?” Lucy asked when she came back into the room after a quick shower.

“Just some journals I gotta hold of. Not too interesting yet, but it has potential to get better.”

“Where’d you find the darned things?” Lucy asked, most of her attention on opening a fresh bottle of wine.

I hesitated before telling her. “Jack’s,” I said, and then added when I saw the look on her face: “Nothing like that. I was out walking and that terrible storm had just started. Jack was on the beach and he offered me shelter in his place.”

“Tell me more,” she said as she held out another wine glass. I shook my head. I did not need another headache.

“Not much to tell. Borrowed journals, then I ran into Henry, taking photos of the sunset for Digby’s. Can you imagine this place becoming a tourist destination?”

“That creepo. I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble,” Lucy said as she poured generously into her wineglass, almost filling it to the brim. She meant Henry, of course. She wasn’t a huge fan of the fellow, but I didn’t mind him too much. He seemed nice enough. A bit weird, but then so was I. “Anyway, I know you’re trying to change the subject, and I want details. And lots of them. Let me live vicariously through you for a change.”