The Paradise Guest House (27 page)

“So this is Cary Grant sitting here?”

He shakes his head. “At the school fair a couple of days ago, I fell for the girl on top of the flagpole.” His face brightens. “This is me.”

She holds his eyes for a moment. She should know what to say. But maybe there have been too many words. She thinks of Dewi’s T-shirt:
SHUT UP AND KISS ME
. Now she’s got a goofy smile on her face, and she doesn’t want to try to explain it. She looks out toward the water.

The boy has finished sculpting his sand turtle and climbs on top of it, as if ready to ride it out to sea. With a whoop of joy, he leaps up and then crashes down on the turtle’s sand back. It crumbles, and the boy’s face transforms. He bursts into tears.

Jamie looks back at Gabe. He’s waiting for something.

“I’ve been imagining your life for a long time,” she says.

“It’s a quiet life,” he tells her.

She takes a sip of her wine, then glances down at the food on their plates—it’s beautifully presented, yet she can’t imagine taking a bite.

“Have you been happy?” she asks.

“Some of the time. I love my job. And I love my joglo on the mountainside. It fits me like a good house should.”

“Sounds nice.”

The waiter appears at their table. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” they both say, and then reach for their forks. Jamie takes a bite of the tuna; Gabe reaches for the orange salad. The waiter moves on to another table.

“We don’t even know each other,” she says, suddenly shy.

“We know a great deal,” he tells her.

“I thought you might be living in Paris with a beautiful girlfriend.”

“We knew what would happen if we sat together at a restaurant.”

“I need wine,” Jamie says, reaching for her glass.

“I need food,” Gabe says, laughing. “Can we share?”

She reaches for his orange salad and he reaches for her tuna—their forks collide.

“Sorry,” they both say at once.

“I’ll get this,” Gabe says. “I was a waiter for about three months when I was a teenager. I should be able to handle it.”

He switches the plates and they both eat in silence.

“Shall I switch them back?” he asks after a while.

“No,” Jamie says. “You lose.” She’s devouring the oranges.

Gabe places his hand on top of hers.

“Why didn’t you come find me after the ceremony?” she asks.

“I looked everywhere for you. I thought that maybe you left right away.”

“I looked for you, too. And then I got your number from Theo. I called—”

“I know.” Gabe looks down at his plate. “I didn’t answer. I knew that I needed to show up. I didn’t want a quick phone call.”

The waiter arrives to clear their dishes. He refills their wine and leaves.

“It’s one in the afternoon and I’m a little looped,” Jamie whispers.

“I’ve never felt clearer,” Gabe tells her.

“Shh. Let me breathe for a second.”

She stands up and looks around, suddenly feeling the need to move.

“Do you mind …?”

“The restrooms are behind the bar,” he says, pointing.

“No, I need to put my feet in the sea,” she tells him.

“We can walk on the beach after I pay the bill.”

“I’ll be right back,” Jamie says. “Give me a few minutes.”

She turns away from the table. There’s a rush of noise—kids shouting from the swimming pool on the other side of the restaurant, a man yelling for someone to wait for him, the trill of birds, the swoosh of the waves hitting the sand. She had been so caught up in their intimate world that she hadn’t heard any of it, and now it comes pouring in.

She kicks off her shoes and leaves them at the table.

“Can I help you, miss?” the waiter asks, appearing at her side.

“No,” she says.

She starts walking toward the sea. She crosses the path, weaving through the small gatherings of people. She walks around the lounge chairs and the open beach towels and the smashed sand turtle. The sun is hot on her shoulders.

A couple of very young children play at the edge of the water. Their mother sits in the sand, the gentle surf running over her legs, then back out to sea.

Jamie walks past the children, lifting her skirt high. She’s surprised by how warm the water is—my God, she hasn’t been in the ocean once in a week in Bali. She loves the sea.

When the water wraps around her knees, she stops walking. She looks back. Gabe is sitting at the table in the restaurant, watching her. He looks worried. Does he think she’ll keep walking and never come back?

She blows him a kiss.

Then she turns around and dives under the incoming wave.

The water embraces her, and in a quick moment she feels her heart expand. She would like to undress—her blouse and skirt wrap around her skin like seaweed. But it’s Bali and she’s no longer a teenager. She loves the impulse, loves the joy that propels her through the next wave and the next.

When she comes to calm water, she stands. She’s shoulder deep, and she slowly spins around. One boy watches her curiously while treading water; she gives him a smile. He dives underwater. When she faces the beach, she sees that Gabe has walked to the water’s edge.

“Come in!” she yells.

He’s smiling.

“It’s perfect,” she calls to him.

He kicks off his shoes and tugs off his shirt. He pulls a wallet
out of his pocket and tucks it in his shirt and places them on the beach. Then he races into the water and dives into the first wave.

When he emerges, at her side, his face is full of joy. He takes her in his arms. She kisses him and tastes the salt and the sun and the sweetness of his lips.

Jamie is startled to find the house exactly as she remembered it: the French doors, the white sofas, the cool dark-teak floors, the lazy ceiling fans. She’s drawn to the bedroom; she needs to know if her memory is right. Yes, the bed is green; the walls are green. Her green cave. Yes, there is nothing but a bed and a small teak bench. The walls are bare. She did not strip it of all décor in her need to remember it simply. It’s a simple green room. A room in which to heal.

They have put their wet clothes in Billy’s dryer. Jamie has a suitcase of clothes, but Gabe has only his wet jeans. Now they’re wearing large lemon-yellow towels wrapped around their bodies.

The decision to visit the house was never spoken. They finished their swim, dropped bills on the table of the restaurant, and sloshed their way down the path to Billy’s cottage. Gabe had the key to open the red door. They walked barefoot across the garden, and Jamie had looked out in amazement at the abundance of water lilies in the pond. The goddess statue was surrounded by a field of morning glories. And bougainvillea draped over the thatched roof of the balé.

“Come in,” Gabe had said. When she turned around, she saw that he had thrown open all of the French doors so that the small house looked like part of the garden.

Now they stand at the entrance to the bedroom, both trembling a little, neither of them ready to say, Come in.

“I love this cottage,” Jamie says.

“You could stay for a few days. Billy—the owner—is in England for a month. I’m allowed to stay here as much as I’d like.”

She shakes her head. “How much time do we have till we have to leave for my flight?”

“Two hours,” he says.

“I thought I would be too scared to come back to this house,” Jamie tells him. “I’m not scared at all.”

“You were scared to leave,” Gabe says. “This was a good place for us.”

She turns toward him and they’re kissing again, and this time the saltiness of the sea is gone.

“Come to bed,” he says when the kiss ends.

“Yes,” she tells him.

She drops the towel to the floor and lies on the green sheet. She’s naked, and Gabe sits at the edge of the bed, looking at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

“Scarred,” she says, showing him her arm.

He leans over and traces a line near her elbow.

“The doctors had to reset the bone,” Jamie explains.

“I was afraid of that.”

“None of it mattered.”

Gabe touches the scar on her face, then skims his lips over it. He finds a scar on her shoulder and presses his lips to that, too.

“I don’t remember this.”

“It’s new. A neighborhood cat fell from a tree. She landed
on my shoulder. I had a five-minute nervous breakdown on the spot.”

“Did the cat survive?”

“Yes. Larson barely survived. He was with me when it happened.”

Jamie rolls onto her side and Gabe runs a line of kisses along her spine.

“You have a beautiful back. If the cat hadn’t clawed you, it would be perfect.”

“Apparently, perfection is not my thing.”

He lies down next to her.

“You do imperfection remarkably well,” he says.

“Kiss me,” Jamie says.

Their bodies move together. Jamie’s hand follows the contours of Gabe’s arms, his back, his shoulders. She runs her fingers through his hair. She takes a deep breath and smells a mixture of ocean and sun and spice. She presses him closer to her. She tastes the salt on his skin when she runs her tongue along his chest. She likes the size of him, the weight of him as he rolls on top of her.

“Gabe,” she murmurs.

“We begin again,” he says, his voice as soft as a promise.

“My flight—”

“Shh.”

They take a long time to learn each other’s bodies again. They take a long time to taste and smell and play, and when they come together they take a longer time to fold themselves into each other, to press their skin together, to make all the space between them disappear.

They keep their eyes open, they watch each other, they whisper words to each other. Yes. Please. Now.

Later, it’s Jamie who kisses Gabe on the forehead and slides out of his embrace. She walks quietly to the bathroom and closes the door behind her.

She showers for a long time, using Billy’s lotions and sprays, then dresses in fresh clothes from her suitcase. When she comes out of the bathroom, Gabe is gone.

Her chest tightens. What a fool. He’s getting his revenge.

Good, she thinks, though she knows it’s a lie. I’ll call a taxi. Easier not to say goodbye.

But he walks through the door to the bedroom, dressed in his jeans and shirt, his hair combed back.

“There’s a shower in the garden,” he says.

She takes him in her arms and holds him, though part of her is already saying goodbye.

“You could stay,” he says.

“I can’t stay.”

They’re driving to the airport. Gabe’s hand rests on Jamie’s thigh, her hand on top of his.

They drive past billboards advertising villas and condos and resorts. The street is lined with stores selling teak furniture and stone Buddhas and ceramic tiles. The sun is low in the sky, and the traffic crawls along. Jamie keeps looking at her watch.

“You have plenty of time,” Gabe tells her.

This is ugly Bali, she thinks. The river is clogged with garbage, the streets are ruined by overdevelopment and everyone’s need to cash in on it. A man with a wooden leg hobbles at the edge of the highway, begging for money. When their car stops near the man, Jamie can smell him, and it takes too many minutes for them to creep past.

It’s hard to believe that within minutes of this mess there’s the miracle of Bali’s seaside cliffs, exotic jungles, emerald rice paddies.

“My sister, Molly, just had a baby,” Gabe says. “She’s forty-four years old. Right after the bombing she decided she didn’t want to wait any longer for love to walk into her life. So she went to a sperm bank in Boston and chose a guy with good genes, and now she’s got this incredible kid. He looks a little like Ethan.”

Jamie glances over at Gabe, but his expression is joyful.

“It’s a good thing,” he says. “I love this baby. I love how happy Molly is.”

“It’s a little bit like reincarnation,” Jamie says. “A chance at a second life. But she gets it without having to die.”

“I guess that’s the American version. We want a second chance in this life. Not the next one,” Gabe says.

“I’m happy for your sister,” she tells him.

“I visited for a couple of weeks last month. We rented a place on the Cape. I promised her I’d come back soon.” He presses his palm on Jamie’s thigh. “I can stop in San Francisco on my way.”

Jamie thinks about home. Maybe she’ll get a house of her own in Berkeley. She needs a home for the dog she’ll find when she gets back. She has Larson to take care of, but soon—though it’s impossible to imagine—he’ll be gone. She’ll need a place where she belongs.

And then a new vision fills her mind. She’s standing in the doorway of her new house—a tiny cottage in the hills, which she can almost see now, as if it appears wholly realized in her imagination. Gabe walks toward her down a path that’s bordered with wildflowers. There’s only room for him on the path,
parting the way through a mad profusion of color. Her dog—who looks suspiciously like TukTuk—races toward him, and Gabe bends down to ruffle the dog’s fur. When he looks up at her, his face is full of light.

Welcome, she says. She adds one more word.
Home. Welcome home
.

“What are you thinking?” Gabe asks, glancing over at her.

She knows what she’s supposed to say:
Come visit. Stay for a while
. But she can’t find any words right now. She wants more of him; she wants all of him. And in a few minutes she’ll lose him.

“Last year we missed the goodbye part,” Jamie says. “This time I’m getting ready.”

Finally he pulls in to the airport.

They get out of the car and stand beside it. People rush past them, nervously calling, “Goodbye!” “I’m late!” “Thank you for everything!” A woman stands at the curb, sniffling, while her daughter dashes into the airport. A garbled announcement blares from a loudspeaker. In the distance, thunder rumbles.

“I could leave the car here,” Gabe says. “I could walk into the airport and buy a ticket to San Francisco right now.”

He runs his hand through his hair and Jamie sees his tattoo, his bird looking to land somewhere.

“How do you feel about dogs?” she asks.

“I love them,” he says with a smile.