Touching Paradise (2 page)

Tara nodded slowly, her head tilting, her blue eyes inching over Monroe. “You’re avoiding us. Maybe you can fool everyone else, but I know better.” She wobbled a moment, then braced herself against the railing next to Monroe.
 

Even tipsy, Tara was too perceptive. Monroe smiled harder. “Are they looking for me…?”

“Everyone is drunk. Don’t worry,” Tara said gently. “So… Thomas really had to work?”
 

Tara’s gaze shifted away. She was, Monroe realized, giving her an out. Making it easy to lie again.

Which, for some reason, made her eyes prickle with tears. She stared out at the water, dark and foreboding under the moon.
 

Finally Tara leaned forward and snagged the hidden bottle of champagne, her wedding band clinking against the thick glass, and took a hearty swig. “Imagine if we’d had booze this good back in college,” she said. “We never would have graduated.”

“You should get back to Lee. I’m heading to bed soon, anyway.”

“Monroe—”

“I just need to be alone. You’re not being a bad friend.”

Tara fidgeted for a moment. “Ok,” she sighed. “I’ll cover for you if anyone asks. By the way, did you decide if you’re coming on the scuba boat with us tomorrow? I double-checked, and you can snorkel, no problem.”

Oh, that
. The idea of bobbing around in the middle of the ocean terrified her. Even Tara didn’t know about that phobia. “Haven’t decided. There are some boutiques I want to check out.”

“Hey, I wanna go shopping, too. We’ll do it after. You should come. It’s just us girls… The boat company brings food and beer and everything we could possibly need. Party boat.”

“Maybe. Probably. Maybe.” She sighed. “Ok, fine. What time?”

“Great!” Tara squealed. “Shuttle comes at 7:30. I’ll email the tour guides right away.” Tara fussed with the corner of Monroe’s dress. “Whatever happened, you’re too good for him, you know.”

“Noted.”
 

Tara went back inside, and Monroe turned back to the ocean, feeling simultaneously better and worse about herself. Tara had gotten married the year before. Now that Linda was married and Nya’s wedding was in a few months, Monroe was the last single girl in their group.

She didn’t mind being unmarried—she had plenty of time to settle down—but it would be nice to have a boyfriend who lasted longer than a pair of cheap shoes. Really, all she wanted was a man who could be bothered to show up at weddings. Was that too much to ask?
 

Two inches of champagne remained in the bottle. She poured them down her throat, then forced her cold and swollen feet back into the shoes.
 

Inside, everyone was dancing, laughing loudly, snapping photos with their phones. Merrily celebrating. She slipped around the perimeter of the room and ducked through a door at the edge, then hurried to the elevator.

Safely inside her own room, she put on pajamas. To distract herself from the gnawing ache in her soul, she flipped through the guide books on the night stand next to the bed. So many photos of happy tourists riding horses in the surf or getting massages next to a beautiful sunset.
 

There were a few articles, too. She skimmed one about the history of Tureygua and learned that Spaniards had enslaved the native population. Then the island had fallen under Dutch rule. Now it was independent.
 

She flipped past an ad for kitesurfing, and on the next page was an article entitled, “The Shark Warriors of Tureygua.” Her eyes skimmed the first paragraph, then she slowed, curious.

The original inhabitants had claimed the waters were infested with magical sharks that could transform into humans. But not really humans, she learned as she read. They only looked like humans, and they couldn’t speak, and sometimes they had gills and triangular shark heads. They seduced the local women and were said to have “two male organs.”

There was even a laughable drawing of a group of bare-chested, shark-headed men holding spears. Unfortunately, they wore loincloths.

Monroe decided the myth wasn’t so far-fetched. People who settled in wooded areas had their Abominable Snowmen, so why wouldn’t islanders have Shark Warriors? It made perfect sense.

Living in New York came with a badge of skepticism, and Monroe’s was laminated and framed. Still, it was fun to imagine humans with big shark heads staggering out of the waves. The creatures would have toppled over.

Two organs, though… How would that work? It seemed complicated.
 

A laugh bubbled up in her throat. Why the hell was she trying to make sense of it? Or even thinking about it in the first place?
 

She looked at the picture again, and her giggles subsided. Other than the shark heads, the guys were hot. Broad shoulders. Muscles on top of muscles.
Yum.

Then she started crying.
 

Chapter 2

Several hours later, Monroe woke to pounding on her door. Her nose was congested, her mouth cottony. When she sat up, the veins in her head throbbed. Dehydrated.
 

“I know you’re in there!” Tara sang out. One of Monroe’s neighbors thumped the wall, and Monroe dragged herself out of bed.

She eased open the door, but Tara pushed her way in. “Do you know what time it is?” she asked Monroe.

“Too late to be screaming in the hallway,” Monroe said as she closed the door.

“Time for you to tell me what the hell happened. The reception is over. Spit it out.”

“Thomas had to work,” she said with a shrug that was supposed to be casual.

Tara nodded. “And?”

“He’s up for a promotion.”
 

“And?”

Monroe shrugged again.

“So he dumped you?”

“He didn’t dump me. By the way, isn’t this badgering the witness? Can you get disbarred?”

Tara wasn’t having it. “Then what?”

Seconds ticked painfully by. Finally Monroe said, “This couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Nope.”

Maybe it was because she was half asleep, or maybe she knew Tara would get the story in the end, but Monroe said, “He volunteered to take the extra load. Volunteered. He didn’t
have
to work.”

“Oh, shit. That’s awful.”

“Yeah.” And that wasn’t the half of it, but she didn’t feel like sharing more. She filled a glass of water from the bathroom faucet and drank it, then poured herself a second one. The throbbing in her temples receded.
 

“So you dumped him,” Tara said.
 

“Well, no. We fought about it for an hour last night.”
 

Terrible things had been said. Awful things that made her face burn with shame.
 

Oh, Thomas had given as good as he got. Better, even. If half the things he’d said were true…
 

“I think he didn’t want to come.” Monroe squeezed the words out quickly, forcing them around the lump in her throat.

“He’s a dick,” Tara said crisply.

“Wait… you really think he’s a dick, or you’re just being a good friend? Or you’re drunk—”
 

“I can’t fucking stand him.”
 

Monroe suddenly felt completely awake. She swallowed hard. “Why?”

Tara pursed her lips and exhaled. “He’s smug. Condescending. And he wears way too much cologne.”
 

“He’s not that bad,” Monroe insisted. “He’s really smart, and definitely ambitious, and he takes good care of himself.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you pretend that the guy you’re dating is exactly what you want. You’re twenty-six! You need to be pickier. Let me tell you what you want. A smart man who’s confident but not arrogant. You want someone who won’t play games. You want your intellectual and emotional equal, but you want magic, too.”

Now it was Monroe’s turn to roll her eyes, but she felt hysteria mounting, and she shoved it firmly down. “Everyone wants that,” she said, her voice strained. “Can we change the subject? Please.”

“No.” Tara sat on the edge of Monroe’s bed.

Monroe stared in surprise at her best friend. “No?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I told you already. We fought.”

“And? Come on, Monroe. I know there’s more to the story.”

“You know how fights are.”

“I don’t know
you
in a fight. You never fight.”

“Apparently I do.”

Tara kicked off her heels and swung her feet up on the bed. “This is me getting comfortable. I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

Unfortunately, Monroe believed her. She sighed, then lowered herself to the edge of the bed. “During the fight, certain things came out.”

Murder flashed in Tara’s eyes. “For example?”

“Apparently, I’m boring,” she whispered. “I think he meant it, cause when he said it, he got this look like ‘whoops.’ Like it was something he believed but didn’t want to say.” She had to blink her eyes to keep the tears at bay.

“Unbelievable.” Tara’s fingers wrapped around hers. “Listen to me. Thomas is a dick. You’re shy, not boring. You’re smart and you have that awesome subversive humor and you’re definitely one of the most interesting people I know. You’re amazing. Ok?” She strangled Monroe’s hand until she nodded in agreement.

“He’s been taking you for granted almost since the beginning. I’m glad things came to a head.” Tara popped off the bed. “Forgive the timing, but I need to use your bathroom.”
 

Monroe dug out her phone. Thomas hadn’t called or emailed. He might have texted; texting didn’t seem reliable on the island. But he wouldn’t “get points” for a text.
 

She remembered the disgust on his face as he’d yelled, “You get no points for adventure. You’re lucky you’re kinda hot, because you’re boring.”

That had cut to the quick. She’d skipped right over the
kinda hot
. “I’m boring? You’re the one who has Harvard-branded everything. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is? You look like a billboard with glasses. That’s why I try to arrange dates so you’re coming straight from work, but half the time you’re wearing a Harvard tie!”

“I bleed crimson!” he’d screamed.

“It’s pathetic. And your point system blows!” Then she’d stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.
 

That hadn’t stopped the fight though.
 

Was he right? Had he blurted out the truth that no one else dared tell her?
 

On the other hand, he’d also called her needy, and that was the furthest thing from the truth. How many times had she bitten her tongue when he canceled a date at the last minute? It wasn’t easy in the investment banking industry these days, and she’d been understanding. Look where that had gotten her. No wonder he took her for granted.

Tara came out of the bathroom. “Think I drank too much,” she said as she collected her shoes. “I’d better get to bed. Are you alright?”

“I feel better.” The most awful fight of her life, and she’d had to pretend nothing was wrong. That had made everything worse. Later, she and Tara would dissect what was said in detail, of course, but she’d needed to get it off her chest. “A lot better, actually. Thanks.”
 

Tara nodded and quickly left the room.

 
Monroe’s stomach growled, and she realized she was starving. She hadn’t taken a single bite of her dinner… hadn’t eaten anything except a bag of pretzels since the fight.
 

She switched on the lamp next to her carryon bags and caught a horrifying glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her waist-length hair, light brown with blonde highlights, was completely mussed. The side of her face was red, a crease running from her mouth to her nose.

She yanked her hair into a ponytail and changed into jeans and a tee, then went looking for food.
 

The lobby was deserted, all the hotel’s restaurants closed. Monroe stood looking at the darkened rooms.
 

There was a quiet noise, and she turned to see a composed woman in her sixties walk behind the receptionist’s desk. “Can I help you?” the clerk asked.

“Are any nearby restaurants still open?”
 

The clerk twisted her head to consult the clock on the wall behind her. “Room service shuts down in ten minutes.” The phone she set on the counter looked older than Monroe. “I can call in the order if you like.”

“Grilled cheese?”
 

“Of course. Room number?”
 

“Is it possible for me to eat over there?” She pointed at the deserted breakfast buffet room. The clerk nodded, and Monroe went to choose a table.

She turned on the ancient overhead television and sat, pulling up another chair to prop up her aching feet.

“Do you want to transform your life?” a pantsuited woman boomed on the screen. She wore a mauve blouse with a glittering peacock brooch at the neck. Her fingernails were the shiniest Monroe had ever seen. “Do you want a better life? Let me hear you!”

“Yes!” the audience responded.
 

“Then what do you have to do?” the woman asked, her rings flashing as she gripped her microphone tighter.

“Change our minds!”

“That’s right!” the woman enthused. “Change your mind to transform your life. We dream big. We want careers and families and to be healthy. You know exactly what I’m talking about, amiright? Am I?”

The camera panned over the audience, showing women—for the audience was 98% female—nodding their heads. Monroe wished Tara were there. They loved to poke fun at these kinds of shows. A wave of loneliness washed over her.
 

“Change Your Mind to Transform Your Life… Order Now, Pay Later”
flashed across the bottom of the screen, complete with a book and DVD case adorned with a perkier, blonder version of the speaker.

Monroe sighed and glanced at the clock.

“And what is the secret? Being
aware
of opportunity knocking. Being open to change. Making your own opportunities. You’re wondering how to do that. Well, guess what? You don’t have to worry because I am here today to break it down for you.”