Sunscreen & Coconuts

ELIZA LENTZSKI

Copyright © 2018 Eliza Lentzski

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, other than those in the public domain, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, re-sold, or transmitted electronically or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 9781719930567

Imprint: Independently published

Other works by Eliza Lentzski

Winter Jacket Series

Winter Jacket

Winter Jacket 2: New Beginnings

Winter Jacket 3: Finding Home

Winter Jacket 4: All In

Hunter

+ + +

Don’t Call Me Hero Series

Don’t Call Me Hero

Damaged Goods

Cold Blooded Lover

http://www.elizalentzski.com

Standalones

Sunscreen & Coconuts

The Final Rose

Bittersweet Homecoming

Fragmented

Apophis: Love Story for the End of the World

Second Chances

Date Night

Love, Lust, & Other Mistakes

Diary of a Human

+ + +

Works as E.L. Blaisdell

Drained: The Lucid (with Nica Curt)

CONTENTS

Prologue

1

Chapter Eleven

109

Chapter One

6

Chapter Twelve

119

Chapter Two

15

Chapter Thirteen

128

Chapter Three

24

Chapter Fourteen

145

Chapter Four

35

Chapter Fifteen

153

Chapter Five

45

Chapter Sixteen

169

Chapter Six

57

Chapter Seventeen

179

Chapter Seven

66

Chapter Eighteen

187

Chapter Eight

76

Chapter Nineteen

197

Chapter Nine

86

Epilogue

208

Chapter Ten

101

Author Page

212

Dedication

To C

PROLOGUE

Cube.  c-u-b-e.

Fell.  f-e-l-l.

Brother.  b-r-o-t-h-u-r.

“Oh, you nearly got it, Aidan,” I murmured. I scribbled the correct spelling next to the misspelled word.

Door.  d-o-o-r.

Fast.  f-a-s-t.

I cringed at the misspelled word on the next line: Field.  f-e-i-l-d.

I ran my hand over my face. “I before E, you guys,” I muttered aloud. “We spent forever on that lesson.”

“Except after C, right?”

I looked up from the lined paper that was rapidly becoming marked up by my green pen. My waitress smiled down on me, a filled coffee pot in one hand.

“More coffee?”

I placed my hand over my nearly empty coffee cup. “I’ve had too much already,” I refused. “You’ll have me bouncing off the walls pretty soon.”

“What are you working on?” she asked.

I shuffled through the remaining papers on the table. “First grade spelling quizzes.”

“Oh, are you at the Friends School?” She named the private elementary school only a few blocks from our location.

“No, I teach at Woodrow Wilson.”

My waitress rested the coffee pot at her hip. “I don’t recognize the name. Is it a charter school?”

“Nope. Regular old public school.”

I could have predicted the look she gave me—a mix of sympathy and bewilderment. But after five years of teaching in Boston’s public school system, I was used to it by now.

“Wow. Good for you,” she admired.

I forced a wavering smile to my lips.

Back in the 1970s, there had been an attempt to integrate Boston’s public schools. The history textbooks tell all about Jim Crow segregation and Brown v. Board of Education, but northern cities are largely lost in the narrative. Attempts to balance the racial makeup of Boston’s public schools through forced bussing led to massive white backlash, and in recent years, the elected school board appeared content with the status quo.

This had resulted in the gross underfunding of schools in the district where I taught. Luckily, in the first grade, my students didn’t yet require expensive textbooks or individual laptops, but even then I typically ended up buying my own supplies for my classroom when the storage closets ran out of crayons, glue sticks, and construction paper.

“Want me to clear away the other place setting so you have more room to grade?” she offered.

“I’m good. I’m waiting on someone.”

I’d been hoarding the table for two for the better part of an hour. Between my employment as a public school teacher and my seemingly solo status at brunch, I couldn’t imagine what she thought of me. I probably seemed to her the saddest person on the planet.

“I guess I could handle another re-fill,” I said.

It took a long moment for her to realize what I was requesting.

“Coffee?” I supplied.

She barked out a laugh. “Oh, right!”

A knock on the plate glass window pulled our joint attention towards the front of the restaurant. The person for whom I’d been waiting smiled and waved at me through the restaurant’s front window.

Between the awkward exchange with my waitress and my friend’s tardiness, I was already in a tested mood. I tapped at my wrist where a watch would be. “You’re late.”

I doubted Racy was able to hear my censure through the thick glass, even without the competing sounds of the neighborhood on a Sunday morning. But my disapproving gestures were enough for her to understand my complaint.

She clasped her hands together as in prayer—a mea culpa for leaving me to fend for myself at brunch.

“I’ll grab you another menu and freshen up that coffee,” the waitress announced.

I felt the slight tug of smugness. I wasn’t entirely pathetic.

My friend Racy skirted through the restaurant’s entrance, pausing briefly at the hostess stand to indicate that the other half of her dining party was already seated. I shuffled papers on the table for two, collecting my students’ spelling quizzes, and packed them away in my workbag.

Racy dropped her oversized purse on the floor and her body in the seat across from me. “I know, I know,” she huffed. “I’m late—unforgivably so. But I have an excuse this time.”

“You always have an excuse,” I pointed out.

“But this one’s actually good,” she countered.

Instead of offering up the explanation for her tardiness, Racy reached across the table and confiscated my glass of juice. She took a quick sip and made a disgusted face the moment the liquid passed her lips.  ”Oh, God, “ she practically gagged. “What is that?”

I grabbed the glass back. “Orange juice.”

“Just juice?” Racy continued to express her disgust. “What’s even the point?”

“I was waiting for you!” I defended myself. “I didn’t want to drink alone.”

“Why not? I do it all the time.” Racy removed her sunglasses and flung them onto the table. They stopped when they struck against my near-empty coffee cup. “God, I’ve had a day,” she sighed.

“It’s not even noon,” I remarked.

“My point exactly.” She sat up straighter in her chair and craned her neck. “Where’s our waitress? Did I interrupt you trying to get your game back?”

“Why do you think I’m flirting every time I talk to another woman?” I accused.

“I don’t know how you lesbians work,” she dismissed me.

“Do you flirt with every man you talk to?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

I audibly sighed. “Where were you this morning? Chewing your arm off to get out of some investment banker’s bed? Carrying your heels through Chinatown?”

“Not this time.” She continued to look distractedly around the restaurant in search of our elusive waitress. “I was planning our Christmas vacation.”

Racy and I weren’t dating. Even if she’d been my type—which she wasn’t—she was the definition of hyper-heterosexual. We’d traveled together over the past two Christmases, however, because we’d grown up in the same small, Midwestern town. Even though we’d graduated high school together, we hadn’t exactly been friends back then, more like acquaintances, but we’d reconnected in recent years when our respective parents discovered we were both living in Boston.

I visibly slumped in my chair. “I told you I don’t want to go back there.”

“And neither do I,” Racy was quick to correct. “Which is why we’re going to be spending Christmas this year—wait for it—at an all-inclusive resort on the beautiful, exotic island of Curaçao.”

“Curaçao?” I echoed.

“It’s in the Caribbean, just off the coast of Venezuela.”

“That sounds expensive,” I lamented. “You do remember I’m a public school teacher, right?”

“You remind me every chance you get,” she countered. “Listen, it’s the off-season. Everyone heads home for Christmas, so these resorts offer incredible deals. Trust me, even you can afford this trip.”

“Isn’t it hurricane season?”

“Nope. That ends in November. We’ll have nothing but perfect, blue skies.”

“I’ve heard that a lot of the islands down there aren’t gay friendly.”

“I’ve thought of that, too,” she grinned. “I did some research, and according to everything I’ve read, Curaçao is the most gay-friendly island in the South Caribbean.”

While I delayed, Racy continued to explain her plan: “They speak English, and they drive on the right side of the road. It’s an adults-only, all-inclusive resort on a white, sandy beach. There’s an incredible man-made lagoon, and at night you can see the floating cities of cruise ships just off the shoreline. We can leave as soon as your semester is over and come back before New Years Eve when the flight prices spike again.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve really put a lot of thought into this.”

In my experience, Racy wasn’t much of a planner—more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants-er. The fact that she’d made sure I would feel safe in a foreign location spoke miles for the effort she’d put into this idea.

“Don’t say no, Mercy,” Racy pled. “I know how much you covet your school breaks, but wouldn’t you rather spend your Christmas drinking a Mai Tai on a white, sandy beach surrounded by women in bikinis instead of shoveling your car out of snow bank?”

I folded my hands on the table. “You make a compelling argument, Ms. Sawyer.”

Racy’s grin widened. “So is that a yes? Christmas in Curaçao?”

CHAPTER ONE

A disembodied voice floated over the airplane’s public address system: Ladies and gentlemen, the cabin door is now closed. At this time, please turn off all cellular devices and confirm your seatbelt is fastened and secured.

My seatbelt had long been fastened. I’d turned my cell phone to airplane mode even before my flight had boarded. I had a paperback mystery novel in the front seat pocket, and a bottle of water and a pack of gum to keep my ears from popping. I was ready for my seven-hour flight.

Or at least I’d thought I was.

The woman seated in front of me turned around. “Excuse me. Would you mind switching seats so I can sit with my son?”

She gestured to the boy in the middle seat beside me. He looked to be about fifteen with his scruffy brown hair poking out from under his Red Sox baseball hat.

I was loath to move; we would be taking off any minute. The seatbelt sign was illuminated and flight attendants were running through the final steps in their pre-flight routine. I didn’t want to make a fuss. I didn’t want everyone in the vicinity staring at me and wondering why I was switching seats at the very last minute. I wanted to tell this middle-aged woman that if she’d booked her flight earlier, she wouldn’t be having this issue, or that she should stop being a helicopter parent and let her teenaged son sit by himself.

I wanted to say all of these things and more, but I didn’t. I unfastened my seatbelt instead. “Of course,” I conceded.

I collected my belongings in the immediate area and waited for the teen boy to unfasten his safety belt. Our movement set off a domino effect, disrupting the elderly woman who sat in the aisle seat and the two passengers in the seats next to the suburban mom.

A flight attendant rushed up to the congestion in the center aisle. “We’ll be taking off soon.” Her look of annoyance gnawed at my conscience. “Please return to your seats.”

“I’m so sorry,” I felt obligated to apologize for the entire group.

More shuffling and maneuvering and knocking my knees and nearly my head transpired before I successfully exchanged seats with the overprotective mom.

Once in my new seat, I fastened my safety belt and prepared for takeoff. Even though I sat in coach, each seat was equipped with its own miniature monitor. I couldn’t help noticing that all the other touch screens in my row were illuminated except for the monitor directly in front of me. I jabbed my index finger against the blackened screen, but it failed to respond.

“Great,” I muttered aloud.

Yet again, my inability to say no to inconveniences had resulted in more inconvenience. At least I was still by a window. I would have never been able to relax in the center seat, too worried that I might unintentionally drift across the invisible seat boundaries, and the beverage cart always rammed my elbows when I sat in the aisle seat.

For the next few hours I tried to lose myself in my novel. I rarely had time to read for fun anymore. Not having a traditional 9 to 5 job made carving out free time a challenge. As a teacher there was always grading to do or lesson plans to construct.

My reading was periodically interrupted by the snoring man seated next to me. Unlike myself, he appeared to have no qualms about spreading into my personal area. I found myself shrinking closer and closer to the airplane window to evade his creeping form.

He seemed to choke on a particularly violent snore, and in the process, woke himself up. I observed him out of the corner of my eye as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He reached that same arm across me to pull up the shade covering the small airplane window. I felt his shoulder press more tightly against mine as he leaned even closer to the window.

“Where are we?” he asked, as if I’d be able to tell by looking at the nothing but blue ocean below.

“I’m not sure,” I mumbled before returning my attention to my book.

He leaned back into his allotted space, but continued to invade my mental space. “Huh. I haven’t seen one of those in a while,” he observed.

I had no idea to what he was referring, and I really didn’t want to engage in conversation, so I simply raised an eyebrow.

“Your book,” he clarified. “Most people read on their tablets these days if they even read at all. I’m a Candy Crush kind of guy myself.”

My seatmate continued his attempts to draw me into conversation, asking questions about where I was from and what I did for a living, but my resistance proved stronger than his curiosity. Eventually he returned to intermittently snoring until we reached our destination.

The flight had tested my patience, but I felt my mood lift when our landing gear kissed the pavement of the tarmac. As the pilots taxied toward our gate, I pressed my nose against my tiny window to the outside world, eager to see Curaçao for the first time. I would have to wait a little longer to start my vacation, however, as the passengers around me reclaimed their carry-ons and we collectively inched towards the airplane’s exit.

I shouldered my carry-on bag and scanned the vicinity for directional signs. I always felt a little overwhelmed upon exiting airplanes. I needed a moment to regain my bearings. I spotted the familiar sights of airport concessions and travel-oriented shopping, but a small part of my brain registered that we were in Willemstad, Curaçao, nearly 2,500 miles from Boston.

Racy’s excited grin and a blast of refrigerated air greeted me when I finally de-boarded the plane. She waved at me a few yards from our gate. We’d been on the same flight from Boston, but she preferred the luxury of First Class while I didn’t see the point of overspending for a little extra legroom.

“Wow, you didn’t waste any time getting into vacation mode,” I remarked with an amused chuckle.

Her black leggings, sweater, and Uggs from earlier had been replaced with an aqua-blue romper, wedge heels, and an oversized sunhat.

“You were taking forever,” she explained, “so I changed in the bathroom.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You make it sound like I wanted to be at the back of the plane.”

“You should have flown First Class with me.”

“You know I don’t have that kind of money.”

“You know I would have paid for your upgrade,” Racy countered.

“You know I don’t like handouts.”

She sighed loudly. “I know.”

I often wondered why Racy insisted on spending time with me. As an investment banker, she made significantly more money than I did. I consistently felt like my budget held her back, but to her credit, she worked hard to not make me uncomfortable about it. She just couldn’t control that I always felt uncomfortable.

“How was your flight?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes. “This vacation isn’t off to a great start.”

Her smile flattened. “Oh, no. What happened?”

“Not important. It’s fine. Let’s get through Customs and find the resort shuttle. I’m ready to actually relax.”

From the slow-moving line to retrieve our checked luggage, we moved next to the even slower-moving line towards the island nation’s customs agents. For it supposedly being the slow season, the line wrapped back and forth through the large ground-level space.

Racy had her phone out and blindly shuffled forward in line without looking up from her phone screen.

“I hope you’re not doing work,” I chastised.

“Just a few more e-mails before I totally go off-grid,” she promised.

I leaned against a concrete column. I was more than eager for vacation to actually start—to be through customs and at the resort where I intended to change into my bathing suit and read my book by the pool and not leave my cabana until it was time to catch my flight back to the States. I closed my eyes and rubbed my fingers against my temples.

“Headache?”

I didn’t know how Racy had seen me; her eyes hadn’t strayed from her phone.

“Uh huh.”

“There’s aspirin in my bag.” Instead of getting the medicine for me, she shrugged off the shoulder strap and dropped her purse into my hands.

I unzipped the main zipper and rummaged around inside. Instead of finding the shape of a pill bottle, my fingers closed around a different kind of shape.

“What is this?” I asked, pulling the red, shiny orb from her purse.

Racy’s eyes flicked briefly in my direction before returning her attention to her phone. “Looks like an apple. It came with my in-flight meal.”

“You can’t smuggle fruit into a foreign country!” I hissed.

“Then throw it away.”

“But we’re in line.” I felt myself begin to panic. “I can’t get out of line to find a garbage can.”

“I’ll save your spot,” she offered.

My voice pitched. “No savsies!”

She arched an eyebrow at my anxious outburst. “We really need to get you away from those kindergartners.”

“First grade,” I corrected her.

“Whatever. Same thing.”

I normally would have set the record straight about the many and varied differences between kindergartners and first graders, but I had an apple to make disappear.

I continued to pick apple remnants from my teeth after we breezed through customs; I’d never eaten a piece of fruit so quickly in my life.

Racy and I left the air conditioned confines of the Willemstad airport in search of the shuttle that was supposed to bring us to our all-inclusive resort. The sun was bright outside of the airport, and I could feel the heat of the blacktop beneath my bargain store flip-flops.

I juggled my bags, searching for my sunglasses. Racy continued to walk at her brisk, city pace while I dug around for the sunglasses I was sure I’d seen earlier. I walked, shuffling in small steps, my eyes lowered to the inside of my purse.

“Racy. Hold up.”

“I see our ride,” she told me.

“Just give me a second.” I stopped so I wouldn’t trip on my flip-flops.

“I’m gonna check-in with the driver.”

“Wait,” I pled.

I successfully located my sunglasses at the bottom of my cavernous bag, but when I looked up, I realized I’d found my sunglasses but I’d lost my friend. I scanned the immediate area with no sign of her aqua-blue romper.

A small man with a clipboard waved in my direction. I looked to my right and to my left. He appeared to be beckoning me, but I couldn’t understand why he was standing in front of a beat-up, white passenger van. That couldn’t be our ride to the resort.

I took a few tentative steps in his direction, not completely committing. A big, floppy white hat appeared through the opening of the sliding side door. A feeling of dread settled in my stomach. What was Racy doing in that dilapidated van?

“Hustle up, Mercy,” she called to me. “We’re all waiting on you.”

The man associated with the battered van hustled to my side. “Help you with your bag?”

He didn’t wait for my response. He grabbed the long handle of my wheeled luggage and my sweaty grip slipped. I could only watch in anguish as the man loaded my suitcase into the back of the van. I winced when he slammed the back door shut.

“Inside please, Miss,” he encouraged.

I supposed if I were going to be kidnapped or murdered for stepping into a stranger’s van, at least I’d be going with my best friend.

I ducked my head and entered through the sliding side door. The back of the van was filled with other people, but I spotted Racy and her giant hat in the middle row. The man who’d sat next to me on the plane was alone on the short bench immediately in front of me. A young couple—newlyweds maybe—sat in the very back. They were too busy taking selfies from multiple angles to notice anyone else.

The air conditioning had been running, so at least it was mildly cooler in the van than outside. The side door slammed behind me, and I had no choice but to sit down. I ducked my head so as not to start vacation with a concussion and flopped down on the middle row of seats next to Racy

I reached for the closest seatbelt. “Are you sure about this?” I quietly grumbled.

I uselessly mashed the ends of my seatbelt together, but the pieces wouldn’t fit.

“It’s fine. I’m sure the hotel’s regular shuttle vans are just all filled up.”

“I thought you said this was the slow season,” I practically accused.

“Okay,” she shrugged, recognizing the flaw in her argument, “maybe the regular fleet is being maintenanced.”

The man with the clipboard hopped into the driver’s seat and shifted the vehicle into drive. The engine revved and the airport began to disappear in the rearview mirror. Any misgivings I’d had would have to be put on hold.

The man taking up the front bench leaned forward to talk to the driver. “What can you tell me about Le Mirage?”

The driver turned his head slightly. “Pretty good time.”

“What about the women?”

“Depends on what you like.”

I glanced sharply in Racy’s direction, but she was back on her phone.

The man eventually sat back in his seat and left the driver to his task.

“I booked us a snorkeling excursion for tomorrow morning,” Racy announced.

“Just now?” I marveled.

“Those things fill up fast, so I made arrangements when I booked our hotel. It’s a smaller group so we’ll get plenty of individual attention.”

“Kind of like this five-star shuttle experience?” I couldn’t help the dig.

Nothing about our vacation thus far had me feeling relaxed. The van bumped down dusty, unpaved roads. No street signage reassured me that we were going the right way. Small shanty houses lined the street. The driver frequently slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting livestock that darted into the road.

“What have you gotten us into?” I muttered for only Racy’s ears.

“Lighten up, Mercy. We’re on vacation now.” Her words said one thing, but the confidence had drained from my friend’s tone, which made me even more worried.

The van approached a mechanized gate. The security fence around the perimeter of the property was too high to see what was beyond the gate. I knew we’d probably come to our resort, but between our dented van and how rocky the trip had started, I expected the worst: American women being sold to the highest bidder, just beyond the gate.

The driver rolled down his window and typed a code into the security box at the entrance. I leaned forward to try to make out the numbered sequence, but the fatheaded man seated in front of me obscured my view. I exhaled loudly; we might have needed to know that code in order to escape.

The mechanized gate soundlessly opened and our van inched forward. My previous misgivings melted away upon seeing the grand driveway leading up to the resort’s main building. The driveway to the resort was close to a quarter mile of lush vegetation and meticulously landscaped yard. Vibrant flowers in full bloom lined the long paved driveway that led up to a towering building that looked like a giant thatch roof. As we approached the main building, my excitement increased; the lobby area was open on all sides with a clear view of the ocean just on the other side.

I only looked away from the picturesque vistas when I felt a hand on my knee. Racy’s smile looked smug. “I did good, right?”

As much as I hated giving her too much credit, I nodded.

The young men working the valet stand opened the side door. Everyone in the vehicle poured out onto the concrete sidewalk and waited while staff worked quickly and efficiently to unload our luggage from the back of the van.

A woman with a tablet approached Racy and me while we stood on the hot concrete.

“Bon bini. Welcome. Names please?”

“Racine Sawyer and Mercy Lewis,” Racy provided for the both of us.

“Ms. Sawyer, Ms. Lewis, welcome. I have you in an ocean view room with two queen beds, checking out with us on December 27th. Is that correct?”

“You got it,” Racy confirmed.

The woman swiped two key cards through a credit-card reader attached to the top of her iPad.

“Here are your room keys. I won’t need to link your credit cards since we’re an all-inclusive resort. You won’t need to charge anything back to the room, and please remember not to tip your servers or other staff.”

“Why not?” I felt compelled to ask.

The woman smiled evenly. “Because we’re all-inclusive.”

She hadn’t answered my question, but she pressed our room keys into our hands and moved on to the next hotel guests before I could ask any additional questions.

“Well that was weird,” I grumbled, shouldering my toiletries bag.

“What is?” Racy asked.

“Why can’t I tip if I want to? Are they trying to keep their staff in perpetual poverty?”

Racy laughed. “You and your conspiracies. They probably want all their guests to receive the same treatment and have the same experience. If you start tipping, it throws that philosophy out of whack.”

“If you say so,” I said, still not convinced.

Our room was located in the main resort building; a short elevator ride to the third floor had us to our final destination. Once I ascertained that my key card worked on our room door, I felt myself finally beginning to relax.

“Do you have a bed preference?” Racy asked before throwing her oversized purse on the closest bed.

I shook my head, not really paying attention; I was too distracted by the big blue ocean beyond our hotel windows.

Racy flopped down on the first bed, apparently claiming it for herself while I continued to walk towards the full length windows that turned out to be sliding doors that opened onto a narrow balcony. Quiet music filtered up to our room from the large pool directly beneath the balcony, but I was far more impressed by the crescent-shaped lagoon at the edge of the resort property. I couldn’t hear the ocean, but I could definitely smell it in the warm, salty air.

I closed my eyes and exhaled. The warm sun was gentle and reassuring on my face.

Racy’s knowing voice called to me from inside the room. “Ready for this vacation to start?”

“Hell yeah.”

CHAPTER two

I probably would have benefited from a power nap or at least a quick shower, but I was too impatient to be poolside with my book for any of that. Racy and I changed into bathing suits—hers a revealing bikini and mine a more modest one-piece—and we headed down to the resort’s aquamarine colored pool.

“I did good, right?” Racy boasted as we entered the pool complex.

A narrow sandy beach connected the winding serpentine pool to a man-made lagoon that offered more daring swimmers some refuge from the ocean’s swelling waves. The resort grounds were dotted with beach loungers and thatch-roofed palapas where I could picture myself planted for the rest of our vacation. The sun was hot and just the barest of breezes came off of the ocean to provide some respite from the early afternoon heat.

“I’m nearly ready to let you plan all of my future vacations,” I approved.

We found two unoccupied loungers in an area that offered views of both the pool and the beach. I unpacked my bottled water, the novel I’d purchased at the airport, and my sunscreen onto a small table beneath my personal cabana. Once I removed my cover-up t-shirt, I began the task of layering my exposed skin with a healthy layer of sunscreen. Skin cancer aside, typical of redheads, my pale skin tone easily burned, and there was no way I was going to let myself get fried on our very first day in the sun.

“Damn, Mercy. Is that SPF 200?”

I paused my sunscreen application long enough to stick out my tongue at my friend. Racy had stripped down to her neon orange bikini—sure to attract stares from miles around. “Laugh all you want. I’m staying safe.”

Racy tucked her sunglasses into her beach bag. “You coming in?”

“In a while. I want to let my skin get warmer.”

“And let the paint dry, too,” she quipped.

Before I could offer a reaction to her insult, Racy jumped into the saltwater pool. The splash of her less-than-graceful entry had threatened to dampen my paperback book.

“Watch it!” I called to her once she resurfaced.

“Relax, resting bitch face,” she retorted as she bobbed in the pool. “Don’t forget you’re on vacation.”

My only response was a weak growl, but instead of continuing to be argumentative, I settled back on my lounger while Racy splashed around in the pool.

I exhaled, loudly and deeply, and let the day’s stress escape my body along with my breath. It had been an annoying travel day of disequilibrium and anxiety, but now that we’d reached the resort and I was sitting poolside, I could finally start my vacation.

“First day?”

I looked away from the pool to see a small dark man in the resort’s uniform—a white polo and blue shorts. He’d appeared from seemingly nowhere.

I shifted on my lounger and held my book closer to my chest. My bathing suit covered me well, but it still felt foreign to be so exposed in December. “Yes. Is it that obvious?”

“I recognized the look—like you’re just realizing you’re finally away from it all.”

“You must see that a lot,” I observed, feeling a smile come to my lips.

He smiled wider. “Everyday,” he confirmed. “All around this pool.”

“Oh, garçon!” Racy’s unnecessarily loud voice interrupted the conversation. She remained in the water, but clung to the edge of the pool. “Excuse me—can we get, like, a tray of tequila shots? Pronto?”

The poolside waiter dipped his head in a curt bow. “I’m sorry ma’am, we only serve beer and cocktails by the pool. I can get you one of those if you’d like.”

Racy stuck out her lower lip. “I really don’t want all of that filler. I’m counting calories.” She seemed to press her arms against either side of her breasts which had the effect of emphasizing her already impressive cleavage.

“Senora is more than welcome to go to the Thirsty Coconut, our full-service bar, for those kinds of drinks.”

Racy’s breasts lifted even higher until they threatened to pop entirely out of her bikini top. “How about just bring the entire bottle, and it’ll be our little secret?” She batted her eyelashes and tilted her head to the side. “No one has to know where it came from.”

The man laughed and waggled his finger. “This is not my first day on the job, ma’am.”

“Two mojitos would be lovely, thank you,” I interjected. I could see no positive end to the conversation unless I stepped in. Racy was naturally argumentative and tended to get her way.

The waiter nodded his head and smiled. “Right away.”

When the waiter had left to retrieve our drink order, Racy climbed out of the pool. She dried off with a large beach towel before flopping into the empty lounger beside me. “So much for all-inclusive,” she huffed.

I set down my book. “Are you more upset that your breasts didn’t convince him to bend the rules or that he kept calling you ma’am?”

Racy looked down at her aforementioned chest. “They’ve never let me down before. Come on, girls,” she addressed her cleavage. “Don’t fail me now.”

+ + +

At the edge of the resort property was a thatch-roofed, standalone bar. The structure was held up by wooden posts instead of actual walls, which created a seamless transition between the sandy beach and the tiled bar floor. Lazy ceiling fans slowly rotated above our heads, mixing the cooler salty air with the afternoon heat. American surf rock music piped through the PA system. The horseshoe-shaped bartop was vacant with the exception of two men in golfing shirts and full-length khaki pants. They were obviously there together, but the empty stool between them indicated they weren’t together together.

A lean man in a collared polo with the resort’s logo embroidered on the right breast pocket stood behind the bartop. His brown hair was nearly as long as mine, which he wore in a loose skinny ponytail that hung between his shoulder blades. His skin was deeply tanned, making it hard to tell his age. He could have been my age or he might have been well into his sixties. I spied the hint of a sun-faded tattoo of a blue bird peeking out from the edge of his polo’s shirtsleeve.

“Welcome to the Thirsty Coconut, ladies,” he greeted as we stepped out of the sun and under the oversized thatch roof. “What can I get you to drink?”

Racy dramatically flopped down on one of the empty bar stools. “Everything.”

I slid onto the stool next to Racy and inspected the three long rows of liquor bottles that created a wall behind the bartop. A sign that read No shoes, no shirt, no problem! hung in the center of the bar.

“What’s the story behind the bar’s name?” I wondered aloud. “How can a coconut be thirsty? Isn’t it basically all liquid inside?”

“Ignore my friend,” Racy interjected with a wave of her hand. “She needs a rumrunner and a shot of tequila to shut her brain off.”

The bartender looked in my direction to confirm the drink order. I nodded my approval and soon enough four drinks—two drinks each—were set in front of us.

Racy held up her exceptionally large tequila shot. “I’d like to propose a toast. To me,” she said. “For convincing you to come on this vacation.”

I lifted my equally, nearly comically, large shot glass. “To you,” I agreed.

“This vacation is going to be nothing less than legendary,” Racy proclaimed.

We clinked our glasses together and Racy downed her entire shot in a single go. I, however, settled for several smaller sips to finish the drink.

Racy slapped the bartop. “Another one!”

The bartender looked in our direction, but I waved him off. “It’s only Day One,” I reminded my friend. “Let’s pace ourselves so we’re not puking in the bushes so soon.”

“Fine, fine,” she relented.

She turned her attention to her rumrunner, which she hastily downed in three long gulps.

I cleared my throat. “Worried they’re going to run out of alcohol on the island?”

“It’s a small glass!” she defended herself. “It was mostly ice!”

I hummed, but didn’t make additional comment. Racy was right about me needing to turn my brain off so I could actually enjoy our vacation, but it was hard to switch off my teacher-mode. I’d need a few more drinks before making that transition.

“So besides getting sick in the local flora,” Racy posed, “what else do you want to do while we’re here?”

I reflexively wrinkled my nose.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, “ she chastised.

“I didn’t give you a look,” I protested. “This is just my face.”

I didn’t have another opportunity to defend my face before our conversation was interrupted.

“Did you two just get to the island?” One of the men who’d been at the bar when we’d arrived raised his voice to be heard over the music. “Cause I’m sure I would have noticed pretty faces like yours before.”

I felt Racy’s hand squeeze the top of my knee, reigning me in. Nothing aggravated me more than having a conversation interrupted as if we were only passing the time until a man showed up to entertain us. We couldn’t even go to a foreign country without the unsolicited and definitely unwanted attention of self-important men. But I hadn’t had enough to drink to make me forget my manners; I was only halfway through my rumrunner.

“We just got in this morning,” she confirmed.

The man who’d spoken pointed his thumb to his chest. “I’m Tom. And this ugly mug,” he said, gesturing to the equally lumpy man beside him, “is my good buddy, John. We got in a few days ago.”

“I’m Racy,” my friend continued the conversation. “Rhymes with lacy—like the underwear.”

Both men chuckled while I rolled my eyes. The line had gotten some mileage over the years, but as long as it was coupled with my friend, it continued to age well. In addition to being smart, ambitious, and aggressive, Racy was also a knockout. Long black hair, olive complexion, full pouty mouth, and unexpectedly sapphire blue eyes. Her gregarious, outgoing personality and full-volume voice assured she was the center of attention.

I hadn’t offered up my identification, but that didn’t save me from being noticed. The second man—John—stared at me across the u-shaped bar. “Does your friend have a name?”

I hopped up from my stool and grabbed onto Racy’s elbow. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I announced.

I didn’t actually have to go, but I hoped she’d take my cue and leave with me.

Racy only blinked. “Why are you telling me?”

I grabbed my beach bag and pushed my stool back into its original place. The wooden legs shrieked against the tile flooring.

I found the nearest bathroom—not much more than an upgraded outhouse—and lingered long enough so my abrupt departure wouldn’t be totally obvious. When I returned, Racy waved me down from a four-top table she’d relocated to in my absence. I looked around for signs of the two men, worried they might be taking the table’s other two chairs, but they no longer appeared to be in the bar.

“What happened to your new boyfriends?” I asked, taking the chair across from Racy.

She waved me off. “They were harmless.”

“Am I going to have to endure small talk with middle-aged men all week?” I tried to keep my annoyance to a minimum.

“I didn’t want to tell you, because I know you worry.” She placed her hands on top of mine on the table. “But I’ve been having a bit of a dry spell.”

I smirked at her dramatics. “How long?”

“A month at least. I’m afraid to cross my legs in public for fear of being turned on.”

“A month?” I snorted. “Try almost a year.”

“No!” Racy exclaimed. “That’s not possible. You and Bethany only broke up over the summer.”

“Because we weren’t having sex,” I drolly noted.

Racy gasped even louder as though she’d been scandalized.

Bethany—my most recent girlfriend—and I had dated for little over a year. We had had an amicable breakup and still hung out as friends. She was even house-sitting for me while I was on vacation, making sure my plants were watered and my goldfish got fed.

I poked at the melting ice cubes in my rumrunner. “It’s been so long I’ve probably forgotten how to have sex.”

“I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike,” Racy tried to assure me. “In fact,” she continued, “I think we should make it our mission this trip to get you on that lesbian bike again.”

“You make it sound like I wasn’t trying before,” I complained.

“But you didn’t have me,” she noted, picking up her tropical drink. “And that’s as good as a guarantee; we’re gonna get you laid.”

My lip curled at her crudity. “Let’s just have a good time this week, okay?” I pled. “We don’t need to have a mission beyond that.”

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Racy pouted.

“I know,” I concurred. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Good afternoon, ladies. Bon bini.”

Racy and I both snapped to attention at the sound of the new voice. I couldn’t help but gape at the woman who stood before us. Bronzed skin, dark long hair, pert breasts, and a long and lean torso exposed between the bottom of her bikini top and the top of her flowered sarong. Unlike the other resort employees that I’d encountered, there was no real place for her nametag to attach on her top, so she’d fastened the name badge near her hip. It necessitated drawing one’s eyes down the length of her smooth stomach to discover that her name was Tory.

“Hi, Tory,” Racy chirped before I could get my brain to work. “How are you today?”

“I’m good, thank you. Can I get you ladies a refill or something to eat?” Her accent was light, giving her diction an almost melodic sound.

“How about two more rumrunners and an order of plantains?” Racy requested.

Tory smiled, showing off white, even teeth. She showed no sign that she’d overheard the content of our conversation. “I’ll get those right in.”

“Damn,” Racy exclaimed before our waitress had barely turned her back. “I’d go gay for that.”

I nudged my friend beneath the cover of the tabletop, the front of my flip-flop striking her mid-shin.

Racy moved as if to stand up. “Do you want me to see if she’s single?”

I grabbed her arm and tugged her back to earth. “She’s not gay,” I hissed.

“How do you know?” Racy challenged. “Was it printed somewhere on her barely-there outfit?”

“I just know.”

“It’s unfair,” Racy complained. She waved her hand in the direction of where our waitress had gone. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“I don’t think you’re meant to.” I tipped back my glass and drained the remainder of my rumrunner.

“You should probably take it easy on that drink; we should probably have an early night,” Racy noted, looping back to an earlier conversation. “The van for tomorrow’s snorkeling excursion leaves from the hotel lobby around 6:30 a.m.”

“I was kind of looking forward to reading my book by the pool.”

“Don’t you want to do something you can’t do back in Boston?”

“I don’t have a pool in Boston,” I pointed out.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that. Snorkel with me for a few hours, and then you can be boring the rest of the day.”

I stiffened at Racy’s word choice. She knew she only had to invoke words like ‘boring’ or ‘grandma’ to push my buttons. I had to bite back my caustic reply when our waitress—Tory—returned with our drinks.

The waitress carefully set down our beverages in front of us. “Those plantains will be right up.”

I kept a smile frozen on my lips until it was only Racy and myself again.

“Mercy, you know I love you …” Racy trailed off.

“But?” I guessed.

“But when you unbutton your shirt, there’s only another button.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I get it. You’re a teacher. You’ve got to be responsible. You’ve got to keep it tight …”

“But …” I practically stomped my foot waiting for Racy to get to her point.

“But … we’re on vacation. You’ve got to let loose.”

“We’re single women, traveling in a foreign country.”

“We’re staying at a gated, all-inclusive resort,” she returned. “It’s probably more dangerous for us in Boston.”

“It won’t take up the entire day?” I asked for clarification.

“We’ll be back to the resort by noon,” she assured me.

I exhaled. “Okay, fine.”

Racy let out a loud whoop, drawing a few curious eyes in our direction.

“Let’s not be the obnoxious Americans, okay?” I winced.

“Honey, that’s like asking the sky not to be blue; I’m always an obnoxious American.”

CHAPTER THREE

As much as I would have enjoyed sleeping in on my first full day of vacation, Racy’s determination to squeeze every ounce of fun out of our time in Curaçao had us up with the sun the next morning. We met with our guided tour in the lobby of our resort along with half a dozen similarly sleepy-eyed vacationers. A short van ride brought us beyond the resort’s gated grounds and back to the central city of Willemstad.

City-sized cruise ships dominated the landscape, casting their shadow on the brightly painted buildings of the Dutch-inspired capital. With their vibrant and varied colors, the multi-storied buildings reminded me of Easter eggs. On the narrow strip of land between the storefronts and the ocean, local vendors had set up camp under white canopied tents to protect themselves and their wares from the early morning sun. A slightly chilly breeze wafted from the ocean, but the day promised to get much warmer the longer the sun resided in the cloudless, blue sky.

I would have been satisfied to remain ashore and enjoy the sights and sounds of the bustling seaport, but Racy continued to tug at my arm in hopes of keeping up with our pre-paid tour. Like sheep to the slaughter, we dutifully followed our tour guide onto a sleek-looking catamaran. Orange life preservers were passed around the boat before we set sail. Most of the other passengers interpreted the action as a suggestion, not a requirement, and used the flotation device as a seat cushion, but I made sure to fasten myself in, ignoring the expected eye roll from Racy.

Our boat captain steered us away from the small island nation towards more open water that alleged some of the best diving and snorkeling in the region.

Racy was all smiles even for not having had her coffee yet. I had a hunch that her grin might have been the result of the free alcohol on the boat; regardless of the early hour, the onboard bar served up bottles of beer. I was in the minority of those not already partaking in the all-inclusive perk.

I watched out over the smooth ocean water from my seat near the front of the boat. Racy sat beside me, with her life jacket as a seat cushion. The scent of the salty air and the white noise of the boat slicing through the water were almost enough to allow my thoughts to go blank. Almost.

I slapped an open palm against the top of my thigh when I realized that in my haste to get ready I’d overlooked an important detail that morning.

“Dang it,” I muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Racy asked.

“I forgot to put on sunscreen this morning,” I lamented with a sigh.

“You’ll be fine,” Racy assured me. “It’s early enough that the sun won’t be too bad. Plus, you probably still have residual sunscreen from yesterday.”

I curled my lip. “I do not.”

“You put on so much by the pool yesterday it was like an extra layer of skin,” she chuckled. “In fact, I don’t think you’ll need to put on any more sunscreen the rest of this trip.”

“I don’t want to burn,” I defended myself. “Especially not on our first part of the trip. I’ll be a peeling, painful mess the rest of vacation.”

“I need a refill,” Racy announced. “Want something?”

I shook my head. “Not until we’re done with the snorkeling part.”

Racy wiggled her empty beer bottle close to my face. “It’s practically water,” she coaxed. “Don’t you want to stay hydrated?”

My lips pressed together and I continued to gaze out over the water. “I want to stay focused.”

Racy tilted her head. “Why so serious? I thought we got that out of your system yesterday?”

“I’m not a strong swimmer.”

“That’s what the life vests are for.”

“It’s not the water that makes me nervous; it’s the things living in the water.”

“They wouldn’t let tourists do this if it was dangerous.”

I grunted. “Tell that to the fish.”

Racy placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’m getting another drink.”

The boat engine cut out and one of the men working the catamaran tossed an anchor overboard. The other passengers shuffled towards the back of the boat, and I took that as my cue to do so as well.

One of the boat employees passed out snorkeling masks while someone else fitted the passengers with flippers. I couldn’t help noticing that I was still one of the only people wearing a life jacket, but I wasn’t going to let peer pressure be the reason why I drowned.

Racy reappeared with a second beer in hand while the boat workers gave us instructions. She already had flippers and her snorkel. I listened intently to their advice; I’d been snorkeling before, but only in freshwater lakes where my feet could always touch.

“Where’s your life preserver?” I whispered to my friend.

She waved me off while she downed her second drink. “Are you gonna make me wait two hours before going into the water?” she teased me between long gulps.

“It’s only an hour,” I said sourly. “And everybody knows that’s a myth.”

I peered over the side of the boat into what I thought looked like dark, foreboding waters. Unlike the more familiar Great Lakes, I could only see a few feet into the water. Who knew what might be lurking, waiting, just beneath the visible portion? The water that was visible wasn’t entirely clear. I thought the things floating on the water’s surface might be pieces of thin plastic, like a bag from a convenience store, but the longer I stared brought a new revelation to mind.

“Are those jellyfish?” I worried.

Racy leaned over the edge of the boat to get a better view. “Aww! They’re so little!” she cooed.

I watched with trepidation as others on my snorkeling excursion were fitted with flippers and masks. No one appeared concerned about the jellyfish that we could all see.

“I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t get in the water with them,” I opined. “They might be little, but they can still sting. I read in a book once—.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Racy interrupted. “Wouldn’t you much rather experience something for yourself than read about it in a book?”

“I’d rather read about a shark attack than experiencing it first-hand.”

Racy spit into her snorkel mask. “You’re too cautious, Mercy.”

I didn’t have time to fashion a rebuttal before Racy was jumping into the ocean. I flinched as the impact of her body against the water splashed back at me.

Racy waved at me from the water. She bobbed up and down with the gently rolling waves. “Take the training wheels off!” she coerced me.

I looked around and realized nearly everyone else was already in the water, along with most of the boat staff. I shuffled toward the back of the boat where a smiling young man held out flippers and a mask for me.

“Those are jellyfish, right?” I asked him.

“Yes, but they’re not dangerous,” he told me. “Unless the current shifts, they’ll stay away from where you’ll be swimming.” He bent down to help me with my flippers.

I accepted his assistance, but his words had done nothing to ease my worries. Despite my better judgment, I slipped my snorkel mask on and began to descend the ladder at the back of the boat. Racy had leapt into the ocean, but I made use of the extra help.

I paused in my descent when my flippers entered the water. The ocean was cool around my ankles. “Wait,” I called to the boat worker. “How will we know if the current shifts?”

The man softly chuckled as I eased myself into the water. “Oh, you’ll know.”

I tread in place while I let my body adjust to the temperature of the water. All around me, the other tourists floated on the water’s surface with their faces submerged underwater. Beyond an errant splash of someone’s flipper, the ocean was even and calm.

Even though she was wearing a neon bathing suit, I couldn’t identify which of the floating bodies was Racy. All of the half-submerged bodies looked the same. I experimentally dipped my face into the water to test the seal on my mask. When no water leaked inside, I plunged myself deeper into the foreign environment.

I concentrated on my breathing and listened to the deep and even rhythms of air coming in and out of my snorkel tube. It was like the rest of the world had been put on mute and only my breath and the thumping of my heart existed. When I finally got my breathing under control and my heart stopped pounding in my chest, I was able to really look around and enjoy my surroundings.

The sand settled and my vision cleared. I kept my arms tucked tight against my sides so I wouldn’t accidentally touch a fish or its coral habitat, and moved my feet and legs in moderate motions to not kick any of the other snorkelers.

Visibility had been limited from the boat, but once I had my head underwater, I was able to see clearly to the uneven ocean floor. Finger-like coral stuck out of the sandy bottom, reaching up to the swimmers above. Other rounded coral with geometric patterns on their surface looked like underwater brains. Bright schools of small fish simultaneously darted in one direction and then the next.

Someone swimming beside me grabbed my wrist. The majority of her face was obscured by her facemask, but the one-piece blue suit told me it wasn’t Racy. She waved her free hand under the water and pointed off in the distance. My eyes followed in the direction of her hand to see a large sea turtle floating a few yards from us. I’d only ever seen them in aquariums, never in the wild. The woman gave me a thumbs up and her mouth smiled around her mouthpiece. I felt obliged to return the gesture.

I continued to float around on my own, admiring the colorful sea life. I saw giant starfish bigger than my face, crabs that scuttled sideways along the ocean floor, and a variety of fish I’d never seen before.

Mindful that I couldn’t stay in the water forever, I lifted my facemask out of the water. The volume around me seemed to have picked up, but I dismissed the loud voices as only sounding as such in comparison to the silent sea. I began to swim back towards the boat when I noticed the staff on the catamaran waving for us to return. I waited my turn to use the ladder at the back of the boat to pull myself back onboard. As much as I’d enjoyed the underwater views, I was more than happy to be getting back to semi-solid ground.

I was surprised to see so many of the others had already re-boarded. I’d thought I’d be the last one in the water and the first one out. I scanned the immediate area in search of Racy, but didn’t see her. Her absence didn’t worry me; I’d lost track of her in the water, but the boat wasn’t so big that we wouldn’t find each other once again on board.

I returned my flippers and snorkel mask to the man who’d assigned them to me.

“Did they get you?” he asked.

“Pardon?” I didn’t know what he was asking me.

“The currents changed,” he said. He gestured to some of the passengers who were back on the boat. “A lot of people got stung, so they got out of the water early.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “No, I didn’t feel anything.”

“That’s some luck,” he noted. “I think about half of you got stung.”

I didn’t dwell on my good fortune for long before I began to search for Racy in earnest. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find her near the boat’s bar. Her hair was wet and a beach towel was draped over her shoulders. She had a bottled beer in either hand. The beer in her left hand was pressed against her cheek.

I sidled up beside her. “Double-fisting?”

She wordlessly handed me one of the bottles—the beer that had been pressed to her face. I gasped when I was what the beer had been covering; a swollen, angry welt marked her cheek.

“My God. What happened?” I reached for the swollen area on her face, but she winced and turned away.

“Go ahead and say it,” she grumbled.

“Say what?” I asked.

“That you told me so.”

“Oh no. Did a jellyfish sting you?” I worried.

Racy nodded and returned her bottled beer to her face like an ice compress.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“I don’t know. How bad does it look?”

I didn’t immediately respond, but apparently my facial reaction was all the answer Racy needed.

“Of all the places, too,” she moaned. “Why’d that little fucker have to sting my face? I’m gonna look like a mutant for the rest of vacation.”

“It’s not so bad,” I tried to assure her.

“It feels like I got branded, right across my face,” she complained.

“Do you need something? Can I get you anything?” I asked.

“Will you pee on my face? I heard that makes the stinging go away.”

Yet again, the horrified look on my face answered for me.

+ + +

The little metal buckle on my beach bag felt like a branding iron where it pressed into my exposed skin. My flip-flops dug up shallow sand and sprayed the backs of my legs as I abandoned the resort’s oceanfront property for a poolside palapa. Accumulated perspiration made the granules stick to my skin. I’d spent too much time uncovered on the beach and everything I’d brought down to the ocean’s edge—including my unprotected skin—felt like it was on fire.

I was on my own for the first time of our vacation. After returning from our early morning excursion, I’d left Racy in our hotel room to sleep off the snorkeling and her jellyfish sting. I’d offered to stick behind, but she’d reminded me that this was my vacation, too, and that I wasn’t beholden to take care of her at the expense of enjoying myself. I’d felt a modest amount of guilt, but I’d also paid a premium for this vacation and I had every intention of getting my money’s worth.

The pool area was relatively crowded that afternoon. The resort boasted a private beach, but the ocean bottom was rocky so most swimmers took advantage of the large pool. I found an empty lounger close to my spot from the previous day and set up camp with my bottled water and paperback novel.

Despite my earlier insistence to Racy that all I wanted to do was read my book by the pool this vacation, I didn’t immediately dive into the novel. Instead, aided by my dark sunglasses, I took my time to check out my surroundings—namely the other people spending time by the pool.

Mixed-sex couples and groups of friends sat around the kidney-shaped pool in various stages of undress. I might have been in a foreign country, but so many Americans, or at least white Westerners surrounded me, it was like I’d never actually left the country. Everywhere I looked I saw too much pale skin, awkward tattoos, and beer bellies. I anticipated that the never-ending landscape of ugly Americans might put a damper on my tropical vacation.

My investigation of the environment stopped on a young woman as she entered the pool area. Her short hair piqued my interest immediately. Black roots were visible beneath short white-blonde hair slicked back from her face. Unlike the other pool guests, she didn’t have a beach bag or even a towel. Her skin was tan, but not overly so, yet there were no visible tan lines where her waist met her red board shorts or near the skin surrounding the strings of her flimsy blue bikini top. I wondered how long she’d been on vacation.

Confident that my eyes were hidden behind my dark sunglasses, I watched her stalk around the perimeter of the pool. Her movement reminded me of a jungle cat—deliberate and slow, yet confident. She sat at the edge of the pool and dipped her heels into the aqua-blue water. Her mirrored reflective sunglasses made it impossible to tell where she was looking. She arched her back and leaned her weight on her arms. She had the flattest stomach I’d ever seen. It couldn’t have occurred naturally. She must not have even looked at bread.

Looking at her was making me hungry. Luckily at this all-inclusive resort, wait staff was never too far away. I’d denied myself alcohol and my favorite fatty foods in the weeks leading up to the trip so I wouldn’t feel completely wretched in my one-piece bathing suit, but now that I was actually on vacation I was prepared to drink all of the drinks and eat all of the food.

The longer I stared at the woman unnoticed, the more a different kind of hunger swept over me. I squeezed my thighs together and shifted on the poolside chaise. It had been a while since I’d been on a date—an unreasonably long while—which I only had myself to blame for. When I’d last gone to my OB/GYN, she’d asked if I was sexually active. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d actually had sex; “define ‘active,’” had come out of my mouth before I could suppress the truth.

I lived in a big enough city that finding a steady girlfriend shouldn’t have been an exercise in futility. It’s not like I was the only single lesbian in Boston. I was Out to my family and friends and co-workers. It simply came down to effort. I hadn’t put myself out there as if expecting the right girl to fall into my lap was going to happen without any work. I put effort into everything I did, from managing my classroom to running the neighborhood rummage sale. But when it came to finding a girlfriend, I’d become complacent and lazy. It was unlike me.

I could have unobtrusively gawked at the woman all day, but my stomach eventually reminded me that I hadn’t eaten. I abandoned my lounger at the pool for a bar stool at the Thirsty Coconut—the tiki bar at the edge of the resort’s property that Racy and I had explored the day before. I considered going back to the room to check in on Racy and her jellyfish sting, but selfishly I knew if I returned to the room, I’d probably be there for the rest of the day. The snow would soon be flying in Boston; I needed to take advantage of Curaçao’s perfect weather while I still could.

I planned on indulging in plantain chips and a strawberry margarita and actually starting my book, but before I could lose myself to the author’s words, I felt the presence of a new body in my proximity. Most of the other barstools were available, yet this person had chosen to sit directly beside me. I no longer had the benefit of my sunglasses, so I peered at the man with my peripheral vision. Unremarkable face. Thinning hair on top. Khaki pants and a polo shirt. I could already tell he liked golfing on the weekends and bullshitting for his job.

I heard him clear his throat, and I readied myself for the worst.

“Don’t I know you from some place?”

“No,” I immediately rejected.

The man snapped his fingers. “You were on the plane from Boston.”

I turned slightly on my barstool to better appraise the man. Middle-aged white men tended to all look the same to me, so he could have been my obnoxious seatmate or any other of the million facsimiles taking up space.

“I guess I was.”

I loathed meeting people on vacation. People were never genuine when meeting strangers they’d never see again. They bragged about their wealth, and their amazing jobs and homes, and their wonderful, accomplished children who definitely weren’t gay.

“Enjoying yourself so far?” he asked.

I hummed in the affirmative and returned my attention to my book.

“What brings you to the island?”

“Vacation.” I kept my head tilted towards my book.

“What do you do in Boston?”

I turned the page. “I’m a teacher.”

“What grade?” he pried.

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t. “I don’t mean to be rude.” Yes, I did. “But I just really want to read my book.” So go bug someone else.

I somehow remembered to smile.

The man held up his hands in retreat. “Message received, loud and clear.”

I doubted he knew the full extent of my misanthropy, but he at least had the good sense to vacate the barstool next to me.

I somehow managed to get through another margarita and two more chapters of my book before I sensed that someone else occupied the formerly vacant seat beside me. There were plenty of other places to sit in the bar; I couldn’t imagine what made that particular stool so popular.

“Did you just get to the island?”

No. Not this again.

I pushed out an exhausted sigh, and I nearly spit out an ugly response as I turned on my barstool, but somehow my brain was able to register that the questioner’s voice belonged to a woman and not a man. The chilly retort remained caught in my throat as I identified the person who’d addressed me. I swallowed my complaint when I realized it was the woman from the pool whom I’d been admiring earlier.

She was even more stunning up close. She wore no makeup because she didn’t need to. Her white-blonde hair was still damp from the pool, shorter on the sides and longer up top. Light blonde eyebrows and long, dark eyelashes framed her grey-green eyes. Her cheekbones were so high and so defined they looked razor sharp. Her thin lips curled up at the edges in a perpetual knowing smile. An oversized, Hawaiian shirt covered her torso. The teal top was open and unbuttoned in the front to reveal her bikini top, but I had a hard time moving past her face to appreciate anything else.

She hadn’t ordered a drink, but the ponytailed bartender set a bottle of beer and a lime wedge on the cocktail napkin in front of her. They didn’t exchange words, but acknowledged each other with a curt bobbing of heads. The woman took a long pull from her golden-toned beer.

“You got a little color on your shoulders,” she observed with a nod. “Careful or that’ll turn into a wicked sunburn.”

I absently rubbed my palm over my exposed shoulder. “I went snorkeling,” I said in lieu of explanation.

She nodded sagely. “You can always tell the new tourists. They look like lobsters by the third day.”

I stumbled on my response. “It’s my second day.”

Her pale eyebrows lifted comically. “Oh! So you’re ahead of schedule. Overachiever, much?”

She’d framed it as a question, but I doubted she expected an answer. I didn’t quite know what else to say, but that didn’t seem to matter to this woman.

She stood up abruptly and tossed a few American dollar bills onto the bartop. “Thanks, Jimmy,” she called to the ponytailed bartender.

He acknowledged her with a brief wave before returning his attention to the soccer game on the TV behind the bar.

“How long have you been here?” I felt compelled to ask as the woman began her retreat.

“Seven years.” She grabbed her beer and turned to me before her exit. “It’s been a very long vacation.”

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, Racy and I started our day at the resort’s buffet restaurant. The eatery was open most hours and rotated the food selection from breakfast to lunch to dinner. I had my full plate at the table, but Racy was still foraging for her breakfast at the buffet, so I took a moment to send a quick text message: How are things?

It was early, but I knew she was probably awake. She’d always been an early riser, even on the days when she could sleep in.

The three dots that indicated an incoming response appeared and a picture, in addition to a text, appeared on my screen: Still alive.

My ex-girlfriend and current house-sitter, Bethany, had taken a selfie with my fish tank. Her lips were pursed and pushed forward, not in an attempt to appear trendy, but more likely to look like a puckered-up fish.

I considered taking a picture to send back, but Racy returned to the table before I could.

“Nuh uh. No phones on vacation,” she chastised. “You made the rule yourself.”

I guiltily tucked my phone back into my beach bag. “Sorry. I just wanted to check in.”

“I don’t know what’s worse—drunk texting or vacation texts.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re in a gorgeous location, surrounded by all these honeymooning couples,” she said, waving her fork in the air, “and you’re wishing you were here with anyone but your straight best friend. It makes you want to be part of a couple again. Tandem bikes. Two-person sea kayaks. Snuggling in a hammock.” She pointed the tines of her fork at me. “I know how you work.”

“You can’t tell me you wouldn’t rather be on this vacation with a cute boy,” I accused.

I didn’t bother to defend myself because I knew she was right, but I could try to turn the tables on her.

A peculiar smile appeared on her face. “I don’t need a boyfriend. I’ve got a date tonight.”

I paused mid-bite with my fork still hovering in the air. “What? I’m not enough company for you?”

I tried to image when that kind of exchange might have happened. With the exception of her jellyfish sting, we’d been inseparable since arriving. Had she made plans with one of those annoying men from the tiki bar while I’d been in the bathroom? Had she met someone on the snorkeling boat? Was that before or after the jellyfish sting?

“No offense, but there’s things I’d like to do on this trip that you and I aren’t compatible for.”

I flashed her my winningest smile. “I’ve offered before, you know.”

She laughed and nudged me beneath the table. We flirted occasionally, but it was always innocent and harmless.

Despite the rules I’d apparently made about technology on our trip, Racy produced her phone and began tapping at the screen. “There’s an app for people on vacation. You say where and when you’re traveling, and it hooks you up with locals or other people on vacation looking for the same thing.”

“That’s ridiculous. And unsafe,” I felt compelled to add. “You should never post online when you’re out of town. Robbers could see that and case your house.”

“Save the lecture, Mom,” Racy said, not looking up from her phone. “I got a date for you, too. She seems like a really sweet girl.”

I let my utensils drop noisily on my plate. “No!”

“I made myself useful while I was trapped in the room yesterday with a swollen face.”

“It looks so much better, by the way,” I remarked.

Racy touched her hand to her cheek where the jellyfish had stung her. The puffiness was gone and a little foundation had managed to cover the remaining redness. “I still can’t believe you wouldn’t pee on me.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “What kind of friend are you?”

“The kind that doesn’t pee on her friends.”

“What if a rattlesnake bit me?” she posed. “Would you suck out the poison?”

I leaned forward and grinned. “That depends. Where’s the bite?” I wiggled my eyebrows for affect, pulling a laugh from my friend.

“Save that charm for your big date.”

I leaned back in my chair and groaned. “Why do you always drag me along on your schemes?”

“You’d never have any fun if it wasn’t for me,” Racy clucked. “You’d be at home in your pajamas right now with your goldfish, drinking hot chocolate and listening to Christmas albums.”

I sighed wistfully. “That actually doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Listen, we’re meeting both of our dates tonight at that tiki bar. If you don’t like the girl, it doesn’t have to go beyond that.”

“Do you at least have a picture of this person?” I asked.

A smile crept onto Racy’s face. She knew she almost had me convinced. She produced her phone and, after a few taps and swipes, she showed me the screen.

“Pretty,” I grunted.

I grabbed Racy’s phone and she crowed in victory.

“What kind of person signs up for a database like this?” I asked, flipping through the profiles, more out of curiosity than anything else.

“Who are we to judge?”

“Hello? Hello?!” A woman at a nearby table spoke loudly into her cell phone, interrupting our conversation. “I’m in Curaçao. Where are you?”

I turned my attention to the overly loud woman. I didn’t stare directly at her—just in her general vicinity—but even if I had, she appeared too focused on her phone call to have noticed me.

“Hello? I can hear you; can you hear me?”

Racy and I made knowing eye contact while the woman continued to speak too loudly for the space.

“Who is this? Who is this?” she repeated into the phone. “Oh, Andrew!” The woman stood up and, thankfully, started to walk towards the restaurant exit with her phone call. “Hello! I’m in Curaçao on vacation.”

Racy and I turned our heads to watch the woman leave.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Racy said lowly.

“For what?”

She held up her hand in vow. “I promise never to be the obnoxious American again.”

“As long as that woman’s around,” I chuckled, “you never will be.”

+++

“I don’t have anything to wear!” I complained from the hotel bathroom. Racy didn’t immediately respond, so I stuck my head out the bathroom door. “I would have packed totally differently if I’d known you were making me go on a date.”

“Less flannel and more strap-ons?” my friend quipped.

Racy stood in the center of the room in the aisle between our beds. A towel was wrapped tightly around her midsection while her black hair, still wet from the shower, cascaded down her shoulders. Her attention was split between me and a few potential outfits that she’d laid out on her unmade bed.

“It’s not so much about the clothes; it’s about the under clothes, Mercy.”

We hadn’t managed to do much vacationing that day—the prospect of evening plans kept us close to the resort grounds, meaning we’d spent most of the day by the pool and ocean side at the beach.

Racy held up a pair of black, lacy underwear, entirely sheer and see-through. “What do you think?”

“Do those actually serve a functional purpose?” I wondered aloud.

“It’s underwear, Mercy. Not a rain jacket.”

“Why wear anything at all?”

Racy pursed her lips. “I don’t want him to think I’m a total tramp—just a little bit. It’s a fine line, you know.”

“You’re actually considering hooking up with a stranger tonight?” I marveled. I didn’t want to judge—I was progressive; consent culture and all that. I myself, however, had never experienced a one-night stand.

“If he’s as cute as his profile picture, I may need to rub one out before we leave so I don’t hump his leg during dinner.”

“The bathroom’s all yours,” I conceded.

We finished getting ready for our respective dates and started the short walk across the resort. I hadn’t been lying when I’d complained to Racy about having nothing to wear; I really hadn’t packed anything appropriate for a first date, but at the same time I didn’t feel entirely out of sorts in my favorite wrap dress: navy blue with small, white polka dots. Racy had—characteristically—dressed a little more daring in full makeup and a black mini dress. I had no idea how she planned on navigating the soft sandy turf in her red-bottomed heels.

The Thirsty Coconut was far more lively that evening than I’d seen it the two previous afternoons. A live band was positioned near the ocean and most of the tables had been claimed by other couples. Two stools were available at the bar, so Racy and I occupied those seats until our dates arrived.

I hopped up from my barstool nearly as soon as I sat down.

“Getting cold feet?” Racy asked.

“Bathroom,” I excused.

Racy waved me off. “If you don’t come back, I’m contacting the American Consulate.”

The bathroom, a small room with a single sink and a separate bathroom stall, was empty. The overhead lighting was limited, but bright enough that I could check and reapply my lipstick. I didn’t typically wear a lot of makeup beyond a layer of mascara, but I chose for that night a bold red lip close to the color of my hair.

I was definitely having doubts about the evening. I knew next to nothing about this woman I was scheduled to meet. I only had a picture, and what if that wasn’t even what she looked like? What if I’d been catfished and forced to endure small-talk for the entire night? I didn’t even have patience for small-talk with people I knew and liked.

I remained in the bathroom for as long as I safely could without Racy sending a search party after me. The bar was just as crowded as before when I returned. Our dates had yet to arrive, but in my absence, a label-less beer bottle had appeared on the bartop at my place. Racy had the same bottle in front of her.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“I got you a loaded Sol.”

I inspected the longneck bottle. “It looks like a beer.”

“It is,” she confirmed, “but with a little extra something-something.”

I took a sip and resisted immediately spitting it out. The taste of tequila hit the back of my throat and burned all the way down.

“That’s tequila!” I sputtered.

“That’s a loaded Sol,” she corrected. “They fill the neck of the bottle with booze.”

My second sip was less boozy, and by the third sip my throat and midsection were pleasantly numb.

“Your phone was blowing up while you were in the bathroom,” Racy noted. “I was tempted to text Bethany back, but I restrained myself.”

“Thanks for your willpower.”

I checked through the few texts that Bethany had sent, all of which were reassurances that my apartment was still standing and my fish was still alive.

“I don’t know how you can be friends with your exes,” Racy remarked.

“I don’t do it all the time. But Bethany and I decided we were more compatible as friends than girlfriends.”

“Hence the no sex for a year.”

“Yeah,” I noted glumly.

“At least you got someone to watch your goldfish out of the deal. I hope she’s not having wild sex parties at your place.”

I didn’t dignify her statement with a response.

“You’re right,” Racy continued without my prompt. “It’s probably more likely that she’s spending the week building model tall ships than hosting a kegger.”

I changed the subject. “How are our dates going to recognize us?”

“Our profile pictures.”

I tapped my palm against my forehead. “Of course,” I sighed loudly. “You made us profiles.”

“You can’t contact people on this app unless you have a profile,” she informed me. “It lessens the chances of hooking up with a weirdo.”

“Do I even want to know what my profile says or what picture you used?”

Racy smiled. “Probably not.”

A decidedly deep, male voice interrupted our conversation: “Racy—rhymes with lacy?”

Racy and I both spun on our stools in the direction of the voice. A man, about medium build and height, stood behind us, smiling. He looked American, on vacation and not a local. His dark hair was slicked back—salt and pepper in spots. Tan-lines appeared at his temples from sunglasses. He wore a collared shirt, open at the neck, tucked into flat-front khakis.

“Mark?” Racy posed.

“Guilty.” He produced a single flower—a vibrant orange bird-of-paradise. “Your picture doesn’t do you justice,” he complimented.

Racy slid off her barstool and took the pro-offered flower. “You’re sweet.”

I watched Mark’s eyes take the full measure of my friend. His dark eyes raked appreciatively down her body.

“This is my friend, Mercy,” Racy introduced me. “She’s waiting for her date, too.”

“How did people ever meet before the internet?” Mark smiled.

“Do you want us to wait for your date to show up?” Racy asked me. She already had her arm linked with Mark’s, so I could tell she approved of her online date.

“No, no. Go have fun,” I insisted. I was beginning to hope my date would be a no-show, so I could go back to the room, put on my pjs, and order room service. I planned on slinking out of the bar as soon as I was out of Racy’s sight. “I’m sure I won’t be waiting long.”

The new couple left the bar area in search of a proper table, leaving me at the bar. I considered ordering a second drink—one a little less loaded than my first—but the longer I lingered, the more likely this date might actually happen.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder before I could make up my mind about the second drink.

“Excuse me.”

I twisted in my chair.

The woman standing behind me looked a lot like her profile picture, only with tanner skin and lighter-colored hair; I wondered how long she’d been on vacation.

“Sorry,” she apologized, wringing her hands in front of her body. “Are you Mercy?”

“That’s me. Are you Therese?”

She nodded. “Uh huh.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I gestured to the vacant stool beside me. “Have a seat?”

Therese climbed onto the other stool and smoothed down the front of her skirt. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she exclaimed. “I don’t even online date.”

“Me either,” I admitted, privately relieved that neither of us had experience with this sort of this.

I raised a finger to get the attention of the ponytailed bartender. We waited in an uncomfortable silence while he filled our drink orders, a glass of white wine for her and another beer for me.

A quick scan of the bar came up empty; Racy and Mark had moved their date to another location. She hadn’t messaged to let me know where they’d gone, but she was a grown-up, so I had to trust that she could handle herself.

I cleared my throat. “How do you like Curaçao?”

“It’s pretty. And everyone has been very nice.”

“Is this your first time on the island?”

“Mmhm,” she confirmed. She ran her finger along the rim of her wine glass. “I was supposed to be on this vacation with my girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend,” she corrected. “I booked the tickets months ago, thinking everything was fine, but then at dinner a few weeks ago she dropped a bombshell and told me our relationship wasn’t working for her. It totally blindsided me,” she continued. “I thought everything was great. We never fought. I thought the sex was good. Lots of laughs. I couldn’t understand what wasn’t working.”

“Did she tell you why?” I probed.

Therese’s voice pitched. “No!” She shook her head and shut her eyes tight. I had a hunch tears weren’t too far behind. “We didn’t work anymore, apparently, but she couldn’t give me anything more tangible than that.”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmured.

Therese waved her hands in front of her eyes as if to fan away the emotions. She loudly exhaled, causing the edges of her cocktail napkin to flutter beneath her wine glass.

I didn’t quite know what to do, but thankfully Therese seemed to shake it off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ve shed way too many tears over her already.”

“It’s awfully admirable that you decided to go on this vacation without her,” I approved.

Therese’s features crumpled again. “The tickets were nonrefundable.” Her shoulders shook as she tried to choke back the sobs.

I clasped my hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be all right, Therese. You’re not defined by whom you date or don’t date.”

I’d said so to Racy numerous times whenever she gave me a hard time for being single.

Therese wiped at her face, running her index fingers beneath her eyes to capture any migrating mascara. She shook out her hands and sniffled. “God, I’m a mess.”

“No more than the rest of us,” I assured.

She exhaled. “Maybe we could start over?”

A smile carved across my mouth. “Hi, I’m Mercy. It’s nice to meet you.”

Her voice wobbled with emotion. “Hi, Mercy.”

We spent the rest of the evening sticking to safe subjects. Our jobs that stressed us out. Our families that stressed us out even more. Good movies we’d seen lately and our favorite books. Conversation came easy once we’d put her ex-girlfriend in the rearview mirror, but it was clear that there was no spark between us or a chance for a second date. I hadn’t expected the meeting to turn into anything though, so I wasn’t disappointed.

After a few more drinks, Therese and I walked back to the hotel lobby and parted ways with a quick, friendly hug. There was no uncomfortable lingering or expectations to make the evening continue or promises that we’d keep in touch or even see each other again during our time on the island. Our rooms were in different parts of the resort, so we said our goodbyes in the lobby.

I walked back to my room, half amused by the night’s events. I wondered what Racy’s date had been like; I was pretty confident she hadn’t spent her evening talking about exes or consoling her date through tears.

I slowed my step as I came upon our shared room. It looked like something was hanging from the doorknob. I thought at first it was the Do Not Disturb sign, but something was off.

Wait. Was that. A sock?

A white athletic tube sock with a bright red cuff hung from the door handle. Upon further inspection I discovered a folded-up piece of paper on the inside of the sock—like a message in a cotton bottle. Racy’s familiar handwriting was scrawled across hotel stationary:

The date with Mark went better than expected. If you get this before we’re finished, grab a drink at the tiki bar and I’ll meet up with you later. – R

“Unbelievable,” I sighed.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Thirsty Coconut was less populated the second time around. The band had packed up and the live music had been replaced by American surf rock. Most of the tables had cleared out and staff had started to shut down the extra seating area by setting the chairs on top of the tables. The bar was still fairly crowded, but I located an empty stool between two polo-shirted men—thankfully not the same men from my first day on the island. I set my phone on the bar and hoped I looked unapproachable enough that no one would talk to me. My annoyance about Racy radiated from me, punctuated by the fact that I was still in a dress.

It was too late to text anyone on the East Coast, so I scanned through the apps on my phone and avoided eye contact with the other bar patrons while I slowly sipped a watered-down fruity cocktail. The man to my right eventually vacated his stool, giving me more elbowroom. I dropped my purse on the seat, effectively saving the spot for whenever Racy finally returned from her date.

A slender hand, attached to an equally slender wrist shook a well glass in my peripheral vision. The melting ice cubes clanked around the inside of the glass.

“Another one, Kate?” the ponytailed man behind the bar asked.

“That would be great, Jimmy. Thanks.”

I recognized the shock of white-blonde hair as the woman I’d seen poolside the previous day and then later at the tiki bar. She leaned against the bartop while the bartender refilled her drink. I pretended to be interested in the happenings on my social media feed, but I couldn’t help glancing in her direction.

Her hair alone was worth a second look. She wore it closely shaved at the sides and longer up top—it was longer than a pixie cut, but too short to pull back in a ponytail. She was aided by hair product that gave her the appearance of having just rolled out of bed.

The day before she’d been wearing a similarly oversized, garish tropical shirt. The bright green shirt was covered in cream-colored flowers. The shirt was open at the neck, which provided just a hint of chiseled clavicle. The look was more typical for middle-aged men with beer bellies, not model-thin women no older than myself.  She swam inside of the overabundance of material. She’d rolled up the short sleeves, but that only exaggerated the slenderness of her biceps.

Jimmy, the ponytailed bartender, slid a filled glass in her direction. “Don’t overdue it tonight,” he chuckled.

She tipped her fingers to her temple in a mock salute. “I’ll try to keep it under control.”

I continued to stare at her—I hoped unobtrusively—out of the corner of my eye. I watched her bring her drink to her lips. Her glass was filled with a clear liquid, ice, and a wedge of lime. I observed the tidy, short fingernails. The long, tapered fingers that wrapped around the well glass. The delicate bones protruding from her wrist. The long, thin arm that disappeared beneath an orgy of bright green material. The shirt nearly ruined it for me.

“Another drink, senora?” Jimmy interrupted my stakeout.

I put my hand over the top of my glass. “No, thank you,” I declined.

My speech caught the woman beside me’s attention. “Hey!” she chirped, as if noticing me for the first time. “Day Three, right? I didn’t recognize you without your book.”

“I know; people don’t typically read books in a bar,” I stated the obvious so she wouldn’t have to.

“No, no. On the contrary. I think it shows a lot of confidence.” She waved the hand not holding a drink as if conducting an orchestra. “It says, I don’t really care what people think about me. It says, I’m not here to make friends.”

“Kind of like your outfit?”

I couldn’t believe I’d actually said the words aloud. I prided myself on being Midwest Nice in a world full of rude, impatient people.

Rather than looking offended, however, the blonde woman smiled coyly. “Ooh, she’s got claws.”

“I’m sorry,” I immediately apologized. “That was uncalled for. I’m a little on edge because I’m locked out of my room.”

“You can get extra keys at the front desk, you know.”

“I’m not locked out like that,” I clarified. “My friend—the person I’m on vacation with—she, uh, she had a date tonight. There’s currently a sock hanging from our hotel room.”

The woman’s grey-green eyes widened. “Oh, that’s … gross,” she decided. “Sorry. I don’t mean to judge. I’m sure your friend is really awesome.”

“She’s really not,” I sighed glumly. “But that’s okay.”

“Jimmy,” the woman raised her voice, “get my friend another drink, will ya? She’s having a hell of a day.”

He looked first to me for my consent. I nodded despite my earlier refusal.

“I’m Kate, by the way,” she introduced.

“Mercy,” I returned.

“So, Mercy—besides getting locked out of your room—how are you liking our little piece of paradise?”

“The resort is nice,” I confirmed. I paused to smile and thank Jimmy as he placed a fresh strawberry daiquiri in front of me. “I haven’t seen much of the rest of the island though,” I admitted.

“That’s the mistake you tourists make,” Kate clucked. “You go someplace new and exotic, but you stay at one of these all-inclusive resorts and never get to experience the locale’s real flavor.”

“What’s your excuse?” I countered. “Why are you here if you hate these kinds of places?”

“Cheap drinks?” she smiled. She tipped her glass toward me. “And let’s not forget the good company.”

I similarly raised my glass before taking a drink. My daiquiri burned down my throat. Jimmy apparently had given me an extra shot of rum. I tried to choke down my cough, but it came sputtering out.

Kate slapped me on the back, her hand between my shoulder blades. “Jimmy!” she hollered to the bartender. “You trying to kill the clientele?”

Jimmy was preoccupied with other guests and only waved a dismissive hand in our direction.

I wiped at my eyes, which had started to water.

“So, what brings you to the island?” she asked.

“The same as everyone else I suppose,” I managed to wheeze. “Vacation. Relaxation.”

“The week of Christmas though? Isn’t your family going to miss you?”

I couldn’t tell if she was trying to ascertain if I was married with kids, or if she was asking about extended family.

“We don’t have many get-togethers,” I revealed. “They’re all back in the Midwest where I grew up. And I live in Boston.”

“Get out!” she marveled. “I grew up in Boston.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Really? You don’t have the accent.”

“Not everyone is from Southie,” she pointed out. “You’re from the Midwest, but you don’t sound like that Fargo movie.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded.

The tiki bar’s lights flickered above our heads. “Last call, ladies,” Jimmy announced. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

I experienced a moment of panic. “My friend said she was going to meet me here after they finished.”

Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, senora. But I’ve got to close up shop.”

“I’ve got a place,” Kate announced.

I turned my head to appraise her. “Are you bragging about homeownership, or is that an actual offer?” I posed.

She picked up her glass and drained the rest of her drink. “It’s not much, but at least you wouldn’t be sleeping on the beach tonight.”

I swallowed hard. I hadn’t even thought about that. I’d been so annoyed that Racy had locked me out, I hadn’t considered the short-term consequences. Who knew when and if Racy would unlock that deadbolt?

Kate hopped up from her barstool. “Come on. I’m parked out back.”

“You’ve been drinking,” I admonished. “You shouldn’t be driving yourself let alone another person.”

She lifted her empty well drink. “It’s seltzer and lime. I haven’t had a real drink all night.”

“Oh.”

I’d officially run out of excuses.

+ + +

I stood incredulous. “That’s your ride?”

“Yep. Ever ridden on one?”

A bright yellow scooter was parked by itself just outside of the Thirsty Coconut. Under the secondhand lights coming from the nearby bar, it was hard to decipher if the marks on the side of the moped’s chassis were dirt or rust.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. You don’t strike me as the kind of babe to hang off the back of a motorcycle.”

I felt myself being insulted all over again. My stubbornness—my near obsession to always be right and to prove my doubters wrong—flared up.

“That’s hardly a motorcycle,” I resisted.

I stood, offended and stiff, while Kate mounted the low-riding scooter, swinging one leg over the center console, and taking a seat.

“She may not be much to look at, but she gets the job done,” Kate quipped.

She retrieved the half-melon helmet that had been hanging from one of the bike’s handles. “Heads up,” she called.

The helmet lobbed my way in a slow, looping arc. Luckily I hadn’t had more to drink to impair my already questionable hand-eye coordination. I didn’t quite catch the helmet, but more like trapped it between my hands.

“You only have the one?” I asked.

“I only have one head,” she pointed out.

The helmet fit snugly on top of my head, but the straps that were supposed to fasten beneath my chin were too short. I tried to adjust the buckles and the length of the nylon strands, but struggled to get them to move.

“Let me help,” she offered as she hopped up from the scooter. “Your head’s bigger than mine.”

She hadn’t meant anything by it, but her comment caused me to bristle even more.

She stood within my personal bubble and loosened the chinstrap so it could actually fasten. A quiet hum vibrated in her throat as she manipulated the helmet’s parts.

The wind had picked up off the ocean, blowing the scent of salty sea air across the beach. Even with the competition from nature, I could smell the sunscreen and slight tang of perspiration coming from her. The combination of scents reminded me of how she’d looked poolside the first time I’d seen her. The garish, boxy Hawaiian shirt she wore made it easy to forget the shape of the body hidden beneath it, but the scent of sunscreen forced more pleasant images to resurface in my mind.

God, what was I doing? Better yet, what was she doing? I was a total stranger—why would she invite me to stay at her house? This was more than island hospitality; this was insane.

While my brain managed mental gymnastics, Kate succeeded in fastening the chinstrap under my chin.

“All set,” she remarked with a light tap to the top of my head.

My cranium was secure, but still I hesitated. “Where do I go?”

She patted the narrow space on the seat cushion directly behind her. It reminded me of the elongated banana seat of the bicycle I’d had in middle school.

“There’s handles under your seat to hold on to,” she informed me.

I dug in my heels. “How far away do you live?”

“Not far.”

The lone headlamp on Kate’s scooter cut through the dark and illuminated a rough gravel road. Tiny houses with chain link fences dotted the sides of the road. The helmet she’d let me borrow had no facemask; the wind whipped me in the face whenever I tried to peer over her shoulder to see the road. It forced me to bury my face into her shoulder to shield myself. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant; her ugly shirt smelled like fabric softener.

Kate accelerated unexpectedly, and my arms instinctively went around her waist. An embarrassing squeak rushed out of my lungs. I hoped the sound of her scooter’s whining engine would drown out the sound, but I felt her body vibrate with a chuckle at my expense. My pride nearly had me dropping my arms to my sides, but she gunned the struggling engine again and the scooter shot forward. My arms tightened around her torso instead of letting go. I knew she was doing it on purpose, but there was little I could do to protest while we sped down the empty road and I continued to cling to her back.

I only looked up when I felt the vehicle slow. Kate planted both feet on the ground and turned off the engine. When she cut the engine the headlight turned off, plunging us into total darkness. There were no street lamps that might give me an indication of where we were or where she’d taken me.

The darkness of the night seemed to bring me to my senses. My mind began to race. I knew nothing about this woman. Racy would have no idea where I was. The ponytailed bartender at the Thirsty Coconut would have been the last person to see me alive.

“Where are we?” I asked. My voice sounded small as it got stuck in my throat.

“My place.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“I’ve got you.”

A cloudy night sky obscured the moon and stars that might have otherwise helped to light up the surrounding area. Kate began to walk, and I followed blindly on unsure footing. The ground beneath my flip-flops was packed hard from wear, but I could still feel individual rocks poking through my rubber soles.

“Just a little farther,” she urged.

The front of my flip-flops caught on an exposed tree root, and I stumbled forward. My arms began to flail as I helplessly reached for something to catch my fall. In the inky dark, I wasn’t able to find anything, but someone found me instead.

One hand fell to my hip and another wrapped around my waist. Kate’s warm breath ruffled my hair. “I’ve got you.”

I had no idea when Kate had fallen behind me. I’d thought she’d been in front of me the entire time.

Her arm fell away from my waist and somehow, in the dark, found my hand. Her sturdy fingers interlaced with mine, causing me to inhale sharply. I hoped she hadn’t heard the change in my breath.

“Home sweet home,” she muttered.

We’d reached the front stoop of a small house. There were no lights turned on inside and no outdoor porch light to greet us.

Kate dropped my hand to find the door handle in the darkness and pushed the door open.

“You don’t lock your front door?” I observed.

“Locks only keep the honest people honest,” she threw over her shoulder before crossing the threshold.

She turned on the overhead lights and I stepped inside behind her. The light bulbs gave off a dull, yellow glow. I took the self-guided tour, but admittedly there wasn’t much to look at. The tiny house was little more than a one-room studio. The flooring was some kind of clay red travertine, practical for a sandy, tropical location. None of the furniture matched. A card table surrounded by four diner-style chairs—metal frames and plastic seat covers—served as dining room and eat-in kitchen.

The kitchen itself was quarantined to one corner of the single room: a tiny electric range with three coiled burners, a single sink cluttered with dirty dishes, and a small butcher-block counter. The refrigerator-freezer combo was short and squat. An ancient-looking toaster oven sat on top of the refrigerator. Besides the table and chairs, the only other furniture was a red upholstered loveseat that separated the living space from the bedroom area.

I felt obligated to say something kind about her home since she’d generously offered me a place to stay. “This is nice.”

Kate snorted at my comment while she kicked off her flip-flops and added them to a chaotic pile of footwear near the door. Its disorganization made me wonder how she ever managed to find two shoes that matched.

I continued to inspect my surroundings while she attempted to haphazardly clean the room.

Small containers of multi-colored liquids and paintbrushes of various sizes and thicknesses dominated the dining table. I picked up one of the small jars and inspected its yellow contents.

“You paint?” I queried.

“It’s what I went to college for,” she explained, “but I’m a total hack.”

The thought that this woman who seemed to spend all her free time at a tiki bar on a tropical island had gone to college had never crossed my mind. I hoped my surprise wasn’t writ across my face.

I noticed, for the first time, several painted canvases hanging on the walls of her one-room house. They were of various sunsets, but from different vantage points—a city skyline, a tropical shoreline, a prairie that could have been anywhere in the Midwest, a cabin by a lake.

I gestured to the paintings. “Did you do those?”

She ruffled her fingers through her silver-white hair. “Yeah.”

Something flickered across her features. Doubt? Regret? Maybe she was second-guessing her invitation. I hadn’t intended to be nosy or pry into her life; it had only been an attempt at small-talk that somehow now felt intrusive.

“They’re good,” I remarked.

Her lips twisted as she regarded me. “What do you do for a living?”

“I teach first grade.”

“Uh huh,” she laughed. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” I demanded to know.

“Why you’re so loose with the compliments. My house is a dump, and my painting isn’t any good.”

“Okay, your house is on the rustic side,” I admitted, “but your paintings are actually really good.”

“Know any art dealers?” she laughed to herself.

It didn’t feel like an actual question, so I didn’t bother with a response.

“You can take that off now,” she said.

My eyes momentarily widened in confusion. Take what off?

Her odd smile remained. “Unless your head has fused to my helmet, which in that case I guess you get to keep it.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. I immediately unfastened the strap under my chin and returned the half melon helmet to her.

Kate held the helmet under her arm like it was a football. “Are you, uh, hungry or something?”

“No,” I was quick to dismiss. “I’m kind of just looking forward to going to sleep.”

Upon mentioning sleep, I scanned the house for evidence of a bed. I spied a mattress atop wooden pallets on the floor. There was no duvet cover, only a thin blanket and rumpled cotton sheets.

She must have seen the direction of my stare. “The sheets are clean,” she assured me. “I just didn’t bother making the bed this morning; I didn’t expect to be bringing anyone home. I’m not normally this messy,” she apologized. “It’s the busy season though, so I’m kind of all over the place.”

“Busy season?” I echoed.

“Christmas presents.” She grabbed a large, yellow-green orb from the kitchen countertop and spun the globe in the palm of her hand. “I paint coconuts. Landscapes, sunsets, personalized names for family vacations. I can even make them look like fish.”

“And you sell them? To tourists?” I guessed.

“Yep.”

“And that’s …” I hesitated. “Lucrative?”

Kate set the coconut back on the counter. It rolled around for a moment before coming to a complete stop. “I don’t have many expenses. It pays for my tab at the bar.”

A yawn slipped out of my mouth. I tried to cover it with my hand, but Kate noticed.

“Shit. I’ve been yammering away, and you’re about ready to drop.”

I tried to wave her apology away. “It’s okay; I’m fine.”

In truth, I was beyond exhausted—apparently exhausted enough to have taken up a stranger’s offer to spend the night.

“I’ll see if I can scrounge you up some pajamas,” Kate said. “I usually sleep in my underwear, but I don’t want to scare you off.” She flashed me a toothy grin.

I watched with restrained horror as she rummaged through a painted wood bureau that overflowed with unfolded laundry. She pressed a t-shirt to her nose for inspection and, apparently satisfied with its relative cleanliness, tossed it in my direction. The t-shirt was thin and worn, but had no visible stains. It wasn’t like I had the luxury to be picky though. My only others options were to sleep in my underwear or in my sundress.

“Thanks,” I said, suddenly remembering my manners.

She produced a pair of cotton boxers for me—navy blue with a skeleton print—which also traveled in my direction via airmail.

“Toilet’s behind that door,” she instructed me.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief for the option of privacy; I didn’t even like changing clothes in front of Racy, and I actually knew her. My ease was short-lived, however. When Kate had said toilet, she literally meant toilet. A porcelain commode, not unlike one might find in a rural truck stop bathroom, was the only thing in the makeshift bathroom. When I shut the bathroom door for privacy, the water closet went dark. A narrow panel of light shone around the edges of the ill-fitting wooden door; gaps on all sides provided just enough light to help guide me, not that I really needed my eyes to put on a t-shirt and shorts.

I exited the bathroom just as Kate finished putting on her own pajamas. A neon green sports bra appeared beneath a light grey tank top and similarly colored shorts. With her white blonde hair, she appeared nearly monochromatic if not for the bra.

“Still think it’s rustic?” she teased her living situation and me.

“You don’t have a shower?” I questioned.

“It’s outdoors,” she explained. “That’s pretty typical for around here. And I brush my teeth in the kitchen sink.”

I didn’t want her to think I was judging her, even though I privately was. She was being unnecessarily generous to share her space with me.

“It’s very efficient,” I praised. “You’re ahead of the curve. People in the States consider tiny living to be all the rage.”

“Tiny what?” she laughed.

“You know—selling all your things so you can live in a 400 square foot house that attaches to your car.”

Her features wrinkled. “Like an RV?”

“Kind of. But it’s your actual house.”

She shook her head. “And everyone back home thinks I’m the crazy one.”

Kate flopped down on the two-cushioned loveseat and pounded at the decorative pillow to fluff it up. Her legs hung over the edge of the furniture.

“Oh, l can take the couch,” I offered.

“Nuh uh. I told you I had room. It would be rude to make you rough it on the couch.”

“But it’s your house.”

“Exactly. You’re my guest. So turn off the lights and don’t fight me on this.”

I didn’t anticipate the mattress on the floor being any more comfortable than the narrow loveseat, but I kept those thoughts to myself.

I turned off the overhead lights and managed to shuffle through the darkness without knocking into anything. The mattress was firm, without any noticeable lumps or sinkholes. Despite the heat of the evening, the bedding was surprisingly cool to the touch.

“Thank you again,” I said as I settled in.

“Don’t mention it,” Kate dismissed. “By the way, do you snore?”

“I don’t think so.”

I hadn’t had anyone spend the night in several months, but I’d been sharing a hotel room with Racy. She hadn’t mentioned anything about me snoring, which seemed like the kind of thing my friend wouldn’t let pass without mention.

“Good. It might attract bears.”

“Bears?” I worried.

The room was dark, but I could hear her unsuccessfully trying to stifle a giggle.

“You’re lying.”

“You didn’t really believe there were bears on the island.”

“No—but you said it so matter-of-factly!” I complained.

“I was kidding. You don’t have to worry about bears—just the snakes. They shouldn’t be able to get in here though,” she assured me. “The gaps under my doors aren’t too wide.”

I pulled the bed sheet up under my chin. “That’s very reassuring,” I deadpanned.

“Sweet dreams, roomie,” she sing-songed.

CHAPTER SIX

The scent of sea salt and sand perfumed the air. Sunshine warmed my face and a light breeze ruffled the wisps of hair around my face. I was so comfortable, I forgot where I was. I opened my eyes, expecting to see the interior of the hotel room I shared with Racy, but I didn’t see my friend or any of the resort’s furnishings.

I hefted myself up on my elbows and peered around the one-room house. My hostess was missing. The couch upon which Kate had slept was empty, and I didn’t see her elsewhere in the small house.

I’d slept surprisingly well despite sleeping in a stranger’s house on a mattress on the floor. My exhaustion from the stressful evening, combined with the rhythmic sound of waves against the shoreline, had lulled me into a deep and restful sleep. It had been too dark the previous night to notice how close to the ocean Kate’s house was located. The windows that faced the water were open, and a slightly cooler breeze carried the scent of salt and sunshine into the tiny, one-room house.

I turned my head at the sound of a door opening. The back door quietly creaked, and my missing hostess silently slipped inside. She had a towel in one hand and flip-flops in the other. Her silver-blonde hair was wet and slicked back from her face. She’d changed into a baggy t-shirt, much like the one I wore, and blue board shorts. Like the collared, flowered shirts I’d seen her wear, her current outfit was far too large for her wiry frame. Her thin arms and legs stuck out of the oversized clothes like the stick figures my students drew.

Kate didn’t look in my direction as she re-entered the house. She tiptoed around the room, apparently worried she might wake me up, but not noticing I already was. She hung her damp towel over the back of a chair at the kitchen table. She made another silent, careful move towards the kitchen sink, but I heard and saw the table shift when she unintentionally came in contact with one of its legs.

She hissed in pain before clapping her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

“Are you okay?” I asked from my position in bed.

Her hand fell away from her mouth when she finally looked in my direction. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologized. “I was trying to be quiet, but I think I broke my goddamn toe.”

“Let me see,” I encouraged.

I was no medical expert, but I’d seen my share of bumps and bruises from reckless behavior on the school playground.

Kate hobbled across the length of the room, gingerly putting pressure on her injured foot. She flopped down on the end of the mattress and maneuvered her leg closer to me. I threw back the thin sheet under which I’d slept and shifted onto my knees to get a better look at her foot.

Her legs were thin and lightly bronzed. Droplets of water still clung to her ankles. I couldn’t tell if she’d gone for a swim in the ocean or had taken a shower outside. The top of her foot was colored with distinctive tan lines from the thong on her flip-flops. I hadn’t noticed tan lines elsewhere on her body, particularly her shoulders, which made me inappropriately curious about her tanning habits.

She sucked in a sharp breath when my fingers first brushed against the top of her foot.

I reflexively jerked back my hand. “Is it really that bad?” I worried.

“No, I’m being a baby,” she grit out.

“Which toe is it?” I asked.

“All of them.”

I tried again, gently laying my hands on her injured foot. This time she remained silent while I tested her joints and the movement of her toes.

“You’ll survive,” I decided after a moment. “There doesn’t seem to be anything broken, but an ice pack or even a bag of frozen veggies will help keep the swelling down. Do you have any of those?”

She nodded towards the kitchen. “In the freezer.”

I hopped up from the bed, happy for the task. A thick layer of ice crystals coated the inside of her freezer, choking out most of the space where food would have been. The freezer was relatively empty beyond a few oven pizzas, but I was able to retrieve a bag of peas that had frozen into a giant block.

I noisily smashed the peas in her sink to break them up in the bag. “Thank you for loaning me the use of your bed,” I said.

Kate watched me from her bed, experimentally flexing her foot. “It’s no problem. Happy I could help.”

I returned to the bed and laid the bag of peas across the top of Kate’s foot. I adjusted and rearranged the bag of peas until I was satisfied with its location.

Like an obedient patient, Kate waited and watched me work. “What are you plans for the day?” she asked.

“Chew out my friend for locking me out of our room. Make her grovel for my forgiveness.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Kate. “Remind me not to make you mad.”

I sighed into the room. “I should probably get back to the resort. My friend will be wondering what happened to me.”

In truth, I didn’t know if Racy remembered I was on this vacation with her. Her behavior from the previous night suggested otherwise.

“Do you want me to give you a lift?” Kate offered. She made a movement as if to stand from the bed.

“No, no,” I insisted, waving my hands. “You’ve done more than enough already, plus you should take it easy on that foot.”

I wasn’t looking forward to walking back to the resort by myself, but I didn’t want to continue to rely on the kindness of strangers. I also wasn’t too keen to get back on Kate’s moped.

They were still serving breakfast by the time I made it back to the resort. The walk from Kate’s house had been long, hot, and dusty, and I was still in the polka-dot dress I’d worn on my disaster of a date. I was fairly confident Kate would have let me borrow the clothes I’d slept in, but my debt sheet was getting too long.

I considered dropping by my room for a change of clothes and to freshen up, but I couldn’t be sure of what I’d find there. Racy might have still been entertaining her date, and I was too hungry to deal with all of that on an empty stomach.

I piled my plate high with silver dollar pancakes, sausage links, and fresh fruit. A cup of coffee and tall glass of orange juice framed my plate. No sooner had I settled down at a table for two, when I found the vacant seat across from me suddenly filled.

“Thank heavens,” Racy exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You had me worried sick.”

I ignored my friend for the moment and continued to carefully chew my food. I washed down my large bite with a gulp of fresh orange juice. I wiped my mouth with my napkin and carefully considered my next words: “Are you still on your date?”

“No.” Racy leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “But it lasted until this morning, if you know what I mean.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Gross.”

I pushed away my plate; I no longer had much of an appetite.

“Where is your Romeo now?” I wondered.

“His name is Mark,” she needlessly reminded me, “and he had to get to work. He sells timeshares in Willemstad.”

“That must have been quite the hard sell to convince you to lock me out of the room,” I remarked.

“Oh, you’re a clever one when you’re pissed off,” Racy chuckled. “Where did you spend the night?” She seemed to have just realized the missing detail.

“That’s not important; just don’t do it again.”

+ + +

I was feeling more forgiving and more like myself after a long shower and a change of clothes. We decided to spend our fourth day on the island exploring the hotel’s property beyond the bars, restaurants, and pools. As an all-inclusive resort, water sports like sea kayaks and stand-up-paddleboards were included, along with beach volleyball, shuffleboard, ping-pong and a giant chessboard. We passed on the more physical activities to go shopping in some of the boutique stores located near the open-air lobby. In addition to the brick-and-mortar shops, the resort also hosted local artisans in a marketplace like one would find near the cruise ship ports in Willemstad.

A large, open courtyard at the center of the resort grounds was populated with vendors from the surrounding area. Most of the pop-up shops sold trinkets that were probably mass-produced in Asia, but some of the carts contained handmade items. I watched an elderly man make wide-brimmed hats out of palm fronds. His tan, gnarled fingers worked with amazing dexterity despite his visible age. A woman wove embroidery thread into decorative table runners. Still another vendor sold hand-painted miniature ceramic buildings that resembled the brightly colored structures in downtown Willemstad.

Racy and I walked along the marketplace at a leisurely pace with no other plans or places to be. We stopped and chatted with some of the vendors whose wares appealed to us, but we were only window shopping and not serious buyers. I allowed myself to zone out and simply enjoy the sunshine and the people, until I heard a voice calling across the marketplace.

“Hey, roomie! Over here!”

I couldn’t help looking in the direction of the loud voice. I spied Kate, the woman with whom I’d spent the night, waving wildly from across the market. Her silver blonde hair stuck up in the back like she hadn’t done anything with it after her morning shower. Her boxy Hawaiian shirt was so oversized it nearly fell past her faded red board shorts.

Instead of acknowledging her presence, I ducked behind the cart of a man selling counterfeit designer sunglasses.

“Long time no see!” Kate continued to call to me, drawing the attention of other vendors and tourists.

I grabbed a pair of neon orange sunglasses from the display and slipped them on.

The man who owned the cart misinterpreted my actions as interest in a purchase. “Do you like those?” he asked. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“No, thank you,” I waved him off. “I’m just looking.”

I kept the neon sunglasses on while I continued to hunch behind the glasses display.

Kate, however, would not be deterred. “Hey, over here!”

Racy appeared at my side. “Mercy, I think that woman is talking to you.”

I continued to feign interest in the collection of sunglasses and avoided looking in Kate’s direction. “She’s just trying to sell us something,” I said. “Don’t make eye contact.”

I didn’t take my own advice and glanced in Kate’s direction. She caught me looking and waved her arms above her head like hailing a cab. “Hey, Mercy. Yo, Mercy.”

Racy looked unconvinced. “How does she know your name?”

“I-I don’t know,” I lied.

My feet were frozen in place when Kate finally jogged over to us. “Hey,” she greeted me. She ran her hand through her wildly stubborn hair. “I was trying to get your attention. Didn’t you hear me?”

My disguise a failure, I removed my sunglasses and returned them to their proper place on the vendor’s cart. “Oh. Hi.”

“Look.” She hopped up and down on one leg. “All healed. Guess you were right about me not breaking anything.”

“Mercy, what’s going on?” Racy interjected herself into the conversation.

Kate spun on her heel to face Racy. “Hi. Kate Emerson.” She stuck out her hand in Racy’s direction. “You must be the bad friend.”

I hadn’t known Kate’s last name or that she’d even had a last name at all. She seemed more like the island’s mascot who was only known by her first name, like Madonna or Cher.

Racy didn’t shake Kate’s hand. Instead, she looked bewildered. “Bad friend?”

Kate looked between the two of us. “Do I have it wrong? Aren’t you the one who ditched your girl on a tropical island and left her to fend for herself?”

Racy’s head tilted to the side and she stared at me expectedly. “Who is this person, Mercy?”

“Kate Emerson,” Kate repeated. She didn’t need me to speak for her.

I scratched the back of my neck. “Kate, she, uh, she let me stay at her place last night,” I explained.

Racy whirled her attention from Kate and then back to me. “You slept at a complete stranger’s house?”

I took offense to her censuring tone. She’d had sex with a complete stranger. All I’d done was sleep. It was survival.

I crossed my arms across my chest. “You didn’t give me much of an alternative. Would you have preferred I slept on a hammock on the beach?”

Racy held up her hands, recognizing she had no moral ground on which to stand. She didn’t continue to press the topic, but she gave me a look that let me know there would be more questions later.

“Doing a little shopping? Can I interest you ladies in some of my wares?” Kate flashed a perfectly charming smile that, for the moment at least, had Racy forgetting about me.

“What are you selling?” Racy asked.

“Coconuts. I paint them. Come. I’ll show you.”

She ushered us to a nearby cart that presumably belonged to her. Arranged on the miniature shelves were a variety of painted coconuts, decorated with different tropical scenes—a beachfront view with intertwining palm trees, a sherbet-colored sunset, a surfboard sticking out of the sand. Some of the coconuts had been painted to resemble football helmets representing different college and NFL teams. In addition to the helmets and painted landscape scenes, some of the coconuts had been fashioned into vibrant colored fish, complete with exterior fins, tails, and expressive faces.

Racy leaned toward one of the coconut fish. “These are actually pretty cute,” she observed. “How do you do the fins?”

“They’re palm fronds,” Kate said. “I can personalize them to commemorate your vacation, too.”

“We’re good,” I interjected.

“Don’t be such a party pooper, Mercy,” Racy chastised.

A smile appeared on Kate’s annoyingly luscious mouth. “Yeah, Mercy,” she echoed.

Racy rummaged around in her beach bag. “Do you take plastic?”

“Sorry. Cash only.” Kate rubbed her middle and forefinger against her thumb. “American dollars are primo around these parts.”

Racy stopped digging in her bag. “I don’t have anything on me right now. Can I pay you later when the work is done?”

“I don’t normally do it that way, but I guess I can make an exception.” She caught my eye and grinned. “I know where to find you.”

Rather than linger in her grey-green stare, I tore my eyes away and focused instead on one of the brightly painted coconuts.

“Racy, do you really need a coconut?” I tapped my foot with growing impatience. “Can you even bring it back into the country? They’ll just confiscate it at Customs.”

“You won’t find a bigger rule-follower than Mercy.” Racy tugged her thumb in my direction. “You really hung out with this wet blanket last night? Voluntarily?”

Kate smiled and nodded. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“You can’t bring fruit into foreign countries,” I continued my stubborn complaint. “Everybody knows that.”

“Coconuts are actually a fruit, a nut, and a seed,” Kate stated. “It all depends on what part you’re talking about.” She picked up an unpainted coconut and spun it in the palm of her hand. “In its natural state, a coconut has three layers. This outer layer is called the exocarp. Beyond that is the husk, or mesocarp. And the brown thing you typically see at a grocery store is the endocarp.”

“Wow,” Racy marveled. “Someone actually out-nerded you, Mercy.”

Kate grinned and tipped an imaginary hat.

I managed to drag my friend away from Kate and her coconut cart with only a minimal amount of embarrassment. Racy continued to poke and prod me for more details about my night as we walked to a different part of the resort.

“Are you going to explain yourself?” she demanded.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“How did that even happen?” she pressed. “What were you thinking?”

“That I needed a place to sleep. I waited for you at the bar, but then the bar closed. Kate offered to let me stay at her place, so I took her up on the offer. It was either that, or make shelter from palm fronds.”

“It wasn’t that dire,” Racy dismissed.

“Oh, really? What would you have done if the situation had been reversed?” I challenged.

“First, I never would have let that happen; I would have kicked that hotel door in. Second, she’s totally gay, right?”

“Unless that’s an unfortunate haircut,” I shrugged. “But nothing happened. She gave me her bed, and she slept on the couch.”

“How chivalrous,” Racy murmured. She twisted her head to look behind us, where we’d left Kate and the mercantile area behind. “There was something there though. She was definitely flirting.”

“She must really have wanted to sell those coconuts,” I hastily dismissed.

“More like she wants to get a peek at your coconuts.”

I swatted Racy’s shoulder, but laughed despite my embarrassment. “You’re ridiculous.”

She started to hum and then sing: “Mercy’s got a lovely bunch of coconuts …”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next morning, Racy was on the in-room phone when I exited the bathroom. I had been in the shower and hadn’t heard the phone ring.

“That sounds amazing. I can’t wait,” she gushed to whomever she was talking. “Yes, looking forward to it, too.”

She hung up the phone and let out a girlish squeal.

I leaned to one side and towel-dried my hair. “Looking forward to what?” I asked.

“That was Mark. He invited me to go ATV-ing at one of the state parks.”

“Mark from that dating app?” I asked.

“Uh huh,” she confirmed.

“I thought you were on this vacation with me?” I couldn’t help my pout.

“I know. But it sounds like a lot of fun. And when am I going to get this opportunity again?” she tried to reason. “Besides, we both know it’s not really your thing. You’ll have much more fun with your book under a beach umbrella. I’ll be back early, I’ll grab a shower, and then you and I will have the rest of the evening together for dinner and drinks. It’s actually the best scenario,” she beamed. “I found an activity buddy, and you get to read your book by the pool.”

I couldn’t reasonably be upset with Racy. I’d been dragging my feet about every adventure or excursion she had planned for us. I shouldn’t have been offended that she’d assumed I wanted to be left alone with my book.

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered.

We parted ways after grabbing breakfast at the buffet restaurant. I grabbed a beach towel, sunscreen, and my book from the room, and parked myself under an umbrella by the pool. I hadn’t yet gotten to dig into the meat of my novel on this trip because of constant interruptions, but now all of the external distractions had been eliminated.

The problem remained, however, that I couldn’t shut out the internal distractions. I continued to read the same paragraph over and over. My brain refused to ignore that Racy had ditched me again—even if I only had myself to blame. I snapped my book shut with a disgruntled noise. I needed something to drink.

A pleasant sea breeze fluttered through the Thirsty Coconut. Jimmy, the ponytailed bartender, flipped a coaster on the bartop in front of me as I sat down.

“What can I get you today, senora?” he asked.

“What’s your favorite drink to make?”

“Beer,” he said with a laugh.

His candor made me smile. “Would it annoy you too much if I ordered a piña colada instead?”

“Of course not. You should get everything you want when you’re on vacation.”

Jimmy left to make my drink. The noisy blender momentarily drowned out the American surf rock while I marinated on his words. Everything I wanted. What exactly did I want out of this vacation? I was halfway through my trip and so far I’d had to endure small-talk with obnoxious men, I’d gotten sunburned, been on a failed date, and had slept in a stranger’s house. It wasn’t quite what I’d been picturing when Racy had first suggested the trip.

The blender cut off, jarring me back to reality. Jimmy poured the milky-white blended drink into a tall glass and placed it in front of me. “No straws,” he seemed to apologize. “Think about the sea turtles.”

Although there were other patrons waiting to place their drink orders, Jimmy seemed to be waiting on my review. My first sip brought a contented smile to my lips.

“How’s that treating you?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I approved. “Thank you.”

Without a straw to stir the contents of my drink, the slushy material collected at the bottom of my glass. When I tipped the glass back to collect the second half of my beverage, a coconut avalanche rushed toward my face. The sloppy, wet slurry piled up on my upper lip before I could react.

“Careful. I’ve seen people drown that way.”

The voice came from a familiar source. Kate claimed the stool next to me. Her platinum blonde hair stood on end, but gently folded over like a rooster’s red comb. Her oversized, orange Hawaiian shirt was patterned with erupting volcanoes.

I hastily wiped at my damp upper lip. Embarrassment about my clumsy drinking was the only thing keeping back an unkind reply.

“Smile, Mercy. You’re on vacation.”

“Some vacation,” I huffed. “Racy abandoned me again so she and her new island boyfriend could go ATV-ing.”

“You’re right; your life sucks,” Kate retorted sharply. “You’re drinking a piña colada on one of the most beautiful islands on the planet. You have the privilege to be on vacation while the majority of the population doesn’t even get weekends off.”

Kate’s words appropriately shamed me. I searched for a way to apologize.

“What are you drinking? Can I buy you a drink?”

I had no idea how that would work. Was I allowed to give my free alcohol to people who weren’t staying at the resort? I didn’t even have any cash on me.

“No, thanks,” she denied.

“Can I ask why not?” I worked to keep my voice uninterested. Aloof. Bored, even.

“Because I’m driving.” She stood up from her stool. “Do you want me to get you a To-Go cup for your drink?”

“Why? Where am I going?”

“With me. I’m going to show you the real Curacao.”

“No you’re not,” I resisted.

Kate put her hands on her hips. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Then act like it.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kate sighed. “It means you should lighten up a little, Mercy. Let your hair down.”

“I’m a teacher,” I said stiffly. “I have responsibilities.”

She twisted her head as if on a swivel. “I don’t see your students anywhere.”

“I don’t …” I hesitated. “I don’t know how.”

Kate offered me her hand and helped me to my feet. “Then let me show you.”

“You really don’t own a car?” I lamented.

We stood in front of her banana yellow motorbike, which she’d parked just outside of the Thirsty Coconut.

“The island is like five miles wide and forty miles from tip to tip. Why would I need a car?”

“What about when it rains?”

“Then I get wet,” she said, sliding onto the seat of her scooter.

Kate started the lawnmower engine and lifted her eyebrows at me. The only thing she was waiting on was me.

For the second time I eyeballed my potential transportation. I’d felt braver at night—a combination of alcohol and desperation—but now under the full glow of afternoon sunshine, I could hardly believe I’d accepted a ride on the bright yellow scooter.

With lingering reservations, I grabbed the helmet off the back of her banana seat and climbed on behind her.

She revved the engine. “Hold on to something,” she said in brief warning before the scooter jolted forward. I had just enough time to throw my arms around her midsection to avoid falling off the back of the bike.

“I think you do that on purpose,” I complained into her ear.

She didn’t verbally respond, but I could feel the laughter vibrate down her torso.

Unlike the previous night, I could now see where we were going, but also unlike the last time, Kate seemed less concerned about our safety or at least it came across that way as we zigzagged between pedestrians and slower moving vehicles on the hard-packed dirt roads beyond the gated confines of my resort.

I yelled over the sound of the bike’s whiney engine. “Where are we going?”

“Trust me!” she hollered back.

I couldn’t pretend to be enjoying myself. I could feel every bump and pothole against my tailbone. I stuck my tongue between my upper and lower rows of teeth to keep my molars from grinding together with each jarring jolt. Normally, I liked to see my death coming, but the surrounding environment rushed by in a blur, leaving me queasy if I stared at any one thing for too long. Instead of enjoying the view, my motion sickness had me shutting my eyes and holding onto Kate even tighter.

I hazarded a quick peek just in time to see us nearly hit another motorist. The small pickup truck swerved out of the way to avoid colliding with us. Kate didn’t slow down. Her scooter’s horn was high-pitched and ineffective, yet it did the job of masking the audible gasp I’d let loose.

I could have been sitting on the beach with my book. Someone could have been bringing me drinks all day. Instead, I was clinging onto a stranger like a backpack, desperately trying not to fall off the back of her scooter. If I died on the back of this bike in a strange country, I was never going to forgive Racy. My ghost would haunt her until the day she died, and then I would continue to annoy her even after then in the Afterlife.

Just as I’d begun to mentally prepare my Last Will and Testament, I felt the scooter begin to slow and come to an eventual stop.

Kate cut the engine, and I pried my eyes open. Every part of my body had tensed on the short ride.

“Not so bad, right?” she asked if waiting for me to compliment her driving.

I slowly exhaled the anxious breath I’d been holding and let my body unclench all over. “Not so good either.”

Kate dropped the kickstand and hopped off the bike. “I can teach you to drive,” she offered. “You’d probably like it better if you were in control.”

“That’s okay,” I rejected.

“I’m a good teacher,” she smiled.

“Ask me again when my legs don’t feel like Jell-o,” I quipped.

I managed to remove the helmet on my own while I took in my new surroundings. The road upon which we’d been traveling hugged the island’s shoreline. The landscape was a surprising contrast between the scrub grasses and tall, skinny cacti that crowded the edge of the road and the turquoise water in the distance. Aqua-blue ocean crashed a few hundred feet below. It was beautiful, but the lack of guardrail terrified me.

Along the opposite shoulder, where we’d parked, was a standalone restaurant. It was the only structure as far as the eye could see. Restaurant might not have been the right word to describe the business. There was no indoor seating; there wasn’t even an indoor kitchen. A smattering of wooden picnic tables were positioned a few yards away from the road. Yellowing weeds sprouted up through the hard packed dirt. To one side of the picnic tables, an older woman with clay-colored skin cooked hunks of meat on a large charcoal grill. A stew-like mixture bubbled inside of a large silver pot.

I walked closer to the woman and the large grill, but my timidity kept Kate’s body between us.

“What is she cooking?” I lifted myself to my tiptoes and peered over Kate’s shoulder.

“If I had to guess, I’d say iguana.”

“No!” I gasped, horrified at the thought.

“It tastes like chicken,” Kate insisted, not understanding the source of my displeasure.

“I don’t care if it tastes like strawberry shortcake, I’m not eating an iguana.”

She held up her hands and laughed. “Okay. No iguanas. Come on. Let’s get a table.”

We didn’t have to fight the crowds, and no reservations were needed for this meal. With the exception of two men playing cards, all of the picnic tables were vacant.

Kate claimed one of the tables, and I took a seat on the bench across from her. Plastic menus stuck out of the little metal bucket on the table that also contained napkins and eating utensils.

I didn’t have the opportunity to explore the menu before the woman who’d been tending to the grill came to our table. Her white apron matched the color of her hair which she wore in a thick bun at the nape of her neck. She smiled and looked between our faces. “Kon ta bai?”

The unfamiliar words took me by surprise. Everyone at the resort had only spoken English. The change in language didn’t appear to fluster Kate, however.

“Mi ta bon, danki,” she replied.

The two continued to converse while I kept a smile plastered to my face. I knew a little Spanish, but none of the words they spoke were remotely familiar.

“What language is that?” I asked in a lowered tone.

“Papiamentu. It’s the local dialect,” Kate said, “but most everyone on Curaçao speaks Dutch, English, Spanish, and a little Portuguese, too.”

“Geez, I feel like an underachiever,” I lamented. I picked up my menu, which—thankfully—was in English. “What do you recommend?” I asked.

Kate grinned. “Besides iguana?”

I dropped my menu flat on the table. “Do you really eat iguana?” I frowned with displeasure.

“I don’t, but a lot of locals do. They’re plentiful on the island, and they cook up nice on the grill.”

“Iguanas are pets,” I stated with finality, “not food.”

Kate addressed the older woman. “Can we get two servings of Keshi Yena?”

I scanned the menu, but I couldn’t determine what she’d ordered for us. My fruitless search might have resembled panic.

“It’s traditional Curaçaoan cuisine,” Kate said. “Trust me.”

For the second time that day, she implored me to put down my guard and go with the flow.

Our waitress-chef left our tableside, leaving me alone with Kate.

She rubbed her hands together. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“You didn’t have to take me all the way out here. There’s unlimited free food back at the resort,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but there’s nothing local or authentic to the island,” she noted. “They don’t even serve pastechi for breakfast.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s a fried pastry with fillings like cheese, ham, tuna, or ground beef.”

Her familiarity with the island’s language and cuisine reminded me of just how long she’d been a resident of Curaçao.

“You’ve really lived here for seven years?” I questioned.

“Yep. Ever since I graduated college.” Kate grabbed a paper napkin from the metal bucket and laid it across her lap.

“Why? How did you decide on this place?” I’d never even known of the island’s existence until Racy had suggested the vacation.

“Curaçao is Portuguese for ‘Island of Healing.’ In the 16th and 17th centuries, sick Portuguese sailors were left on the island; they were probably suffering from scurvy. They ate the fruit on the island, and when their ships returned they had healed—probably from all of that vitamin C.”

“Were you …?” I didn’t know how to ask my question without it sounding like I was prying. “Were you hurting when you came here?” I finally asked.

Kate lifted her shoulders beneath her oversized floral shirt. “Maybe.”

I thinned my lips. “That’s not very forthcoming.”

Her mouth curved into a half smile. “I’m kidding. I just thought it was cool that the island had a liquor named after it.”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “Did you make up that ‘Healing Island’ thing?”

“No—that’s the real deal. But enough about me—I feel like I’m the one doing all the talking. It’s your turn to share.”

I shook my head. “Oh, I, uh, I’m not very interesting.”

Kate leaned forward on the picnic bench and interlaced her fingers. “Let me be the judge of that. Remind me: what grade do you teach?”

“First.”

“And what kinds of things do first graders learn?”

“Addition. Subtraction. How to read.”

Kate exhaled. “That’s pretty heavy. Do you feel a lot of pressure? Like, if you don’t do a good job little Bobby will never learn how to read?”

“No. Reading is a different kind of skill,” I explained. “It’s different from math or other subjects. A student could fall behind a few grades in reading, but then maybe in third grade some mental switch is flipped and they suddenly get it.”

“Do you like it? Teaching?”

“Most days. It’s definitely the most challenging job I’ve ever had,” I qualified. “I end my days equal parts exhausted and rewarded.”

“What’s the most rewarding part?”

I hummed at the question. “Knowing I’m making a difference. I’m not curing cancer or anything, but it’s really gratifying to know that your life serves a purpose.”

Kate nodded, but didn’t ask additional questions. I worried I might have gotten too deep when she’d only been polite in asking about my life. Thankfully, the woman who’d taken our order returned to our table. She set two large, steaming bowls of thick stew in front of us—rice and some kind of white meat.

“How do I say thank you?” I asked Kate.

“Danki,” she supplied. “Or masha danki for thank you very much. The locals are very much into good manners.”

I looked up and made eye contact with our server. “Masha danki.” I tried to not butcher the phrase.

The woman bobbed her head. “Di nada,” she replied before returning to her grill.

Kate handed me a spoon from the table’s metal bucket. “Bon apetit,” she encouraged.

She immediately plunged her spoon into the rich stew and shoveled some of the steaming mixture into her mouth, while I eyeballed the contents of the bowl with caution.

“It’s chicken,” she assured me around her spoon.

“I don’t believe you.”

She held up her hands. “I promise it’s not iguana. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I dipped my spoon into the bowl, but still hesitated.

“It’s an old slave meal,” Kate told me. “It’s considered a delicacy now, but it harkens back to enslaved populations that had to make meals from leftovers. They cook it in the rind of a Gouda cheese.”

“How do you know so much about the island’s history?” I posed.

Kate shoved the oversized spoon into her mouth. “You pick things up after seven years.”

“Do you think you’ll stay forever?”

“Can’t say. But it’s home for now.”

“What about the States?” I posed. “Do you miss it?”

Her nose wrinkled at the suggestion. “Not really, no. Whenever I go back for a visit, I’m always reminded of why I left.” She gestured around us with her hands. “This has become more my pace of life. I don’t need too many possessions. I’m not attached to an electronic device all day. And my work commute only depends on what beach I want to set up on that day.”

“That does sound nice,” I agreed.

“What do you want to do after we eat?” Kate posed.

“I have no idea what there even is to do,” I admitted.

“I’ve got a buddy with a boat,” she said. “We could ride out to Klein Curacao. It’s like a two-hour boat ride to the softest, whitest sand beaches you’ve ever seen. Or we could check out the north shore at Shete Boka National Park. It’s super wild; there’s beaches all over here, but Shete Boka has these massive craggy limestone bluffs. We could check out some sea turtles nesting or explore underground caverns. When the surf crashes in, it creates these water sprays that look like fireworks.”

All of that sounded amazing and more, but before I could form another thought, I felt something touch the back of my neck. It was cool and a little rough. Tiny pinpricks pressed into my arm. I didn’t need to turn my head to recognize that there was an iguana wrapped around my neck.

A smiling man with sun-baked skin and brilliant white teeth leaned over my shoulder where the iguana’s head had appeared. “Picture with my lizard, miss?”

I didn’t know what to do or say. I couldn’t move. I felt frozen in place, unsure if this animal had teeth with which to chew off my nose.

Kate grunted and shooed at the man and his iguana. “We’re trying to eat here, dude.”

The man promptly hoisted the reptile off my shoulders and muttered his apologies as he slunk away, probably on the hunt for his next unsuspecting tourist.

“See? Sophie’s Choice. You can eat ‘em, or have that happen to you.” Kate continued to dig into her stew, unaffected.

“Does that … happen a lot?” I asked.

“Only if you look like a gullible tourist,” she said between bites. “The way you look, you’re probably gonna have that happen all day long.”

“I’m not the one wearing a terrible Hawaiian shirt,” I declared. “They can probably see you from outer space.”

Kate brushed at imaginary lint on her oversized shirt. “Hey, this is a good look.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

At the conclusion of our meal, Kate returned me to the resort. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to continue exploring the island with her, but the sun had started to hang lower on the horizon, and I hadn’t thought to leave a note at the room to tell Racy where I’d gone. It would have served her right if she worried about me though.

I was in good spirits as I walked through the hotel to return to my room. I envisioned freshening up, having a late dinner with Racy, and maybe getting a few drinks at the Thirsty Coconut to round out day five of vacation. But as I traveled down the hallway that led to my room, my good mood instantly soured.

There was a sock on the door handle.

“Not this again,” I muttered.

The sock had to have been a joke. It had to have been Racy trying to annoy me. There was no way she would dare lock me out again.

Ignoring the article of clothing warning, I used my keycard to unlock the room, but could only get so far. The deadbolt had been activated.

I knocked heavily on the door. “Racy!” I called to her. “This isn’t funny.”

I waited at the doorway, expecting to hear Racy’s laughter filter through the door. The longer I stood in the hallway, the more my anger grew.

I knocked even harder on the solid door until my knuckles began to hurt. “I mean it, Racy! Stop whatever you’re doing and open this door.”

The volume of my banging drew curious looks from people who passed me as they traversed the long hallway on their way to dinner. I momentarily paused in my fury to smile—but more like grimace—at my fellow vacationers.

After too long, I finally heard the sound of heavy footsteps and the metallic clang of locks being shifted and moved.

Racy’s face appeared through a narrow sliver between the door and doorframe. She’d barely opened the door, but I could see the towel wrapped around her midsection and her suspiciously tussled hair. “I’ve got company.”

“You can’t do this to me again,” I complained.

“I’m not.” She thrust her hand through the space between the door and the doorframe. It took me a moment to realize her credit card dangled between us. “Get another room for the night. My treat.”

I growled in frustration, but snatched the plastic card from her proffered hand.

“I’m getting the Presidential Suite,” I warned.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” she said, only seconds before shutting the door in my face.

I tapped Racy’s credit card on the reception desk while I waited for the woman behind the counter to find me an available room. I had been bluffing about maxing out Racy’s credit card; just the idea of paying for a second hotel room made me uncomfortable. I could foresee insisting on paying her back even though she was the one putting me out.

A sharp whistle had me turning around. Kate waved at me from the other side of the lobby. In her orange Hawaiian moo-moo, she looked like an inflatable person one would see at a used car lot.

“Damn it,” I quietly cursed.

I spun back around to face the reception desk.

“Any luck?” I implored the hotel employee.

“Just another second,” she guaranteed. “The system is being a little slow today.”

I heard the unmistakable clip-clop of flip-flops on the marble tile floor.

“Whatcha doing?” Kate asked, coming up behind me.

“Nothing.” I couldn’t admit to her that Racy had booted me a second time.

“Am I gonna see you at the Coconut later?”

“I don’t think so,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m pretty beat. I’ll probably have an early night.”

“Ms. Sawyer, I’m afraid all of our standard rooms are sold out,” the receptionist informed me, mistaking me for the name printed on the credit card. “All we have left are deluxe suites.”

Kate continued to badger me. “Why are you getting another hotel room?”

I whirled my head in her direction. “Can you please go?”

Her smile turned upside down. “Your friend locked you out again, didn’t she?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re homeless.”

“That’s being a little overdramatic,” I said.

“You shouldn’t waste your money on another hotel room. You can stay with me.”

“That’s very kind, but I’m not going to put you out again.” I turned back toward the front desk receptionist. “What’s the price on the deluxe suite?”

“We have a two-night minimum, and the suites are $400 a night.”

I didn’t need to react; Kate accomplished that for the both of us:  ”Jesus. Come on,” she said, clutching my wrist and tugging me away. “I’m making the decision for you. You’re bunking with me tonight.”

+ + +

The routine was starting to feel familiar, her handing me the bike helmet and me climbing onto the seat behind her. I didn’t feel uncomfortable with my arms around her waist, which I told myself was for my own safety, nothing else. My legs even felt more stable after climbing off the back of her moped. Either I was getting accustomed to riding on the scooter or she’d taken the turns slower than usual for me.

My comfort rapidly dissolved when Kate opened her front door and turned on her house lights.

“There’s a chicken in your house,” I said.

Kate flipped her sandals onto the shoe pile by the doorway. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

A live chicken, with feathers and everything, stood in the center of Kate’s kitchen. Our entrance must have startled it; it stood motionless for a moment before it began to strut around, paying us no attention.

I stood just beyond the threshold. “Explain?”

Kate dropped her helmet and the bike’s keys onto her kitchen table. “Do you have any pets?”

“A goldfish.”

“Some people have pet fish, others have pet chicken. Her name is Dog, but she doesn’t really come when I call her, so it probably doesn’t matter.”

“Why is your chicken named Dog?” I asked.

“Why are you named Mercy?”

“Because that’s what my hyper-Evangelical parents decided to name me,” I said stiffly.

I took a cautious step into the house, keeping my eyes on the chicken the entire time. First iguanas, now this. It was like a veritable zoo.

Kate observed my hesitance. “She won’t bite,” she assured me. “Chickens don’t have teeth.”

“She has a beak,” I protested.

“You’re higher on the food chain, Mercy.”

Kate grabbed the same t-shirt and boxer shorts I’d slept in a few nights before. I didn’t bother asking if she’d had the chance to launder them. I was a grateful houseguest, not an overbearing parent.

Without being told, I slipped away to the bathroom and got dressed by the light that crept in from the cracks around the water closet door.

When I exited, Kate was just finishing making the bed even though I’d only be messing it up shortly.

“I’ll take the couch again,” she announced.

“That’s not a couch,” I denied. “That’s a loveseat.”

“Semantics,” she shrugged.

“We’re both adults. Some more than others,” I couldn’t help adding. “We should be able to handle sleeping in the same bed.”

“The couch is really okay,” she insisted. “I’ve slept on worse.”

“Is there a reason you don’t want to sleep with me?” I flushed at my word choice. “I mean, sleep in the same bed?”

Kate’s features turned serious. “Mercy. I have to tell you something.”

“Oh, God. I snore, don’t I?” I worried.

“No. I’m gay.”

I didn’t miss a beat. “I know.”

“You do?”

I nodded. “I didn’t think that haircut was an unfortunate accident.”

Kate raked her fingers through her aforementioned hair. “Oh. Uh, well, good. I-I only wanted you to know because I don’t want you thinking I’m taking advantage of your situation,” she continued her awkward explanation. “I imagine some straight girls might be uncomfortable sharing a bed with a lesbian.”

“I appreciate your concern, but who said I was straight?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Huh?”

“Did I stutter?”

“You’re gay?” she blinked. “All this time?”

“Are you upset that you didn’t convert me?” I mused.

“No,” she was quick to dismiss. “I guess I thought I had better gaydar.”

“Do you normally get some kind of notice when another lesbian arrives on the island?” I continued to tease.

“When did you know about me?” she asked.

“I suppose I assumed from the beginning,” I admitted. “Your haircut is a bit of a giveaway.”

“Well now we definitely can’t sleep in the same bed.”

“Why not?”

“You might be tempted to ravish me.” She flashed what she probably thought was a charming smile. It was mildly charming, I could admit, but the chicken strutting around the room kept me from falling entirely head over heels.

I snorted at the suggestion. “I think I can resist you for one night.”

Kate arched an eyebrow. “I dunno about that. I haven’t been trying to flirt with you; I thought I’d be barking up the wrong tree.”

Her hand disappeared beneath the bottom hem of her tank top as she scratched at her abdomen. The action caused her shirt to ride up, exposing a thin ribbon of bare skin and the hint of a hipbone.

I realized—too late—that I’d been staring. I lifted my eyes from her midsection to her face, but the knowing smirk on her face told me I’d been caught.

“Uh, where does Dog usually sleep?” I asked, desperate for a distraction.

“Wherever she wants to. I can put her outside if you’d prefer.”

“That’s not necessary. I really don’t want to interrupt your routine,” I dismissed.

Her lips quirked into a smile. “So I should sleep in my underwear like I usually do?”

My face grew warm from the suggestion, although my lingering sunburn probably hid it well.

Kate waved her arms. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. Geez, you should have told me you were gay sooner. Think of how much fun I could have been having making you blush.”

Apparently my sunburn wasn’t that good at hiding my embarrassment.

“We should get to bed,” I groused.

“Last chance,” she warned. “I’m seriously okay taking the couch.”

“Get. Into. Bed,” I ordered.

Kate bobbed her head like a curtailed bow. “Yes, ma’am.”

I climbed under the sheets while Kate turned the lights off and the room plunged into darkness. A faint amount of moonlight spilled in through the ocean-facing windows, providing just enough light for Kate to make her way to the bed without stubbing her toes. It was a tight fit on the mattress. Our shoulders nearly touched as we lay side-by-side. It made me wonder how often these sleepovers occurred.

“Thank you. Again,” I said into the darkness.

Kate rolled onto her side to face me, her knees knocking into the side of my thigh. “You’re very welcome. I’m sorry your friend is such an asshole.”

My reflex was to defend Racy. “She’s not so bad.”

“I don’t know. If someone did that to me, I don’t know how much longer I’d consider them a friend.”

“We have a long history. I can forgive a slight like this.”

“Two slights,” she unnecessarily reminded me. “Why are you so ready to forgive? Do you have a crush on her or something?”

The unexpected question forced a louder-than-usual laugh from my lungs. “God, no. She’s most definitely not my type.”

“She’s attractive enough,” Kate observed.

I rolled onto my side as well. A strange feeling stirred in my stomach; it felt a lot like jealousy. “Oh, really? Do you have a crush?”

Kate snorted, but apparently didn’t consider my question worthy of a more verbal response. In lieu of continuing our conversation, she rolled over onto her other side, giving me an unobstructed view of her back.

The abrupt end to our conversation left me feeling unsettled. Did Kate really find Racy attractive? Would she rather be sharing a bed with my friend instead of me? Old, familiar feelings of insufficiently clanked around inside my head.

“Good night,” I barked.

“Night,” she returned.

Instead of closing my eyes in search of sleep, I squinted through the darkness at the shape of Kate’s silhouette. She’d changed out of her board shorts and tropical tent for a more form-fitting tank top and boxer shorts. Despite the smaller shirt size, the tank top had slipped off her angular shoulder, leaving the tan shoulder bare. I reached out and ghosted my fingers above her skin, not actually touching her, leaving the smallest of gaps between my fingertips and her shoulder. I could practically feel the heat radiating from her body.

I leaned toward her, my arms at my side, and I pressed my mouth to her exposed shoulder. It wasn’t quite a kiss—just my lips against her skin. Her shoulder blade rippled beneath my slightly parted lips.

She didn’t roll over, but I heard her question slice through the darkness: “What are you doing?”

It was an excellent question. What was I doing? I was on vacation in a foreign country, in a near-stranger’s house, sleeping in her bed.

I had no sufficient answer for her question or the ones ricocheting in my head, so I pressed my lips next against the nape of her neck.

I heard her sharp intake of air, and the low growl as she said my name: “Mercy.”

Her tone wasn’t censuring or asking me to stop. It was a warning.

I ignored my sensible inner voice and slipped my arm around her tapered waist. My forearm rested on her side and my hand made its way to the front of her shorts. My fingertips brushed lazily against the elastic band of her boxer shorts.

“We don’t have to do anything,” she said. “We can just sleep.”

I immediately stilled my movements. Had I misinterpreted everything?

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

Her response came without hesitation: “No. But I don’t want you thinking I’m expecting anything for letting you stay here.”

Satisfied with her answer, I pressed my lips again against her bronzed shoulder, tasting sunscreen and sunshine, which I found far from unpleasant. Kate arched her back and pressed her backside more solidly into my midsection as silent encouragement.

My fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her cotton shorts to find her without underwear. A simultaneous groan erupted from us both when my fingertips tentatively brushed against her shaved outer lips. I heard her shuddered breath and felt her shift on the mattress, spreading her thighs farther apart to provide me better access.

I slid my middle finger down her center and gently pressed against her clit before curling my finger to dip into the fresh wetness accumulating lower still.

With my free hand, I grabbed a handful of her boxers and tugged down. She lifted her hips and helped me maneuver the shorts past her hipbones and down her legs until she was naked from the waist down.

She let loose a quiet whine when I removed my fingers. I pressed gently against her shoulder, and I coaxed her from her side to her back. She knew what I wanted without me having to ask, and she helped even more by sitting up to remove her tank top and sports bra, which quickly joined her boxers at the bottom of the bed.

Those terrible, shapeless Hawaiian shirts had almost made me forget the tight body hidden underneath. I took it all in: the sunken clavicle, the small, pert breasts capped with prominent nipples, the jutting hipbones that formed two corners of the triangle that pointed lower. Long, lean legs. Muscled thighs and calves.

There was a chicken somewhere in the room, but the gorgeous, naked woman before me pushed that unsettling thought to the back of my thoughts.

“You have no tan lines.” I blurted out the realization.

Kate smiled up at me. “Surprise?”

The thought of Kate sunbathing nude somewhere on the island was an unexpected turn-on.

I spent a moment on her breasts, licking and sucking on her tightened nipples before abandoning them for what I really craved. I worked down Kate’s abdomen, which I’d secretly admired the first time I’d seen her. I sucked her skin into my mouth, leaving her skin red and agitated, but not enough to leave a mark. I dipped my tongue into her bellybutton and left a wet trail down the center of her pelvis.

“Fuck that’s good,” she rasped.

I thought about Racy and her lesbian bicycle analogy. Maybe it really was that easy.

Kate quietly hissed the moment my tongue hit her clit. I curled my arms under her thighs, opening her wider for me and pulling her closer. I swirled my tongue around her clit in wide circles, causing her hips to jerk and buck. I pressed the tip of my tongue against her opening, causing her to sigh.

Her noises were contained, which I found mildly surprising compared to the unrestrained woman I’d thought her to be. Instead of taking advantage of our relatively remote location, she seemed to swallow back her noises as though she had a roommate or disapproving parents in the next room. I thought about the girls I’d brought home from college under the guise of being a roommate or best friend and how quiet we’d had to be. It made me wonder about Kate’s relationship with her own family, but now was definitely not the time to bring up those kinds of questions.

I looked up when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I locked eyes with Kate.

“I’m good,” she husked.

I licked my lips, tasting her on me. “Did you … did I miss it?”

I was surprised. We’d barely even started.

“Nah. It’s not happening.”

“What?”

“I’m like impossible to get off,” she shrugged, “especially the first time with someone.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed. “I don’t mind.”

Truth be told, she tasted delicious, and I hated backing down from a challenge now that she’d unintentionally presented it.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

It didn’t take long for her to retrieve her clothes from the bottom of the bed. She pulled her tank top over her braless chest and tugged her boxers back over boyish hips.

“We cool?” she asked.

I was too disoriented by how quickly the scenario had changed. Just moments before I’d been exploring between her thighs with my tongue and lips only for her to be fluffing her pillow and pulling the thin sheet up to her chin.

“Sorry,” she grunted.

“Don’t apologize,” I said tightly. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just don’t want you wasting your time on me. I’m a lost cause.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming in frustration. It was like a switch had been flipped. How could she have seemed so into what I was doing, but now it was like nothing had ever happened? Had she been pretending? Had she not wanted to in the first place and didn’t turn me down at first for fear of hurting my feelings?

“We should go to sleep,” I choked out.

“Yeah. Okay,” Kate agreed.

I crawled back to my side of the bed and fell face forward into my pillow.

“Wait. Did you want me to—you know—do you?” she asked.

I took a calming breath. “As romantic as your preposition is,” I said flatly, “I’ll decline.”

“K. Night.” Kate rolled over in the narrow bed. Her backbone collided with my hip.

I shut my eyes tight. This was turning out to be the worst vacation ever.

CHAPTER NINE

I woke up for the second time of my vacation in a near-stranger’s bed. Kate was no longer beside me, however. She stood in the kitchen area, leaning against the open refrigerator door, letting all the cool air out. I didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, but the shape of her hardened nipples were visible beneath the tank top she wore.

I heard the distinctive sound of an aluminum can being opened. When she straightened, she brought the silver beer can to her lips and took a long drink. I couldn’t see a clock, but the bright white sun streaming through her home’s windows indicated the morning hour.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” I posed.

She turned and looked in my direction. “Nope.” She didn’t bother to look embarrassed. “So, are we good?”

I pulled the bed sheet higher up my body. “Of course.” My throat felt tight as I forced out the lie. “Why wouldn’t we be?” I proposed, feigning ignorance.

Her fingers went through her hair, causing it to stand on end. “I dunno.” She shrugged expressively. “Last night when I didn’t …” She trailed off. “I thought it might have hurt your feelings.”

“Only my ego,” I said with fake brightness. “I’ll recover eventually.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. Cool.” She took another long slug from the aluminum can. “You want breakfast? I’ve gotta go shopping one of these days, but I could probably MacGyver us up something.”

She reached inside the refrigerator and I heard the sound of glass bottles clinking together.

“I don’t want to put you out. I’ve got unlimited food at the resort,” I reminded her.

“Okay.”

She closed the refrigerator door and crossed the room. She flopped down on the mattress beside me, miraculously not spilling any of her beer. “I’m sorry if things got a little weird last night. I should have warned you before we started anything.”

“It wouldn’t be my life if it wasn’t a little weird,” I admitted. “What are you up to today?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject.

There was little reason for us to dwell on what almost, but didn’t happen. My vacation ended in a few days, and I would probably never see her again.

“It looks like a decent beach day,” she considered. “I’ll probably set up shop and try to sell some coconuts to the tourists.”

“Best of luck with that,” I said in earnest.

Kate rolled onto her back and balanced the beer can on her stomach. She pushed her stomach out to form a tiny hill on which the half-empty can teetered before flattening it out again. She did it again and again. Each time I was sure she was going to knock the can over and soak the mattress in beer. It reminded me of students who tipped back in their desk chairs until they inevitably fell backwards.

Her attention left her beer can aerobics. “Will I see you later?”

Her question surprised me.

“Uh, maybe. I’ll be wandering around the resort, I’m sure.”

She resumed pushing the beer can up and down with her stomach muscles. “Cool.”

+ + +

The sock was thankfully no longer hanging on the door handle outside of my hotel room. When I inserted my keycard into the door, the red light flashed to green and I heard the door unlock. I slowly opened the door. “Hello?” I called out. “Everybody decent?”

Even though it appeared that the coast was clear, I still used caution when entering the room. Racy’s bed was empty, but unmade. I looked around the room, but saw no sign of her or Mark, neither in the room nor on the balcony.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that my bed was still made; the pillows were fluffed and propped against the headboard and the sheets were pulled tight. Racy might have taken over the room, but at least she had the propriety not to have sex on my bed.

My heart leapt in my chest when I heard the toilet flush in the bathroom. I wasn’t alone.

I briefly considered running out of the room in case Racy was still entertaining her guest, but I didn’t make up my mind in time. The bathroom door swung open and Racy stepped out.

The song she’d been humming got caught in her throat. “Jesus,” she exclaimed. “You scared me.”

“Didn’t expect to see me in my own room? It must look strange to you.”

Racy frowned. “I never meant for that to happen again. We went ATV-ing and I invited him back to the room so he could clean up, and then one thing led to another.”

My bed suddenly looked very attractive. I dropped on top of the blankets and let my head fall heavily onto the pillows. I didn’t bother changing out of the clothes if been wearing since the previous day. “Can we review your awfulness a little later? I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“How are you so tired?” she asked. “Are the beds in the Presidential Suite so terrible?”

I could have told her I’d stayed with Kate to save her money, but that would have prompted more questions than I had answers for.

“The worst,” I mumbled. “I might as well have slept on a mattress on the floor.”

“Do you want me to wake you up at a certain time?” she asked.

“No.” I spoke to her with my eyes still closed. “Just make sure I don’t miss the plane home.”

+ + +

It was raining when I woke up from my nap. Rain poured over the resort complex’s Mediterranean-style roof like a cascading waterfall. Beyond our covered balcony, I could see the impact of the unrelenting rain on the sand and churning ocean. Violent black waves assaulted the beach. The sky was an ominous color, and even the beach warned visitors to keep their distance as the green, yellow, or red flags had been converted to black.

The weather report indicated it was more than a passing shower, so Racy and I remained in our room, watching TV or the storm outside, for the better portion of the day. The cloud cover remained thick and the sun refused to make an appearance.

As the hours slipped by and afternoon turned to evening, I started to feel like a prisoner in our room. Reality TV droned on the television and the storm continued to increase in intensity outside.

I bounced anxiously on the balls of my feet. “It’s just water,” I reasoned. “It’s not like either of us is going to melt from a little rain.”

Racy yawned and stretched on her bed. “But it’s so cozy in here. Why would you want to go outside?”

I chewed on my lower lip. Frustration over the wasted day had been mounting since that morning. I hadn’t exactly calculated what each day of vacation was costing me, but I could practically see the dollar signs blowing in the swirling winds.

“Aren’t you bored?” I lamented.

“Sure, but it’s not like I’m going to go scuba diving in this storm or lay by the pool.”

“We could go to the lobby area,” I suggested.

“And do what?” she posed.

“I don’t know. Get something to eat … drink … play cards?”

“We can do all of those things here,” she pointed out. “I’ll call up room service.”

“What about the Thirsty Coconut?” I noted.

“What about it?”

My frustration threatened to spill out in truth. Racy and I had frequented the tiki bar every night of our vacation. What would Kate think if I wasn’t there the night after we’d kind of, sort of, tried to, but failed to hook up?

“Don’t you want to go?” I asked.

“It doesn’t have any walls,” she reminded me. “It’s probably not even open. Who would be out there in a storm like this?”

I remained by the sliding door that led out to our balcony. My agitation over being stuck in the hotel room was palpable, but Racy would have had no idea about the real source of my disgruntledness.

I watched the rain continue to come down. It reminded me of a Hollywood movie set with someone’s hands on the controls, making it rain progressively harder. A strong breeze blew through the palm fronds of the trees that dotted the shoreline, and I watched an unattached umbrella roll down the beach like a wagon wheel.

“You can go if you want,” Racy allowed with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine hanging out here for the rest of the day and ordering room service.”

No one was on the beach; no one was shaking their fist at the sky and having fun outside regardless of the weather. So why did I feel like a trapped bird in a cage? Why did I feel guilty about not going to the Thirsty Coconut? The weather was terrible. Kate wouldn’t even be there, I tried to convince myself. But if that were true, why was I so anxious about not showing up?

“No,” I rejected with a sigh of finality. “You’re right. It’ll still be there tomorrow.”

+ + +

“Merry Christmas!” My mattress dipped as Racy flung herself onto my bed.

I woke up, groggy and unsure of the time. Racy had never woken up before me the entire trip. The rain and cloudy skies from the previous day had moved on, leaving only a blue sky outside our hotel windows.

“It’s Christmas?” With no real obligations, it had been easy to lose track of the days.

“Yes! And I got you something.” She produced a medium-sized box about the size of a soccer ball. The outside of the cardboard had no writing to indicate what might have been inside.

I sat up in bed and re-arranged my ponytail that had become loose in the night. “But I didn’t get you anything,” I complained with a yawn. “You should have told me you wanted to exchange gifts.”

“It was a last minute thing,” she dismissed. “I wasn’t planning on getting you anything, but then I felt really bad about ditching you,” she explained. “This vacation should have been all about us, but I made it all about me. I don’t even know if you’ve had any fun this week.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m managing to find fun.”

I still hadn’t told Racy that I’d spend a second night at Kate’s. She believed that I’d used her credit card to rent a different room. I doubted she looked too closely at her credit card statements, but if she ever did and noticed the missing charge, I could come clean to her then.

“Open your present already!” she demanded as she bounced on my bed. “Stop having so much willpower!”

“Okay! Okay!” I laughed at her impatience.

With no wrapping paper or tape to get in the way, I was able to lift the top of the box easily. Whatever was inside had been carefully packaged in tissue paper. I continued to peel away layers of protective paper until I finally unveiled Racy’s present.

“It’s a coconut!” she excitedly exclaimed.

I still said nothing as I pulled the sphere out of its box. I turned the painted coconut around in my hands. The outer shell had been painted in different gradients of blue so it looked like a chaotic ocean, swirling and churning across the coconut’s surface.

“You bought me one of Kate’s coconuts?”

Racy snapped her fingers. “Kate. Right. That’s her name.”

I turned my attention to my friend’s face for any sign that she knew more than what I’d told her about my time with Kate. If she suspected anything had happened between us, she had a magnificent Poker Face.

The present compelled me to consider a series of questions: When had she gone back to buy it? Had Kate remembered her? Had Kate said anything about me? Did Kate pick out the coconut special knowing it was for me? I shelved my many questions rather than making Racy suspicious about my overly active curiosity.

“It’s great. Thank you,” I said, finally remembering my manners.

“What do you want to do today?” she asked. “How do you want to celebrate the holiday?”

I set the coconut back in its box. “I don’t know. Do you have to call home or something?”

I wasn’t planning on calling mine.

Racy shook her head. “My parents know we’re here. They’re cheap like you so they’ll understand me not wanting to spend money on an international call.”

“Cheap like me?” I snorted.

“I don’t see any Christmas presents for me,” she cheekily observed.

My voice rose. “I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts!”

“Oh, Mercy,” Racy chuckled. “I love you. You’re so easy to rile up.”

“You have a singular talent for getting under my skin,” I grumbled.

Racy slapped the top of the mattress. “Let’s hurry up and get ready. We’re burning daylight, and I haven’t even had anything to drink yet.”

Racy and I grabbed breakfast at the resort’s buffet before taking one of the shuttle buses to downtown Willemstad for their annual Christmas parade. I’d never been to New Orleans, but the festive, carnival atmosphere reminded me of what I imagined Mardi Gras might be like. The music and costumes and frivolity of it all were a far cry from my typical childhood Christmases defined by cold weather, snow, and midnight mass.

At the conclusion of the parade, we returned to the resort and spent the remaining daylight hours at the beach. I would have liked to explore the city a little more, but nearly everything in Willemstad was closed for the holiday. With the exception of the excursion Kate had taken me on, I still hadn’t seen much of the island.

True to her word, Racy didn’t abandon me the entire day. She even made a big deal if she had to leave my side for a drink refill or bathroom break. I didn’t require such permission from her, but it felt nice to see her being so considerate of my feelings, even if it had only come near the end of our vacation. We had an early dinner at the Mexican-themed restaurant on the resort’s property and returned to our room to freshen up before heading to the Thirsty Coconut.

I was the recipient of a sharp wolf-whistle when I exited our in-room bathroom. Racy lay on her bed, reading a magazine while she waited for me to finish primping.

“Hot date?” she asked.

“Just you,” I rejected.

I thought I might see Kate at the tiki bar later that night, but I didn’t want to make a big deal about it—or at least I didn’t want it to appear like I was paying closer attention to my appearance. I showered after dinner and fixed my hair in loose waves. Typically I flat-ironed my hair or wore it back in a ponytail or braid, but the island humidity had made my hair appear curlier and thicker than usual. I paired a light camisole with a long sarong skirt that I tied at my waist. My sunburn from the beginning of our trip had finally mellowed to an attractive light bronze.

“Hey, don’t let me ditch you tonight,” Racy said, her voice now serious. “I know how I am—I’ll get a few strong drinks in me and I’ll chase after the first man I see with a full head of hair.”

“We really have to do something about raising your standards,” I clucked.

“We really have to do something about lowering yours,” she deflected.

Nervous butterflies ricocheted inside my stomach as we approached the tiki bar later that evening. I anticipated Kate being at the bar and I still hadn’t decided how to react to seeing her. Should I ignore her? Should I acknowledge her, but spend my night with Racy? Should I act like I hadn’t seen her naked? Should I joke with her about our failed sexual encounter or still be offended? I attributed my lack of decisiveness to my confusion about how I felt about the woman in general. She was charming, yet bothersome. I felt both comfort and disequilibrium whenever she was around.

Some time since we’d last visited, the tiki bar had been decorated for the holiday. Strings of multi-colored lights hung from the exposed beams, cords of silver and gold garland framed the mirror behind the bar, and Christmas tree ornaments served as centerpieces on the standalone tables. Rather than playing American surf rock, a live band performed a playlist of Calypso-inspired holiday tunes.

The attractive waitress, Tory, stood by the hostess stand at the front of the bar. Like before, she wore a bikini top and sarong skirt, but something was wildly off.

“Oh my God,” Racy exclaimed as we stopped at the hostess stand. “Why is everyone in blackface?”

It was then that I noticed the members of the band, Jimmy the ponytailed bartender, and all of the other wait staff and cocktail waitresses had blackened their faces and wore pointy green caps.

Tory smiled through the face paint. “It’s a Dutch tradition. We’re dressed like the Zwarte Pieten—the little people who help Sinterklaas deliver his gifts.”

“You mean Santa’s elves?” I clarified.

Tory nodded.

“That still doesn’t explain the blackface costumes,” Racy said.

“It’s not blackface like you’re thinking,” Tory said brightly. “It’s soot from going down chimneys.”

I still didn’t know whether to be outraged, so I settled for benign discomfort.

“Oh, there’s Mark!” Racy raised her hand in the air and waved at the man standing on the other side of the bar.

The bar was crowded on the holiday evening, but somehow they’d managed to find each other. He waved back in similar fashion, looking just as excited to see my friend.

“Did you know he was going to be here tonight?” I accused.

“He may have mentioned something about it,” she said with feigned innocence. She arranged the neckline of her low-cut dress to accentuate her cleavage even more. “I should go over and say hi.”

“Are you abandoning me?” Normally I wouldn’t have minded—I was getting used to it by now—but I’d felt braver about potentially running into Kate knowing that Racy would be at my side.

“No!” she insisted. “I’m just going to say hi, and then I’ll be right back. Why don’t you get us some drinks, and I’ll meet you at the bar.”

“Fine,” I sighed.

Racy skipped off in the direction of her island boyfriend, leaving me on my own.

I wandered over to the bar. Most seats were occupied, but I managed to make eye contact with Jimmy, the ponytailed bartender.

“Two rumrunners, please.”

I scanned the faces of the patrons sitting around the U-shaped bar while I waited for my drink. Nearly everyone looked to be paired up with a friend or significant other, except for one individual who, despite how busy the bar was that evening, had managed to establish a social perimeter around herself. There were two empty seats on either side of Kate and a nearly empty drink in front of her on the bar. She wore her usual uniform of loud, oversized Hawaiian shirt and faded red board shorts. The only thing unusual about her outfit that night was the red Santa hat with white trim.

This was what I’d been worried about. I could have gotten my drinks from one of the cocktail waitresses and Kate probably wouldn’t have ever noticed me or I her. But now that I’d seen her, I couldn’t ignore her. I could be an adult and overcome this awkwardness, I told myself.

I cleared my throat as I stepped beside her at the bar.

“Nice hat.”

She chose to ignore my comment. “Hey. I haven’t seen you around.”

“I saw you yesterday morning,” I reminded her.

Jimmy served up my two drinks, so I claimed the empty barstool beside Kate.

“Where were you last night?” Kate asked. “I looked for you.”

“It was raining.”

“Getting stuck in the rain isn’t so bad if you’re with the right company.”

I shook my head at the line. “Racy felt bad about ditching me. She’s vowed to stay attached to my hip for the rest of vacation.”

“That’s gotta make going to the bathroom awkward.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled.

Kate’s attention dropped down to my midsection. “Where’s your bad friend right now?”

I turned to look in the direction of where I’d last seen Racy and Mark. Racy had said she’d only be a moment, but I hadn’t believed her. I wasn’t surprised, then, to see them dancing in the area in front of the band.

“Not ditching me on the dance floor, apparently,” I observed

“So you haven’t, like, been avoiding me?” Kate asked.

“Why would I do that?”

She arched her eyebrow as her silent response.

“Okay, okay,” I admitted. “Maybe my feelings got a little hurt, but whatever. I’m a big girl; I’ll get over it.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “My body is impossible.”

Your body’s anything but that, I opined to myself.

“It’s always been like that. I can never get off.”

“Not even if you …” I paused. “Do it yourself?”

“Oh, I can do that just fine,” she chuckled. “But with other people it doesn’t, ah, come so easily.”

“Nice word choice.”

She smirked and looked pleased with herself.

“Have you ever had a serious relationship?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Once. In college,” she revealed. “But we were just kids. I didn’t know anything back then.”

“And now you’re a grizzled old sage.” I didn’t usually have such an easy time with playful banter, but there was something about Kate that brought it out of me.

She leaned towards me and dropped her volume and her octave until I felt compelled to lean in myself. “I know enough to get you off.”

I leaned back to my original position and made a face. “You’re a pig.”

“Oink, oink, baby,” she grinned.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was that ridiculous Santa cap on top of her head, but instead of turning up my nose, I laughed.

“Bo ta bunita.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It means ‘you look nice.’”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Kate hopped up from her bar stool and held out her hand. “Bo kier baila?”

“Now what?” She knew I didn’t know the language, yet she continued to insist on speaking Papiamento.

“Dance with me?” she supplied.

My initial reaction was to chew on my lower lip and scan the bar. There were multiple couples dancing in the center of the tiki bar—Racy included—but we would have been the only same-sex couple. Despite Racy’s assurance that Curaçao was a gay-friendly island, I still worried.

“Don’t leave me hanging, Mercy,” she pressed.

I slid off my seat and took her proffered hand. “Only if you take off that ridiculous hat.”

I didn’t really know how to dance, and truth be told, I’d never danced with another girl. My partnered-up dancing experience was limited to school-sponsored middle school dances where sweaty boys walked you around the gymnasium floor in small circles. Kate, however, didn’t seem to share my problem. She held my right hand loosely in hers and her left arm draped around my waist. My middle school dance chaperones would have been very disapproving that she’d left no room for the Holy Ghost between our bodies.

“Did you like your Christmas present?” she asked.

“I did,” I confirmed. “You’re very talented.”

Kate tipped back her head and laughed. “There you go again being loose with those compliments.”

“Do you have a hard time receiving compliments?” I challenged.

“I don’t know. Tell me what else you like about me, and we’ll go from there.”

I didn’t consider her request to be serious so I only rolled my eyes.

The hand that had been in the center of my back came up to toy with the ends of my hair. Kate let the loose curls fall through her fingertips. “I like your hair like this. What’d you do?”

“I showered.”

“So fancy,” she grinned.

When the band came to the end of a song, Kate stopped dancing and released her hold on me. We both politely clapped, joining the smattering of applause among the bar’s other patrons. Kate cleared her throat. Her eyebrows wiggled and her head jerked toward the ceiling, encourage me to look up. My own gaze lifted to the rafters and fell upon the single sprig of mistletoe that dangled above us.

“Is that a coincidence or did you steer us over here on purpose?” I accused.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” she replied.

I didn’t take the bait. It struck me, however, that I’d gone down on her, but we had never actually kissed. I’d kissed other parts of her body, but our lips had never connected.

The band launched into another reggae-infused holiday song and Kate’s hands fell to my midsection, moving us again in time with the music. I nearly believed she’d been teasing me—maybe testing me—about kissing under the mistletoe until I felt her lips brush against the side of my ear.

“I can’t stop thinking about the other night,” she spoke quietly into my ear. “I feel really bad about what happened.”

“You mean what didn’t happen.” I couldn’t hold back my snark. I knew she hadn’t intended to do so, but she’d bruised my ego and my self-confidence.

“Yeah,” she thickly agreed.

She brushed away the loose hair that covered my shoulder. She placed a deliberate kiss on the top of my shoulder, but then wiped it away with the pad of her thumb.

Her mouth moved from my shoulder to the side of my neck. “Can I return the favor?”

Her mouth was warm and wet and promising against my neck. She held me too close to dance, but none of the other partygoers seemed to notice our intimate proximity or else they didn’t care.

“Wh-what?” It was hard to concentrate on anything except the feeling of her canines nipping at my neck.

“I owe you; I can’t stand being in anyone’s debt.”

Somehow she’d maneuvered us to the edge of the party. I gasped when I felt her hand slip beneath my camisole and then under the horizontal strap of my bra. I wanted to point out that since she hadn’t gotten off there was nothing to ‘pay back,’ but I was having a hard time forming words as she caressed the center of my back.

“I’m h-here with my friend,” I stumbled on my excuse.

“We don’t have to go far.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” I weakly insisted.

Her fingers curled firmly around my wrist. “I know. It’ll only take a minute.”

The moon was bright in the star-filled sky. The shadowy silhouettes of umbrella-covered lounge chairs dotted the shoreline. In the distance, cruise ships moored off the coast of the island looked like giant, floating cities. I had only a moment to admire the view before being pulled in the direction of a smaller kiosk that I vaguely remembered served as a beach towel stand during the day. The station was closed for the evening, but we weren’t there to rent towels. The structure was solid enough that it didn’t protest the full weight of my back against it.

Kate wrapped her fingers in my hair as she resumed kissing the side of my neck. She found little resistance from me as I turned my throat to give her even greater purchase. Her knee found its way between my legs as she pressed the length of her body against mine.

She tugged down on the front of my tank top, taking my bra cups with it. My breasts popped free, and she immediately began tugging and tweaking my nipples between her talented fingers. I could still hear the muted, but distinct music floating over from the tiki bar, reminding me of our semi-public status.

She dropped to her knees with a soft, solid sound. Her fingers searched beneath the fabric of my patterned sarong. “God bless island life,” she murmured before hooking her fingers beneath the waistband of my bikini bottoms.

She tugged them down my thighs. My underwear remained around my knees, limiting how wide I could spread my legs. She peeled back the layers of my wrap skirt to expose me. Cool, salty sea air struck my naked flesh. She pressed her lips against my thighs and licked and sucked on my skin. My knees buckled, and I nearly lost my balance when her tongue made first contact with my clit.

“Kate,” I groaned.

She didn’t respond; her attentions remained focused on getting me off—to even our debt, apparently. I choked back the moans that were sure to bring attention to us while her tongue worked its way through the folds and crevices of my shaved pussy lips.

Kate held tight to the tops of my thighs while penetrating me with her long, searching tongue. Her nose nudged my aching clit with each penetration. I had nothing to hold on to besides the shedding palm fronds that served as the tiki shack’s exterior.

“Mercy?” Racy’s voice cut through the fog of my lust-addled brain. “Are you out here?”

With the assistance of the moonlight, I could see Kate’s saucer-sized eyes staring up at me. Did I want her to stop? they seemed to ask.

“Don’t stop,” I wheezed. “Just a minute!” I called out in a louder voice for Racy.

Kate replaced her tongue with two fingers. I gasped at the sudden intrusion. She curled her fingers inside me each time she bottomed out. Her tongue twirled lazy circles around my clit, a gentle juxtaposition to the strength with which she penetrated me.

I gripped her solid shoulders. “Fuck,” I quietly cursed. “I’m close. Just like that.”

This wasn’t about romance. This wasn’t about bringing me to the edge and pulling me back until I begged her for release. This was a race to the finish line.

I felt the tightening in my lower stomach as Kate licked against me harder. Her fingers maintained a steady, even pace. My head fell forward as I let her take control of my orgasm.

I squeezed her upper shoulders in place of calling out her name or any other number of praises. Her fingers and tongue didn’t stop until my vise-like grip on her shoulders relaxed. Without me having to tell her, she seemed to sense that she had repaid her so-called debt. She withdrew her fingers and placed tender kisses on my inner thighs.

I tipped back my head against the towel rental kiosk and released a low, quiet sigh. I wanted nothing more than to find a lounge chair on the beach and catch my breath, but I knew Racy was looking for me. I’d snuck away for longer than I’d intended—I’d done a lot more than I’d intended—but there was something about this woman that made me forget about propriety and responsibilities.

Kate leaned back on her haunches and grinned up at me. “I’m ready for another compliment whenever you are.”

I pulled my underwear back into place and re-adjusted my top. “I-I’ve got to go.”

“I know.” She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s okay. Go find your friend. If she locks you out again, you know where to find me.”

I smoothed my hands over the front of my skirt. My heart was still galloping in my chest. “I-I’ll see you later.”

If she responded, I didn’t hear her.

CHAPTER TEN

The sounds of foreign birds chirped and chattered and greeted me good morning. My vacation partner, however, was not in an equally chipper mood. The sheets on Racy’s bed were twisted and rumpled, and I could make out the shape of her arms and legs, equally contorted, beneath the hotel sheets. Her head poked up amongst the pillows and blankets.

“God, can you shut those things off?” she complained.

“The birds?” I laughed.

Her head slammed back down on one of her pillows. “It’s way too early for them to sound so damn happy,” she groaned. “There’s pounding. So much pounding. Why won’t the pounding stop?”

“Maybe because you drank the bar dry last night?” I supplied.

“I was just getting my money’s worth,” she grumbled. “And how are you so goddamn chipper this morning?”

Probably because I had a wicked awesome orgasm, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“So I take it you’re staying in bed a little longer,” I remarked.

“I may never get out of bed again.”

I didn’t particularly want to look like the sad, lonely, single lady on vacation by herself, but the pull to make the most out of our final full day on the island was too strong to remain in the hotel room while Racy slept off her hangover.

I discovered that the rest of the resort guests must have been experiencing similar symptoms as Racy; it wasn’t too early, but was certainly late enough that more people should have been by the pools or at the bars. After breakfast, I wandered around the resort grounds and took photos of the various flowers and wild, indigenous animals that had claimed the resort as their own.

My exploring inadvertently brought me to the merchant row that Racy and I had visited earlier in the trip. I told myself the detour had been unintentional, but I couldn’t deny how my entire body seemed to flush and my heart leapt into my throat when I spotted Kate at her makeshift kiosk. I observed her from afar, interacting with a couple of tourists, no doubt trying to charm them and convince the man in the group to open up his wallet and buy one of her painted coconuts.

She wore her red swim trunks and another of her horrible Hawaiian shirts—this one bright green with even brighter red flowers printed across the shirt. It was almost Christmas colors, appropriate for the holiday season. Mirrored sunglasses acted like a headband and kept her short hair out of her face. When she laughed or smiled, bright white teeth showed her amusement, and she leaned close and touched people’s arms as if confiding intimate secrets. It was all part of her sale’s pitch, I knew. Like wait staff whose paycheck was dependent on patrons’ tips, her survival was similarly reliant on being able to convince strangers that their lives were not complete without a painted coconut.

I feigned interest in a kiosk selling beaded bracelets while I continued to observe Kate. The couple she had been conversing with had passed on the coconut purchase. I watched her face for signs of disappointment or discouragement, but her features remained stoic until the next potential couple approached and the routine started all over again.

It made me ponder her existence painting and selling coconuts. I wondered about her overhead costs: did she have to pay for the canvas or did she forage for the raw materials herself? She probably had to pay a fee to the resort in order to set up shop on their property. Was it a monthly fee? Annual? Did they take a cut out of every coconut she sold? Did she own her one-room house outright? Was she paying rent? Did she plan to do this for the rest of her life? Could selling coconuts pay for health insurance and an IRA? I nearly gave myself a panic attack thinking about this woman and the uncertainty of her future.

I eventually bought a beaded bracelet more out of guilt than necessity before slowly walking in the direction of Kate’s kiosk. I didn’t have a plan, but it seemed silly to be in her general vicinity without at least stopping by to say hi.

She had her head dipped low in concentration and didn’t notice my approach. As I grew closer, I saw her latest art project in her hands—a beach scene complete with an oversized multi-colored umbrella and the words Bon bini to Paradise scrawled across the length of the coconut in a careful calligraphy.

Unsure of what to say—how to greet her—I simply cleared my throat. Her head snapped up at the noise, and her features split into a broad grin upon seeing me.

“Hey, pretty lady.”

I dismissed the empty compliment. I’d just witnessed her trying to charm several tourists and this felt like more of her saleswoman routine.

“How’s the coconut business today?” I asked.

Her smile flattened. “Pretty slow,” she admitted. “Lots of window shoppers, but no serious buyers.”

“How many do you typically sell in a day?”

“Depends on how long I make my work day,” she qualified. “Some of these guys are out here twelve hours a day,” she said, nodding at the vendors in the immediate area. “If I wanted to work that long, I’d go back to the States.”

She hadn’t directly answered my question, but rather had given me a kind of answer. I was starting to notice a pattern with her; direct questions typically resulted in indirect replies.

“Where’s your bad friend?” she asked as if noticing Racy’s absence for the first time. “Did she find another boyfriend?”

“In bed with a hangover,” I supplied.

Her smile seemed to grow with the information. “Bad for her; good for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I get you to myself again. What kind of adventure do you want to have today?”

Her enthusiasm and earnestness had me stammering. “Oh, I, uh, I didn’t come over here for that.”

Her fine eyebrows arched. “Then why did you come over?” she posed. “Are you in the market for another coconut?”

Why had I come over? I hadn’t really considered what it would be like to see her the morning after she’d licked me to completion in a semi-public area. Memories of the evening had me growing warm in places thankfully hidden by the bottom half of my bikini.

“You’re working,” I dismissed. “I don’t want to interrupt; I just wanted to say hi before I go read my book by the pool.”

Kate ignored my words and had begun to pack up her things. “I’ve got just the adventure in mind.”

“No, you really don’t have to do that,” I backpedaled.

“Hey, Eva!” she called to the woman from whom I’d bought the beaded bracelet. “Will you keep an eye on my stuff?”

The woman in question waved her hand in acquiesce. I could only stand awkwardly while Kate continued to ignore my progressively weakening refusal.

“I didn’t mean to cut your day short.”

“You didn’t. The lack of tourists did.”

“Maybe they’ll come later. I don’t want you to miss out on a big sale because of me.”

Did Curaçao have universal healthcare? What would happen if she broke her arm?

Kate put her hands on her narrow hips and regarded me. “I can tell this is a big issue for you. How about this—we hang out for a few hours and then I’ll come back to work. Does that work better for your conscience?”

I nodded.

“Good.” She clapped her hands and rubbed her palms together. “Now that we’ve shelved your guilt for a few hours, I hope you’re ready to get wet.”

+ + +

Kate tiptoed across the rocky shoreline and I obediently followed behind. We had ventured just beyond the resort’s boundaries; signs in multiple languages warned of this fact as if to say that those who traveled past the invisible boundary were own their own. Kate had been so confident and so insistent though that I had put up little to no resistance.

A few yards away, the chaotic ocean crashed against the outcropping of jagged rocks. Each incoming wave covered my feet and ankles, and the tide threatened to suck me out to sea as the water retreated. Neither of us wore shoes, but she was clearly less tender footed than myself. Each tentative step brought a sharp pain to the bottom of my naked feet, but I was determined to keep up with my adventure guide. I grit my teeth to distract myself from the pain and silently trailed behind. My stubbornness knew no bounds.

Just a little farther,” Kate promised. “It’s totally worth it.”

For our excursion, she’d ditched the boxy Hawaiian shirt for a solid blue bikini top. If I hadn’t been so focused on the placement of each careful step after the next, I might have been distracted by the muscles in her upper back, or how the accumulation of sweat had started to leave a wet trail down the small of her back and disappeared down the waistline of her red swim shorts.

“Careful up here,” she cautioned as we reached a group of rocks covered in green algae.

She reached back for me, and I too naturally grabbed her hand. I was sure she was only doing it to help me cross the slippery rocks, but I couldn’t ignore the intimacy of the gesture. I nearly forgot my surroundings, distracted by the shape and feel of her hand.

“Check it out.” Her voice pulled me back.

At first I wasn’t sure where she had taken me or what I was supposed to be looking at—I was too busy looking at her. But when I noticed Kate’s downcast eyes, I looked to the ground as well. We must have been at low tide; all around us, craters of rock and sand had become small puddles. Starfish, tiny crabs, snails, and other miniature marine animals had collected in the tidal pools.

Kate dropped my hand to crouch down and get a closer look. “I could stare at these tidal pools all day. It’s like their own little world in there. It’s like their own planet. It makes me wonder if maybe we’re in our own little tidal pools, too, unaware of there being so much more out there.”

I watched Kate through my peripheral vision. In that moment she reminded me of some of my students, in awe of something basic and primal like how a tiny seed can become a tree or a caterpillar becomes a butterfly while the adult world had long ago become jaded and cynical.

“What?” Kate’s attention snapped away from the mini-ecosystem to return to me.

I kept my musings to myself. “Nothing,” I smiled.

“I think it’s cool,” she grunted.

“I do, too,” I appeased. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

She pulled her sunglasses down to cover her eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

I opened my mouth to apologize for making her feel self-conscious, but a particularly strong wave struck the back of my knees and shoved me toward the tidal pool we’d so recently been admiring. Beneath the ocean’s blanket, my right knee struck against some of the jagged rock my feet had been complaining about earlier. I sucked in a sharp hiss in pain. The sting was immediate—saltwater on the open wound.

Kate noticed my reaction and she pushed her sunglasses back onto her forehead. “Are you okay?”

I nodded although I hadn’t yet looked at my knee to inspect the damage. I gingerly lifted my knee above the water’s surface. My kneecap had begun to bleed, but I could tell it wasn’t a very deep cut. The rock had only scraped away the surface layer of skin like road rash.

Kate didn’t have the same reaction as me. “Shit. You’re bleeding,” she rumbled.

Before I could tell her I was okay, strong arms were scooping me up and off of my feet, aided by the natural buoyancy of the ocean water. Her arms hooked under my thighs and my calves dangled over the side of her forearms.

I groaned, not from pain or discomfort, but from her sudden proximity.

She misinterpreted the source of my sound. “Shit. This was a bad idea.”

“I’m really okay,” I insisted, quickly recovering as gracefully as one can when their feet are dangling above the ground.

I thought I was bigger than her—slightly taller and definitely a broader frame—yet she’d hoisted me off my feet with little visible effort. She was deceptively strong or strung out on adrenaline like those stories you hear about moms lifting up cars in order to protect their children.

“You can put me down. I’m okay,” I repeated.

Kate looked around as if deciding where to land me. She took a few steps with me still in her arms before setting me down on a small sandy refuge. I leaned over to get a better look at the damage to my knee.

I heard Kate cough. “Uh, I kinda screwed up your top.”

I glanced down at my chest and abruptly tugged the top of my one piece; my right breast was threatening to pop free from the Lycra material. If I hadn’t been so concerned about my knee, I would have dove into the ocean to hide my embarrassment.

“Here. Have a seat,” Kate coaxed. Her hand fell to my hip and she ushered me to a small outcropping of boulders.

The large stones were warm from baking in the sun, but not too hot to sit on. More mindful of my bathing suit the second time around, I pressed my hand to the top of my breasts before leaning over against to inspect my knee. A wide cut bisected the length of my kneecap. The wound was wide, but not deep—more like road rash than an actual cut.

Kate kneeled down in front of me. “The salt water’s probably the best thing for that cut,” she said. She scooped a handful of ocean water from a nearby tidal pool and released it over my knee. Small bits of sand and other ocean debris washed away. She continued to pour handfuls of water over the open wound. The water slightly stung, but no worse than rubbing alcohol.

“You’ll survive,” she announced.

“You think so, doc?” I joked.

“Yep. I bet they won’t even have to amputate.”

Still in her kneeling position, Kate leaned toward me and pressed her lips against the area adjacent to my cut. It was meant to be an innocent gesture; but she kissed my knee and I felt it other places. We still hadn’t kissed. We’d done just about everything else, but I had yet to feel those lips on mine.

“Better?”

Her mouth and breath were warm against my already enflamed skin. Her hands rested lightly on my upper thighs. Luckily, the bottom of my suit was already wet from the ocean; I don’t think I could have gotten any wetter.

She looked up at me from beneath pale eyelashes. Her hair fell across her forehead, and I resisted the urge to brush it from her face.

“I suppose I should attempt to sell some coconuts today.”

I swallowed hard. “I suppose so.”

Her mouth—her lips that had been pressed so gently, almost tenderly, against my knee—formed a crooked smile.

“Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

She stroked invisible patterns across my knee with the pad of her thumb.

A rush of arousal rippled down my spine.

She doesn’t have a retirement plan.

I tilted my head up and stared into the powder blue sky. “You should go back to work.”

Kate slowly pulled herself to her feet. “Really?” Her features pinched together. “Are you sure?”

No.

I let out a slow breath. “I’ve distracted you enough for one day,” I decided.

“You didn’t hear me complain, did you?”

“No. But I’m starting to feel guilty for keeping you from your work. What if you miss out on a big sale because of me?”

Kate shrugged her boney shoulders. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

I wasn’t.

She offered a hand and helped me stand. “How’s the knee feel?” she asked.

I hated how good her arm felt around my waist. I hated that I couldn’t turn off my brain long enough to enjoy a frivolous moment.

I grit my teeth together. “I’ll survive.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

My suitcase was open on the bed. Racy, having spent the day re-cooperating from her hangover, hadn’t even begun to pack yet. Outside, the sun was setting on our last night in Curaçao.

“It’s our last night on the island,” Racy announced, stepping out of the bathroom. “What do you want to do?”

I looked over at my nearly empty suitcase. I’d over-packed for our vacation, not knowing what to expect from Curaçao, so luggage space had been tight. I now lamented having to repack. Experience told me dirty clothes tended to take up more space in the suitcase than clean ones.

“We should probably have an early night,” I reasoned. “We still have to pack.”

“But it’s our last night!” she complained. “Don’t you want one more adventure?”

I almost didn’t want to know what she had in mind, but I asked anyways. “Like what?” I questioned.

“Well, we still haven’t gone to the resort’s dance club.”

I felt my lip start to curl, but I halted the movement before my upper lip could lift too high. I was still angry with myself for telling Kate to go back to work. Maybe tonight I could redeem myself. “Okay. I’m game.”

Racy’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“As long as we’re not out too late,” I qualified. “I don’t want to be overtired or hungover on our flight.”

“Have you ever been hungover a day in your life?” she challenged.

“Yes!” I defended myself. “I went to college, you know.”

“I know—but I more picture you spending Friday nights at the university library.”

I grimaced at the description. “That’s true. But there was also a lot of … experimenting … in my first year of college. Don’t forget that I was away from my hyper-religious parents for the first time.”

“Oooh,” she cooed. “Experimenting. Like what? Drugs?”

“No,” I was quick to reject. “Alcohol. And girls.”

“Oh, right!” Racy chuckled to herself. “Sometimes I forget you’re gay.”

“How is that even possible?” I wondered.

“Well, you don’t look the part,” she noted.

I arched an eyebrow. “Just because I wear skirts and have enough hair to put in a ponytail?”

“That—and you never talk about girls you like! I talk about men, like, all the time.”

“Oh, I know you do.”

She didn’t take offense to my mocking tone. “See! Even more reason why you should point out girls to me you wanna bang. It’ll be payback for all the times I’ve done that to you.”

I shook my head. “Let’s just get moving before I change my mind about tonight.”

A man stood outside of the club entrance, checking wrist bracelets that indicated we were paying guests at the resort. He held the door for us and we walked inside. I noticed right away the distinctive scent of s fog machine, slightly sweet and musky. It had been dark outside, but it was even darker inside the club. The only light came from a kind of laser light show in the center of the dance floor, a backlit bar, and the DJ booth. I started to fan myself with my hand. If the air conditioning was on, you couldn’t tell. It might have been even more humid inside than outside.

If the resort had seemed deserted earlier, it was only because everyone was in this building. The dance floor was crowded with dancing couples and groups of single-sex friends—maybe bachelor or bachelorette parties. Male and female dancers performed on top of elevated platforms, hovering above the dance floor like isolated islands.

“This is wild!” Racy announced. “It’s too bad we’re only just coming here our last night.”

Nothing about this environment appealed to me, but for my friend’s sake, I kept my opinion to myself. It was too loud to really have a conversation, anyway.

“I need a drink!” Racy yelled over the electronic dance music.

I nodded my agreement. “What do you want?” I offered.

“Surprise me!”

I wiggled through the crowds to get to the equally busy bar. The resort may have provided free alcohol to its guests, but I needed to compete with the other club attendees to even make it to the bar. I eventually captured the attention of one of the club’s overworked bartenders long enough to order a drink for Racy and myself.

I leaned over the top of the bar and shouted our drink orders to be heard over the club’s loud, pulsing music. As the bartender left to make our drinks, I couldn’t help but wistfully observe that I could have gotten served much quicker and easier if we’d gone to the Thirsty Coconut. Plus, I might have been able to see Kate one more time. There was little chance of bumping into her at the discotheque. I was hardly an expert on her likes and dislikes, but the dance club seemed far from her scene.

I fought the crowds to return back to where I’d left Racy. My friend didn’t look in my direction, but accepted the fruity drink that I pressed into her hands. Her attention was focused on something across the club.

“That girl from the Thirsty Coconut is working overtime,” she observed.

I followed the trajectory of her stare to one of the floating go-go dancer platforms. Tory—the attractive hostess-waitress we’d seen a few times—stood on platform heels in a crop top and tiny shorts.

“I still can’t believe you wanted to come out tonight,” Racy marveled.

I chewed on an ice cube from my drink. “I’m not always a stick in the mud,” I told her.

Racy smiled brightly. “Maybe I’m finally starting to rub off on you.

I itched at the band-aid stretched across my kneecap. The shallow cut from before had stopped bleeding, but a bruise was sure to form in the coming days. I wouldn’t have to worry about my legs for long though. Once I was back in Boston, my knees would be confined to jeans and leggings.

Racy continued to gawk, unblinking, in Tory’s direction while her mouth sought out the lip of her drink.

“It’s rude to stare,” I called her out.

Racy’s body began to sway in time with the music. “She wouldn’t be up there if we weren’t supposed to look.”

“Well it’s making me uncomfortable,” I opined.

“Beautiful, dancing women make you uncomfortable?” she laughed.

“Yes. Definitely.”

“How do you manage to be around me then?” She grinned broadly and wiggled her hips from side to side.

I didn’t suppress an eye roll. “I have no idea.”

“There’s still time, you know.”

“For what?”

“I was supposed to get you laid this trip,” she noted. “I’ve been a terrible friend.”

“That’s not your job,” I dismissed her.

“I know, but I feel like I let you down.”

I considered telling her about Kate—she’d given me permission to talk to her about those kinds of things—but I passed on the opportunity.

I had reached the bottom of my drink, but the bar area looked even busier than before. The last thing I wanted to do was fight my way back to the bar to get another watered-down beverage. I could feel a small trickle of moisture down the center of my spine. I was sweaty and sticky, and I hadn’t even danced.

“I think I’m gonna head back to the room,” I announced.

“Really? Are you feeling okay?”

I nodded. “It’s just a little hot in here.” I fanned my face with my hands. “I need some fresh air.”

“Do you want me to come with?”

“No. Stay. Have fun. Just remember we’ve got an early morning.”

“Okay, Mom,” she joked.

We shared a quick hug before I shimmed my way to the club’s entrance. Once outside, cool, salty air greeted my exit. The path back to the room was dimly lit, blanketing the sidewalk and surrounding area with a low, romantic glow. The moon was a sliver of a crescent shape in the sky. The ocean—not far away—crashed against the rocky shoreline. The night was quiet; other vacationers were at the club, the tiki bar, or were already in bed, like I probably should have been.

There had been moments on this vacation when I’d lamented being on a gorgeous tropical getaway with my straight best friend instead of a love interest. As I strolled back to the room on my final night in Curaçao, those feelings of longing and regret began to resurface.

I should have been on vacation with a girlfriend. I should have had a girlfriend. We would have a place together. Maybe we’d be married and she’d be on my school’s medical plan. We’d spend holidays with her family because she got along with hers and mine was so terrible. We’d talk about having kids, but would choose instead to foster or adopt. We’d have a Sunday brunch spot—some place with bottomless mimosas.

I lay down in a freestanding hammock a few feet from the paved walkway. The creak of rope and metal joints joined the chorus of chirping crickets. I closed my eyes and sighed loudly into the night. What was I doing with my life? Was this as good as it got? Staying late at school and coming home to make dinner for one? Talking about my day to my pet fish before going to sleep and starting the routine all over again?

My private lamentation was interrupted by a too-familiar voice: “Don’t tell me your bad friend locked you out again.”

I opened my eyes to see Kate standing over me, her mouth turned toward the sky.

“Do you just get to wander around the resort even though you’re not a guest?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s not like I’m causing trouble. And I pay for my drinks at the bar.” Kate shrugged. “What are you doing out here?”

I didn’t want to admit that I’d left Racy at the discotheque—I didn’t want to appear boring or repressed—so I made light of my presence.

“I wanted some time to myself. Enjoy my last night on the island.”

The smile dropped from Kate’s face. “Last night?” she echoed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“What for?” I countered.

She hummed. “I dunno. I would have baked a cake or something.”

I squinted at her face through the darkness, trying to ascertain the seriousness of her statement. “You bake?”

“Nope.”

She stood on the sidewalk with her hands deep in the pockets of her oversized shorts. Everything about her outfit was too big—her shorts, the boat shoes in which her feet swam, and that horrible Hawaiian shirt. I hated the boxy surf tops she wore. I knew the slender, muscled torso that hid beneath those ugly patterned shirts. The shirt was too big for her narrow frame. I didn’t consider myself fashionable by any stretch of the imagination, but I at least knew sizes. The arms were too wide, the collar too tall, the torso too long and too boyish. It was all too much.

“Why do you wear those shirts?” I blurted out.

“It’s illegal to go topless in Curaçao.”

I rolled my eyes despite the darkness. “You know what I mean. Those shirts are for obnoxious tourists.”

“I’ve got a buddy at the resort’s gift shop. I get a great deal.”

“They’re horrible,” I opined.

A slow, curious smile curled at the corners of her mouth. “What would you prefer me in?”

I thinned my lips and closed my mouth tight. That bikini I saw you in on the first day. Or nothing at all.

“Never mind,” I clipped. “Forget I said anything.”

“What are you wearing?”

I tugged at the bottom of the one-piece romper. The bottom half had ridden up. Although I was in shorts, and she’d seen me wearing much less, I still felt exposed.

“It’s a romper.”

Her mouth quirked. “Aren’t those for babies?”

“No. They make them for adults. And they’re actually cool,” I huffed.

“Don’t mind me; I don’t know what I’m talking about. I haven’t looked at a fashion magazine in a decade.”

Kate tilted her head toward the night sky and loudly exhaled. The gesture reminded me of living in colder weather where you might breathe out deeply to see the condensation of your breath. I doubted Curaçao ever got colder than 60 degrees.

“It’s a nice night,” she observed.

“Mmhm,” I agreed.

Kate gestured to my hammock. “Mind if I join you?” she posed.

“It’s a free country.”

I paused at my reflexive response as she climbed into the hammock and wiggled in beside me. I had no idea if Curaçao was a free country. And what did that phrase even mean in the first place?

“What are you thinking about?” she asked as she continued to move her shoulders this way and that as if seeking a more comfortable position.

“Representative democracies.”

I heard her snort. “You could have just said ‘nothing’ like a normal person.”

“I guess I’m not normal.”

If it had been Racy and not Kate who had made the quip, I would have felt attacked. Nothing provoked my ire more than people remarking on my lack of normality. Yet I knew that Kate hadn’t meant anything by it. She herself, by definition, was far from so-called normalcy.

I marveled at the quiet of the night. Missing was the constant white noise of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. Instead, only the gentle lapping of water kissing the sandy beach and the rhythmic creaking of the hammock’s ropes reached my ears. A salty breeze came in from off the ocean. My eyes shut of their own volition and remained closed while we swayed together on the giant hammock.

“This is kind of perfect,” I thought aloud.

I mentally cringed once I’d voiced my opinion. I hoped she wouldn’t misinterpret my audible musing as meaning I thought laying with her on this hammock was perfect.

Luckily, she didn’t consider my observation to have multiple meanings. “Curaçao is amazing,” she concurred. “You should really think about moving here.”

“Hah,” I barked out.

“I’m serious. What’s Boston got that’s keeping you from all of this?”

“I’ve got responsibilities. A job. Friends,” I reasoned. “I can’t just pick up my life and run away to a tropical island. I can’t be like—.”

I stopped myself, realizing what the next word was going to be.

“It’s okay. You can say it,” Kate assured me. “You can’t be like me.”

There was not a hint of malice in her tone.

An awkward silence hung in the air. I remained quiet until the silence became unbearable.

“I should probably head back to my room,” I announced.

“Why? It’s early.”

“I’ve still got to pack.”

She hummed. “That’s right. What time is your flight?” she asked.

“11:30 a.m. But we have to be there three hours early because it’s an international flight, and it will probably take the hotel shuttle about half an hour to get to the airport,” I continued to calculate, “so we should probably be in the hotel lobby and checked out by 8:00 a.m. at the latest.”

“Sure that’ll give you enough time?”

I turned my head to appraise her. It was dark, but the moonlight was bright enough to see the teasing smile on her lips.

“You don’t seem like the running-through-the-airport-to-catch-your-flight kind of girl,” she quipped.

“I like to be prepared,” I defended myself. “Life is stressful enough without doing something like that to yourself.”

“So that’s it?” she breathed.

“I guess so.”

I successfully sat up in the hammock without dumping either of us on the ground. Kate held the swinging rope swing steady while I climbed out and found solid ground.

“Are you headed home now?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Kate brushed her hands together, wiping away stubborn sand. “Eh, I’ll probably grab a beer at the Coconut before I tuck in for the night. You could join me?” she offered.

I chewed on my lower lip as I thought about the suitcase on my bed. The closer I got to the end of my vacation, the harder it was becoming to shut off the reasonable part of my brain.

“I really have to pack.”

She nodded her understanding. “It was nice meeting you, Mercy.”

“It was nice meeting you, too.”

I wrapped my arms around my torso to give them something to do. Did we hug? Kiss? Shake hands? What was proper etiquette for two women who had kind of, sort of, had sex?

I didn’t have time to decide on an appropriate gesture before Kate began walking backwards along the concrete walkway. “Have a good night,” she called. “If you ever decide to run away to a tropical island, you should look me up.”

With a smile and a small wave, she turned on her heel and continued to walk towards the darkness and out of sight.

+ + +

The next morning, Racy and I stood in front of the resort’s open lobby on the sidewalk with our packed suitcases beside us.

“So what do you think? Good vacation?” she asked.

“Mmhm,” I hummed.

“You should listen to me more often,” she remarked.

I raised an eyebrow. “Like when you try to set me up on random dates?”

“That didn’t turn out so badly,” she dismissed.

“Yeah, for you!” I exclaimed. “Are you going to keep in contact with your Curaçao boyfriend?”

Racy waved a dismissive hand. “No. But there’s nothing wrong with a vacation fling. It’s harmless. You would know that if you’d put yourself out there once in a while.”

I bit my tongue. I could have told her what had happened with Kate, but there was no point. If anything, it would only have given her ammunition with which to tease me when we got back to Boston.

A white van with tinted windows pulled through the half moon driveway. Unlike our ride from the airport, this vehicle had the resort’s logo screen-printed on its side panel.

“I don’t want to go back!” Racy whined.

“Back to reality,” I sighed.

“Are you straight back to school?” she asked.

“I’ve got a staff meeting on the 30th, but I don’t actually start school again until after New Years.”

Racy unexpectedly squealed. “Let’s stay a few more days! You can video chat into your meeting, and then we can go back to the beach.”

“Ugh. Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious, Mercy. It wouldn’t be that much to change our flights and get a room for a few more days.”

“I already spent too much on this trip. I really couldn’t afford more days.”

“I’ll take care of it. My treat,” Racy insisted. “You’d actually be doing me a favor.”

“You know I can’t do that. Besides, I really should be there in person for the meeting, and I have to get my classroom ready. I’ve got bulletin boards to make and new name tags for the new semester, and I should probably move the desks around so my students have a different seating arrangement.”

Racy held up her hands. “Stop. You’ve giving me anxiety.”

I breathed out deeply. “I really wish I could stay a few more days, but I really shouldn’t.”

“I get it. I need to get back, too.”

A short man with a clipboard grabbed our luggage and tossed it into the back of the shuttle van.

I looked once more around the front of the resort before climbing into the hotel shuttle. Kate hadn’t said she’d see me off in the morning, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed she hadn’t been in the hotel lobby.

It was a ridiculous emotion. She didn’t owe me anything. There was no obligation on either side—it had only been a little vacation fun. And now it was time to get back to the real world.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A loud sigh escaped my lungs as I hovered near the coffee pot in the teacher’s lounge of Woodrow Wilson Middle School. Instead of bottomless mimosas from the resort’s all-you-can eat buffet, I was back to drinking bland coffee out of a stained ceramic coffee mug.

My return to Boston had been unremarkable. Racy and my flight had touched down the previous day, we’d spent a good chunk of time waiting in the customs line at Logan Airport, and now I was back at work for a teacher’s in-service meeting before the new semester officially started on January 2nd.

“Is it June yet?”

The question belonged to Mya Sorenson, a fellow teacher who taught second grade. She walked through the doorway of the teacher’s lounge, looking as unimpressed as me to be back to school. “Why do I always feel more exhausted after winter break than when it started?” she complained.

When her eyes landed on me, she jerked to an abrupt stop. “Wow. You’re so tan! Where’d you go?”

I rubbed self-consciously at my exposed forearm. “Curaçao. It’s an island a little north of Venezuela.”

Mya’s lips twisted wistfully. “I remember those days. No husband. No kids.”

“Did you do any traveling over break?” I asked.

“We traveled,” she confirmed, “but not the fun kind. Mike’s family’s in Vermont and mine’s in New Hampshire. It felt like we were on the road the entire vacation.”

I’d never been good at small-talk with my co-teachers, so I offered her a sympathetic smile instead.

“I hope there’s more coffee.” Another teacher, Scott Dzerick, who also taught second grade, entered the room.

I held up the well-used coffee pot. “I’m not sure you want it,” I warned. “I don’t think anyone’s cleaned the machine since before Christmas.”

“Forget academic freedom,” Scott remarked, “we should really be using our collective bargaining power to negotiate for better break room coffee.”

“Seconded,” Mya agreed. “Where’s that union rep?”

More of our colleagues wandered into the staff lounge as we got closer to the start of the day’s meetings. I caught up with a few other teacher friends and swapped holiday stories, before chatter died down when our principal entered the room.

Grace Santos wasn’t much older than me. Smart, pretty, and young, she had rocketed up the hierarchy of Boston Public Schools despite being a relative newcomer compared to other principals in the district. I envied her talent, but didn’t envy her job. The teachers on staff could be catty and gossipy, not much more mature than the students we taught. She also had to deal with the school district’s superintendent, the PTA, and the school board, all of whom tended to have varying priorities. All I had to do was worry about my classroom.

“First off,” Grace began when she had the room’s attention, “I want to welcome everyone back. I hope you all had a happy holiday with friends and loved ones. Second, I want to make you aware of a few things that happened over break. Most pressing, the boiler broke over the holiday.”

A collective, concerned murmur rippled across the staff until Grace waved for the group’s silence. “There was some water damage in the basement, but luckily the facilities manager caught it before it could spread to other areas. The bad news, however, is we haven’t seen the worst of winter yet, which means we had to get a brand new boiler.”

“How much did that cost?” The question came from one of the older, tenured teachers.

Grace inhaled. “The majority of the HVAC equipment in the building has exceeded its expected operational life. The boiler itself was close to $300,000, but that’s just maintenance. Eventually the entire system is going to need to be replaced.”

“Time to organize a bake sale,” someone joked.

Grace raised her voice to avoid losing control of the meeting. “We’ve seen tough times before, and this certainly won’t be the last. I’m asking everyone to tighten his or her belts a little more as we try to make this right with the operating budget. I’ll give you more updates as I receive them.” She clapped her hands together to indicate she’d come to the end of her announcements. “That’s it for now. Again, welcome back. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help the new semester start off smoothly.”

The meeting came to a quick conclusion, leaving us with the rest of the day to get our classrooms set up for spring semester.

“Go, Team. Go,” I overheard a third grade teacher quietly snicker to another colleague on their way out of the teacher’s lounge.

I had bulletin boards to re-design and new student nameplates to create, but I lingered behind in the break room until only Grace and I remained. I considered my principal to be a friend as well as my boss. Something told me it was more than the cost of a boiler that weighed on her mind.

I leaned against a large worktable in the center of the room. “How bad is it?” I asked.

Grace filled a coffee cup with the burned leftovers in the coffeepot. “It’s bad.” She sighed deeply. “The operating budget got slashed again.”

My eyebrows raised in surprise. “Over Christmas?”

“No. Last July.” Grace made a pained face. “I didn’t tell anyone; I didn’t want you to worry about your jobs. I thought everything would work out if we just kept tightening our belts. But now with this unexpected HVAC fix, I don’t know how we’re going to keep the school afloat until June.”

“Afloat?” I echoed. “You mean like ending the school year early?”

“You’ll all get paid,” she promised. “Your salaries are guaranteed. But I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to pay to keep the lights on in this place.”

My thoughts raced from this new information. “Can’t we get an emergency grant from the school district? Certainly they’re not going to punish us for a broken boiler system. That’s something that can’t be anticipated.”

“The district is budget-challenged, too. The cuts came all the way from Beacon Hill.” Grace sighed again, and I recognized the signs of stress in her body language.

“You’re really worried,” I observed, my own anxiety beginning to heighten.

Grace shut her eyes. “It may not be a short-term crisis. There’s talk we may not be around next fall.”

“You’re kidding!” I squeaked.

“Oh, I wish that I were. You know how it is.” She waved her hands in frustration. “Declining test scores correlating with a plummeting tax base. And charter schools seem like the new, shiny solution for a legislative branch too lazy to put in the real work of fixing a broken educational system.”

I didn’t have words. Grace’s revelation had left me numb and gutted.

Grace didn’t bother drinking the coffee in her cup. She dumped the remaining liquid down the sink. “Do me a favor, Mercy? Don’t tell anyone?” she requested. “I’ve already told you too much, but I had to tell someone. This has been sitting on my chest for far too long.”

I nodded, my features serious. “Of course. Not a word. You can trust me. And if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

Grace gave my words a half-hearted smile. “Know anybody with an extra boiler?”

+ + +

I made eye contact and smiled at the young man standing behind the cash register at the liquor store. Massachusetts had plenty of quirks, and one of which was a leftover blue law that restricted where alcohol was available for sale. In the Midwest I could buy a gallon of milk and a bottle of bourbon at the same time, but since relocating to New England after college, I’d gotten used to making a trip to the neighborhood packie if I wanted a bottle of wine with dinner.

Because New Years Eve was only a day away, the front of the liquor store was cluttered with kiosks stacked high with bottles of champagne. But champagne was for celebrating, so I kept walking. I didn’t have much to be excited about, let alone to celebrate. I thought I might spend the next few days updating my résumé and tweaking my cover letter. My conversation with Grace hadn’t left me with much hope that I’d have a school to come back to after summer break, if we even lasted until June at all.

I walked down one of the store’s narrow aisles, turning my shoulders this way and that, to pass by some of the store’s other patrons. Their tired faces, like my own, suggested they’d had a rough day and were content to slide into the new year with little to no fanfare.

I scanned the amber-colored offerings on a top shelf. The store wasn’t very big and hard liquor options were limited to only a few varieties of each. The only reasonably priced brand was nearly sold out and I had to stand on my tiptoes to try to reach the elusive bottle. My fingertips brushed against the rectangular bottle, which only succeeded in pushing the bottle farther back on the shelf.

I exhaled through my nose. “Of course,” I mumbled.

A hand brushed against the small of my back. “Let me get that for you.”

I felt, rather than saw, the individual use my back to steady themselves as they reached high for the bottle that had been just beyond my reach.

My head dropped and my eyes shuttered shut when my nose was assailed with the scent of sunscreen. In my mind’s eye, I pictured Kate in her faded red swim shorts and a ridiculous flowered shirt. I hadn’t thought about her or Curaçao since being back to Boston—not unless you counted my morning shower when I’d deeply inhaled the scent of my coconut shampoo or during my commute when I’d been squeezed between obnoxious businessmen wearing equally obnoxious backpacks that they wielded like oversized turtles.

When I felt the cool glass of the liquor bottle being pressed into my hands, I finally opened my eyes to thank my helper. But rather than being able to express my gratitude, the words got caught in the back of my throat.

Her silver blonde hair was covered by a black knit cap; she’d traded in her Hawaiian shirt for a zip-up hoodie and leather jacket; and the red board shorts had been replaced with dark skinny jeans. The outfit was totally off, but Kate Emerson was definitely in my neighborhood liquor store.

A slow smile spread across her face while I remained tongue-tied. “Hey, roomie.”

Her tone and features appeared unaffected as if we randomly ran into each other all the time.

“Kate!” I exclaimed. “I hardly recognized you in clothes. I-I mean long pants. I’ve only ever seen you in shorts,” I stuttered.

I fanned at my face, feeling the blush forming on my cheeks. When had someone turned up the store’s heat?

“I knew what you meant.”

“What are you doing here?” I blurted out the question with far less elegance than I liked.

She gestured to an adjacent aisle. “Getting a six pack. This place has a great selection of local beers.”

“I meant in Boston. What are you doing in New England?”

She arched a white-blonde eyebrow. “I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you mean.”

“Of course not,” I hastily corrected, although the idea had begun to cross my overly active mind.

“My family’s from the area,” she reminded me. “We get together every year for New Years.”

“Oh. That sounds like a nice tradition.”

Her lips twisted into a smirk. “I’m wearing full-length pants, Mercy. It’s really not that great.”

I smiled—a real smile—not the nervous or forced grin that usually appeared when I made small-talk with acquaintances.

I rocked back on my heels. “This is quite the coincidence.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Oh! You think I’m stalking you?” I chuckled.

“More like Fate wanted us to bump into each other again.”

I made an unconvinced noise.

Kate abruptly tugged off her skullcap and ruffled her fingers through her short hair. The platinum strands somehow managed to look perfect even after being suffocated beneath the knit hat.

“Got any weekend plans?” she asked.

I held up the bottle of whiskey she’d retrieved for me. “Ringing in the New Year with my good friend, Jack.”

She smiled, one corner of her mouth lifting. “I hear Mr. Daniels knows how to party.”

“I normally stay away from the hard stuff,” I explained, “but I’ve had a bear of a day.”

Her smile evened out. “What happened?”

I exhaled. “The boiler system at my school unexpectedly had to be replaced over winter break. We don’t have money for pencils and crayons, let alone a new boiler. And here I am, having spent all this cash on an exotic vacation when my principal doesn’t even know if we’ll have the money to stay open through the rest of the school year.”

Kate cringed and appeared physically uncomfortable; I instantly regretted being so transparent.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to unload on you.”

“It’s okay.”

“I just found out, so it’s fresh on my mind,” I continued to apologize.

“Why don’t you drop by my parents’ house for dinner tomorrow?” Kate offered. “Free food and booze. It might take your mind off of it?”

“Crash your family reunion?” I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“It’ll be a laugh. Come on,” she cajoled.

“You and I must have very different opinions of what’s fun.”

I didn’t like spending time with my own family, let alone one I’d never met before.

Kate arched a playful eyebrow. “You really don’t want to see me again?”

Her smile was disarming. If possible, she had even more charm on the mainland than she had back on the island.

“Come over to my parents’ house,” she continued to persuade. “Pretty please?” She clasped her hands together. “You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

My eyes settled on her tan, slender fingers.

“O-okay,” I eventually relented.

Kate smiled triumphantly. “Lemme see your phone.”

I didn’t ask why, but instead pulled my cell phone from my purse and forfeited it to her. I waited while she tapped her fingers against the phone’s screen, which was out of my view. She could have been doing anything—emailing my principal, prank texting Racy, taking secret selfies of her beautiful face.

After a few moments, she returned my phone. When the screen flashed awake, I discovered that my maps program was open; she’d dropped a pin in a location a few miles north of the city.

“That’s my parents’ address,” she told me. “Dinner’s at 6:00 p.m.”

My phone rang as I stepped outside. I half expected to see an unknown number—potentially Kate making sure I was serious about coming to dinner—but Racy’s face appeared on my cell phone screen instead.

“Hey!” she greeted when I answered the call. “It’s your lucky day. My company got us tickets for dinner at Top of the Hub on New Years Eve, and you get to be my plus one.”

The excitement in my friend’s voice was palpable. Located at the top of one of Boston’s tallest skyscrapers, the restaurant would have offered an amazing viewing of the holiday’s fireworks. Tickets probably went for $250 a head.

I looked back at the liquor store as if expecting to see Kate through the plate glass windows. But the day was too sunny to see any of the activity or the individuals inside.

“Oh, uh, I kind of already have plans,” I revealed.

“Bethany?” she guessed.

“No. Kate invited me to her parents’ place.”

“Kate.” Racy paused. “Do I know her?”

“From Curaçao. The woman you bought the coconut from.”

“Are you serious?” Racy squeaked. “You’re going back to the island without me?”

“No, no,” I stopped her complaint. “Her family apparently lives on the North Shore. I just ran into her at the liquor store, and she invited me to dinner. Small world, right?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. You’re having dinner with that girl from the island. What is she doing in Boston?”

“I told you,” I said as I crossed a busy intersection in the direction of my apartment building, “she’s visiting family.”

“Are you sure? Is that what she told you? Is she actually visiting you? Did she follow you from Curaçao?” Racy accused. “Are you sure she’s not trying to single-white-female you? Maybe you shouldn’t go to this so-called dinner,” she decided for me.

“It’s fine.” I lowered my voice and cupped my hand over the bottom half of my phone. “We slept together,” I confessed in a whisper.

“Just now?!” Racy yelled.

“No, on the island.”

“You slut!”

“Watch it—you’re the last person to slut-shame me,” I censured.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Racy apologized. “You’re right. But why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Because it was a disaster!” I lamented. “I couldn’t get her off, and it was completely embarrassing. It was like being in high school all over again and not knowing how body parts work.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t bother telling her about the much more satisfactory one-sided sex outside of the tiki bar on Christmas. She had enough ammunition on me.

“I can’t believe you’re ditching me for the prospect of more bad sex,” Racy complained.

“I’m not going to sleep with her,” I insisted with probably too much vehemence.

“I would—she’s wicked hot.”

“Then why don’t you have dinner with her family,” I huffed.

“Oh man, dinner with her family—to be a fly on that wall,” Racy chuckled. “It’s all moving so fast. Did you even meet Bethany’s family?”

“It’s not like that,” I insisted. “It was a totally spontaneous invite, which is totally like her. I don’t think she’s ever made a solid plan in her life. She wakes up each morning and decides if she wants to go to work that day and spends the rest of her time at the tiki bar making fun of the tourists.”

“Sounds like she’s got it all figured out,” Racy observed.

“I’m not going,” I abruptly decided. “It’s too weird.”

“Oh, you’re going,” Racy insisted. “And then you’re going to meet up with me later at Top of the Hub, and we’re going to drink free champagne, and you’re going to tell me all about dinner. Take notes. I expect lots of details.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A little under an hour’s drive north of Boston was the city of Gloucester, Massachusetts. The wooden welcome sign at the rotary circle into town boasted that it was the country’s oldest seaport. Gloucester continued to function as a working fishing town, but was also popular with tourists because of its small-town New England charm and impressive ocean views. The North Shore was far enough away from Boston that I didn’t often make the trip, but the beaches rivaled any in New England and you’d be hard pressed to find fresher seafood.

My ride-share driver steered away from the small, downtown area, and we drove several miles along winding roads that hugged the elevated shoreline. The ocean was frozen a few yards away from the coastline; beyond the ice the water was open and sparkled under the late afternoon sun. The car slowed and turned away from the ocean to drive up a steep hill. Evergreens lined the private drive, their branches heavy with fresh snow.

We had passed a few houses before I realized how expensive the homes were in this part of the city. Most of the residences we passed had long driveways and four-car garages bigger than the house I grew up in.

My driver stopped his vehicle in front of one of the houses—correction—in front of a mansion. His car idled while we both stared out the windows. The outer façade transitioned from rough stone to traditional brick. White trimmed windows stood out from multiple gables on the second floor. I spied at least four chimneys poking out of the roof. The mechanical gate that led up the circular driveway was closed.

My driver was as impressed as I was. “Damn, you’ve got some fancy friends.”

“Are you sure this is the right address? This can’t be right,” I thought aloud.

“It’s the address you gave me.”

I double-checked my phone and our location on my map application. Unless Kate had pranked me, the address was right. This was the house.

The thought that Kate was setting me up for a very unfunny joke hadn’t crossed my mind. She’d been so insistent—nearly desperate for me to attend this family party. It hadn’t all been fake, had it?

“Would you mind waiting for a second?” I asked my driver.

He pointed to his phone, which sat in an apparatus stuck to his dashboard. “I’ve got another ride request coming in.”

I nodded tightly. “Okay.”

My driver left me standing on the curb. I watched the twin taillights disappear around a corner before I returned my attention to the closed security gate. At least I still had my ride-share app and wouldn’t be stranded if it turned out to be the wrong house.

With growing trepidation, I pressed an intercom button. A loud buzz echoed through the speaker, followed by a thin voice. “Yes?”

“Hi, my name is Mercy. I’m here to see Kate Emerson?” I raised my voice like speaking into the receiver of a fast food restaurant’s drive-thru lane.

I half expected the disembodied voice to tell me he’d never heard of Kate Emerson and that he was calling the police. Instead, I heard the mechanical grind of moving pieces as the front gate slowly opened.

My discomfort didn’t disappear once I was beyond the security gate. If anything, it heightened. The massive house looked like something from a Christmas card or a Norman Rockwell painting. Red velvet bows hung from evergreen wreaths. The front-facing windows glowed with the yellow burn of fake candles. Winter had been mild so far, but a light dusting of snow gave the property a festive feel, like powdered sugar on a gingerbread house.

The walkway had been shoveled and someone had tossed rock salt across the stone pavers, but I still took my time. I didn’t want to slip, but I also wasn’t convinced I was at the right house. I rang the doorbell and waited anxiously while it announced my arrival. Even the doorbell sounded expensive, more like a choir or chorus of bells than a traditional tone.

The door swung open to reveal the one person I wasn’t sure would be inside. I had been expecting a tuxedo’d butler to answer the door, so Kate’s appearance took me by surprise.

“You found it!” she smiled.

“Your house is hard to miss,” I deadpanned. “You can probably see it from space.”

Kate’s mouth twitched. “Come in! It’s cold.”

I walked inside and unnecessarily stamped my boots on the welcome mat. The heavy door shut behind me like the entrance of a tomb being sealed.

I stared in awe of my surroundings. This was no mudroom. This was a museum. The square footage of the room was ample, but it felt small because of the volume of material goods that had been crammed into the room. Multiple cabinets held a variety of expensive and ancient-looking items. Heavy gold-colored curtains hung from the oversized windows. Elaborately patterned wallpaper covered the walls. Unidentifiable portraits of men and women wearing turn-of-the-century outfits stared down disapprovingly. Even the furniture, a combination of wood and cloth, looked like museum pieces.

“Can I take your coat?” Kate offered.

“Only if you promise to give it back,” I distractedly joked.

I allowed her to help me wiggle out of my goose down jacket. I self-consciously plucked at the fabric of my sweater. My winter jacket was warm, but it often shed tiny white feathers on my clothes.

I only noticed Kate’s appearance and apparel after I’d stopped gawking at her house--and then I had something new to gape at. She’d transformed once again. In the liquor store she’d been leather and denim; now she was elegant and refined.

In a form-hugging grey wool dress, she looked completely at ease in her upscale surroundings. She fit in like the tapestry on the walls or the silver coffee setting in the cabinetry. The dark grey dress had a high collar and long sleeves and ended just below her knees. She wore black leggings and short black boots. Her short hair was slicked behind her ears, not boyish, but sophisticated. Small diamond studs sparkled in her ears. She wore several thin silver chains of various lengths around her neck.

Rather than compliment her appearance, I grew anxious about my own.

“Are we going to address the elephant in the room?” I remarked.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s real ivory.”

I glanced in the direction of where Kate was looking. There was a literal statue of a miniature elephant among the ornate and elaborate objects in a curio cabinet. My own family’s treasured keepsakes were porcelain figurines my mom had bought on the Home Shopping Network. Kate’s family’s knick-knacks looked like they’d been part of the East India Trading Company.

“Not the actual elephant,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this? Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

She smiled serenely. “How about a drink?”

Our shoes echoed on original hardwood floors as she led me deeper into the ornate mansion. Candle operas, detailed woodwork, lead glass windows. I kept my arms at my sides, too afraid to bump into anything.

“You grew up here?” I marveled. I couldn’t imagine a childhood where this was the norm.

“Just my summers,” she noted. “This is the family summer home.”

“Summer home?” I marveled. “Do you have a house for all four seasons?”

I hadn’t intended my statement as a joke, but Kate quietly laughed. “My parents have a townhouse in Boston where they stay most of the time. They open up the summer house for the holidays though.”

The hallway we’d been traveling opened up to a large room with tall ceilings. Dark wood paneling covered most of the walls and large windows provided a vista of the sapphire ocean in the distance. A long wooden table with seating for about twenty occupied the center of the room. Elegant holiday-themed centerpieces joined elaborate table settings. I’d been to wedding receptions decorated far more casual than Kate’s family get-together.

My stride faltered when I realized how underdressed I was. There were waiters in bowties and white suits and silver serving trays. The other party attendees were dressed similarly to Kate—not quite formal attire, but certainly more elevated than my sweater, jeans, and ankle boots.

Kate noticed how I’d hung back. “What’s wrong?”

“I wish you would have warned me,” I said in a hushed tone. “I’m totally underdressed.”

“You look nice,” she insisted. Her tone was so calm, I wanted to throttle her. “It’s really fine, Mercy. Nobody cares what you’re wearing.”

“I care!”

Her voice lilted. “How about that drink?”

She placed her hand in the small of my back, low enough that I could feel it everywhere. I visibly shuddered; my entire body convulsed without my consent from only her hand firm against my lower back. There was no way my reaction had gone unnoticed, but she—for once—had the good sense not to comment on it.

“A detour first.”

We approached a silver-blonde haired woman who wore pearls and a dark blue dress. She had the same slender build and grey-green eyes as Kate. Still unsure of my surroundings, I remained a step behind Kate.

“Where’s Dad?” Kate asked the elegant older woman whom I took to be her mother.

The woman briefly scanned the room. “I’ve lost track of him. He’s probably smoking one of his cigars on the deck.”

The woman’s cool gaze returned to Kate and myself, but settled on my face. “Who’s your friend, Kate? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“This is Mercy Lewis, Mom.”

The woman laid a soft hand on my forearm. “It’s nice to meet you, Mercy. Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Emerson,” I returned. “Your home is amazing.”

The elegant woman smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re kind to say so; thank you.” Movement across the room drew her attention away from us. “If you’ll excuse me, dears, I’ve got to check with the chef on the Beef Wellington.”

“Your mom seems nice,” I remarked when I was sure she was out of earshot.

“Yeah, she’s not terrible,” Kate grunted. “Come on. Might as well introduce you to the rest of the tribe.”

We circled the room and approached an attractive couple who looked directly off the pages of a J Crew catalog. The man wore a button-up shirt and v-neck sweater under his suit jacket while the woman had a grey wool dress very similar to Kate’s. Their grey-green eyes and ice blond hair suggested they were part of the family. They looked too young to be Kate’s uncle and aunt, but almost too old to be her siblings. I’d previously assumed the color of Kate’s hair had been the product of hair dye. Her families’ appearances, however, indicated it occurred naturally.

“Guys, this is Mercy.”

The man and the woman paused their conversation and turned their attention to me. I worked hard not to wither under their inspecting stare.

“Mercy, this is my brother, Tom, and my sister, Michelle.”

I somehow remembered to smile despite my discomfort. I shook both of their hands, and we exchanged stiff pleasantries.

“Do you live on Curaçao, too?” her brother asked.

“Oh, no,” I burst out with a little too much exuberance. “I live in Boston.”

“Mercy teaches first grade for BPS,” Kate offered.

The severe look on her sister’s face softened. “Oh, you must have the patience of a saint. I could never do that.”

“It’s not for everyone,” I concurred. “But I like it.”

“No wonder you can endure Kate.” Her brother Tom’s laughter was a low rumble.

“Yes, Tom. Because I’m a first grader,” Kate deadpanned.

Her brother shrugged. “Living on a tropical island is fun for a few weeks, but after a while it’s time to grow up and come back to the real world.”

“Yes, any plans on joining the grown-ups sometime soon, Kate?” her sister piled on.

“I don’t know—any plans on removing that stick up your ass, Michelle?” Kate returned.

Her sister didn’t flinch. It gave me the impression that this kind of banter was typical for them.

Kate’s hand returned to the small of my back. This time my knees didn’t betray me, and I remained standing upright. She bent her body towards mine. “Let’s get that drink I promised you.”

I nodded crisply, correctly sensing that Kate had little desire to continue our current conversation.

Although wait staff circulated around the room with serving trays of appetizers, the bar area was unstaffed. A few bottles of decanted liquor stood beside an assortment of wine bottles on a built-in buffet, along with a crystal punch bowl filled with a thick, grayish-white liquid.

“Eggnog,” Kate supplied, as if reading my thoughts. She helped herself and dipped her short crystal glass directly into the punch bowl, obfuscating the serving ladle.

“You want some?” she asked.

I shook my hand. “Liquid eggs never seemed like a good idea to me.”

Kate laughed into her glass. “My mom always makes too much every year. It’s fucking disgusting.”

I bristled at the curse word; I thought it might have been the first time I’d heard Kate swear. Her good mood upon my arrival had progressively deteriorated. I could understand her angst though. I’d gone on vacation to a foreign island just to avoid my own family over the holidays.

“Are you related to all of these people?” I asked, subtly gesturing to the people who milled around the room.

She made a noise into the bottom of her nearly empty eggnog cup. “Friends of my parents mostly. A few random cousins I’ve only met a few times. And of course, Tom and Michelle.”

“They seem …” My words failed me. I didn’t want to judge her siblings based on one brief introduction, but I also couldn’t lie.

“It’s okay; they’re horrible.”

“They’re older than you?” I guessed.

Kate nodded and finished the rest of her eggnog. “Tom’s the oldest at 41, and Michelle and I are eight years apart. My parents used to say I was a happy accident.”

“Eight years. Wow. Are you guys close?” Based on our interactions, I would have guessed not, but I didn’t want to assume.

“We see each other once a year at New Years and that’s about the extent of our contact. As you may have gathered, I’m the black sheep of the family.”

She dipped her glass back into the eggnog punch bowl for a refill. It was highly unsanitary, but I didn’t see anyone else drinking the milky drink, so I kept that observation to myself.

“What makes you the black sheep?” I pressed.

“I went to art school instead of an Ivy League like Tom and Michelle,” she began. “I’m not married, no kids, and I gave up all of this to sell painted coconuts to tourists. That’s pretty black sheep-ish,” she observed.

“Fair enough,” I agreed.

“What about you?” she asked. “Are you close with your family?”

“No.” I didn’t elaborate.

Kate quirked an eyebrow. “That’s all I get? I invited you to witness this freak show; you gotta give me more.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No. I’m an only child.”

“Lucky,” she snorted.

She didn’t have the opportunity to ask more questions about my family; Mrs. Emerson stood in the center of the room and waved her hands above her head to gather everyone’s attention.

“Dinner’s ready,” she announced.

The various dinner guests obediently shuffled towards the long table.

Kate pulled out one of the tall backed chairs in the center of the table. “You can sit here,” she offered.

She waited for me to sit down before claiming the empty chair beside me.

I smiled at the bald man in the seat on the other side of me. He wore a red and green bowtie that matched his pocket square.

“And who might you be?” he asked.

“I’m Mercy. I’m with Kate,” I said. “Not with Kate, but, uh, we’re friends,” I started to ramble.

The smile on the man’s face didn’t falter. “Who’s Kate?”

My mouth opened, but I didn’t have a ready answer.

“Stop it, Uncle Matt,” Kate chided. “He just wants to see you squirm,” she told me. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

Kate and I were seated, but others continued to walk around the long dinner table, trading and exchanging seats. Kate’s mom noticed the delay.

“What’s wrong, Michelle?” Mrs. Emerson called from her seat at the head of the table.

“There’s not enough seats, Mom,” Michelle said.

Mrs. Emerson looked around the table. “Oh? Are we short?”

I could feel Michelle’s eyes boring into me. “Yeah. By one. I guess that’s why you asked everyone to RSVP with their plus ones two weeks ago.”

“I guess Mercy will have to sit on my lap,” Kate quipped in an overly loud voice.

I snapped my eyes to Kate. Her features were impassive. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to embarrass her family or me. Maybe all of us.

I was ready to say I’d stand for the meal, or even offer to leave entirely, but someone on staff produced another chair from another room, and it appeared—at least for the moment—that the seating crisis was over.

I leaned toward Kate. “I don’t think your sister likes me,” I muttered under my breath.

“Don’t take offense. She doesn’t like anyone. Especially anyone associated with me.”

“What’s the deal with that?” I continued to speak in a subdued tone. The dinner conversation around me was active, but not so loud that I wouldn’t be overheard if I spoke too loudly.

“Sibling rivalry, I suppose. She’s always thought it was her duty to fix me—first because I was gay and then because I didn’t want to go into the family business.”

I paused our conversation while the uniformed staff placed a plate of salad in front of me. I looked around the table to make sure there was food for everyone before grabbing my salad fork.

“What exactly is the family business?” I’d wondered how the Emersons had gotten so rich, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask. “If you don’t mind me asking,” I added.

“Wool.”

“Wool?”

Kate popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. “My family’s Old Money. It was considered New Money at the turn of the century, actually, but now I guess we’re Old. We don’t do anything with textiles anymore though; it’s just a pile of money that’s continually reinvested and my parents live off the accrued interest.”

“Wow. That’s … wow,” I remarked. “Does that make you a wool heiress?”

“It’s family money,” she corrected me. “Not mine. I’m actually hoping my parents spend it all before they die so Tom and Michelle don’t fight about the inheritance.”

“That’s a unique perspective,” I noted.

Kate shrugged. “I’m nothing if not unique.”

The light chime of silverware tapping against crystal caused the conversations around the table to come to a stop. Mrs. Emerson stood at the head of the table and held up her glass. “I’m no good at these kinds of things, but I’d like to make a toast.”

Everyone seated searched for the closest drinking glass, of which there were several options.

“I’d like to give thanks for the opportunity to be together,” Mrs. Emerson began. “These kinds of occasions when all of my children are seated at the table are far and few these days, which makes moments like this even more special. Tom, it’s been such a treat seeing you grow your law office to one of the most respected in New England. Michelle, you get lovelier as the years go by, my darling. What a joy to see you thrive and move up the ranks at your investment firm. And my youngest—my baby—Kate.” Mrs. Emerson stared in our direction. “We’re so happy to have you home for however long that may be, dear. Cheers everyone!”

All around us, people clanked their glasses together before diving back into the food on their plates.

I didn’t raise my glass. I tried to look at Kate without being too obvious. “Are you okay?” I murmured.

I couldn’t pretend that her mom’s toast had made me extremely uncomfortable.

Her smile was unexpected. “Never been better.”

Wait staff swooped in and cleared away our plates with practiced precision. I’d barely finished the food in front of me before my plate was removed and another course was placed in front of me. After the salad course came a cheese course, which was followed by the Beef Wellington that Mrs. Emerson had been worried about. Once those plates were cleared, we sat around the table waiting to see if there was more to come.

I wiped my mouth with the cloth napkin on my lap and set it next to my empty dinner plate.

Kate looked up after me. “Where are you going?”

“To see if your mom needs any help.” I’d noticed that when the servers had taken away the dinner plates, Mrs. Emerson had followed them in the direction of what I assumed was the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted. “They pay people to do that.”

“I know.”

The kitchen was separated from the front of the house by a solid, windowless door. Contemporary architecture favored open-concept floor plans, but I knew enough about New England homes to recognize the age of Kate’s familial home. It had probably been built during the late 18th or early 19th century when wealthy families didn’t allow guests to see the inner workings of their homes. Entertaining occurred in the front parlor while servants toiled in the back kitchens, beyond the purview of visitors.

The house was old, but the kitchen had been upgraded with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Mrs. Emerson stood in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by the hustle of the hired help.

“What can I get you, dear?” she offered.

I watched her carefully remove the plastic wrap off a tray of miniature desserts, which looked like bite-sized cheesecakes and pinafores.

“Nothing, actually. Can I help you with anything?”

Mrs. Emerson looked up from her task. She looked confused at first by my appearance as if she didn’t remember me from before. “That’s kind, but I think we’ve got it in here.”

I nodded, satisfied that I’d at least offered. She stopped me, though, before I could return to the rest of the party.

“Actually,” she said, changing her mind. “Do you know how to make coffee?”

I mentally panicked. I couldn’t imagine the fancy cappuccino machine this family probably had.

“I could take a stab at it.”

“The coffee pot’s above the refrigerator,” she instructed. “There should be ground beans in the freezer.”

My momentary panic eased when I realized the Emersons had a basic sixteen-cup coffeemaker. The filters were adjacent to where the machine was stored and the ground beans were right where she’d indicated.

“I’m sorry. It’s Mercy, right?” Mrs. Emerson asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I confirmed. I didn’t know why I’d added the formality.

“How is she?”

It took me a moment to realize she was talking about Kate.

Mrs. Emerson continued when I didn’t provide an immediate answer. “She’s so secretive about her life down there.”

I thought back to Mrs. Emerson’s dinner speech—so congratulatory of her other children’s accomplishments while barely mentioning Kate. Maybe it hadn’t been a cruel oversight; maybe she genuinely didn’t know what Kate did in Curaçao.

“She’s good,” I said.

Mrs. Emerson patted the top of my hand. “I’m glad she has someone. I worry about her, you know, down there all on her own. But you being here has helped put my mind at ease.”

I swallowed hard. Did Kate’s mom think we were dating? I could have corrected her, but I didn’t have the heart.

“She, uh, I think she’s got it figured out. She seems really happy.” I cleared my throat. “We’re really happy.”

Mrs. Emerson clasped my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Mercy.”

I exhaled as I pushed through the door that separated the kitchen from the dining area. I bumped into a solid figure as I exited, having not seen them because of the windowless door.

My apology came out of my mouth before I could recognize whom I’d run into: “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault.”

Kate stood on the other side of the door. She looked startled: shell-shocked. “I realized I should have accompanied you so you didn’t have to deal with my mom by yourself.”

I was too taken aback by her presence to register her excuse for hovering in the hallway. “Did you hear all of that?” I asked.

Kate nodded.

“I—.”

I opened my mouth with a weak excuse. I didn’t get out my thought—not that I’d really settled on what I might say—because Kate’s arm was suddenly around my waist and her free hand was cupping the back of my head. Her lips were on me in the next second: not on my cheek, not on my ear, not on my neck. Her mouth pressed, almost violently, against mine.

I did what felt natural; I kissed her back. Even far away from the tropical island, she tasted like sunscreen, but in a strangely pleasant way. She deepened the kiss, poking her tongue between my lips, which I gladly accepted into my mouth. Her mouth was tender and soft. Her hands was firm in the small of my back, pinning us together. My hands went to the sides of her face before trailing back to run through her short hair.

Eventually, I had to pull away. I required oxygen, and somewhere in my brain I registered that Kate’s mom would be coming through the kitchen door at any moment.

Kate’s hair looked slightly mussed from where my hands had traveled. Her grey-green eyes stared at me, unblinking. “Wanna get out of here?”

I licked my kiss-swollen lips, still tasting sunscreen on them. “Uh huh.”

Kate didn’t give me the opportunity to backtrack or second-guess myself. She grabbed onto my wrist and pulled me through the dining hall and back down the long corridor from which we’d originally come. Both of our jackets were stored in the front foyer’s coat closet.

An acute feeling of guilt hit me as I put on my jacket in the hallway. “Should we say goodbye to your family?”

“Not if we actually want to leave,” she remarked.

I sucked in a breath when brisk ocean air hit my face upon opening the front door of Kate’s family home. Kate followed closely behind.

“Where’d you park?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t have a car.”

“Guess I’m driving again.” Kate produced a key fob from her jacket pockets. A black sedan parked in the circular driveway chirped as the doors automatically unlocked. At least it wasn’t a yellow moped.

“Whose car?” I asked.

“It’s a rental. I always get one when I visit so I don’t feel trapped at my parents’ house or beholden to them for a ride.”

“No driver?” I said, only half joking.

“My parents gave him the weekend off.”

I stopped in my tracks.

“I’m kidding, Mercy,” she chuckled.

“Well, how am I supposed to know?” I complained.

“There are no bears in Curaçao and my parents drive their own cars.”

“Anything else you want to tell me?” I huffed, annoyed to appear so gullible.

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” she said. “Now get in the car.”

I blew into my gloved hands while I waited for Kate to brush the light dusting of snow off of the front and back windshields of her rented car. The scent of sunscreen lingered in my nostrils as I watched her. She hustled from one side of the car to the other, using the arm of her wool jacket to clean the side mirrors and to clear off the driver and passenger-side windows. I turned to look in the backseat for an ice scraper, but came up empty.

A comical look flashed across Kate’s face. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong until I saw her arms fly in the air, her head tipped backwards, and a booted foot appeared on the horizon. There was no sound, but when she disappeared from my view entirely, I knew she’d fallen on the ice.

I ripped off my seatbelt and jumped out of the passenger seat. I rushed around the front of the car, but not too quickly. The fresh snow had begun to melt, creating a slushy, icy ground covering, and I didn’t want to join Kate on the pavement.

Kate lay immobile on the ground, eyes closed.

“All you alright?”

I heard her shaky exhale. “You tell me.”

“Are you concussed?”

“I don’t think so. Just embarrassed.”

“Do you still want to go?” I asked.

“More than anything.” She gingerly sat up. She brushed at the back of her head. “I’m not normally this clumsy.”

“You’re fine,” I assured her. “Walking on ice must be difficult when you’ve gotten used to the beach.”

“I’ve lost all my hardy New Englander street-cred.”

She looked so despondent, I couldn’t help my laugh.

I helped her off the ground and instinctively began to brush the slushy snow from the back of her jacket. I only paused when I realized I’d basically been fondling her backside.

I cleared my throat loudly. “All good back here,” I announced.

This time it was Kate who chuckled. “You’re very thorough.”

I abandoned my task and escaped to the safety of the passenger-side seat. Kate remained outside for a moment longer to finish brushing the snow from the car.

The driver’s side door opened and Kate threw herself into the her seat. The brief time outside had brought a bright red blush to her normally pale cheeks. She looked so beautiful, I resisted the growing urge to lean across the center console and kiss her again.

I couldn’t dismiss the unexpected kiss in the hallway at her parents’ house. How could I? The phantom feeling of her lips against mine continued to linger. I wasn’t about to bring up the moment with her though. She didn’t seem to have an issue showing affection; the kiss had only been a thank-you, albeit a thank-you that had rendered me breathless.

Kate shifted the car into drive and we finally pulled out of her parents’ long driveway.

A question sat heavy in my mind as we drove through Gloucester and got on the highway. Once it had taken residency among my thoughts, it wouldn’t budge until it had been asked.

“Why were you in my neighborhood liquor store?”

Kate rubbed at the back of her neck. “You’re gonna get mad at me.”

“I’m feeling the holiday spirit,” I said brightly. “I promise whatever it is, I won’t get mad.”

“I wanted to see you,” she breathed out. She let the admission hang in the air for a long moment before continuing. “I overslept the morning you left Curaçao. I was totally planning on seeing you off, but I set my alarm for p.m. instead of a.m. By the time I woke up on my own, you were probably somewhere over the Carolinas.”

“But how did you find me?”

A basic internet search would have likely found my teaching profile at my middle school, but that didn’t account for how she’d turned up in my neighborhood liquor store. I lived in a different part of town than where I worked.

“My buddy at the resort gift shop was able to get your address because you used your credit card there. I knew where you lived, but I didn’t know how to casually bump into you without it looking like I was stalking you.”

“But you were stalking me,” I gently accused.

Kate was nonplussed. “I prefer the word observing. And when I observed you going into the liquor store yesterday, I took my chance. I hoped you’d be too surprised to call me out on it.”

“I was so mad about work,” I recalled, “I don’t think I was in the right mindset to even think to ask how you’d found me.”

“That’s right—tell me more about your school stuff.”

“You don’t have to be polite.”

“I’m actually curious. Tell me,” she implored.

I sighed, long and loud. “My school has always faced budget issues. Most schools do unless they’re private or out in the suburbs. And enrollment in our school has been dropping since the recession.”

“And you get state funding based on how many students attend, right?” Kate remarked.

I nodded even though her eyes were on the road and not me.

“We’ve been managing the past few years. Tightening our belts—as my principal is fond of saying. No salary increases and higher expectations that we buy our own supplies for the classroom.”

“Geez,” Kate muttered.

“And to make matters worse, the boiler broke and had to be replaced over winter break. That’s not the kind of thing you budget for.”

“Can a public school really close down?” she posed.

“It happens a lot, actually. The students get taken in by another school, hopefully close enough to their homes so it doesn’t create too much of a hardship for the families.”

“And about the teachers?” Kate asked. “Will you get a job at one of those schools?”

I chewed my lower lip. “Maybe. Maybe not. So many other schools are in a similar position, so they’ve instituted hiring freezes.”

Kate reached across the center console and sought out my hand. Our gloved fingers intertwined and she gave me a sympathetic squeeze. I was grateful she didn’t apologize or try to strategize a way to save the school. I’d nearly become resolved since hearing Grace’s news that this was inevitable. It was enough that she’d asked the question and had heard me out.

I also didn’t complain when she didn’t let go of my hand. Our fingers remained clasped in my lap as we drove across the bridge into the city.

CHAPTER Fourteen

Copley Square, named for the famous colonial-era painter, was located in Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood. It also played host to the city’s annual New Years Eve celebration. It was cold that night and the Boston public park was densely populated. The air was filled with the scent of fried food piping from the various food trucks stationed around the city park. Most people had congregated around a large elevated stage located at one edge of the park where local bands entertained the crowd. The real draw, however, was the Enchanted Forest of ice sculptures, scattered around the open space. Artists had fashioned giant blocks of ice into elaborate sculptures that by nightfall were backlit with LED lights.

Kate led the way, holding my hand to weave through people when the crowds became congested, but dropped it once we were no longer in a busy spot. I knew she was doing it to make sure we wouldn’t get separated, but I found myself missing the contact. I had silently marveled at Kate’s ease and familiarity with the city. I’d lived in Boston for some time, but still frequently consulted my phone’s GPS when trying to navigate downtown.

Despite having had dinner just a short while earlier, we sat on a bench and filled up on freshly made donuts served in a wax-paper bag from one of the vendors. The hot treat covered the tips of my fingers with cinnamon and sugar. I caught her staring when I licked the crumbs from my fingertips. It felt as though her kiss in the hallway outside of her parents’ kitchen had ignited something in both of us. The sex on Curaçao had been brief and hasty and almost impersonal. It had been easy to pretend during the daylight hours that nothing had happened between us at night. But I wasn’t so confident that I would be able to dismiss her kiss as easily.

“How are you enjoying the rest of your winter break?” Kate asked.

I made a noncommittal noise as I finished chewing a mini donut. “It was a bit of a bummer to come back from a tropical island,” I couldn’t help admitting. “Makes the snow a little more …” I searched for the right word. “Bracing.”

“All the more reason to move to Curaçao,” she noted with a smile.

“Right,” I said, not taking her suggestion seriously. “How long are you in town for?”

“I’m not sure. I book a one-way flight, and when my family becomes a little too much, I head back to the island.”

She’d admitted something to me on the car ride over, and I couldn’t get it out of my head.

“You really looked up where I lived?”

“It wasn’t that hard,” she claimed.

“Why?” I couldn’t help ask.

“Why not?”

Her immediate response was less forthcoming or illuminating than I’d hoped.

“We had fun on the island, so I figured we’d probably have fun here, too. I really only know my family in town anymore. I’m pretty much off the grid in Curaçao, and I lost track of my old friends.”

“I don’t keep in touch with many friends from home either,” I admitted.

“No?”

I shook my head. “We grew up together, but we don’t have much in common anymore. Different experiences, different beliefs and ideals.”

“You mean they turned into assholes,” she noted.

“I suppose so.”

“Your parents—did they freak out when you told them you were gay?”

My laugh came out like an explosion of sound.

Kate arched an eyebrow at my reaction. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I Came Out to my mom during summer break from college. She refused to acknowledge the conversation. She basically told me it was nonsense, and we never talked about it again.” I jammed my hands into my pockets. “I could have brought it up again,” I conceded, “but I don’t have the time or the energy for her.”

“What’s your dad like?” she asked.

“More of the same. Quiet. Serious. Conservative.” I exhaled sharply. “That’s why I went to Curaçao for Christmas. I like to see my parents as little as reasonably possible. They don’t put up much of a fuss about me not visiting, either. I think it’s easier for everyone involved. They get to pretend they don’t have a gay daughter, and I don’t have to be continually reminded that my parents are ashamed of me.”

I bit down on the insides of my cheeks. I’d said more—much more—than I’d intended. Once I’d started, the words wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t even blame alcohol for the over-share. I tried to gather my thoughts for airing dirty laundry or making her feel uncomfortable, but she beat me to it.

“I suppose I should thank your parents,” she remarked.

“For what?”

“If they weren’t so horrible, we probably wouldn’t have met.”

I swatted her arm. “What a line!” I scolded.

She turned toward me, grinning and presumably proud of her effort. I was tempted to let my hand linger a little longer on her arm, but I had no business doing so. I shoved my hand back into my coat pocket instead.

“This is nice,” I observed. “I’ve never actually come down here for New Years Eve. I’ve always watched it at home on TV.”

“That’s no fun,” she said. “Who do you kiss at midnight?”

I left her question unanswered, although I doubted she’d actually been expecting a response. It brought back the memory of our first and only kiss. Thinking about her strong arms around me and the intensity and neediness of her mouth warmed my body despite the brisk, winter night.

I heard Kate take a deep breath and slowly exhale.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Mmhm,” she confirmed. “Just taking it in.”

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I nodded solemnly.

“Want to keep wandering?” she asked me.

I nodded. “Please.”

We continued to walk around the park, admiring the sculpted ice and sampling more food and drink from the various vendors. We stopped at the stage to watch a local band perform original songs. I didn’t recognize any of the music, but that didn’t hinder my enjoyment.

We stood side-by-side near the back of the assembled crowd. I observed Kate in my peripheral vision, admiring the way the multi-colored lights from the stage played off the sharp contours of her face. She was really beautiful. Long eyelashes, high cheekbones, pursed expressive mouth. Her wool trench coat was tapered at the waist and couldn’t hide her long, lean figure.

If I’d seen her from afar at a Boston coffee shop instead of a saltwater pool in Curaçao I might have made different assumptions about her. The clothing and the context would have changed it all. Married, maybe. With small children. An artist for sure, perhaps a graphic designer or web developer. A runner, with aspirations to participate in the marathon.

I didn’t know what I’d expected when I’d accepted her offer to spend New Years Eve with her and her family, but this certainly wasn’t it. I’d spent the majority of the day in a state of disequilibrium, and I was only starting to regain my bearings. But as I mentally noted the passage of time and the uncomfortable fact that midnight was approaching, an all new origin of unease began to take residence in my thoughts—was I going to kiss her at midnight? Did she want to be kissed?

“Damn it,” I mumbled.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Yeah. But I forgot I told Racy I would meet up with her later. Her office paid for a big party at the top of the Prudential Center.”

“Do you need to go?” she asked, looking concerned. “Do you want me to give you a ride?”

I didn’t have the chance to respond. The band on stage wrapped up their final song and a man in a tuxedo stepped out from the wings.

“Alright everybody, it’s almost that time,” he announced into his microphone. “Grab your sweetheart and get ready to ring in the new year. The anticipation has been building all night, but we’re almost there.”

All around us, the crowds began to count down to the new year.

“Ten!”

How had it gotten so late?

“Nine!”

Hadn’t we just gotten there?

“Eight!”

Oh, shit. I wasn’t ready for this.

“Seven!”

I probably had donut stuck in my teeth.

“Six!”

I wondered if she’d still taste like sunscreen.

“Five!”

We shared what I thought was a nervous look. Why did she look so uncomfortable?

“Four!”

I watched her mouth curl into a half smile.

“Three!”

Where had all those seconds gone?

“Two!”

Had she just stepped closer, or had she been nudged toward me by the jostling crowd?

“One!”

Crap.

“Happy New Year!”

I didn’t know what to do. All around us, people were cheering and laughing and kissing. This was the one moment in which it wouldn’t be too forward for me to kiss her. Hell, she’d kissed me once already that day. But if I kissed her, what did it mean? When we were in Curaçao, I was able to dismiss our activities as a vacation fling. I’d only been having a little fun on my break. It was a foreign country and therefore it didn’t count. But now I’d been to her house. I’d met her family. I couldn’t kiss her at midnight, too. It was all getting too serious.

The moment passed while I hung back, frozen with indecision. But I couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t taken the plunge either. Maybe she’d been waiting on me to make a move, since she’d already initiated a kiss once that evening.

“Happy New Year, Mercy,” she said.

A small smile reached my mouth. “Happy New Year,” I returned.

I leaned forward and kissed her cheek, close to her temple. My lips were warm against her cold skin.

I leaned back. “You’re cold.” It wasn’t a question. Her teeth were practically chattering.

Kate made a face. “I guess I lost my Arctic blood living so close to the Equator.”

“Do you want to find a bar to warm up?”

I should have recommended she go home, but I didn’t really want the night to end, even though technically, it was already the next day.

“I thought you had to meet up with your bad friend. Besides, every place is gonna be wicked crowded,” she observed.

I nodded in resigned agreement. The city’s bars were always crowded, but it would probably be even worse than usual that night.

“We could go to my hotel?” she offered. “It’s not too far from here.”

“You’re not staying with your parents?” I was too surprised by the information that I didn’t entirely register that she’d asked me back to her hotel.

“Their house makes me feel claustrophobic.”

“It’s a mansion.” I couldn’t help my comment, although I knew exactly what she meant.

“My room has a mini bar,” she noted, steering the conversation back on its original path.

“I-I …” I wanted to. But I probably shouldn’t. How did I see this evening ending? How did I want it to end? I hadn’t thought that far in advance.

“I’m being pushy, sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” I insisted. “I’ve had a really fun night. And I want to keep having fun. With you. But if we go back to your hotel room …”

I couldn’t complete my thought. I let the unfinished statement hang in the air between us.

I watched her lick her lips. A chill ripped down my spine despite my thick winter coat.

“Yeah,” she husked. “You’re right. We should probably say goodnight.”

I exhaled. “Let me walk you to your hotel.”

It was a short, but brisk walk from Copley Square to the hotel where Kate was staying. The wind had picked up, and unlike the ocean breezes in Curaçao, Boston’s winter wind was unforgiving. I popped the collar of my winter coat to stave off the worst of the winter breeze.

Thankfully it wasn’t too long before Kate stopped in front of a boutique hotel on one of the main streets.

“This is me,” she announced.

I craned my neck to look up to the upper-most floor. “Penthouse suite, right?” I said, only half kidding.

“I told you—it’s my parents’ money, not mine.”

I still didn’t know the difference.

“I’m not rich,” she continued to insist.

“Right,” I scoffed. “Because wealth is all subjective.”

“I opted out of the family trust when I went to Curaçao.”

“Are you being serious?”

She nodded. “It was too much of a hassle. I wanted to make art and my family thought it was a waste of time. We fought about it my entire college career. I asked to be written out of the estate so I could do my own thing. If they’re not holding money over me, I can do whatever I want. I’m not beholden to them.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Money can’t buy me happiness,” she explained with a withering smile.

“Always with the lines,” I scolded.

“Can I call you a cab?” she offered. “I don’t have a cell phone, but there’s a landline in my room.”

I jerked my thumb in the direction from which we’d just come. “No, that’s okay. I think I saw a subway station around the corner.”

“Let me get you a ride. I don’t like the idea of you being on the subway this late by yourself,” she frowned.

“I’ll be fine.” I’d never ridden the subway that late before, but I wasn’t really worried. It was a safe city as long as you used a little common sense.

“Do it for my sanity?” she pressed. “I’m only going to worry about you after you’ve gone.”

I wanted to remind her that I had a cell phone and was perfectly capable of finding my way back home, but she looked so determined, I hated to point out the obvious.

“Fine,” I relented. “For your sanity.”

She grinned with the victory and held the hotel door open for me.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The hotel lobby was fairly busy for the late hour, but not for the holiday. Our boots clicked on the lobby’s marble floors as we headed for the elevators. I stared pointedly when Kate pushed the elevator button for the hotel’s second-highest floor.

“See? Not the penthouse,” she said, almost proudly.

The elevator was empty, as was the hallway outside of her room. I’d expected to see or at least hear some New Years celebrations, but instead the upper floors of the hotel were eerily quiet.

Kate unlocked and held open her door for me. “Can I get your coat?” she asked.

How long did I intend to stay?

She was behind me, helping me out of the goose down jacket before I could make up my mind.

Kate folded my jacket over an office chair. “Be right back. I gotta pee.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Help yourself to whatever,” she said before slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door.

I took a look around the room, which was large for one person. The king-sized bed was accompanied by a sitting area and a miniature kitchen. The room might have been only slightly smaller than her Curaçao house. I opened the miniature refrigerator and inspected its contents. Mini booze bottles filled the top shelf. I didn’t know what kind of alcohol Kate preferred, so I shut the door, still beleaguered by indecision.

I was drawn to the far side of the hotel room. The curtains had been pulled back to reveal the night sky. I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the cityscape below. Multi-colored holiday lights covered the trees and street lamps.

I looked away from the window at the sound of a toilet flushing and the bathroom faucet turning on and off. Kate emerged from the bathroom moments later.

“Your room is nice,” I remarked.

“I know. There’s no poultry running free.”

“Who’s looking after Dog while you’re here?” I’d nearly forgotten about Kate’s pet chicken.

“She’s actually pretty self-sufficient. You’d be surprised how much she takes care of herself.”

We stood in admittedly awkward silence as we stared out the room’s windows. Conversation had come so easily all evening, but now I couldn’t get out of my head. I should have kissed her at midnight. I’d wanted to kiss her, but I’d been too busy analyzing what that meant that I’d missed my opportunity. I wondered if I’d messed things up. She’d kissed me so fiercely in the corridor of her parents’ house before. The least I could have done was meet her halfway.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out.

Kate’s features furrowed in confusion and concern. “What for?”

“For not kissing you at midnight. I wanted to,” I rushed to explain, “but I got inside my head and psyched myself out. And before I could do anything about it, the moment had passed.”

Her eyebrows had risen higher on her forehead while I’d tried to excuse my cowardice. By the time I’d finished my confession I was surprised they hadn’t vacated her forehead.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I wanted you to know, and that I feel really bad about it.”

Kate didn’t say anything. I hated the silence, but I’d used up all of my words. Unexpectedly, she walked away from me and grabbed the digital clock off the bedside table. She fiddled with its top buttons while I remained silently confused.

She returned the alarm clock to the end table and angled the clock so its big red numbers were in my view: 11:59.

My breath hitched in my throat once I realized what she’d done.

Her steps toward me were soft, but deliberate. She kept her eyes downcast as she crossed the room, but I could hear her clear voice:

“Ten.”

Another step closer.

“Nine,” she counted down.

One more step.

“Eight.”

She stopped in front of me.

“Seven.”

She lifted her eyes to lock onto mine.

“Six.”

My eyes lowered to her mouth.

“Five.”

She licked her bottom lip.

“Four.”

We didn’t make it to three.

I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her against me. I felt her hips connect with mine as our bodies collided. I pulled her closer until her lips crashed into mine. Her hands clutched the front of my sweater. She twisted the material in her clenched hands, nearly clawing me through my shirt in an attempt to draw me closer. It had been cold outside, but it felt like an inferno in her hotel room.

My hands went to either side of her face. I sucked her tongue into my mouth; I could taste the residual sweetness from donuts on her. Wet, smacking noises, coupled with quiet approving moans filled my ears.

I was addicted to her mouth. Her lips were soft, but firm against mine. She imparted the perfect amount of pressure—tender, yet aggressive, without spiraling into desperation. I only broke away from the kiss when I felt her tugging my sweater up my torso. I lifted my arms above my head to help her pull the offending garment up and over my head.

Without the sweater as a barrier between us, Kate hefted the weight of my breasts in her hands. She kissed the exposed skin above the top of my bra cups and ran her tongue along the scalloped edge. Her kisses continued to travel up the strap of my bra until she reached the area where shoulder meets neck. She sucked on the tender flesh and lightly nipped at my skin with her teeth. I felt, rather than saw, her fingers toy with the front of my jeans. Kate popped the top button free with little effort. I couldn’t contain my loud gasp when she pulled the zipper down.

This wasn’t like me. I didn’t go up to other people’s hotel rooms after midnight. I didn’t kiss women whom I wasn’t dating, and I definitely didn’t go to bed with them. I’d been doing a lot of uncharacteristic things since meeting Kate.

While she concentrated on working my skinny jeans over my hips, I was overcome with the urge to feel more of her skin on mine. I ran my hands down the center of her back. The entire fabric panel was smooth. Where was the zipper? I could feel the back clasp of her bra through the material of her dress, but I couldn’t find the entry point to the dress itself.

“I have no idea how to take this off of you,” I announced.

“Why on earth would you want to take it off?” she asked.

I arched an aggressive eyebrow.

Kate’s body shook with laughter. “It’s a side zipper.”

She grabbed my hand and repositioned it to her waist so I could feel the distinct metal of the zipper’s teeth. But I still didn’t know where the zipper began or ended.

“I’m going to need a little more help,” I admitted.

Her hands moved to my wrists and removed my hands from her body. I was momentarily disappointed to no longer be touching her, until she walked me backwards.

“Sit,” she instructed when the backs of my knees connected with the end of the mattress.

I should have felt self-conscious to be in a fully lit room without my sweater and the front of my jeans undone, but it was hard to concentrate on my disheveled state of dress when it was clear that Kate was about to get out of hers.

I sat at the end of the mattress while Kate, backlit by the glow coming from the hotel bathroom, began to unzip her dress. First, she took care of the zippers at her sides. The panels opened to reveal lightly bronzed skin underneath. She shrugged off one arm and then the next before shimmying the dress over her hips and down her legs. She stepped out of the dress entirely and removed her black leggings, leaving her in only her bra and underwear. I clenched my thighs together when a rush of emotion—definitely arousal—shot up my body.

She stepped close, bent at the waist, and set her hands on my knees. I didn’t know her intentions until I felt the light pressure of her coaxing my legs to part. I complied with her wordless request, too under her spell to do much else.

She moved even closer so she stood between my parted thighs. Her hands went next to my hands which she guided up her chest, encouraging me to palm her breasts. The matching bra and underwear set were black and lacy. A sheer material connected to more sturdy material, covering up only her most intimate areas.

She definitely hadn’t worn those in Curaçao.

Kate dropped to her knees and took off my boots and the socks underneath. She grabbed my skinny jeans at the ankles and peeled the denim off my legs. She placed soft, deliberate kisses on my ankles and moved up the insides of my legs. My breathing became more ragged the higher her kisses landed.

She stopped at my knee—the same knee I had scraped on a tidal pool in Curaçao. She rubbed the pad of her thumb across the shallow scar. The wound had healed quickly, but I would probably always have at least a faint physical reminder of that trip on my body.

“You’ve got killer legs,” she admired. “It’s a good thing they didn’t have to amputate.”

“Yeah,” I thickly agreed.

She set my leg down; I missed the contact until she crawled up the bottom of the mattress to join me. She hovered above me in a frozen push-up. I wondered about the delay, wondered about what she was thinking, but I wasn’t brave enough to ask. Now beyond midnight, I was only one day away from being back to school and to my life. I couldn’t afford to waste anymore time.

She ground into me, flexing and pushing her hips into my panty-covered sex, making me wonder what it would be like if there had been a strap-on between us. Her hips and upper thighs connected with my most intimate, sensitive parts, pulling appreciative groans from my parted lips.

She reached between our bodies and rubbed me over the material of my underwear. Her fingers pressed against my clit and ground the sensitive nub in a wide, lazy circle. She rubbed her fingers over my covered slit, back and forth, up and down, making me soak the crotch of my underwear.

She slid her hand down the flat plane of my stomach and lower still. Her fingers slipped under the waistband of my underwear and tickled along the outside of my pussy lips.

She breathed heavily into my ear. “I want you.”

All I could do was whimper my consent.

She slid down my body, removing my underwear as she traveled lower. She left wet kisses on my inner thighs. Her tongue left a wet trail at the apex of my sex. She sucked on my pussy lips without yet touching my clit.

She flattened her tongue and rubbed against both my clit and my leaking slit. My back arched so aggressively it was a wonder I didn’t snap in half. I held tight to the headboard. The muscles in my abdomen involuntarily tightened, and I felt a flood of wetness between my parted thighs. Kate groaned in approval, lapping enthusiastically at my swollen clit.

She took her time with me. We weren’t outside of the Thirsty Coconut with Racy looking for me. Her mouth was warm and hungry. Her tongue was slow but methodical.

“Come here,” I urged in a voice no louder than a whisper.

Kate looked up at me with questioning eyes.

“I want to be kissing you when you make me cum,” I explained.

She didn’t require additional convincing.

Kate lay next to me with her leg draped over my midsection. Her knee rested lightly on my stomach. Our mouths briefly touched while she circled my clit with her thumb and her middle finger sought my entrance. I was wet and waiting for her. Her finger met no resistance.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” she marveled.

“Uh huh.”

“It’s so fucking hot.”

I thrust my hips into her hand and groaned into another searing kiss. Our tongues battled for dominance as she rotated on the bed to better position herself on top. She left my mouth momentarily to press her lips against my neck and nibble on my earlobe. The single digit that had been pulling and pushing into me was joined by a second. Kate abandoned my clit to focus on curling her fingers inside of me, searching for the spongy membrane that would make me cry out.

I breathed hotly into her mouth. My kisses were downgraded to panting and groaning when I could no longer focus on her lips and tongue. I clawed at her back and bucked against her fingers, knowing my orgasm wasn’t far behind.

Kate pressed her thumb against my aching clit while her fingers remained deep in my pussy. She rubbed the sensitive bundle, nearly bringing tears to my eyes. I clenched her shoulders while I shuddered against her.

I threw my head back, burying it deep in the pillows at the head of the bed. I exhaled, long and slow. My heart hammered in my chest.

Kate’s face hovered above me in my line of vision. “Did you get off?”

I surged off the mattress to kiss her once again. I cupped her breasts in my hands, feeling her hardened nipples through the material of the bra.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” she chuckled.

I put my mouth on hers again and pushed against her collarbone to encourage her to lie back against the pillows.

But instead of giving in to my wordless plea, her fingers wrapped around my wrists. Her grey-green eyes explored my face. “You don’t have to,” she said. “You know I have a hard time …” She didn’t need to finish her sentence.

“Let me try,” I gently coaxed. “There’s no pressure. There’s no timetable,” I continued to encourage to put her more at ease. “I want you to lie back and enjoy yourself. This isn’t about settling a debt. I want to do this.” I licked my lips as I eyed her semi-naked form. “Believe me—do I ever want this.”

The fingers around my wrists loosened and released.

I crawled up the mattress and lightly rested the full length of my body on top of hers. I wanted her to feel all of me. I wasn’t in a hurry to go down on her, even though that was my ultimate goal. I wanted to make her feel good everywhere. I wanted to impart attention to all of her body, not just the parts hidden by her matching underwear set.

My knee fell between her thighs; I pressed up against her and she moaned encouragingly. I dug my heels in for a long, languishing kiss. I pressed my lips against the corners of her mouth. I kissed her chin and cheeks and eyelids. When I returned to her mouth, her hands fell to either side of my face to keep me in place. I deepened the kiss, running my tongue along the front of her teeth before pushing past those pearly gates to taste her tongue.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d simply made out with a person. When everything else was on the table, it was far too tempting to dive directly below the waistband. But the longer I remained with my mouth on hers—the longer I simply kissed her—the more she wiggled and squirmed with impatience. The same hand that had tapped my shoulder to tell me not to bother, now gripped my bicep. Doubts of inadequacy crept into my consciousness. Would I actually be able to get her off this time?

I continued to kiss her, but dropped my kisses lower. My lips explored the contours of her collarbone while I stroked my fingertips across her abdomen. I slipped one bra strap off of her shoulder and then the next. Her small breasts rose and fell beneath the lace cups. I peppered kisses across the tops of her breasts before sliding my hand under her back to release her bra clasp.

Her nipples were a rosy color, flushed a deeper purple-pink from our activities. I found them extremely sensitive. Kate was uncommonly quiet, but when I sucked her breast into my mouth and my teeth scraped against her nipple, I heard the sharp intake of air. Her fingers went to my hair and her short fingernails scraped down my scalp. I held onto her hips and divided my attention between her breasts. I left wet trails across the top of her breasts and sucked and pinched and pulled on her nipples until she elicited the response I sought.

I moved lower. I noisily sucked her skin into my mouth, leaving small, blushing ovals across her concave stomach. I dragged my canines across her jutting hipbones where they peeked above the waistband of her underwear. Kate remained quiet, except for her ragged breathing. Her active hands, however, urged me to continue.

I kissed the strip of skin directly above her panty line. I pressed my mouth against the top of her sex, feeling the swell of her clit through the sheer material. Kate raised her backside off the mattress in a silent plea for me to remove her underwear. I was tempted to make her say the words, but I didn’t want to ruin our momentum.

I tugged the flimsy black underwear past her hips and down her thighs. I kissed the skin wherever the material moved past. I continued the long road beyond her knees and down her calves. When I finally had her naked, I allowed myself an indulgent look. My eyes swept across her chiseled contours and the hidden soft places. I knew well the impermanence of moments like this; I didn’t want it to pass without notice.

I positioned myself between her parted thighs. She was wet and swollen and ready for me. Her stomach muscles clenched and her hips rose off the mattress when I placed a single kiss against her inner thigh.

I held tight to her soft thighs, spreading her wide. Her body jumped when my mouth and tongue drew closer to her sex. I moaned against her when I took my first taste. I ran my tongue up her weeping slit and spread her wetness around and across her clit. I sucked her clit into my mouth and flicked the nerve bundle back and forth with the tip of my tongue.

I lifted myself onto my knees between her thighs. I tugged on Kate’s arms and pulled her to a seated position. She rested her weight on her arms, letting her triceps do most of the work.

“Watch us,” I commanded.

I placed the tip of my middle finger against her entrance and pushed. Her pussy lips divided and swallowed my single digit. My own arousal spiked at the erotic view. I withdrew my finger and slowly pushed it back in. When I pulled back again, I could see her shiny juices coating my finger.

I looked up to Kate’s face. Her eyes were locked on my hand and the space between her thighs. She’d sucked her lower lip between her top and bottom rows of teeth.

I pressed two fingers against her opening. I rubbed her clit with the pad of my thumb. I slid slowly into her. I moved inch by inch, watching her body stretch to accommodate my fingers. I penetrated her with slow, even strokes, until I was sure she could handle more. I pressed my unoccupied hand flat against her lower abdomen. My pace quickened; I thrust into her increasingly faster and harder. Kate’s breath hitched each time I bottomed out.

Her legs quivered around my hand. “Mercy,” she gasped. She had been silent for so long, her voice nearly startled me. “I’m …”

Her sex tightened around my fingers like a vise.

“You’re close,” I encouraged. “I can feel it, too.” I curled my fingers inside of her. “Cum for me, Kate.”

She made one last strangled noise before closing her eyes tight. Her mouth remained open in a silent cry.

I kept my fingers still while I leaned down and lightly lapped at her clit. Her internal spasms diminished in intensity and finally calmed. I eased my fingers out of her sex and gently licked her slit. I avoided her clit knowing it would probably be too sensitive for anything else.

“Holy shit.” Kate stared at the ceiling, unblinking.

“Are you okay?”

Her chest continued to rapidly rise and fall. Her laughter shook the whole bed.

“What?” I’d never had a partner laugh after sex; it was a new and unsettling development, especially given our lack of sexual accomplishments up to this point.

She exhaled loudly. “That was …”

“Overdue?” I finished for her. “Unexpected?”

“Really nice.”

“Oh. Good.”

She twisted in bed and the sheets went with her, wrapping around her torso and hips. “Thirsty?” she asked.

“Okay.”

She threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. Our clothes remained on the floor, but she didn’t bother to cover herself up.

I fell back onto my pillow and inspected the ceiling. I expected to hear the tap in the sink running, not the popped cork of a champagne bottle. I lifted my head to see Kate’s nude silhouette as she poured the pale liquid into two tall champagne flutes.

“It came with the room,” she seemed to apologize. “It was part of their New Year’s Eve package. I swear this isn’t normally how I roll.”

I accepted the offered glass and waited for her to return to bed. She didn’t immediately drink from hers, so I held back as well.

She raked her fingers through her chaotic, short hair. “I feel like we should toast to something.”

I’d never been any good at that sort of thing, so I responded with a shrug.

Kate raised her glass and I mirrored the motion. “I’m glad my crazy family didn’t scare you off.”

It wasn’t a toast exactly, but I didn’t have anything better. Our glasses connected and I brought the skinny flute to my lips. The bubbly liquid ticked my upper lip.

Kate didn’t drink from her glass, but watched me while I took the first sip.

I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. Her stare and our nudity had me feeling self-conscious. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just taking it all in.”

I set my champagne on the bedside table. “You said that in the park, too.”

Kate leaned back against the pillowed headboard. “I usually don’t have this good of a time when I’m back here. I typically can’t wait to get back on the plane to Curaçao.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t know what I’m saying; it’s probably just post-orgasmic bliss,” she dismissed.

“You’re like a chameleon,” I decided.

Her mouth twitched at its edge. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or if I should be offended. I suppose it’s better than being an iguana.”

“I just mean you seem so comfortable wherever you are,” I tried to explain. “In a Hawaiian shirt in a tiki bar in Curaçao. In an expensive grey dress at your family’s mansion in Gloucester. Naked,” I managed to choke out the word, “in a hotel room in Boston.”

“It’s smoke and mirrors,” she dismissed. “I think I’m adjustable for the very fact that I’m actually not comfortable. If I knew better who I was or who I wanted to be, it wouldn’t be so easy to exist in multiple worlds.”

“So you’re suggesting that I feel uncomfortable all the time because I know exactly who I am?”

She shook her head. “I can only speak for myself.”

“Which Kate is closer to your real self?” I probed. “The grey wool dress or the Hawaiian shirts?”

“There’s a naked version, too,” she teased.

“I’m serious,” I said. “I want to know.”

“Which version do you prefer?” she turned the question around on me.

“The Hawaiian shirts aren’t entirely awful,” I decided. “And they’re a whole lot easier to take off than that grey dress.”

“Something tells me you liked what I was wearing under that dress.”

She was right, but I’d never admit it. “Don’t be so cocky,” I censured.

“Why not? It’s my best quality.”

“No, that would be your abs,” I said without thinking.

“Oh, I see. You only want me for my body,” she feigned injury.

It’s a pretty good body, I kept to myself.

The comfortable banter swiftly became an uncomfortable silence. I hated this part. Was I supposed to spend the night? Did she want her room back now?

“So, uh, I should probably get that cab now,” I announced.

Kate looked over at the alarm clock to see the hour. It was useless, however, since she’d changed the time on it for our news years countdown re-do. I could have checked the time on my cell phone, but it was in my jacket pocket, all the way across the room.

“I’m not exactly kicking you out,” she said.

“I know. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“You don’t seem like the have-hotel-sex-and-run-away kind of girl,” she remarked.

“I don’t mind spending the night,” I said, not wanting to make a big deal about it. “Besides, your snoring is kind of cute.”

Kate looked offended at the suggestion. “I do not snore!”

I broke out in a grin. “At least it keeps away the snakes.”

+ + +

My eyes slowly opened. The curtains were open and the sun was already bright, which indicated the late hour. A few feet from where I lay, Kate slept on her side, facing me. Her eyes were lightly lidded, lips partly open in sleep. The sheets had traveled during the night and had gathered at her hips, leaving her visibly naked from the waist up. I would have been comfortable with the scenario except for the heavy hand that rested on my collarbone.

I could feel Kate’s steady heartbeat against me. It gave me an overwhelming sense of calm, which then proceeded to turn into panic. What was I still doing here? Why was I spending so much time with a woman that would never result in a productive, successful relationship? I’d been living in the moment, but what about now that the sun was awake and the veneer of vacation had worn off?

I contemplated how I might sneak out without Kate waking up. Racy had done it millions of times, but I had never thought to take notes on her successful exit strategy. I wasn’t entirely trapped, but the placement of Kate’s hand on my upper chest posed a challenge. Should I slide out from beneath her hand? Should I carefully pick it up and move her hand elsewhere?

Kate’s eyes fluttered open and she sighed before I could completely launch into a mental downward spiral.

She stretched her arms above her head and made a quiet noise. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I returned.

Her sleep-rumpled hair looked like a chaotic wave ready to crash against the shoreline. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as she hefted herself up in bed and rested her weight on one elbow. “Sleep okay?”

“Probably too well,” I admitted.

She leaned into me and pressed her lips against my shoulder. She peppered my skin with warm, open-mouthed kisses. “I had a lot of fun last night.”

My eyes shuttered without my permission. “I should get going.”

She looked up and stopped kissing my shoulder. “You’re kidding.”

She offered no protest as I climbed out of bed and began the task of collecting discarded clothing from the floor.

“School starts tomorrow. And I’ve got lesson plans to write and a new bulletin board to design. I normally get all of those things done over winter break, but I was out of the country and I didn’t get any school work done.”

The more I thought about how far behind I was, the more anxious I became to the point of agitation.

“Stay.”

The single word and the feeling attached to it tugged at my heart.

“I really can’t.”

“At least let me buy you breakfast,” she urged.

“It’s not a thing,” I dismissed as I scanned the floor for my shoes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I worry, Mercy. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

I abandoned my task, but only momentarily. “Kate.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I only said your name.”

“I know; but you had a tone.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, but no closer. I didn’t trust myself or my shaky willpower to not give in to her. I had to do this; I kept both feet firmly on the ground.

“I like you,” I started. “I do. But let’s be practical—this would never work. You’re not moving back to Boston, and I’m not moving to Curaçao.”

“So where does that leave us?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t. There is no us.”

She thinned her lips. “I see.”

“I just …” I paused to exhale. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think it’s worth the trouble.”

I watched her work the muscles in her square jaw. Her voice came out flat: “No. Why would anyone get offended by that?”

“I didn’t say you’re not worth it,” I was quick to correct.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I’m sorry, Kate,” I offered helplessly.

She tugged the covers over her head and disappeared amongst the sheets and pillows. Her body formed an unmistakable lump under the blankets.

I slowly stood while watching her burrow deeper into the bedcovers. “Aren’t you at least going to say goodbye?” I complained.

Despite my words to her, I’d selfishly been looking forward to one last kiss.

“Ayo!” came her farewell, muffled by the sheets that remained pulled over her head.

“I don’t know what that means,” I complained.

She remained hidden under the sheets. “Goodbye!”

I pursed my lips in annoyance. I had first graders more mature than Kate Emerson.

If she wasn’t going to behave like a civil human being, then I had no reason to either. I gathered the last of my things and let the hotel room door slam behind me upon my hasty exit.

+ + +

I hadn’t participated in the walk of shame in a good, long while, but my trip back to my neighborhood was more like the ride of shame on public transportation. The subway was filled with other riders who, like myself, were very obviously in the clothes they’d worn the night before. The train car was uncharacteristically quiet with folks on their phones or heads resting against the train’s windows.

My own phone was filled with missed calls and overlooked text messages. I’d forgotten I was supposed to meet up with Racy the previous night to count down to the New Year. My phone battery was nearly drained, but I used my final percentages of battery life to call my friend.

“Where have you been?” Racy demanded upon answering the phone. “I was about to call the police to start dredging the Charles River for your body.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up last night,” I apologized. “Time got away from me.”

“More like your clothes magically fell off of your body and you somehow found yourself in bed with Kate again.”

I rested my forehead in my hand. “I’m such an idiot.”

“I knew it!” Racy crowed. “Where are you now?”

“The subway.”

“And Kate?”

“In her hotel room.”

Racy gasped. “You skipped out?”

“It was a mistake.”

“I hope you didn’t tell her that.”

I cringed. “Not in so many words.”

“Mercy Lewis!” she chastised.

“I know—not my best moment. But I panicked!” I defended myself. “I woke up naked in her hotel room, and she was there and beautiful and wanting to get breakfast, and I realized how much of a dream it was, but that eventually I was going to wake up from that dream. It wasn’t going to last.”

“So you hurried along the timeline.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” I reasoned.

“Oh, Mercy,” Racy sighed.

“Could you honestly see it going anywhere?” I demanded. “She’s going back to Curaçao and I’m here in the real world. If I’m going to do something, I want more than a vacation fling. I deserve more than a long-distance relationship.”

“Hey, I’m not the one you have to convince,” Racy tried to appease. “But it sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“The train is slow,” I grumbled. “I’ve had some time to think.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “Do you want to meet for brunch?”

I considered her question. My impulse was to go home, take a shower, and sleep until the new school year started, but I also didn’t want to go home to my empty apartment where all I would do was think—stress out about my decision to bail on Kate and worry about having hurt her feelings. Brunch with Racy was probably the perfect escape I needed.

“Yeah. I can meet you at our usual place in half an hour,” I decided.

“Give me an hour,” she requested. “I gotta figure out what to do with this man in my bed.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I juggled my morning coffee with grocery bags containing the materials I’d bought to build mini ecosystems with my students. The Styrofoam cups, potting soil, and sunflower seeds would eventually become Mother’s Day presents later in the semester, but until then, the tiny germinating seeds would serve as the day’s science lesson.

I was eager for the new semester to start. I genuinely missed my students, and I knew that once I was fully engaged in the new semester—busy with grading and lesson planning—that I could start to put my winter break confusion behind me. I hadn’t heard from Kate since leaving her hotel room; I imagined she’d booked the next flight to Willemstad and was more than looking forward to getting back to her island life. We could both chalk it up to an extended vacation fling—momentary insanity—and get on with our lives.

The lights were out in my classroom, and I fumbled beneath the extra weight of my gardening materials while trying to find the wall switch. I stood in the doorway once I managed to turn on the lights. When the overhead lights eventually flooded in, it took me a long moment to realize that something was different about my classroom. The small clusters of desks, far older than the students who routinely sat in them, had been replaced with new furniture. A crisp new box of crayons and a sharpened number two pencil sat at the top of each chair and desk combo. That wasn’t the only change: at the front of the classroom, the aged blackboard was now a white erase board.

I hovered in the hallway, blinking at the transformation. It was my classroom, but not. The upgrade was subtle, but also monumental. What had happened?

Still unsure of what was going on, but knowing that students would be arriving soon, I continued with my morning routine. I unpacked the gardening materials and set up prep stations in one corner of the classroom. My students would be decorating their Styrofoam planters, which required I retrieve markers from the school’s general supply room. The ‘supply room’ was actually a deep closet with walls filled with shelves that tended to be picked over. All of the staff and faculty shared the space, although some of the older faculty members tended to buy their own school supplies knowing the communal materials tended to be less than adequate.

I shook my head in wonder when I opened the door to the supply room. Like my classroom, the closet had been transformed sometime between teacher orientation and now, just a few days later.

What was going on?

A voice came from behind me: “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

I spun on my heel to find my principal, Grace, standing in the hallway. Her unexpected voice had startled me, along with the changes to the school.

“Christmas was weeks ago,” I observed.

“You know what I mean.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Where did this stuff come from?”

“To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure. I was in the parking lot last night, just about to get into my car, when a semi-truck pulled up and started to unload everything. We apparently were awarded a grant.”

“That’s amazing, Grace!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t even know you’d been applying for outside money.”

“That’s the thing—I wasn’t. Someone else on staff must have. Did anyone say anything to you?”

I shook my head. “Did the people who showed up yesterday tell you which grant it was?”

“Oh, I know this. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Something like Elliot. Ellison.” Grace snapped her fingers. “Emerson. That’s it.”

“Emerson?” I squeaked out the name.

“Oh, you’ve heard of it? I’d never heard of the grant, but I wasn’t going to tell them that.” She clasped onto my forearm and squeezed. “Mercy, we have computers in the library. The art room is totally stocked. There’s even a new microwave in the teacher’s lounge.”

I blinked rapidly, like my brain couldn’t process this new development. I began to feel light-headed.

Grace continued her animated speech. “I can’t even begin to calculate the price tag for all these school supplies and the computers they purchased. And I didn’t even tell you about the extra $250,000 we received to go towards operating costs.”

“$250,000.” A lump formed in my throat. “Does this—does this mean we’re not closing?”

“I don’t want to count our chickens just yet, but this definitely puts us back in the black.”

“That’s… that’s… Wow.”

“Like I said—it’s a Christmas miracle. Now I’ve just got to figure out who applied for the grant so I can be their best friend forever.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” I told my principal.

I spied a telltale clue sitting on a shelf in the supply closet. I reached past Grace and pulled the shiny, green orb off of the shelf.

“What’s that?” Grace asked.

“A coconut.”

She leaned toward me for a closer look. “I thought they were fuzzy and brown?”

“This is what they look like right off the tree. The fuzzy brown thing is inside.”

“What’s it doing there?” she wondered.

My fingers tightened around the green nut. “Letting me know who’s responsible for these school supplies.”

+ + +

The coconut sat on my coffee table. I paced back and forth in my living room while Racy sat on my couch. I’d texted her during the workday to tell her what had happened with my school, and she’d come over immediately after work.

None of it made any sense. Where had the money come from? Kate had sworn that it was her parents and not she who had money. Had she been lying or had she convinced her parents to bail out my school?

“Have you called her?” Racy asked.

“I don’t have her phone number,” I said. “I don’t know if she even has a phone.”

“What about contacting her online?”

I waved my hands in frustration. “I tried that, too. You wouldn’t believe how common a name Kate Emerson is. But none of them seemed to be her.”

I had the address of her family’s house in Gloucester, but there was no guarantee they would still be there. Kate had mentioned her parents normally lived in their Boston-based townhouse, but I had no idea where that might be. I didn’t even know her parents’ first names; Kate hadn’t gotten that far into the introductions.

“Why do you think she wanted you to know it was her behind the money? She could have let you believe the Emerson grant was coincidental.”

“Kate doesn’t believe in coincidences,” I said automatically.

“But why leave the coconut behind if she knew you wouldn’t be able to contact her?” Racy posed.

“I think that’s exactly why she left the coconut,” I practically growled.

“Will you sit down?” Racy huffed. “I’m getting seasick watching you go back and forth.”

I reluctantly halted my frantic pacing to sit beside my friend. Both of my knees bounced erratically until Racy placed her hands on my knees to smother their movement.

“Where is she staying?”

I snapped my fingers, amazed I hadn’t thought of it myself. “Her hotel. Of course.”

I grabbed Racy’s phone from the coffee table and looked up the number of the hotel’s front desk.

Racy stared at me, slack jawed. “She owns a hotel, too?”

The phone rang in my ear. “No, she’s just staying there.”

I actually didn’t know that for sure; her family might have owned the building which was why she’d picked that location.

A pleasant man’s voice came through the phone, greeting me with the name of the boutique hotel.

“Hi, can you connect me to a guest’s room?” I asked. “I can’t remember the room number, but it’s the second to highest floor. The guest’s name is Kate Emerson.”

“One moment, please.”

I waited while a nervous feeling grew in my gut. I hadn’t rehearsed what I might say to her.

“Hello?” The hotel employee returned to the call. “I’m sorry, but we have no guests by that name currently staying with us.”

Had she used an alternative name? It wasn’t like she was a celebrity. A more likely excuse was that I’d just missed her; maybe she’d left the coconut on her way out of town.

“Is there any way you could tell me when she checked out?”

“One second, please.”

Racy looked at me expectantly. I was impressed by the restraint she’d shown so far. “Well?”

“They said there’s no one by that name staying there,” I quietly told her.

“Yes, Miss?” The hotel staffer came back on. “We do have record of Kate Emerson staying with us recently. She checked out on New Years Day.”

New Years Day? How could that be possible?

I contained my many questions and thanked the hotel employee for his time: “Thank you for looking.”

I ended the call and tossed Racy’s phone on the couch cushion beside her.

“Well? What did they say?” Racy demanded, nearly bursting with impatience.

“She’s not there. They said she checked out on New Years Day.”

“New Years? How did a coconut show up at your school if she’d already left?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

“What about her family? Does she have siblings or something who are trying to play Match-Maker?”

“I can’t imagine why. I hardly spoke with any of them at the dinner party,” I said, thinking aloud. “And I think they were already under the impression that Kate and I were dating.”

Racy exhaled and leaned back into the couch cushions. “So what now?”

“Nothing,” I decided. “She left me with no way of getting in contact with her. And even if I could get a hold of her, what then?”

My response didn’t seem to impress Racy, but she knew me well enough not to bug me about it. I’d only get annoyed.

“What are you making me for dinner?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t know. What goes with coconut?”

Racy stayed for dinner, but I didn’t bother with the coconut. Unlike Kate, I had no idea what to do with it. But I did have the corner pizza spot saved in my phone.

I went to my bedroom where my phone had been charging. I scrolled through my contacts, not able to remember what I’d saved the pizza place under. I stopped when I reached a name I was sure I hadn’t programmed myself: Coconut Kate.

I looked at the number itself, but didn’t recognize the area code. With nothing else to do, I called the mystery number.

Someone answered after two rings: “I was wondering when you’d call.”

There was no mistaking her voice.

“When did you put your number in my phone?” I needed to know.

“When I saw you at the liquor store,” Kate said. “I wanted to give you an out in case you decided not to come to my family dinner. I figured you’re not the kind of girl to just not show up.”

“It’s bad manners,” I said reflexively. I heard a burst of laughter in the background, which had me feeling self-conscious. “Where are you?”

“Right this second? At a bar in Salem.”

“I called your hotel. They said you’d checked out.”

“I did. My parents went back to Boston, so I’m staying at the summer house for a couple of days. Wanna come over?”

“It’s a school night,” I resisted. “Where did the money come from?”

“Let me buy you breakfast,” she implored.

“Haven’t you bought enough?”

“Touché,” she chuckled.

“Where did the money come from, Kate?” I said, this time more emphatically.

“Meet me for breakfast tomorrow, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“That’s intellectual kidnapping,” I accused. “You’re holding information hostage.”

She ignored my lame analogy. “You’ve gotta eat, right? Can’t teach on an empty stomach. Why not eat with me?”

“Fine!” I relented.

I ended the call after we decided on a place and time. I was only seeing her again to find out about the money, I told myself. It wasn’t about wanting to see her again. Definitely not.

+ + +

I had agreed to meet up with Kate at a small diner located in the neighborhood close to my school. My day typically started early, but I’d had to get up even earlier than usual to meet up with Kate. She would have had at least an hour or more commute into the city from Gloucester, so I realistically expected her to be late because of traffic or to miss our meeting entirely because of the early hour. That was why I was momentarily taken aback when I entered the diner and saw her already seated at a booth near the front door.

Kate wiggled out from behind the table when she saw me. As if an afterthought, she tugged off her skullcap like she’d done when we’d met in my neighborhood liquor store. She passed the hat from one hand to the other. For some reason the nervous action endeared me to her. It made her look so unsure of herself when normally she appeared like she had everything under control.

I noticed her first, but as I approached, I also noticed that muffins, bagels, scones, scrambled eggs, and pancakes blanketed the table at which she sat—each on their own individual plates.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

“You’ve never let me buy you breakfast.”

I remained standing and eyeballed the crowded table. “Did you buy one of everything?”

She shrugged as if it was totally normal. “I didn’t know what you’d like.”

She remained standing while I removed my coat. I would have come to our meeting in jeans and a t-shirt if it had been possible, but instead I wore the skirt, shell, and cardigan I would be teaching in that day. I felt her eyes on me, but whatever she thought about my outfit, she kept to herself.

I scooted across my side of the booth while she returned to her own.

“How have you been?” she casually opened as if she hadn’t recently donated an undisclosed amount of money to my school.

“How have I been?” I echoed. I reached into my workbag and produced the still-green coconut. It rolled around unsteadily amongst the breakfast pastries and bagels. “I’ve been confused.”

“About what?”

“Where did the money come from?”

Kate’s eyes were focused on the coconut. “You know the answer.”

“No, I don’t. You said you weren’t rich.”

“Not rich …” she hesitated, “…exactly. My parents send me a monthly stipend. I never asked for it, but they like knowing I’m provided for. I’ve never needed the money though, so it just sat in my bank account.”

I felt my mouth go dry. “How much?” I managed to rasp.

“$5,000 a month since I’ve been on the island.”

“You’ve lived in Curaçao for how long?”

“Seven years.”

I computed the numbers aloud. “$5,000 for twelve months, times seven years.”

She did the math for me. “$420,000. I kept $20,000 for myself though—rainy day fund.”

I shut my eyes, feeling lightheaded. “You gave your nest egg to my school.”

“Yeah, but I kept $20,000,” she repeated.

I finally opened my eyes. “Why?”

She shrugged, maddeningly nonchalant over nearly half a million dollars. “You needed it more than I did.”

“You can’t …” My protest fell away, knowing it would only land on deaf ears; and there was no real way I could give the money back.

“Did your school need the money?” she pressed.

“Of course! All public schools can use extra money—especially mine. We might have had to close our doors early this year—maybe even get turned into a charter school.”

Kate sat back in her seat, some of that characteristic swagger and cockiness returning to her body language. “Then what’s the problem?”

“You can’t … you can’t just do that.”

“It’s my money,” she stubbornly resisted.

“Yeah, but—”

“I really like you, Mercy,” Kate interrupted. “And not just because you made me cum.”

I dropped my gaze and my face felt warm with the flush of embarrassment. When I looked up again, Kate looked neither embarrassed nor amused by my reaction. Instead, her intense stare remained locked on my features.

“Do you remember that night on the island when you asked if I had a crush on your friend, Racy?”

I wanted to deny the memory. If I could refuse remembering that conversation, I could deny recalling how jealous I’d felt, which had only made our failed sex even more disheartening. But instead of lying to her, I chewed on my bottom lip and made a noise of confirmation.

“There was no way I could have had a crush on your friend,” she noted. “I had a crush on you.”

“You did?”

Kate ducked her head and averted her eyes. “I got embarrassed. I thought you could see right through me. I thought you knew about my massive crush on you and were teasing me.”

“I had no idea,” I said in truth. “I like you too, Kate,” I murmured. “But we don’t even know each other.”

“Then give us the chance to get to know each other,” she implored.

“How?” I challenged. “I could hardly get in contact with you after I found that coconut, and you hadn’t even gone back to Curaçao. Do you have a phone down there? Do you have the internet? You’re not on any social network sites,” I ticked off. “I don’t think you even have an e-mail address. Do you get mail delivered to your house? And don’t even suggest that you could move to Boston. You chose to leave for a reason; you’d only end up resenting me later.”

Now it was Kate’s turn to look uncomfortable—I couldn’t blame her though; I’d unloaded my frustration with the situation on her.

She dropped her gaze to the tabletop and squirmed in her seat.  “We could figure out a way to make it work. People do long-distance all the time.”

“Why do you even like me?” I suddenly wondered aloud.

“Who said I liked you?”

I arched an eyebrow. “So you’re always in the habit of donating nearly half a million dollars of your personal money to people you don’t like?”

Her sheepish grin was dangerously adorable. How could a person be cute and sexy at the same time?

“None of this makes any sense. It would never work,” I started to rant. “We’re too different. We come from different worlds.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re both from the same planet.”

“You know what I mean,” I scowled. “I’m a public school teacher and you’re-you’re …” I struggled with the label.

“And I’m a struggling artist,” she finished for me. “With the exception of your school, I’ve never touched my family’s money. I’d go broke if Curaçao ran out of tourists or coconuts.”

“You don’t honestly believe your family would let you struggle,” I accused. “They’re your safety net. You get to play the loveable expatriate because you know if something goes wrong, you can always rely on your family.”

“Why are you holding that against me? They’re my family. That’s what family does.”

“I don’t have a family like that,” I argued. I could feel my anger and frustration bubbling over. “They basically disowned me when I tried to bring a girl home.”

Kate raised her voice to meet my energy. “So you’re going to punish me for having a family that cares? And who don’t care if I’m gay, straight, or whatever?”

“I guess … I guess I am.”

Kate dropped her eyes to the table where the buffet of breakfast foods she’d ordered on my behalf remained untouched. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to change your mind.”

I watched her work the muscles in her jaw and the way the smooth column of her throat jerked and twitched. She seemed a volcano of emotions, on the precipice of eruption, yet somehow she was able to reign them all in.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, she finally spoke: “I’ll get the check.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was easy to feel like my time in Curaçao had only been a dream. The new academic semester hit hard; between addition lessons, spelling quizzes, and teaching my students about the life cycle of butterflies, I had a hard time believing I’d ever left the classroom, let alone had had an adventure in a foreign country.

Spring semester was consistently more challenging than the fall. Students tended to become wigglier as the weather grew warmer, reminding us all—teachers included—that summer break was only a few months away. Luckily for my own personal sanity, winter had dug in its heels and even as spring break approached, snow remained on the ground as the temperatures had only begun to creep above the freezing point. But the days were getting longer and the sun was rising earlier, which made my morning commute to school less depressing. Even still, most mornings when I arrived a full hour earlier than my students to prep for the day, I tended to second-guess my existence.

I typically went directly home at the end of the school day, caught up on grading, and went to bed, but my principal, Grace, had convinced me to come out that night for one drink in celebration of being awarded the Emerson “grant.” I didn’t usually hang out with my colleagues after school hours; most of them annoyed me too much to have to spend extra time with them, and they grew increasingly bothersome after a few drinks.

Teachers know how to party. Don’t let the sweet or stern demeanors fool you—once the final bell on Friday rings, the drinking begins. Boston didn’t have an official Happy Hour—too many shenanigans and over-serving in the early evening hours had compelled the state’s legislature to pull the plug on afternoon discounted drinks, but that didn’t discourage most folks from letting loose after a particularly stressful work day.

On that particular Friday evening, my colleagues and I stood around our principal, Grace, with glasses raised as she gave a short toast.

“Listen up everybody, listen up! I know everyone here is a naturally giving and kind person—you wouldn’t be educators otherwise—but I really want to urge everyone to Pay It Forward. Because of the outrageous, wonderful, and very generous Emerson family, we can afford to keep our doors open and provide our students with the resources and education they deserve. Never lose faith in the kindness of strangers. To the Emersons!”

All around me, voices rose in unison and glasses clinked together. The words got caught in my throat and I was unable to join in the toast. I knew too much. I knew—intimately knew—our pseudo-anonymous benefactor, and rather than celebrating the gifted money with my colleagues, I only felt shame.

I might have been better able to put my vacation in the rearview mirror, if not for that $400,000. The grant was all anyone could talk about at school; even my students and their parents had somehow caught wind of the unexpected finances. I vowed to myself never to tell them the truth. The truth was messy—it was far easier letting my principal believe that our school had a guardian angel.

The motivation behind the money still perplexed me. Had Kate donated all of that money to impress me? To get me to see her again? Of course she could have simply wanted to do good with her family’s money, but the fact that she’d left behind a clue—a giant coconut-shaped clue—told me otherwise. It felt too calculated; too much like a game. What kind of person dumped $400,000 on someone she hardly knew? The impulsiveness behind her decision seemed unfathomable to me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine her mindset to have been able to casually part with that amount of money.

Still, I couldn’t shake the guilt and indebtedness I felt towards Kate. And I hated that. I largely felt ashamed by how I’d left things between us. At the time I hadn’t known how to react or what to think about her overly generous gesture. Money made me nervous; it always had. I’d worked several jobs during college to pay for my tuition, determined to make it through school without relying on my estranged parents. I hated money. And I hated people who had it through no individual effort.

I could recognize that it was unfair of me to make assumptions or make judgments about entire groups of people, but that hadn’t stopped me from feeling at least a small amount of resentment towards Kate. Sure, she lived modestly and wore bargain store outfits, but had she ever really experienced hardship? Had she ever really worked to get ahead? The casualness with which she lived her life made me uneasy. It was unnatural, maybe even un-American to be satisfied just cruising through life—no attachments, no responsibilities. She couldn’t even manage to have a proper pet.

I wasn’t in the habit of drunk texting. I wasn’t in the habit of getting drunk, period. But a few cocktails into the night, and my phone had wandered out of my purse and had made its way into my hand. I’d never texted her before, so I didn’t have an open text thread to consult.

I wrote and deleted and re-wrote several messages. I wanted to tell her how my school was thriving. I wanted her to know we were celebrating her and that my co-workers were toasting in her honor. I wanted to tell her how everyone was giving her parents the credit. I wanted to thank her. Had I ever thanked her? I hated that I couldn’t be sure, and felt even guiltier that I thought the answer might have been no. I wanted to know how she was doing. I wanted to tell her I missed her.

I typed and erased all of those messages and more until I finally settled on a text.

Hi.

No sooner had I hit send when my outbound message was met with a secondary message.

Error Invalid Number. Please re-send using a valid 10-digit mobile number or valid short code.

The number she’d covertly programmed into my phone was no longer in service. The familiar sting of nascent tears built in the corners of my eyes.

I heard a concerned voice: “You okay?”

I shoved my phone into my purse.

“Yeah. Fine,” I choked out.

Grace joined me at the table where I sat alone. Her features looked unconvinced. “Your face looked weird.”

“I made the mistake of looking at my breaking-news thread,” I lied. “Let that be my punishment for being on my phone at a party.”

My principal clucked her tongue against the roof of her tongue. “I’m glad you came out. It’s not every day our school gets saved.”

I hummed in agreement.

“It’s the strangest thing though. I keep wondering about how the money happened. No one on staff has come forward as the grant application’s author. And then I reached out to the Emerson family themselves. I wanted to thank them for their generosity and see if they wanted to come down to the school to see where their money went.”

“And?” I hadn’t felt it necessary or appropriate to tell Grace the truth about where the money’s origins. I hadn’t considered she might do her own detective work, however.

“They denied giving us any money. Whomever I talked to on the phone said she’d never heard of our school. Boy, to be rich like that—how could you forget about that kind of money?”

“I don’t know,” came my weak reply.

My response seemed to satisfy Grace for the moment, and she launched into her plans for how we might invest some of the extra money. I smiled and nodded and tried to be an engaged audience, but my thoughts continually drifted to the cell phone at the bottom of my purse.

+ + +

I woke up on my couch with an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach and a faded blue ink stamp on my inner wrist. The TV was still on in the living room, and an infomercial promised perfect pancakes every time.

God, what had happened last night?

I could remember the first drink and Grace’s speech of gratitude towards the Emerson family. I remembered sending—or at least attempting to send Kate a text—but discovered that her phone number no longer worked. My disappointment had resulted in a second drink and then a third. Someone had suggested shots and going to a different bar, and beyond that I couldn’t remember much else.

On unsteady legs, I walked around my apartment and attempted to retrace my steps, or at least try to remember how I’d miraculously made it home in one piece. I’d locked my front door, and my key ring wasn’t dangling from the door lock. My boots were carefully arranged on the welcome mat in the foyer and my wallet and drivers license were on the kitchen island. The dirty bowl in the sink suggested I’d made myself a bowl of cereal when I’d gotten home. I’d somehow had the clarity of mind to take my contacts out instead of sleeping in them, and my outfit from the previous night was in my laundry hamper.

I hadn’t remembered to plug in my cell phone, so my battery was nearly drained. My screen was filled with texts from teachers whom I normally didn’t spend time with outside of school. I only had their numbers programmed into my phone because of Grace’s phone tree. We were expected to call each other if school got canceled for a snow day.

What a fun night!

We should do that again soon!

I had no idea you were so fun, Mercy!

One text caught my attention. It wasn’t from one of my colleagues; it was from my ex-girlfriend, Bethany:

Sure! When did you have in mind?

I opened the text to see to what she was referring. I hadn’t spoken to her since returning from Curaçao beyond a thank you text for keeping my fish and my plants alive.

Do you want to go out?

The text had been sent at 10:00 p.m. And apparently I had been the message’s author.

“Oh, no,” I murmured aloud.

I was never drinking again.

+ + +

The blue hand stamp hadn’t yet faded from the inside of my wrist. I’d scrubbed long and hard at the stain in the shower, but was now resigned to the fact that only time would erase my uncharacteristic drunken night. Equally unfortunate, I hadn’t been able to take back the invite I’d sent Bethany. Rather than dwell on the drunken text message, however, I embraced the opportunity. Maybe this was the universe’s way of getting me back out there, not punishment for one night of over-indulgence.

The scent of marinara and garlic hung heavily in the air. The restaurant lights had been dimmed, and the flickering candle on our table struggled mightily to make up for the lack of overhead lighting. Boston’s North End neighborhood was a bit of a tourist trap in the summer, but in early February, we were practically the only ones in the restaurant.

Bethany sat across from me at the table for two. A breadbasket and olive oil sat between us on the red and white-checkered tablecloth.

She used a fork and spoon to capture a particularly large nest of spaghetti noodles. “I was surprised to get your text.”

I took a sip from my water, obfuscating red wine for the night. “Really? Why?”

There was no point in admitting I couldn’t remember sending the text. At least all of the words had been spelled correctly. Beyond the unexpectedness of my phone message, there was no reason for her to have suspected I’d been blackout drunk when I’d sent the text; it had barely been 10:00 p.m. at the time, but I’d been drinking since the workday had ended.

“We haven’t really spoken much lately,” she noted. “I thought maybe you were only using me as a fish-sitter. How’s Greg, by the way?”

“Still swimming,” I confirmed.

“That’s good to hear. How’s the semester going?”

“Really well,” I admitted. “My students are great, my parents this year are even better—very involved.”

“That’s great. I heard from Jackie that you guys just got a big donation, too,” she noted as the conversation began to pick up steam.

My fork slipped against my plate and I nearly lost my handle on the utensil completely. I wasn’t particularly graceful most of the time, so she didn’t make note of my awkwardness. Jackie was my school’s librarian. She was a mutual friend and the person who’d originally set Bethany and me up.

I shoved a piece of garlic bread into my mouth. “Uh huh,” came my muffled reply.

“She couldn’t stop gushing about the new computers in the library,” Bethany added. “And she said it was a total surprise, too—that nobody really knows where the money came from?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t trust myself to elaborate beyond that. I cleared my throat. I was hopeful she wouldn’t interpret my awkwardness as anything more than first-date jitters. “So, uh, have you read any good books lately?”

At the conclusion of dinner, we walked back to the subway together. An icy wind blew off of the ocean, so we walked at a brisk pace instead of a post-dinner leisurely stroll. Bethany lived south of the city while I was traveling west, so we parted ways just beyond the subway turnstile.

“I had fun tonight,” she observed.

“I did, too,” I said in earnest. It wasn’t a lie; I’d always found conversation with her to be easy. We had a lot in common from favorite TV shows to our worldviews.

“I’m glad you reached out,” she continued.

I didn’t have the chance to agree with her again; the mechanized voice over the loudspeaker was announcing the arrival of my outbound train.

Bethany smiled tightly, visibly agitated that our goodnight had been cut short. “Better hurry.”

I leaned forward and gave her a brief, but tight hug. As an afterthought, I kissed her on the cheek. I could hear the screeching of my wheels as my subway train slowed to a stop.

I yelled over my shoulder as I bounded down concrete steps to the westbound platform: “Travel safe!”

I was able to glide in between the train’s doors just before they closed behind me.

The train was typically packed with commuters, but it was late enough in the evening that people were already at home. I fiddled with my phone during the ride, mentally wrestling with myself about sending Bethany another text message. The night had been fine—no awkward silences, no social faux pas, plenty of laughs and genuine smiles. It was everything a person could hope for from a second First Date. I knew Bethany; I was comfortable around her, and we got along well. I couldn’t recall any major shouting matches when we’d been dating and we’d even broken up under amicable terms.

It was a short walk from my subway stop to my apartment building. I continued to weigh the pros and cons of a second attempt at happiness with Bethany, but the sides of the scales were too evenly matched.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment but stopped short of my door when I saw the bouquet of flowers on my welcome mat. A dozen long-stemmed roses were carefully arranged in a glass vase, accompanied by a small balloon, shaped like a heart. I looked around in the immediate vicinity for whomever had delivered them, but, finding no one, I unlocked my front door and brought the flowers inside.

I found the small envelope attached to the heart-shaped balloon. Inside was a piece of cardstock with unfamiliar handwriting--probably the florist who’d delivered the bouquet.

Thank you for a night as beautiful as these roses. – Bethany

There was no possible way Bethany could have ordered the flowers for delivery after our dinner—my commute home wasn’t that long. She must have pre-ordered flowers so they would be waiting for me at the end of the night.

The flowers arrived on my doorstep along with unsettling guilty feeling. I didn’t want to lead Bethany on. I really liked her company, but could we ever get that spark back? Had we even had a spark to begin with? Lesbian Death Bed had crept up on us too early in the relationship.

I set the vase of roses on my coffee table and began to go through my pre-sleep routine.

I should have texted Bethany to thank her for the flowers. An actual phone call would have been more appropriate. I should have immediately acknowledged the gift, but I couldn’t rush back into anything until I knew exactly what I wanted.

But there was one thing I knew for certain. She didn’t taste like sunscreen.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I opened my apartment door after hearing Racy’s signature knock. “Happy Galentine’s Day!” My friend swooped into my apartment and raised two paper grocery bags. “I brought tequila!”

It had been our tradition since reconnecting in Boston to spend the Hallmark holiday with each other, eating enchiladas and getting moderately buzzed on margaritas. This year it was my turn to host, which meant that Racy was responsible for bringing the alcohol.

Homemade chicken enchiladas in a tomatillo sauce baked in the oven. Guacamole ingredients were spread out on my kitchen counters. I’d already juiced fresh limes for the margaritas and had only to crush ice cubes and mix everything together.

Racy called to me from the living room. “Who are the flowers from?”

I grimaced, realizing my mistake. The roses Bethany had sent me after our date were still on my coffee table. They were on their last leg, but I’d been too lazy to dump them out.

I turned on the electric blender and drowned out Racy’s question with the sound of ice being pummeled in the blender.

“Sorry, what?” I yelled over the noise.

When she asked her question again, I hit the pulse button on the blender.

I couldn’t evade her question forever though. Racy poked her head around the corner into my galley kitchen. “I said ‘Flowers? From who?’”

“From whom.”

Racy rolled her eyes. “Does one of your first graders have another crush?”

“No. They’re, uh, they’re from Bethany.”

“No! Why?!”

“We went on a date last week,” I revealed.

“No! Why?!”

“Why? Why not?” I said, growing defensive by her reaction.

“Because you’re friends!” she exclaimed. “God—you and I have more sexual chemistry than you and the librarian.”

“That’s not fair,” I frowned.

“No, what’s not fair is that you’re rebounding with Bethany. You can’t do that to the poor girl.”

“Rebounding?” I scoffed. “From who?”

“From whom.”

“Whom,” I said with increasing agitation.

“From your Gilded Age heiress, obviously.”

I snorted at the suggestion. “In order for me to rebound from someone, first we would’ve had to have been in a relationship.”

“Relationships come in all shapes and sizes,” Racy remarked.

“When did you become the relationship expert? None of your relationships last longer than a weekend,” I deflected, feeling myself growing angrier.

Racy held up her hands like a shield. “I know, I know. I’m the last one to talk. But as someone who’s an expert in short-term relationships and avoiding commitment, hear me out.”

I folded my arms across my chest in a defensive posture, but I remained silent so Racy could say her peace. There was no use fighting it, really—she was going to tell me what she thought regardless if I solicited her advice or not.

“You like Kate. You find her attractive, charming, smart, and funny.” She ticked off Kate’s qualities on her fingers. “Plus, you’d probably be jobless if she hadn’t donated all that money to your school.”

“Just because I feel indebted to her doesn’t mean I want to be with her.”

“Exactly. I think this money thing is clouding your judgment. I know how funny you get about finances and who pays for what.”

“Whom,” I reflexively corrected.

Racy shot me an impatient look before continuing. “If Kate hadn’t given your school all that money, I think you’d be all over her.”

“We live in different parts of the world.”

“Which can very easily be remedied with money,” Racy emphasized as if trying to convince a child.

“What are you suggesting?” I posed.

“Swallow your pride for once, Mercy; let someone treat you. If Kate wants to buy you an airplane ticket every other weekend so you can take turns seeing each other, why wouldn’t you do it?”

I shook my head. “That’s not what a relationship looks like.”

“Yeah, not on those black-and-white sitcoms you watch,” she agreed. “But just a generation ago people wouldn’t have agreed to two women having a relationship together either.”

Racy, for once, had a point, but I was too stubborn to admit it. Besides, I had other misgivings about a relationship with Kate.

“We’d never see each other,” I protested. “Weekends aren’t enough. I’m a grown ass woman; I deserve more than a long-distance relationship.”

“I thought you might say that,” Racy observed with a wry grin. “Now I know you only teach first grade—but try to follow my math.”

I snorted at her comment.

“I looked it up online, and teachers work 180 days a year.”

“We work more than that!” I bristled.

Racy held up a hand. “Save me the speech. I know you work well after 5:00 p.m. and on weekends and on holidays and over summer. You’re an underpaid angel, blah, blah, blah. What I’m saying is you’re in the classroom 180 days out of the year.”

I relaxed, but not entirely.

“Now, how many days in a year?”

“365.”

“And what’s 365 minus 180?” She didn’t wait for me to do the mental math. “185. You could hypothetically spend time with Kate over half of the days in a year. That’s a lot more than many people in so-called traditional relationships can claim. And just think how much more relaxed you’d be grading spelling quizzes on a tropical beach than this dump of an apartment.”

I didn’t immediately respond to her logic. “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.

“Say I’m right.”

“Your math is right,” I conceded.

“And you’d rather pursue a relationship with Kate than stay in your sweatpants with Bethany.”

She was right about that, too, but I bit my tongue.

“There’s no way she’d want me anymore,” I lamented. “I was awful to her when she was in town. She’s probably regretting ever meeting me.”

“She’d be $400,000 richer if she hadn’t,” Racy quipped.

I shot my friend a dirty look. “Thanks.”

“Just doing what I can.”

I put my head in my hands. “God, what do I do?”

“Here’s a novel idea—start letting people do nice things for you,” Racy proposed. “I’ve got frequent flier miles to get you to Curaçao.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You think I should just show up?”

“I think it’s safe to say this girl likes her gestures very grand,” Racy observed.

I nodded somberly. “You’re right.”

Now Racy looked surprised. “You’re actually going to do it? You’re actually going to listen to me?”

“Don’t make me second guess myself!” My voice came out shrill and high pitched.

Racy produced her cell phone. I couldn’t see the screen, but her head was tilted with determination as her fingers typed out her commands. “There,” she said with a confident finality.

“There, what?”

“I booked you a ticket. You should be getting the confirmation e-mail any second.”

As if on cue, my phone chimed with a new e-mail to my inbox.

My hands started to shake. “Oh shit. This is happening.”

Racy jumped in place. “Oh shit. This is happening!”

+ + +

The butterflies only hit my stomach when my flip-flops hit the blacktop. Securing a plane ticket, packing, and getting to Boston’s airport hadn’t left me with any emotional or mental space to really think about what I was doing. I’d somehow been able to sleep on the flight, knowing that I’d need to hit the ground running once we landed.

I was admittedly nervous about seeing Kate. What would she think when she saw me? I hoped she’d be happy, but part of me worried she’d be taken aback—maybe even unnerved that I’d shown up unannounced. But I could only reassure myself with the reminder of the coconut she’d left behind and the unnaturally generous donation she’d made to my school.

I took a taxi from the airport to the resort. It seemed like the most likely place to find her; the sun was out and tourists milled around the all-inclusive resort property with money that needed to be spent. My taxi dropped me off at the front lobby. I bypassed the uniformed women with their tablets and fresh juice at the check-in area and traversed deeper onto the resort’s grounds.

The makeshift marketplace was busy, crowded with overly eager and aggressive locals trying to separate tourists from their pocket money. Shouts of big sales or “I’ll make you a deal!” followed me as I walked down the center of the shopper’s bazaar. I looked back and forth amongst the carrels, but I couldn’t find coconuts. A man sold hand-woven baskets and hats from palm fronds; another carved and painted miniature surfboards. I saw the caricature artist who drew overly exaggerated facial features on couples’ portraits, and the little old woman who painted your name on a shark tooth, but I couldn’t find Kate.

Both times that I’d seen her in the marketplace she’d been positioned by a man selling knock-off designer sunglasses and a woman with woven and beaded bracelets. A cart overflowing with vanity license plates was in the space she typically occupied.

I recognized the woman—Eva—I remembered her name, who had once overseen Kate’s cart while we looked at tidal pools.

“Hi, excuse me,” I said, announcing my presence. The middle-aged woman looked up from the thread she was weaving into a bracelet. “Have you seen Kate?”

I was sure it was an unexpected question. The woman looked momentarily confused, narrowing her eyes and furrowing her brow.

“Short, blonde hair. Hawaiian shirts?” I offered in description.

The confusion lifted from Eva’s face. “Not today, no.”

“Do you know where she might be?” I fished.

“No,” she replied before returning to her work. Apparently our conversation was over.

As I wasn’t a potential customer, she had little reason to pay attention to me. I wondered if Alexander Hamilton or Andrew Jackson might coax more information out of her, but I didn’t want to be insulting.

I bobbed my head with the dismissal. “Okay. Thank you,” I said, despite her unhelpfulness.

Having struck out at the resort bazaar, I headed next to the Thirsty Coconut. Maybe she’d sold enough coconuts to satisfy her budget for the day and she’d headed to the fringe bar for a drink.

My chest tightened as I crossed the resort, passing the buffet restaurant and the winding ocean-side pool. It was a beautiful afternoon on the island—bright blue skies with very little cloud cover—but I was too unsettled to fully appreciate my tropical surroundings. I imagined Kate sitting at the bar, laughing with Jimmy, the ponytailed bartender, not a care in the world, while I rushed around the resort in a panic.

God, she was frustrating. When I finally found her, I vowed to give her a piece of my mind for having done this to me.

A familiar surf rock song greeted my ears as I approached the open-sided, thatch-roofed bar. Most of the tables were vacant and the hostess stand was empty as well. I stood just under the roof and scanned the faces of the scattered patrons. My heart sank when I didn’t see any obnoxiously bright flowered shirts or attractive shorthaired blondes. Where could she have been?

Jimmy, the ponytailed bartender, stood at his post behind the horseshoe-shaped bar. As I approached, he flipped a cardboard coaster out on the bar in front of my place.

“What can I get you?” he asked. He used the white rag draped over his shoulder to wipe away a condensation ring on the bartop.

I could have gone for a strong, boozy drink, but I had more pressing matters to take care of.

“Nothing to drink, thanks,” I rejected. “Have you seen Kate Emerson?”

He paused in his cleaning of the bartop. “Who?”

“Sells coconuts? Wears terrible Hawaiian shirts?” I supplied. “Snarky expatriate?”

“Oh, Kate!” The bartender chuckled to himself. “You threw me off with the Emerson thing. I didn’t know she had a last name.” He picked up a pint glass and ran it through the bar sanitizer device. “I haven’t seen her today, sorry. She usually doesn’t come in until evening. Have you tried the resort shops?”

“Mmhm,” I confirmed.

“Sorry,” he shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

I began to feel deflated, but I forced a smile to my lips. “That’s okay. Thanks anyway.”

“You want that drink now?” he offered.

I hesitated. It was oh-so-tempting to stay and have a few drinks; I’d been moving non-stop since my decision to come to the island, and I was starting to feel the fatigue of stress. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to truly relax until I found Kate, and there was still one more place I hadn’t checked. Her house.

Without a vehicle of my own, it was a long, hot walk to Kate’s oceanfront bungalow. The unpaved road was dusty and covered the tops of my feet and ankles with a pale powder. I hugged the unmarked shoulder to stay out of the way of noisy cars and fast moving motorbikes. I could only imagine the headlines: Boston teacher struck dead by scooter. Pet fish, Greg, mourns.

By the time I reached the small plot on which Kate’s house sat, I felt wilted and close to defeat. I hadn’t exactly dressed up for my reunion with Kate, but I’d at least showered and fixed my hair. My trek from the resort had made those minimal efforts go to waste. I didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that my makeup had melted off my face.

I wiped my forehead with the bottom of my t-shirt and tucked my hair behind my ears before approaching Kate’s house. I looked for movement—signs of life—via the open windows but saw and heard nothing.

The door wobbled on its hinges when I knocked. The sound it made was wooden and hollow. I waited on her narrow concrete stoop and leaned toward the door, trying to listen for the telltale noises of movement coming from the other side. Still, nothing happened.

I knocked again, harder and louder. “Kate?” I called through the closed door. “Are you there?”

I waited a moment longer before gingerly trying the handle on the front door. It was unlocked and swung open with ease.

I hesitantly walked across the threshold. “Hello?” I called out.

I scanned the open-concept home, but saw no evidence that Kate was there. Nothing struck me as out of the ordinary; her hut might have looked a little tidier than usual with not as many art supplies scattered around the room.

A quiet noise that seemed to be coming from the direction of the bathroom alerted me. It was only a slight rustling noise, but there was definitely someone in the bathroom.

I approached the slightly ajar door with increasing trepidation. I couldn’t make out any shadowy figures from inside, but the noises I heard caused my imagination to run wild: Boston teacher killed after interrupting home invasion. Pet fish, Greg, mourns.

“Hello?” I tried again. With each step closer, I landed heavily on my feet in order to announce my presence. “Kate? Is that you?”

I slowly reached for the door handle, but before my outstretched fingers could lock around the doorknob, the door burst open towards me.

I jumped backwards while a startled noise bubbled out of my throat. My heart felt ready to leap out of my chest. No person occupied the bathroom, however. It was only Kate’s pet chicken—Dog—who seemed to have trapped itself in the water closet. The chicken clucked and waddled out of the bathroom.

I placed my hand over my heart. “Jesus, Dog. You scared me!”

The chicken looked uninterested in my fright and bobbed around now that it had full range of the house again.

My pulse hadn’t yet returned to normal when I heard the jangle of my cell phone coming from the bottom of my purse. I kept an eye on Dog while I fished my phone out of my bag.

“What now?” I mumbled to myself.

My heart sank when Racy’s name and number appeared on the screen. I didn’t immediately answer the call. There were international surcharges to consider, but far more than that, I wasn’t prepared to admit to my friend what a giant mistake I’d made. I’d tried to do something spontaneous and follow my heart instead of my head, but I’d only wasted her frequent flyer miles. I felt equal parts ashamed and embarrassed.

I couldn’t let the call go to voicemail, however. I hadn’t thought to let Racy know I’d made it safely to the island; if I didn’t answer, she might start to worry and send in the Marines.

I took a breath before hitting accept.

“Hey,” Racy announced, “I came to your apartment to feed Greg, and—.”

“She’s not here,” I cut her off. “I can’t find Kate. I came all this way, and she’s not even here.”

“Mercy, it—”

“I’ll pay you back,” I promised. “I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this.”

“Mercy, she—.”

“This was such a dumb idea,” I continued to lament. “I should have known not to do something like this. It was spontaneous and silly and now I’m alone in Curaçao with nothing to show for all my efforts. I probably won’t even leave a note. I’m just going to swallow my pride, book the earliest flight, and get back to Boston. Maybe once I’m back I can forget any of this ever happened.”

“But Kate is—.”

“I know,” I interrupted her again. “I thought Kate was amazing, too. I wouldn’t have come all this way if I didn’t think so. But she’s not here; I think the universe is trying to tell me something.”

“Mercy!” Racy all but yelled into the phone.

“What?!” I returned just as shrilly.

“Forget about the universe—I’ve been trying to tell you something! Kate’s not in Curaçao because she’s here!”

“Here?” I echoed. “Where?”

“In Boston. At your apartment to be specific.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?!”

“If I could get a word in; I’ve been trying to tell you!!”

“What is she doing there?” I exclaimed. “She’s supposed to be selling coconuts in Curaçao. I was supposed to surprise her!”

I waited for Racy’s response, but heard only muffled noises. The shuffling and scraping ended and a new, second voice, spoke to me next.

“Mercy. Hey.”

My heart pounded a little harder and a little faster when I heard Kate’s voice.

“Oh, hey.” My voice unintentionally dropped at least an octave.

“Stay there,” Kate instructed me. “Don’t move. I’m booking the next flight to come to you.”

“Oh-okay,” I agreed.

I had so many questions whose answers I desired—namely why she was at my apartment and not in Curaçao where she was supposed to be—but I couldn’t think quickly enough to ask.

“Make yourself at home,” she said. “I’ll be there in like eight to ten hours.”

I didn’t have the opportunity to reply; the dial tone hummed in my ear.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I had Kate’s house to myself for the next few hours—however long it was going to take for her to get a flight from Boston to Willemstad. The flight itself was anywhere from seven to eight hours, but there was no guarantee she’d be able to find a flight that same day or one with no layovers. I could have tried to sleep since I should have been running on fumes, but I was uncharacteristically wired. It shouldn’t have surprised me though; it wasn’t everyday that I traveled halfway around the world to track down a girl.

Kate had no television, no Bluetooth speakers to connect my phone to, only an ancient-looking radio. I helped myself to a beer from her refrigerator and found a channel on the radio that played ambient tropical music. I sat at the rustic card table that served as her kitchen table and took in my surroundings. With the exception of the closet that doubled as a bathroom toilet, the one-room shack offered little privacy. Nothing in her tiny house suggested this was the home of a wool heiress.

With nothing else to entertain or distract me, doubts began to creep into my head. Even if I commuted to the island every other weekend like Racy suggested, could I live like this? Could I see myself living a bare minimum existence? It wasn’t like my apartment in Boston was a luxury accommodation, but at least my shower was indoors. What about when we got older? Would I continue to find the mattress on the floor charming, or would my aging joints be unforgiving? I took a long slug from my beer bottle as my mind raced. If I was going to stay, I was going to need something stronger than a lager.

The sun had set and the wind coming off the ocean had picked up. I hadn’t packed much of anything and certainly not a jacket or sweatshirt. I didn’t know how to work the heat in Kate’s house—I didn’t know if her hut actually had any heating system. I looked around for something that resembled a thermostat, but gave up after a few minutes.

Rummaging through a clothes bureau revealed a lone sweatshirt with the familiar name of Emerson College, a Boston art school, screen-printed across the front. I stared at the shirt in wonder: God, had her family founded the school? How had I not put the pieces together earlier? In my defense, I’d mostly been mortified when I’d first learned her last name because of Racy’s presence; I had no reason to think the woman I’d met while on vacation had been from one of the most established families in Boston. I felt my blood pressure stabilize the moment the well-worn sweatshirt came over my head. It smelled like her—sunscreen and coconut.

Despite being too anxious for sleep, I crawled into Kate’s bed. Once the adrenaline of the moment wore off I was sure to crash. I was barely cognizant of a chicken scurrying across the wooden floorboards when my eyes finally closed in sleep.

Several dreamless hours later, I woke up to a steady and insistent banging noise. I’d slept so heavily, I’d nearly forgotten I wasn’t in my bedroom in Boston. Outside, the skies were still dark. Inside, I was still alone. Kate had not returned yet.

The knocking noise continued, and it took a moment to realize that Kate’s chicken was the culprit. I watched the animal with interest from my position in bed, unsure why it was hitting its head against the bottom of the front door like a woodpecker.

“What’s wrong with you? Is this how chickens throw tantrums?” I asked as if I expected an answer. “Don’t worry, your mom will be back soon.”

I thought myself pretty good with children and most pets, but I’d never dealt with a pet chicken before.

“Do you want to go outside?” I asked. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

The chicken ignored me and only continued to peck at the door. I wondered if chickens could concuss themselves.

“Okay, here you go.” I got out of bed and opened the front door for the chicken, and it very casually—as if it hadn’t just been banging its head against the front door—strutted outside.

The clock on my cell phone told me it had been nine hours since I’d last talked to Kate. I had no messages from either her or Racy to indicate she’d been delayed or, worse, had changed her mind. Her prolonged absence did nothing to ease my concerns.

I stared out the window above the door at the midnight blue sky and the starless night. A thick cloud covered the moon and distant galaxies. My eyes lifted to the ceiling when I heard the sound of a light rain begin to strike the metal roof.

I opened the door and called to Kate’s pet. “Dog! It’s time to come in! Get in here, Dog; it’s starting to rain.”

My throat constricted when I realized I couldn’t see Dog in the yard. I raced outside, barefoot and without an umbrella. I cupped my hands at the sides of my mouth to amplify my words. “Dog! Where are you? Here, chicken, chicken, chicken!”

I knew how ridiculous I looked, and I was thankful Kate had no neighbors in sight, but I would never forgive myself if I managed to lose Kate’s pet.

“Dog!” I continued to call. The rain began to pick up and the wind whipped around me, carrying my voice away. “Dog! Come back, Dog!”

Over the heavy patter of raindrops striking concrete, I heard the crunch of tires on loose gravel. A vehicle pulled down the street and turned into Kate’s driveway. I held my hand above my eyes to protect them from the intensity of the car’s headlights. I didn’t recognize the vehicle and the brightness of its headlights prevented me from seeing the faces or the number of people in the car.

I heard a car door open, followed by a familiar voice. “Mercy? What are you doing in the rain?”

The headlights finally dimmed, and I watched Kate climb out of the front passenger side door. She leaned back into the car to grab a small backpack. She said something to the car’s driver and shut the door.

She swung the small backpack over her shoulder and began to jog toward me. I watched her flip the hood of her zip-up hoodie over her head to shield herself from the worst of the rain.

“Why are you outside?” she repeated her question from before. “Did you lock yourself out?”

“I lost Dog,” I said in a panicked tone. “I let her outside for a minute, and she disappeared.”

Kate waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about her. She’s a free-range chicken.”

“Are you teasing me? Or just trying to make me feel better?”

“Neither. I’m telling the truth. She’ll come back when she’s hungry.”

I looked over her shoulder at the empty driveway. “Where’s your scooter?”

“I left it at airport parking. I didn’t want to drive it in the rain and show up looking like a drowned rat.”

“Like me,” I said lamely.

“You’re beautiful,” she protested. She drew closer as she tucked a few damp strands of hair behind my ears. “You’re here.”

“You seem surprised,” I remarked.

“I thought maybe you’d change your mind—like you’d come to your senses or maybe freak out and fly back to Boston before I could get back.”

“Are you freaking out?” I needed to know.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her face broke out in smile. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

I wrapped my hands around my torso as if to hide the clothing from her. “It got cold,” I explained. “I didn’t think to pack anything warmer. Actually, I didn’t pack much of anything except my passport.”

“That seems very unlike you,” Kate remarked.

“I-I haven’t been myself lately.” I dropped my gaze to my feet. “I might not even know what that looks like anymore.”

I looked back up and hazarded a glance in her direction. Her grey-green eyes remained locked on me as if she was afraid I might disappear at any moment. The longer we stood in our places, the more annoyed and anxious I became. Were we going to stare at each other all night like this? Had I made a terrible mistake by coming here? Had I made myself too comfortable in her space? Had she come to her senses? Had she changed her mind?

Just before I could officially flip out, I felt her lips on mine. I felt a lot more than just her mouth. I felt her hands and teeth and tongue. She grabbed handfuls of my borrowed sweatshirt.

We finally broke away when oxygen became an issue, but we remained close with our foreheads pressed together.

Her fingers stroked the sides of my face. “Hi,” she breathed.

I leaned into her touch. “Hi,” I returned.

“I missed you,” she sighed.

“You did?”

“Uh huh,” she confirmed.

“It’s only been a few weeks.”

“It might as well have been a few lifetimes,” she insisted.

“You and your lines,” I softly chuckled.

“As romantically cliché as it is to be out in the rain with you, it’s actually a lot colder than those movies let on.” Her lips pulled into a grimace. “Would you mind terribly if we went inside?”

We did our best to dodge raindrops as we ran back to the shelter of Kate’s house. My clothes weren’t soaked through, but they were damp enough to be heavy and uncomfortable.

Kate tossed her backpack on the dining table. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

I shook out my wet hair. “Stop saying that,” I chastised. “You’re making me feel self-conscious.”

“How?” she frowned.

“I’m worried you’re going to come to your senses when you realize I’m a total bore.”

She arched her eyebrow. “What says I’m exciting?”

I shrugged. “Your outfits are at least.”

“Wait. This isn’t an intervention, is it? You’re not gonna make me get rid of my Hawaiian shirts, are you?”

“They’re safe,” I assured her. “But only if you promise to wear a whole lot less when you’re alone with me,” came my surprising response.

I expected a cheeky reply, but her features remained serious. My stomach flip-flopped when her hands went to the bottom hem of her t-shirt.

“Like right now?” Her voice dipped dangerously low.

I swallowed hard. “Sh-should we maybe talk first about how this is going to work?”

Confusion flickered across her face. “You want to strategize? Like who goes on top first?”

I barked out a laugh, releasing some bottled-up nervousness. “No, like a relationship,” I explained. “How are we going to make that work? Who visits whom? When do we get to see each other?”

“Mercy, we both flew to different countries to see each other. Can we maybe fool around a little first, and then figure out those details later?”

She resumed her earlier task and removed her t-shirt. She let the cotton garment drop to the ground before taking a step in my direction. I allowed myself an indulgent stare. Her wireless bra offered just enough support for her small breasts, but I was too focused on her abdomen to appreciate the defiance of gravity.

Another tentative step, just as she’d approached me on New Years Eve. Only a handful of weeks had passed since then, but our surroundings and circumstances couldn’t have been more different.

She seemed to sense my thoughts. “Do you need another countdown?” she teased.

“No,” I scoffed. “What were you doing in Boston? Why weren’t you here when I showed up?”

My question brought an annoyed look to Kate’s face. I was annoyed with myself as well, but I also wanted some answers.

Kate grabbed a t-shirt that had been hanging off the back of one of her kitchen chairs and pulled it on. “I got some good news, and you were the person I wanted to tell.”

I thought the sentiment sweet, but also a bit far-fetched. “You couldn’t have picked up the phone?”

Her lips twitched at one side. “I got rid of my cell phone.”

“I noticed,” I observed. “I tried to text you and the message bounced back.”

Kate leaned forward in interest. “You texted me?” Her voice lilted on the question.

“Tried to,” I emphasized. I felt the heat on my cheeks, and hoped the dim lighting in her house would help hide my blush. “I’d been drinking,” I excused.

“Had you been drinking when you booked the flight to come see me?” she posed.

I shook my head. “No.”

She slowly licked her lips. “That’s encouraging,” she seemed to purr.

I cleared my throat. “You, uh, you said you had some good news to tell me?”

Kate blinked a few times. My question seemed to have disrupted the moment. “Oh, right. I got a job.”

“But you already have a job—painting coconuts.”

“I mean a real job. I convinced my mom to hire me. I’m going to head up the family’s philanthropy efforts—give away Michelle and Tom’s inheritance.”

“Wow.” I shook my head as I let the information settle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why? I thought you really loved your life down here.”

“Donating all that money to your school was like my gateway drug.”

“Maybe not the most flattering analogy,” I pointed out.

Kate laughed. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m not good with words.” She raked her fingers through her hair, causing it to stand on end even more. “It’s hard to explain.”

I reached for her hand and interlaced our fingers. “Can you try?”

She bit down on her bottom lip and worried the pliable flesh. “It felt nice to feel needed. No one needs me, Mercy. Not even my pet. She’d be fine without me—probably even better.” She waved her free hand in my direction. “And here you are—a public school teacher—which is like the most admirable profession out there. And it made me think about things—like what was I doing to make a difference? How was I contributing to society?”

“I think that’s very admirable. But now I feel kind of guilty—like I messed up this really good thing you had going.”

“I would mess it up and more for you.”

I couldn’t take her seriously. It was such a line. But she stared at me with such intensity that I started to believe the sincerity to her words.

“I think you’re better with words than you give yourself credit for,” I said softly.

“You know what else I’m good at?”

Kate stroked the side of my face. She held my chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilted my head up. She leaned down and gently pressed her mouth against mine, in a soundless kiss.

“You’re freezing,” she remarked. She roughly rubbed her hands up and down my arms. “How are you so cold?”

I didn’t have time to remind her I’d been searching for her pet chicken in the rain before she was grabbing my hand and pulling me in a new direction.

“Come on, let’s warm you up.”

I found myself very attracted to this take-charge version of Kate. It wasn’t surprising though—I was attracted to all of her versions. The Hawaiian shirt, the wool dress, and everything in between.

“Where are we going?” I questioned.

“The shower’s outside,” she reminded me. “Two birds, one stone. You can warm up, and I can wash the airplane off of me.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, with no hint of seduction or foul play, just that this would be the most reasonable thing for us to do at that exact moment.

“O-oh. Okay.”

Kate flipped a light switch that was connected to a string of twinkle lights. The decorative bulbs provided just enough light for me to make out the silhouette of the outdoor shower. The overhang of the house’s tin roof sheltered the shower from above while the shower’s three concrete walls and plastic curtain provided a modicum of privacy.

“I wish I could see you better,” she complained. “We’ll have to do this again in the morning.”

“I could be into that,” I concurred.

Kate twisted the lone knob on the outdoor shower. The pipes groaned and clunked until water began to fall from the showerhead. She stuck her hand under the flow to test the water’s temperature.

“It takes a while to warm up,” she told me.

“Unlike me,” I quipped.

The sweatshirt I had borrowed was the first thing to go. I grabbed the bottom hem of the cotton shirt and pulled it up and over my head. I’d trapped my tank top as well, leaving my torso covered only by my bra. Despite losing layers of clothes, my internal body temperature seemed to elevate.

My hands had been off of her body for far too long. I only had myself to blame, but I was determined now to make amends. I put my palm in the center of Kate’s chest and pushed. She stumbled back several feet until she was directly beneath the shower’s lukewarm spray. I joined her beneath the showerhead and captured her surprised mouth with my own. Her startled noise pressed against my lips as I refused to let it free. I didn’t care that we were still partially dressed. I’d waited too long to be with her again; I wasn’t going to let a pair of shorts keep me from what I wanted.

Kate’s wet t-shirt clung to her like a second skin. Her pebbled nipples stuck out defiantly from the rest of her unblemished body. I peeled the shirt up her torso, but left it gathered just above the top of her breasts. I flipped her bra up, letting her breasts pop free from the underwire. I moaned around the tightened nipple in my mouth. I lightly chewed on the spongy tissue, enjoying Kate’s quiet sighs and restrained grunts.

I kissed my way down her torso, lapping at her fragrant skin and the clean water that poured down on us. Water droplets collected and beaded on her clenching torso. I loved the look of how they clung to her flawless skin.

I unfastened the button snap at the top of her board shorts and loosened the shoelace that took the place where a zipper should have been. I steadied myself on my knees before hooking my fingers under the waistband of her shorts. Pebbles trapped in the concrete floor dug into my knees, but I didn’t anticipate being down there for long. I wasn’t in the mood for slow.

“Are you ready for this?” I challenged. I ran my hands up and down the back of her thinly muscled calves.

Kate’s mouth formed a wide smirk. “Give me your best shot.”

I wiggled the board shorts past her hips and hummed appreciatively at her lack of underwear. The shorts dropped to the shower floor with a wet sound. I held tight to her upper thighs and drank her in. I dug my short nails into her skin. My nose attacked her clit while I assaulted her slit with the full length of my tongue.

There was nothing to hold on to in the shower—no towel rack or soap shelf to grab. Kate’s hands slid uselessly down the sides of the tiled shower until they came to rest of the top of my head. Her fingers twisted in my wet hair, pulling me tighter and closer to her core. I couldn’t have let go though, even if she’d asked.

I looked up to see her face—eyes closed, mouth agape, chin tilted up. She looked like an angel in ecstasy.

“Why are you so quiet?”

Her eyes flipped open to look down at me. “Wh-what?”

I kicked my lips, tasting her on me. “You hardly make any noises. Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I like it.”

I gripped her thighs harder. “Then let me hear it.”

I twirled my tongue around her clit in tight, rapid circles.

“Oh, God, Mercy,” she breathed.

I lifted my head briefly. “I think we can do better than that.”

I pressed my middle finger against her opening. I dipped inside to the first knuckle, making shallow thrusts until I felt her arousal build and coat my finger. I sank inside to my second knuckle and groaned at the feeling of her tight around my single digit. I licked her harder, thrusting the tip of my tongue back to her slit and drawing it up and over her clit.

I felt her legs wobble before she widened her stance for stability. “Shit, shit, shit,” she swore. Her voice echoed off the shower tiles.

“Better,” I approved from my knees.

I suckled on her clit while pushing two fingers into her tightening hole.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she chanted. Each line of praise became louder than the one before. “Oh. My. GOD.”

I wrapped my free arm around her waist. I moved my tongue in erratic patterns across her clit while penetrating her in long, smooth strokes, pulling my fingers almost all the way out before slamming them back in.

“There. There. Right there,” she encouraged. The fingers in my hair tightened even more.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Mercy.” She slapped her palm against the shower wall, nearly in time with my own rhythmic thrusts. “Holy shit, I’m gonna cum!” she wheezed.

The words caught in her throat, but her body revealed her orgasm. Her pelvic area jerked and spasmed while I clung to her as if riding a bucking bronco.

She bent over my shoulder before righting herself and leaning back against the shower wall. Water poured down Kate’s face. The hot water had run out, but the cooler temperatures didn’t seem to register with her. I withdrew my fingers, but continued to suckle on her clit until her hips’ spastic movement subsided.

“Kate?” I called to her.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, and goosebumps had begun to form on her arms and legs.

“Mmhm?” she hummed.

“Are you okay?”

I watched the muscles in her throat work on her answer. “Yeah,” she husked. “I’m just really happy I left that coconut behind.”

I pulled myself up on shaking legs. My knees felt raw from the shower floor. “I hope you know I didn’t come all this way because of that. You know this isn’t about the money, right?”

I wanted to make clear that I hadn’t come down to see her, and that I was willing to try a long-distance relationship, despite of—not because of—who her family was.

She threw her arms around my neck. “Well that’s a relief,” she smiled dreamily. “I thought maybe your kids needed new textbooks. I’m a wool heiress on a budget.”

EPILOGUE

Book. b-o-o-k.

Clap. c-l-a-p.

Stop. s-t-o-p.

Field. f-e-i-l-d.

Oof. Not again.

“Picture with my lizard, Miss?”

I looked up from my grading at the question. A short, dark-skinned man stood in front of my beach chair. In his outstretched arms was a large iguana.

“No, I’m okay,” I waved him away. “Thank you.”

He took a step closer. The iguana stuck out its long tongue. “He does not bite.”

“I realize that. I’m just not in the market for a picture right now,” I tried to explain.

A third voice, less polite than mine, entered the conversation. “Hey, buddy. Scram. We’re not tourists, man!”

My knight in floral prints approached with an aggressive gait and two drinks in her hands to shoo the man away.

“I can’t leave you alone for a second without you getting into trouble,” she teased.

“I’m just sitting here!” I defended myself.

“It’s your red hair, babe,” Kate clucked. “You’re like a magnet to those locals looking for gullible tourists.”

“You’re blonde though!” I protested. “It’s not like that’s naturally occurring on the island.”

“But I could be Dutch,” she reminded me.

“We need to find a tropical island full of redheads,” I complained.

Kate dropped down on the lounger next to me. “Treasure Beach in Jamaica,” she named. “Scottish sailors got shipwrecked off the coast in the 1830s. They swam ashore and stayed.”

I shook my head in wonder. “How do you know so much trivia?”

“I had a lot of free time before I met you.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Is that a complaint?”

“Absolutely not.” She grabbed onto my hand and brought it up to her mouth for a small kiss. “I am so happy that you monopolize all of my time.”

I pulled my hand away so I could lightly swat her with it. “You still look like a tourist. I don’t know what’s worse—your shirt or that laptop.”

Kate opened up the aforementioned laptop and waited for the screen to come to life. “I know, I know—who brings a laptop to the beach? But I promised my mom I’d look through this final round of grant proposals before the end of the week.”

It wasn’t the all-inclusive resort where Racy and I had once stayed; I was finally getting to see Curaçao—my home one hundred and eighty some days out of the year—one beautiful beach at a time. Luckily I had the island’s most entertaining tour guide to show me around, even if she refused to let me buy a scooter of my own. We were on a budget, she told me—but secretly I think she enjoyed me clinging to her back and my gasp of terror each time she unexpectedly accelerated.

She leaned her laptop toward me. “What do you think of this proposal?”

“No way,” I rejected. “You’re not pawning your work off on me. I’ve got spelling quizzes to grade.”

“Can’t I just give all the money to your school?” Kate sighed.

“You’re the one who wanted to do more good.”

“It’s your fault,” she retorted. “Once I started giving money away, I couldn’t stop.”

In between selling coconuts, Kate was typically on her laptop reviewing grant applications. She still didn’t rely on her family’s money—not really—but received a modest salary for being the grant coordinator for the family trust. She spent more time in Boston now, but maintained her business in Curaçao to pay for our tab at the Thirsty Coconut.

“How goes the grading?” she asked.

I tapped the top of my pen against my stack of grading. “I before E. It’s still tripping them up.”

“Why are you wasting their time on that? Isn’t that what spell-check is for?”

“You’re the worst,” I scoffed.

“I don’t know. There must be something about me you like.”

“Maybe a few things,” I mused.

“Like what?”

I wrinkled my nose. “You’re going to make me say it?”

She grinned. “Forget about like—is there anything about me that you love?”

Her passing mention of the L-Word caused me to sit up straighter in my lounge chair. We hadn’t yet exchanged those kinds of sentiments with each other and I could never be sure with her. She was either being nonchalant about wanting to say the words, or was testing me.

“Well, I love that you’re so passionate about giving away your siblings’ inheritance. And I love that you’re still painting even though you’ve got a boring adult job now.

“It’s not boring! I’m a philanthropist!”

I couldn’t help leaning over to kiss her pouty mouth, effectively silencing her protest. She hummed contentedly and leaned back in her chair.

“I love the little noises you make when I kiss you,” I continued. “And I love that you’re starting to be more vocal when we do other things, too.”

Her smile broadened. “I’m still waiting for round two in the outdoor shower, you know. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.”

Our mouths connected again, and this time I deepened the kiss. A louder hum—almost a purr—rolled up her throat.

“Hey, lesbos! Get a room!” Racy bellowed from her beach chair a few feet away. Beside her, Mark, the timeshare salesman, sipped on a Mai Tai.

I stuck out my tongue in my friend’s direction. “After all those times you ditched me, and now you’re sticking around?”

“Don’t kid yourself, Mercy. This little love-match would have never happened if I’d been a better friend.”

“She kind of has a point, babe,” Kate piped up.

“Hey! Whose girlfriend are you?” I complained.

“Oh, we’re girlfriends now?”

I opened my mouth and closed it. We’d never formally had a conversation about labels, but I was flying to a foreign country practically every week to see her—what else would that be?

“I mean—I didn’t want to assume,” Kate noted, “but you don’t seem like the fly-across-the-world-for-someone-who’s-not-your-girlfriend kind of girl.”

“You’d be right about that,” I concurred.

We met again for another lingering kiss, this one seemingly a contract to our committed relationship. My senses were overcome with the scent of sunscreen, but not so much that I couldn’t hear Racy’s song: “Mercy’s got a lovely set of coconuts …”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eliza Lentzski is the author of lesbian fiction, romance, and erotica including the best-selling Winter Jacket and Don’t Call Me Hero series. She publishes urban fantasy and paranormal romance under the penname E.L. Blaisdell. Although a historian by day, Eliza is passionate about fiction. She was born and raised in the upper Midwest, which is often the setting for her novels. She currently lives in Boston with her wife and their cat, Charley.

Follow her on Twitter and Instagram, @ElizaLentzski, and Like her on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/elizalentzski) for updates and exclusive previews of future original releases.

http://www.elizalentzski.com