Hurricanes in Paradise Page 2

  “Let’s see here; our primary focus will be Laine Fulton, the author. She’s coming here to research for her new book.”

  Mia scribbled in her notebook like a diligent student. “I hear she’s demanding,” she said in her slightly frantic way.

  Riley’s ears piqued at her statement. In the two weeks Mia had been here, Riley had been slightly disarmed by her moments of childishness quickly diffused by an action of maturity. She couldn’t figure Mia out. Her outward beauty was obvious. Her reactions not so much. “You have? How so?”

  “Oh, I have a friend who hosted her at a property in Dubai. She used that as the setting of her last book. She said there are as many layers to Laine Fulton as there are characters in her novels.”

  “I prefer to think she’s a woman who knows what she wants. And she happens to want things a specific way. I spoke with her agent this morning and—”

  “Mitchell?” Mia interrupted.

  Riley cocked her head. “Yes, Mitchell.”

  “That’s her ex-husband. And I heard he wasn’t her agent anymore,” Mia responded matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, well . . . okay.” Riley shook her head. “Let’s stay on our toes with her this week and make sure everything runs smoothly. Her specific room requests should have been taken care of, and it sounds like she’ll be occupying a lot of my time. So if you could go make sure everything is in place, that would be great. Just in case I don’t get to go back and check.”

  “No problem.” Mia continued to write. “Who else?”

  “We’ve got a young lady named Tamyra Larsen. She’s a ‘Miss Something,’ but I can’t remember what her title is.”

  “Not a pageant girl.” Mia scrunched her nose and shook her head. “Really?”

  “I’m sure she’s delightful. And her mother called and . . . well, she sounded really concerned about her.”

  “So we’re to babysit a beauty queen? I hear they all need babysitting.”

  Riley gave Mia her best smile. “We don’t babysit, Mia. We take care of our guests. Plus, I have a daughter. I know what worried parents sound like, and this mother was worried. So, beauty queen or not, we need to keep our eyes on her.”

  Mia looked up. Her blue eyes held Riley’s. “Consider it done.”

  “Finally, we have Ms. Winnie Harris.”

  “Ms. Harris?”

  “Yes, Dr. Harris actually, but her children said she only uses that title at school. She’s a principal at a high school in Nashville.”

  “Oh, that kind of doctor.”

  “Yes, that kind. And her children are really concerned about her because she has never been on a vacation alone. Her husband died three years ago and this is her first vacation without him. So it’s our responsibility to make sure she is taken care of. And she made a special request not to be able to see the Beach Tower from her room.”

  Mia eyed her oddly. “Why?”

  “I have no idea. We don’t ask why. We just fulfill the requests.” Riley patted her calendar and raised her head. “I believe that’s it.”

  Mia closed her portfolio and stuck it back in her bag. “I’ll go check on each of their rooms and make sure they are ready as soon as our guests arrive.”

  “Thanks. We’ll catch up later.”

  Mia walked out of the office, and Riley sat down. She studied the three names again, making sure she had them committed to memory. She knew what it meant to a guest to be known by name. So she had made remembering a practice ever since she had gone into the hospitality business fifteen years ago. She knew there would be other guests that required her attention this week. But as of today there were only three that were demanding it. Whether they knew it or not.

  * * *

  Riley exited the elevator of the suite tower. Laine Fulton’s room was ready to go. Everything she had requested, from the fully stocked liquor cabinet to the pistachios and the all-black M&M’S, awaited her arrival. Her entire bedroom had been rearranged at Mitchell’s request, the desk placed in front of the sliding-glass doors to give a view of the ocean. Mia had done an excellent job paying attention to every detail. Now all Riley had to do was wait for her guests to arrive.

  She headed down to the Cain, the adult-only pool, to check on Laine’s poolside cabana.

  A body glided up beside her. “Hi, Riley. Mind if I walk with you?”

  She turned toward him, but she knew that voice. She and Christian Manos had worked side by side, he at The Reef, she at The Cove, for the last six months. Their virtually identical jobs brought them to a place of familiarity quicker than most. And that closeness had awakened things in her she hadn’t felt in a long time. That’s why she had taken to avoiding him. Her pace increased with the rate of her heartbeat. “No. Not at all.” She pushed her hair back and turned to look into his beautiful, tanned face.

  “Are you coming to the meeting this afternoon?”

  She could smell his cologne. The breeze carried it right up her nose. “Umm . . . no.” She blinked hard. “I’ve got a couple arrivals this afternoon that I’ve got to make sure get settled in okay. Mia is covering for me.” She gave a soft smile.

  “The luxury of revolving guests,” he said.

  “Yes, must be nice to have stationary guests.” The Reef was a property of luxury condominiums with part-time residents instead of temporary vacationers.

  “Very nice. But it looks as if it will prevent you from coming to the meeting. So does that mean it would prevent you from grabbing some lunch before?” he asked, stopping short of one of the poolside towel cabanas. His six-foot-one build towered over her petite frame.

  Riley stopped too. “Oh?”

  He smiled, the fresh sun on his cheeks. “Yeah, I just wondered if you’d like to have lunch. But it sounds like you’re pretty busy. Seems like work is taking up all your time. So I guess maybe we could make it dinner, then.”

  She knew he could see her heart beating at the base of her neck. This was a date. A date offered by a man who did something to the increase of her pulse that even running a 5K didn’t do. She knew she must look extremely awkward, standing there, mouth slightly open, but she wasn’t sure what came after this. It had been so long.

  “I’m thinking . . . you’re wanting to say something?” The subtleties of his Greek accent were still present.

  She shook her head to try to break her trance. He was almost too pretty to be a boy. And every time he got near her, heat rose to her face no matter the temperature. “Oh yeah, dinner . . . Well, sure. I guess . . . I think dinner would be nice . . . maybe.”

  He laughed, his white teeth taking over his face. Taking it over perfectly. And they were a stark contrast to his tousled black hair. “I’m thinking, ‘Sure, I guess, nice, maybe’ is not quite the response I was hoping for.”

  Riley laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I . . . Well, you don’t need to know all of that. But I . . .” She breathed in deeply and sighed loudly. This was what she had been trying to avoid. “I’d like that. Dinner. Sometime. Yes. Sure. I’d like that.”

  He laughed again. “Okay, I’ll take that. I was thinking maybe this evening.”

  She shifted on her heels, placing her hand awkwardly on her hip, and scrunched her lips. “Oh . . . this evening . . . well. That soon?”

  He reached out and touched her arm. The hair on her arms shot to attention. She hadn’t been touched with this effect in a very long time. Old Mr. Tucker, who directed housekeeping and loved to touch her arm, had never caused quite the same reaction.

  “If tonight doesn’t work, we can pick another night.”

  She knew if she hesitated, she’d talk herself out of it. “No . . . no . . . tonight would be great. But it’s probably too late notice to get a sitter for Gabby.”

  “Bring her. We’ll have a blast.”

  She studied his face. But the inflection of his voice had convinced her he meant it. He let his hand fall to his side. She resisted the urge to grab it and put it back. “Yeah?”

  “Sure. There’s this g
reat little place over on Nassau. It’s where the locals hang out. Is that okay? It’s really casual.”

  “Gabby and I do casual very well.”

  “Can I pick you up at six thirty?”

  “Yeah, six thirty will be fine.”

  He reached up and patted her arm again, grabbing it slightly as he did. “It will be fun. Thank you for saying yes.”

  “Sure. Yeah. No problem.”

  She watched as he headed around the walkway and back up toward The Reef. His brown leather flip-flops slapped against the concrete and reverberated on her insides. She bit her lip. “Sure? Yeah? No problem? Are you an idiot?” she whispered as she headed back toward her office. “You get asked out on your first date in fifteen years—by a beautiful man, no less—and you say, ‘Sure. Yeah. No problem.’ You are an idiot.” She shook her head and turned toward the pool. Fear dropped with a thud in her gut. It pressed harder with each step she took. By the time she reached Laine’s cabana, it had taken over, verifying one thing. She would not be going out with Christian Manos tonight. Or any night.

  2

  Saturday afternoon . . .

  The customs agent nervously wiped at the black ink now smudged across the Formica countertop, glancing up at her with an awkward smile.

  Tamyra smiled at him and simply held out her hand to retrieve her passport. “Have a great afternoon,” she said as she walked toward baggage claim.

  She didn’t acknowledge the heads that turned as she walked out the doors. But she knew. She had turned heads since she was in diapers. She just drew people in. It was one of her gifts. She retrieved her two large bags and headed toward the exit, where a distinguished Bahamian gentleman stood with a sign that had her name written across the front in black block letters.

  “Hello,” she said, nodding at him as she exited. She glanced at his name tag, which read Roy Rogers. “Nice name.” She chuckled.

  His smile took over half of his cheeks. “Good American name, isn’t it?”

  “Your mother must have liked Westerns.”

  He walked her toward the waiting car. “She loved Roy Rogers,” he said, giving her a wink as he opened the back door.

  “Well, you, Roy Rogers, are far cuter than the original,” she said, patting the top of his hand that held on to the doorframe.

  A flush of red was visible even on top of his black skin. “And you, Miss Tamyra, are a very astute lady.” They both laughed. He paused a moment as if studying her. Then he spoke. “Did you know that these here Bahamian waters are known as healing waters?”

  Tamyra felt the blood rush from her face. She was grateful she was sitting down. She gripped the edge of her seat.

  If he noticed, he didn’t let on. “But there’s something else you need to know. A person has to believe healing is possible.” He stopped as if to let the words sink in. “Enjoy your stay, sweet Tamyra.” He closed the door.

  Tamyra rested her head against the black leather headrest. Bahamian music filtered softly and rhythmically through the car. Why had he said that? What was the purpose? Did she look like she needed healing? Or was God so cruel that He enjoyed rubbing it in? She turned her now-furrowed brow to the window and forced her attention to the new world outside. But if she was honest, every day seemed like a new world. Nothing was as it used to be. Since the day she left the doctor’s office with heartbreaking news, nothing about life or even her own body, her hands, her face, was the same. The only thing that remained the same was the callous soul of the world. It stopped for no one’s pain.

  Her family was worried sick. She knew that. But no matter how many times she had come to the brink of telling them everything, something held her back. She was here to continue processing her new life. For no other reason. Least of all healing waters.

  The palm trees that lined the winding streets cruised past her. They looked as if they were waving. The car drove through the downtown area of Nassau, and she watched as visor-clad tourists ambled down streets on Caribbean time. Even though this was hurricane season and rumor had it one swirled around nearby, no one seemed to care. She certainly didn’t. One could sweep in and wipe the whole place off the map and she’d be grateful. Remarkable what four words could do to change your life.

  She swatted at the tear that burned its way down her face and turned quickly so the driver couldn’t see her crying in the rearview mirror. The ocean lapped at the sides of a concrete barrier that ran the perimeter of the road. It surged with force but then rolled back as it met the unmovable wall. Her tears did the same thing.

  Her heaviness lifted slightly as the car pulled into the tropical and breathtaking setting of the Atlantis. The rich coral towers seemed to welcome her, and when the young man opened the door of the car, salt air rushed through as if it were desperate to reach the wounds in her soul.

  She stepped out of the car and barely noticed the young Bahamian bellboys falling over each other trying to get to her luggage. They finally divided and conquered: one closed her door, one took her bags, and one led her to the hotel lobby. She stood in the lobby unaware of its beauty but completely aware of her aloneness. Her mother had begged to come along. Tamyra had assured her she needed a little more time away. But standing in this spectacular lobby with its modern bookcases, waterfall wall, deep black wood-grain floors and countertops, and contemporary sculptures displayed in uniformity inside bookcases, she thought of only one thing: she was all alone.

  “You must be Tamyra.” A petite woman whose Southern accent stood out yet whose olive features were complemented in this tropical paradise extended a hand toward her.

  Tamyra shook the woman’s hand. “Yes, I’m Tamyra. How did you . . .”

  The woman was apparently already prepared for the question. “I’m Riley Sinclair, head of guest relations here, and I try to make sure I know everyone who is coming in for the week.”

  Tamyra felt as if she towered over the petite brunette. “My mother called you, didn’t she?” Her hand went quickly to her hip.

  Riley crinkled her nose. Obviously she was deciding whether she wanted to tell her the truth or not. “Yes, as a matter of fact she did. And I understand the ways of a Southern mother.”

  Tamyra closed her eyes and shook her head.

  The woman spoke before Tamyra could. “But I’m glad she did. We’ve held quite a few pageants here through the years, so consider this your second home. And I wanted you to know that I’m here to serve you any way that I can this week.”

  “I don’t require much. I just needed to get away. Clear my head and all that good stuff before I start this new season of my life.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve joined us. We’ve got a lovely room ready for you, and this is an ideal place to start a new season of life for anyone. I’ll look forward to seeing you this week.”

  “Listen, Riley, I know my mother can be very pushy. . . .”

  Riley reached her hand up and touched Tamyra’s bare arm. It held the same warmth her own mother’s had right before she left home. “Your mother didn’t ask me to babysit you. It’s my job to make sure my guests are taken care of.”

  Tamyra let the air come in and roll out in a deep and audible sigh. She wondered if her weariness was visible.

  “I’d like us to have dinner together one evening if we could,” Riley offered.

  “Sounds great.” Tamyra delivered the words with all the professionalism her year as a beauty queen had taught her. Whether she meant it or not.

  * * *

  Tamyra handed the doorman a five-dollar bill after he dropped off her last bag. She barely noticed the marbled bathroom with its white modern bowls that sat atop wooden consoles with chrome fixtures. She couldn’t have cared less about the luxury bath products that lined one of the sinks, inviting her to unwind in the bathtub or the marbled and tiled shower. She offered an unimpressed glance toward the breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean and the lighthouse that sat at the end of the peninsula of Paradise Island. The two flat-screen televisions that hung in th
e sunken sitting area and above the wall-length dresser across from her bed meant nothing to her.

  Instead, she went straight to her carry-on and pulled out a small, padded fabric cooler. She carried it over to the hidden minibar in the console that separated the bedroom from the sitting area and opened the refrigerator door. She reached inside the bag and pulled out three bottles of medicine, each with a tag received from airport security. She had never walked through security with medicine before. Two months ago she wouldn’t have had to. Her eyes scanned the labels as she placed each inside the refrigerator. The revelation of what her life had become was announced before her in dosages. When the third bottle sat firmly on the top shelf, she closed the door.

  And as it closed, her grief opened. If her concrete barrier had been expected to withstand this torrent, it wasn’t prepared. It gave way as quickly as a sandbag holding back a ruptured dam. And if anyone had been next door, they would have beaten the door down to get inside because her wails were so loud. But before any guest arrived, the grief had subsided and left her in a swollen pile on the carpet, asleep from the sheer exhaustion of her flood.

  * * *

  “Oh, my Lord in heaven, have mercy! I’m in the Bahamas,” Winnie Harris said to the pilot as she stopped in front of the open cockpit door.

  “Yes, ma’am, you are,” he said with a wide smile stamped across his tanned face.

  She shook her shoulders slightly as if a chill had coursed through her. She heard the stewardess laugh as she turned to walk the Jetway to the terminal and flung her monogrammed tote across her shoulder. The cream canvas of the tote wasn’t as cream as it once was, and her initials were fraying. But shoot, she’d lived seventy-two years and not a single thing on her body was in its original state.

  Her barely five-foot, slightly round frame bounced up the corridor of the airport terminal. She hadn’t taken a trip in four years. Anywhere. Not even with the kids. Frankly, since Sam had died, she didn’t find traveling worth the effort. But her kids had driven her crazy. Gave her this trip for her Christmas present, and she’d been dreading it for the last nine months. But here it was. And so was she. Right smack-dab in the Bahamas.