Cayman Summer Read online

  Freak. What would this look like to her?

  I scoop the gifts into my arms, grab Alex’s car keys and head out.

  “Where are you going?” Alex blocks my way halfway down the stairs.

  “She’s gone. I’m taking your car.” I push past Alex’s stunned face, get in her car, dump my burden on the car seat, and squeal out of the parking lot.

  Airport.

  Nope.

  Our first hotel.

  The rehab place.

  The beach where she first floated on seawater.

  Nope, nope, nope.

  She could be anywhere.

  I keep pushing west, and north, driving all around the island. Check beaches. Keep driving, driving.

  Freak. Why don’t we have stupid cell phones that work here? After I find her, we’ll get phones. Tonight. No. Better yet, when I find her, I won’t ever let her out of my sight again.

  When I find her? How am I supposed to do that? Go back to the apartment and wait? No. Not yet. I can’t sit and wait. Push on.

  It’s dark when I get up north to Rum Point where we had dinner with the guys and those sleazy chicks. The place is empty. Cruise ship sheep gone home for the night.

  Except there’s a girl at a table, slumped over—wearing my old black baseball hat with “Eagle Ray Dive Club” embroidered across the front.

  “Leesie,” I yell and run over to her. “Thank, God.”

  I sit down next to her. She doesn’t move. There’s a pill bottle clasped in her fingers. “Babe.” I shake her, pry the bottle from her hand. “Wake up.”

  Freak.

  The bottle is empty.

  “Leese, babe, did you take these?”

  One eye opens. She sees me. Turns her face the other direction.

  “How long ago? You need to vomit. I’m calling Sugar.” I grab her arm.

  She jerks away like my touch is poison. “I flushed them down the toilet. I can’t even kill myself. I was lying here hoping a hurricane would stop by. Instead I get you.”

  “Leese. Leese. Listen to me.”

  “No.” She stands up and wanders away—to the beach, to the water.

  I run after her. “Leese. Listen.”

  “No!”

  Chapter 14

  GUILT TRIP

  LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

  POEM # 85, NO

  I spin around and scream

  in his face, “No, no, no, no!”

  sink to my knees in the sand,

  bang my head on the ground.

  “No.”

  He’s there, beside me.

  “Leese, listen.”

  His hand finds my arm.

  I flick it off. “Don’t touch me.”

  I scramble to get away, but he

  has me, holds me, won’t let me

  go.

  “No.” I cry into his shoulder

  and pound his chest with my cast.

  “Remember that crazy honeymoon

  we made up?”

  “No.”

  “Our deserted island and 24/7?”

  “No.”

  “Remember how I said I’d buy

  you seashells?”

  “No.”

  “Every market I went to, I bought

  something for you.”

  “For me?”

  He kisses my forehead.

  “For you.”

  “Me?”

  “The skirts and scarves—all the stuff

  you found—it’s not Suki’s.”

  I shudder and he squeezes me.

  “I bought it all for you.”

  He puts the necklace

  in my hand and kisses

  my trembling mouth.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to believe you,

  but—”

  He lets go, hangs his head, steps back.

  “I’ve been a freaking moron lately?”

  I hold up the necklace to catch floodlights

  from the restaurant behind us.

  A round shell center pierced

  with strands of wood beads

  turquoise, round and square,

  light and dark.

  “It’s Cayman colored.”

  He kisses my fingers. “It is.”

  I kiss his mouth so I don’t cry, turn

  and wade into the water.

  “Just leave me here.”

  A few steps take me up

  to my knees in soft,

  pulsing blue perfection.

  Cool. Clear. Enticing.

  “Maybe the tide will take me away.”

  He plunges after me, grabs my arm.

  “That’s enough. It’s over.”

  I jerk my arm trying to free it.

  “I’m too evil to live! I pervert

  everything. This gift. Your love.”

  His grip tightens—

  I stare at his fingers and into his eyes,

  “You’re too good to be near me.”

  My eyes drop to the cool water

  sucking on my knees.

  “I killed my brother, Michael.”

  I take a step deeper.

  “I really did. And I wanted to.

  I was so mad at him.

  We fought—worse than

  we ever have over anything.

  I screamed, cursed him,

  and drove

  off the road.”

  Michael’s arms wrap around me.

  He presses my head

  against his beating heart.

  “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

  His voice breaks.

  He doesn’t move,

  doesn’t speak,

  until he regains control

  enough to whisper,

  “I’m back.”

  His two little words unlock

  my heart. My body relaxes

  against his. “Where did you go?”

  He kisses the top

  of my furry buzz cut.

  “Let’s call it a guilt trip.”

  LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 05/30 3:21 PM

  Leesie327 says: He won’t leave my side, and I like it.

  Kimbo69 says: How’s he managing that?

  Leesie327 says: Took the rest of the week off.

  Kimbo69 says: They let him?

  Leesie327 says: Everybody owes him shifts. He’s been working too hard.

  Kimbo69 says: You guys ever heard of the balance?

  Leesie327 says: Maybe I should lose all hope more often.

  Kimbo69 says: Hardly balanced! You know Michael isn’t your only hope.

  Leesie327 says: Thanks, Kim. I know I can count on you.

  Kimbo69 says: I talked to your dad again. He says, “Hi.”

  Leesie327 says: I didn’t say you could call him twice!

  Kimbo69 says: He called me.

  Leesie327 says: You didn’t spill anything, did you?

  Kimbo69 says: I was so tempted. But that’s your job, my friend.

  Leesie327 says: I don’t want to talk about it.

  Kimbo69 says: Well, you better think about it.

  Leesie327 says: I’m not thinking about anything ever again.

  Kimbo69 says: Leesie’s getting lazy!

  Leesie327 says: I’m healing—it takes a lot of energy. I told Michael Phil and I fought before the accident. It did make me feel better to get that out.

  Kimbo69 says: What? You told Michael you were fighting over him?

  Leesie327 says: No. Are you kidding? Just that we were fighting.

  Kimbo69 says: And he didn’t ask why?

  Leesie327 says: Nope. And he won’t. Why should that matter? Now he knows why I’m guilty of at least vehicular manslaughter.

  Kimbo69 says: He doesn’t think that.

  Leesie327 says: I don’t know what he thinks. I’m not bringing it up. And he’s to sweet to broach the subject.

  Kimbo69 says: So what have you guys been doing with all this time together?

&
nbsp; Leesie327 says: Michael slept in today. I sat on the floor and watched his face.

  Kimbo69 says: Riveting.

  Leesie327 says: I had to tear myself away to make him Gram’s gooey cinnamon French toast.

  Kimbo69 says: Gosh, that sounds good. Mail me some.

  Leesie327 says: Sure thing. We sat on the balcony and ate it looking out at the ocean. If diamonds were turquoise, it would be this water.

  Kimbo69 says: Aquamarines?

  Leesie327 says: Something like that. We talked about Suki.

  Kimbo69 says: [Insert loud choking sounds here!!] Oh, my gosh—did he finally fess up?

  Leesie327 says: Yup.

  Kimbo69 says: The creep.

  Leesie327 says: No—don’t say that. He was a hero.

  Kimbo69 says: For getting it on with a professional?

  Leesie327 says: That’s a huge lie. Shut up.

  Kimbo69 says: He didn’t sleep with her?

  Leesie327 says: She enticed him—you saw how gorgeous she is—and he admitted he was tempted, but even though I shoved his ring back in his face like a stupid brute, he didn’t do it. He had my ring around his neck. He walked away.

  Kimbo69 says: You believe him?

  Leesie327 says: A hundred percent.

  Kimbo69 says: But they were kissing. The whole world saw the photo.

  Leesie327 says: The creep she was with beat her up, and Michael took care of her—helped her get back to her people. The Sea Gypsies. She kissed him good-bye. Isn’t he amazing?

  Kimbo69 says: Are you sure he’s not making that up to make himself look good? Wanting to do a prostitute doesn’t shine in my book.

  Leesie327 says: No way. I had to pry the story out of him. Now I can tell our kids their dad’s a hero. He saved me, too. Don’t forget that.

  Kimbo69 says: You’re having kids?

  Leesie327 says: Lots of them.

  Kimbo69 says: You going to start that right away?

  Leesie327 says: Why not? I can’t go to school here.

  Kimbo69 says: He won’t let you go back?

  Leesie327 says: He’d take me to BYU in a second. I can tell he wants to bring it up, but he’s afraid I’ll flip out again.

  Kimbo69 says: So you’re going to stay in Cayman and have babies?

  Leesie327 says: I’ll go wherever he wants and have babies.

  Kimbo69 says: You’re too young.

  Leesie327 says: When my mom was pregnant with Stephie, my grandmother always said, “Young bodies are made for making babies.” She’d look straight at me and say, “Don’t wait until you’re over the hill”—glare at my mom—“have them in your twenties.”

  Kimbo69 says: You’ve got a good decade or more to reproduce.

  Leesie327 says: But a baby with Michael’s eyes would be so cute.

  Kimbo69 says: And your life would be over.

  Leesie327 says: Or just beginning.

  Kimbo69 says: How twisted can you be? The goal is always not to get pregnant, hon.

  Leesie327 says: Not always.

  Kimbo69 says: Are you trying to tell me you’re knocked up? That was fast.

  Leesie327 says: No chance of that.

  Kimbo69 says: Still?

  Leesie327 says: We made a truce. I promised to stop trying to get him into bed.

  Kimbo69 says: Crap—he is a hero.

  Leesie327 says: Yeah. He’s guarding my useless virtue.

  Kimbo69 says: What did he promise?

  Leesie327 says: To find out how to get married on Cayman.

  Chapter 15

  GUARD DUTY

  MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

  Dive Buddy: students

  Date: 06/01

  Dive #: --

  Location: Grand Cayman

  Dive Site: pool

  Weather Condition: sunny

  Water Condition: calm

  Depth: 10’

  Visibility: perfect

  Water Temp: 82

  Bottom Time: 15 minutes

  Comments:

  Back at work. Three days off with Leesie weren’t enough. I’m teaching today, so I bring her along. Can’t leave her alone. Not yet. Terror too fresh.

  The classroom stuff is a good review. She doesn’t get in the pool—but she sits on the edge with her feet in the water and follows my every move, nodding her head like she’s mentally going through the motions.

  I can’t wait until she gets that stupid cast off her arm. Then we’ll really dive. One week from today she has an appointment. I’m taking her for sure. I want to be there. If all goes well, they’ll saw that junk off her hand and not put a new cast back on. Her collarbone seems to be doing well—her arm is out of the sling more than it’s in.

  It’s been over a month since she shaved her head. Her hair is growing fast—almost an inch. At least that’s what she says. It’s more than half an inch—I’ll give her that. Yesterday she searched all over the apartment to find a ruler to measure it. Made me promise to buy her one. Even at half an inch, it’s coming in thick enough to give the scar some camo. She doesn’t put make up on every day, but the spa ladies at the rehab place gave her heavyduty stuff that makes a big difference with the part of the scar that marks up her forehead. If she wants to get cosmetic surgery, that’s fine with me. Whatever. If it makes her happy, I’ll pay for it. I don’t care what it costs.

  I’ve got to go under the water with my students. I swim over to Leesie. “We’ll be down about fifteen minutes.” I don’t like not being able to watch her. Since I found her Thursday, I’ve been with her all day—until I turn her over to Alex—who was stupid enough to take off before I woke up on Saturday.

  That scared me. Leesie was fine—up making me French toast, but still. Stupid, Alex. What was she thinking?

  Now, Leesie slips off her sling and picks up a mask and snorkel she borrowed from the shop. “Can I watch you from the surface?”

  I squeeze her knees. “Sure.” Freak, I love her. “Great idea.”

  She gets me to tape a grocery bag around her cast while my students haul out of the pool, then watch us.

  “How come she gets special attention during our lesson?” A middle-aged lady with a giant butt wants to know when I rejoin them.

  I grin back at the lady. “Because she’s my fiancé.” Yeah. It feels good to say that.

  The lady shuts up—smiles back at me even. “Congratulations.”

  “Gear up, guys. What are you waiting for?”

  No one says, ‘you messing around with your babe’—for that, I’m grateful. Go easy on them. I coach the class of four through getting all their gear on, make them jump in, review descent when we’re bobbing on the surface. And then we’re down.

  Big butt lady gets nervous, but I’m in her face—encouraging her to breathe, in and out, slow and calm—until we wear the panic down. She’ll love me after this.

  I glance up quick to check for Leesie. She’s off to the side watching.

  She watches me.

  I watch her.

  We both hesitate to rock any boats.

  She wants me to look up getting married in Cayman. I keep putting it off. I promised her dad to bring her home first. She’ll freak when she hears that.

  I’m taking Leese out on the boat with me tomorrow. More watching. These students are doing a check out dive in the shallow water inside the reef. The water is way too rough on the East End for her to sit on the boat when we leave the reef’s protection on normal dives. She’d be puking her guts up for sure.

  She can come with me tomorrow. No prob. I’ve got morning dives on Wednesday. Then students again in the afternoon. I can bring her along in the afternoon, but what about the morning? Alex is booked on the boat with me. Cooper is captain. Gabriel, Brock, and Ethan have the other boat. That leaves Seth.

  Would he hang out with her? Nothing obvious or anything. She’d be ticked if she found out I’d set up a watch dog. I so don’t want to ask him. Makes me nervous—yes, jealous. But what else can I do?

 
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

  POEM #86, CAYMAN PRINCESS

  Michael takes my hand

  and helps me down

  into the boat. Other

  passengers clear a lane

  for me like I’m royalty.

  His princess—with my island

  scarf wound round my head,

  Michael’s Cayman-colored shell necklace

  swinging around my neck, his diamond

  flashing on my broken hand,

  and my old swimsuit giving

  me away. It’s just Leesie,

  people. Move along.

  I trip a little so I can fall

  against Michael’s bare chest.

  He gives me a squeeze

  and a XXL lady yells,

  “Hold it,” and snaps our picture.

  He lines up his students

  along one side of the boat,

  sits across from them

  and gets down to business.

  I sit off to the side

  and watch him teach,

  watch the muscles in his shoulders

  and back ripple when

  he stands to reach his wetsuit.

  The boat putters a few hundred

  feet from the dock while Michael

  coats himself in neoprene.

  All black—wrapping him tight.

  I miss his golden skin but

  can’t deny he devastates

  exponentially more wetsuited.

  He hovers over me.

  “We won’t be down long.”

  I slip my right hand out of its sling

  and rub it along his shoulder and arm

  while the rest of the women

  watch their prince. “It’s cool,”

  I whisper. “I’ll help Cooper.”

  Sun burnt, sandy-haired, smiling

  Captain Cooper lies on a bench

  and follows the one lonely cloud

  crossing the sky as he tells me about

  Canada and snowdrifts that

  don’t melt until April.

  “I know snow.” I hand him a slice

  of the melon I chopped for the break.

  “Grew up driving in it.”