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  Leesie327 says: I love it.

  Kimbo69 says: What’s the appeal?

  Leesie327 says: Michael in a wetsuit.

  Kimbo69 says: Doesn’t impress me. I’m into skin myself.

  Leesie327 says: Work with me, my friend. I’m doing the best with what he’ll give me. I especially love it in between dives when he peels his wetsuit half-off and lets it hang around his waist.

  Kimbo69 says: Hmmm…the best of both worlds.

  Leesie327 says: Sigh.

  Kimbo69 says: You go diving every day just to see him in a wetsuit? That sounds like too much work. Doesn’t he walk around the apartment in boxers—a swimsuit at least?

  Leesie327 says: Rarely shirtless.

  Kimbo69 says: Too much temptation?

  Leesie327 says: The rest of the guys do.

  Kimbo69 says: Massive skin alert. Can I come visit?

  Leesie327 says: It makes me nervous.

  Kimbo69 says: Overheated.

  Leesie327 says: Maybe that’s it. Gabriel’s the worst.

  Kimbo69 says: I thought they were all hot.

  Leesie327 says: He’s the only Speedo king.

  Kimbo69 says: Pictures, girl. I need pictures.

  Leesie327 says: Mark wouldn’t care?

  Kimbo69 says: You should see what he looks at. No, you shouldn’t. It’s gross.

  Leesie327 says: Well….my new phone does have a camera.

  Kimbo69 says: Yes! Promise?

  Leesie327 says: It shouldn’t be hard. He’s always in our room.

  Kimbo69 says: Lucky Alex.

  Leesie327 says: When they want to be alone, Alex shuts the door, and Michael and I get out of the apartment.

  Kimbo69 says: Michael’s a prude?

  Leesie327 says: He doesn’t want me around their influence. But Gabriel barges in every morning to wake Alex up. I’ve got zero privacy.

  Kimbo69 says: Privacy is highly over-rated. You’ll get used to not having it.

  Leesie327 says: I can’t say anything to Alex. She’s so happy. And Gabriel’s too romantic for words. Yesterday, he brought her breakfast in bed and called her “mi cielo.”

  Kimbo69 says: What does that mean?

  Leesie327 says: That’s what Alex said. And he murmured in that sexy accent of his, “There is no English for this. It means you are my heaven. Being with you is like being in heaven.”

  Kimbo69 says: You should write that down.

  Leesie327 says: I just did.

  Kimbo69 says: How did Alex react to that?

  Leesie327 says: I had to leave the room quickly.

  Kimbo69 says: What about Seth and Dani?

  Leesie327 says: Don’t see them much. They have to work all the time. And when they get off, they go into town to drink.

  Kimbo69 says: I thought he drank because she left him.

  Leesie327 says: Me, too. Now they hit the bars because she’s back.

  Kimbo69 says: Maybe he just drinks.

  Leesie327 says: You’re so perceptive.

  Kimbo69 says: What’s your plan—now that you’re no longer handicapped.

  Leesie327 says: Keep diving.

  Kimbo69 says: That’s it?

  Leesie327 says: That’s about all I can handle. Dive with Michael. Every day.

  Kimbo69 says: You can’t do that forever.

  Leesie327 says: I can try.

  LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

  POEM # 90, ICE

  Michael’s on the balcony,

  checking email before

  he has to head out.

  I fiddle with French toast,

  pout, not going with—

  boat’s full.

  We’re out of eggs now,

  bread, butter and bacon.

  A walk to the store.

  An hour on the beach

  to work my tan

  and pump Alex’s free weights.

  “Leese, there’s news.”

  His voice finds me,

  draws me to him.

  “From who?”

  He closes up his laptop.

  “Stan the Man.”

  His wizardly lawyer—

  mine now, too.

  Fright grips me

  like all of the sudden

  I grip Michael’s arm.

  My stomach turns upside

  down and a cold chill

  in my veins makes

  all my healed hurts

  pulse together with pain.

  “What?” Is all I can mumble.

  Manslaughter? Vehicular homicide?

  Reckless endangerment?

  Will there be a trial or will

  I just go to prison?

  Michael trades me for the computer

  on his lap, barricades

  me in his arms. I take cover

  in his the soft cotton T-shirt

  hiding his chest.

  He strokes my head. “Good news.”

  “Do the police want me back?”

  “No.”

  “Stan can deal with the trial

  without my presence?”

  “What trial?”

  “Tell me the charges.”

  “Driving too fast for conditions.

  He already paid the fine.”

  I close my eyes tight, and my hands

  ball up with bits of Michael’s shirt caught in them.

  “You’re lying. Tell me the truth.”

  He kisses the scars on the back

  of my left hand where his ring shines

  “There was ice on the road.”

  I sit up and concentrate on his deep gray eyes.

  “Ice?”

  He presses his face alongside mine.

  “The police say that’s why you crashed.”

  “Ice?” I pull away from his tenderness.

  My face knits into confusion.

  “We were fighting—

  like I told you—an awful fight—the worst.

  I lost control. That’s why

  we crashed. It’s my fault.

  I killed him.

  I murdered my brother.

  Not the ice.”

  Michael’s hands cup my face.

  “I believe you, babe. I do.

  But ice was

  on the highway, too.”

  My eyes blink, and I shiver.

  “All hail—the Ice Queen cometh.”

  Bitterness drips from my lips.

  “Hush, babe. Don’t.”

  He presses my head back down

  to his chest. Holds me tight.

  “Let’s call your dad tonight.

  It’s time to mend more than

  broken bones.”

  “No.” I curl close to him,

  trying to steal the warmth

  from his body. Ice. I shiver.

  He squeezes me. “Think about it.”

  “No.”

  He cradles me, kisses me,

  leaves me curled

  tight in a fetal prison

  on the chaise lounge

  contemplating the possibilities

  of ice.

  Chapter 20

  SLIP-UP

  MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

  Dive Buddy: Leesie

  Date: 06/17

  Dive #: --

  Location: Grand Cayman

  Dive Site: kitchenette

  Weather Condition: steamy

  Water Condition: steamy

  Depth: an inch too far

  Visibility: clearing

  Water Temp: hot

  Bottom Time: two minutes too long

  Comments:

  I’m lying on my cot in the living room trying not to wake up. I dozed again after everyone left for the 8 AM dive. I’m teaching at ten. Get to sleep in.

  The scent and sizzle of bacon Leesie’s frying up in the kitchen seems worth opening my eyes for.

  “Hey, sleepyhead.” She sounds upbeat this morning. Maybe I can get her talking about the accident again. She needs to believe Stan
and the police. Ice on the road. Not merely a mind-lessfight. There’s something she’s left out of her story that I got to know.

  I sit up, rub sleep gunk out of my eyes.

  She calls, “You want some of this?”

  I stand and stretch. “You know I do.”

  “Get over here and earn it then.”

  I stumble through the chaos of all the guys’ beds and clothes to the kitchenette where she’s working in front of the stove. She’s wearing bikini bottoms and a tiny tank top. “You’re looking good this morning.” I hope she didn’t wear that in front of the rest of the guys.

  She tosses me a glance over her shoulder and sees that I can’t take my eyes of her butt. She giggles. “You’re a mess.”

  “Are you going to feed me like this every morning after we’re married?” I rest my hands on her hip bones and kiss her neck.

  She tilts her head to reveal more neck, and I keep moving my lips along it, slip my mouth to her shoulder.

  “Naw—I’ll put you on tofu—don’t want you getting fat.”

  My hands drift to her stomach. “You’re in no danger of that.” I close my eyes—caress her skin—enjoy the subtle changes I discover. “You taste good, too.” I chew on her neck some more.

  “That’s the bacon.”

  Banter. That’s all I get from her the past couple days. She won’t be serious—won’t accept the news we got from Stan for what it’s worth—won’t call her parents—won’t let me. She’s still the guiltiest person in the universe. Won’t let it go. Blames herself even more now. As soon as we’re done here, I’m going to ask—freak. I sucked too long on her neck. I rub the raspberry spot. “Sorry, babe.” I kiss it.

  She reaches back and strokes my cheek. “I’m a marked woman now.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  She turns a piece of bacon over with a fork. “Mean the next one or you don’t get breakfast.”

  “Babe!”

  She holds a crispy piece of bacon up and wafts it close to my nose. “Get to work.”

  I catch her mood. What will it hurt? “Okay. Okay.” I rub her bare shoulders and plant a kiss in the middle of her back. “Where do you want it?”

  She tips her head the other way and points to the spot where her neck and shoulder meet. “Let’s see how long you can hold your breath.”

  I laugh, hug her from behind, and start my free dive breathing cycles.

  “Stop stalling.”

  I blow air out all over her neck.

  She wriggles with pleasure.

  I inhale, inhale, pack it and then slowly, gently I place my lips back on her skin.

  She melts into me.

  My hands go back to her supple stomach. She feels so good. My lips suck harder and harder on her soft skin. She reaches up with one hand and combs her fingers through my hair, turns off the stove top and pushes the frying pan off the heat with the other.

  She’s got both hands in my hair now—won’t let me stop sucking on her neck. Not like I want to. I close my eyes. Immerse in the moment. My hands stroke her stomach with more and more intensity, drift to her ribs, higher—

  Freak.

  I touched her.

  I dart away and stare at my hands. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m sorry.”

  She slumps over the stove. “Did I gross you out that much?”

  “What? Stop it. That’s stupid.” I look up. “I just made you sin.”

  She turns around. “Come back.” She laughs. “Let’s sin some more.”

  I hate that laugh. It’s so not her. “Be serious. What do we do now?”

  She walks towards me. “Whatever you want.”

  I back up with my hands out in front of me to ward her off. “I mean to fix it.”

  “Don’t bother.” She’s close now. I could touch her if I dared. “Nothing can fix me.”

  “There was ice on the road, Leese. You’re not a murderer.”

  “Shut up. You don’t know.”

  “I’m calling your dad.” I head for my cell phone, but she gets there first.

  She backs away, clutching the cell phone to her chest. “You’re so not calling my dad.”

  I close my eyes—can’t look at her another second, or I’ll be all over her—try hard to think. What do we do? There’s something important I can’t quite remember. The red face of the president guy from her church back home—Jaron’s dad, no less—forms in my brain. I remember how angry I was when she told me she talked to him after our break up—told him about that night after the dance down by the pig barn when I marked up her stomach like I just stained her neck. “How about we call your president guy, then?”

  “Jaron’s dad? I’m not confessing to him.”

  My eyes open. I step towards her with my hand out for the phone. “But this wasn’t just making out or giving you a hickey. I crossed the line. Major sin—that’s what you used to call it.”

  “It doesn’t matter any more. Why don’t you believe me?” She puts the phone behind her back.

  “Because I’m still listening to the old Leesie.”

  “Don’t—she lost.”

  “Let’s find her. Please. Can Jaron’s dad help?”

  She scowls. “I don’t live there anymore. He’s not my branch president.”

  “Is there one here?”

  “No.”

  I pick up my laptop, flip it open, type, “Mormons in Grand Cayman” in the Google box. Yes. “Look, babe.”

  She won’t.

  There’s a picture of a small, gray boxy church with an unmistakable Mormon steeple. And a phone number.

  I snag Leesie’s phone out of her room. Dial. Get somebody’s wife.

  But she says he’ll be at the church tonight.

  LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

  POEM # 91, A BARGAIN

  I want to steal the keys,

  the car, and run,

  but Michael makes me go with him.

  I sit in the back of the makeshift

  dive classroom, with my head

  buried in my arms resting

  on the folding table, and listen

  to pens scratch and Michael’s voice

  teach dive physics—one atmosphere,

  two atmospheres, three atmospheres,

  four.

  I’m angry—want to hate him,

  but his voice feeds my weakness,

  my wanting, my worship, my desire.

  I dream his body, his hands on mine.

  No retreat.

  Only surrender.

  It’s a relief to cool

  down in the pool

  after lunch, swim laps

  with his students,

  help them and win

  a smile from Michael.

  A smile that says,

  I love you,

  I want you—

  just do this one thing.

  I shake my head.

  No, Michael, no.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Chapter 21

  A GAMBLE

  MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

  Dive Buddy: Leesie

  Date: 06/17

  Dive #: --

  Location: Grand Cayman

  Dive Site: East End Pool

  Weather Condition: sunny

  Water Condition: turbulent

  Depth: 10 ft.

  Visibility: shifting

  Water Temp: thermocline

  Bottom Time: most of the day

  Comments:

  After a long afternoon of back-to-back pool sessions, I hustle Leesie up to the apartment. “We need to hurry.” The president guy’s wife said we could see him at seven. It’s almost six. She said the church is close to the grocery store on the way out of Georgetown—about forty-five minutes drive. Funny. I must have driven by it a hundred times and not noticed.

  “You can’t make me go.” Leesie stomps across the apartment into her and Alex’s room and slams the door.

  I’m on her heels. “Plea
se, babe,” I croon into the door. I try the knob—not locked. I push open the door. What the heck. Gabriel’s always in there. Why not me?

  She’s sitting, scowling on her bed. “You can’t make me tell him anything.”

  “If you won’t”—I close the door behind me so the entire apartment full of tired dive guides won’t hear all our personal business—“I will. I need help.”

  “Divine intervention?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  “I don’t want to talk to a stranger.”

  I sit next to her on the bed. “What you and I want”—I put my hand on her knee—“is massively irrelevant.”

  “You want—?” She glances down at the bed.

  “That’s what I’ve always wanted. You know that. I don’t believe any of this stuff.”

  “But—”

  “But you do. So it’s important. More important than what I want.”

  She rests her head on my shoulder. “This is useless. Believe me. He’ll shake his head and show me the door.”

  “I don’t think so.” I put my arm around her. “I’ve got a feeling—”

  She sits up, ducks my arm. “That’s rich. You’re getting revelation these days?”

  I hate the tone in her voice and the look she gives me. I glance down, find her hand, grasp it in mine. “Something in my gut says we need to do this. Please, get ready.”

  “What do I get if I go? It’s going to be humiliating.”

  I press her hand. “You’re wrong.”

  “Want to bet?” She makes a sound half-way between a snort and a laugh.

  “Sure.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “If it will get you in the shower.”

  She kisses me. “You could get me in the shower.”

  “Freak, you’re wicked.”

  “You love it.” Her lips are on mine again.

  I want to lie down with her in that bed and forget all about that guy at the church, but I disentangle myself and stand up. “What’s the bet?”

  She runs her hands over the sheets. “If I’m right, we come back here and lock Alex and Gabriel out of the room.” She wrinkles up her nose. “No. Not here. If I’m right, we find a dark, lonely beach.”

  “And if I’m right?”

  “We’ll get married tomorrow.”

  I take her hand and pull her to her feet. “If I’m right—getting married?” I start to lose it and have to turn away from her. “You might not want to anymore.”