so rudely discovered, I’ve showered, and now I smell perfectly fine, thank you very much.” I eyed him suspiciously. “I hope you’re not doing this because you feel sorry for me. Because you know about . . . well, you know.”
He leaned in to sniff me—the nerve of this guy! “You do smell better, and no, I didn’t bring your luggage just because of the ‘you know.’ I happen to be a fairly decent person.” He glanced around. “So what are your plans for your time on the island? Are you meeting people here? Is this Tom character making an appearance in the near future?”
I stuck my chin out. I may have even pouted. “He most certainly is not.”
“Good, because you didn’t sound too excited about him calling you. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Finding something in the fridge,” I said. “Given that I survived a near-death experience today, I’m not really up for exploring.”
He gave me a half smile. “Life is a near-death experience. But suit yourself,” he added lightly, as though I’d just rejected the offer he didn’t actually make. “Your suitcase is on the porch. See you around, Libby.”
I opened my mouth, but he was gone before I could get the words out.
FOURTEEN
It wasn’t enough that he almost scared the pants off me twice in one day. No, Shiloh had to go and inform me that nearly crashing into the Caribbean—to say nothing of the cluster muck of cells sapping away my life force—was no different from the unpleasantness of everyday existence.
Well, that pithy pilot was lucky I hadn’t assaulted him, I thought to myself the following morning. Which was progress on my part, I reasoned as I pulled off the T-shirt I’d slept in and stood before the bedroom mirror. It was a cheap full-length, and the wavy glass narrowed my waist while lengthening my incision, making it look even worse than it already did. I’d removed the bandage a few days before, thinking that some air would do the wound good, but the two-inch gash remained red and angry.
Stepping into my bathing suit, I commanded myself to stop thinking about Shiloh and cancer and anything that remotely rankled. I was going to the beach, and darn it, I was going to enjoy it.
This time I heeded Milagros’s warning and left everything of importance in the house, triple-checking the door to make sure it was locked. It was still early, and aside from an absurdly fit woman jogging barefoot down the shore, I was alone. I laid my towel out on the sand and headed for the water. The waves were cool as they rushed against my legs, then warm as they retreated back into the sea, so I waded in deeper. My incision stung, but I dove into the surf, determined to make friends with pain—or at the very least, to learn how to ignore it. Sure enough, the discomfort let up, so I went back under, holding my breath while the sea enveloped me, filling my head with its blunted gurgling sounds. Saltwater seeped into my mouth as I surfaced. I felt invigorated and alive, or whatever it is to be aware of your body as it is pacified by a fresh burst of oxygen and momentarily oblivious to the disease eating away at it. For the next few weeks, at least, I was going to be fine.
Except it didn’t appear that way, because Milagros, clad in a short orange housedress, came running down the beach hollering my name.
Reluctantly, I trudged back to the beach. “What is it, Milagros?” I asked as she approached the water’s edge.
“Ay, Libby, I thought you were drowning! Por favor , be careful. The tide is very strong right now. You see those waves?” she said, pointing into the distance.
“Those are, like, a mile out.”
“They’ll suck you right under,” she insisted. “Don’t go in past your belly unless you’re at a roped-off beach.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to sigh and failing miserably. Luisa instructed me to give myself away like the sea, but come to find out, I was only able to do that in designated swimming
He leaned in to sniff me—the nerve of this guy! “You do smell better, and no, I didn’t bring your luggage just because of the ‘you know.’ I happen to be a fairly decent person.” He glanced around. “So what are your plans for your time on the island? Are you meeting people here? Is this Tom character making an appearance in the near future?”
I stuck my chin out. I may have even pouted. “He most certainly is not.”
“Good, because you didn’t sound too excited about him calling you. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Finding something in the fridge,” I said. “Given that I survived a near-death experience today, I’m not really up for exploring.”
He gave me a half smile. “Life is a near-death experience. But suit yourself,” he added lightly, as though I’d just rejected the offer he didn’t actually make. “Your suitcase is on the porch. See you around, Libby.”
I opened my mouth, but he was gone before I could get the words out.
FOURTEEN
It wasn’t enough that he almost scared the pants off me twice in one day. No, Shiloh had to go and inform me that nearly crashing into the Caribbean—to say nothing of the cluster muck of cells sapping away my life force—was no different from the unpleasantness of everyday existence.
Well, that pithy pilot was lucky I hadn’t assaulted him, I thought to myself the following morning. Which was progress on my part, I reasoned as I pulled off the T-shirt I’d slept in and stood before the bedroom mirror. It was a cheap full-length, and the wavy glass narrowed my waist while lengthening my incision, making it look even worse than it already did. I’d removed the bandage a few days before, thinking that some air would do the wound good, but the two-inch gash remained red and angry.
Stepping into my bathing suit, I commanded myself to stop thinking about Shiloh and cancer and anything that remotely rankled. I was going to the beach, and darn it, I was going to enjoy it.
This time I heeded Milagros’s warning and left everything of importance in the house, triple-checking the door to make sure it was locked. It was still early, and aside from an absurdly fit woman jogging barefoot down the shore, I was alone. I laid my towel out on the sand and headed for the water. The waves were cool as they rushed against my legs, then warm as they retreated back into the sea, so I waded in deeper. My incision stung, but I dove into the surf, determined to make friends with pain—or at the very least, to learn how to ignore it. Sure enough, the discomfort let up, so I went back under, holding my breath while the sea enveloped me, filling my head with its blunted gurgling sounds. Saltwater seeped into my mouth as I surfaced. I felt invigorated and alive, or whatever it is to be aware of your body as it is pacified by a fresh burst of oxygen and momentarily oblivious to the disease eating away at it. For the next few weeks, at least, I was going to be fine.
Except it didn’t appear that way, because Milagros, clad in a short orange housedress, came running down the beach hollering my name.
Reluctantly, I trudged back to the beach. “What is it, Milagros?” I asked as she approached the water’s edge.
“Ay, Libby, I thought you were drowning! Por favor , be careful. The tide is very strong right now. You see those waves?” she said, pointing into the distance.
“Those are, like, a mile out.”
“They’ll suck you right under,” she insisted. “Don’t go in past your belly unless you’re at a roped-off beach.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to sigh and failing miserably. Luisa instructed me to give myself away like the sea, but come to find out, I was only able to do that in designated swimming
Similar Books
