lifted his thin shoulders and dropped them in a noncommittal way.
Only Ann and Richard showed up for breakfast. Mango was served, a splendid thing—voluptuously split open, orange flesh shiny under Ann’s spoon. She never ate mangoes at home; she didn’t know why. She avoided them at the grocery store. They seemed exotic, difficult with their thick greenish-yellowish-red skin bruised like a sunset, and the large pit pinioned down within its fibery strings. A mystery how to prepare one, but here the fruit was opened, diced, ready and willing. Here mangoes were lovely. She promised herself that, from now on, she would eat them at home to remember being on the island. While they lingered over a third cup of coffee, Loren brought Ann a fax from the main resort. It was yet another note from Javi:
Spent the night in jail. Lorna bailed me out. Don’t worry—everything will be fixed. BTW, Lorna’s not as stuck up as she used to be. Hope you don’t mind me asking her out.
She balled up the paper, but there was nowhere to throw it, so she stuck it in the pocket of her cover-up. Titi glared impatiently at their empty plates, willing them to get up. As Ann and Richard poked along the beach, they saw her and Cooked disappear into the trees.
It was strange to go from full-throttle panic to having nothing to do but worry about one’s tan lines. Should they have stayed back home and stuck it out? Should Ann even now be sitting in the prison of her job? Richard couldn’t bear the thought of his stillborn kitchen. Leisure time yawned in front of them, and without email or Internet, much less TV, Ann thought this might not have been the best idea to get their minds off things after all. Richard had not asked to see the fax, but now, alone, he hinted.
“That from Javi?”
“Yes.”
“Anything I should know?”
“He says, ‘Don’t worry.’”
Richard gave his irritating tight nod.
* * *
When Cooked came back from his morning “nap,” he offered to take the two couples over to a nearby deserted motu for snorkeling.
Ann declined.
“Are you sure?” Richard asked. His voice wheedled like a young boy’s asking permission to go play, not wanting to give away his excitement.
“Go enjoy yourself,” Ann said.
Richard hesitated, knowing solidarity was what was called for, but why couldn’t Ann go along with the program just this once? He craved the release of being back underwater.
She took his hand. “We can’t just sit and stare at each other, right? Nothing is going to get decided today.”
“Can you remind me again what we’re doing here?”
“Assessing our options.”
“It’s not criminal, though, what we did, right? It was our money.”
“It has more to do with intent. The truth is slippery sometimes.” Answered like a true lawyer.
Wende came out in a tiger-print bikini, wearing oversize dark glasses. She tiptoed, as if too much motion hurt. Cooked’s eyes grew big, grinning at the invitation that was Wende as she climbed into the boat. Titi stood in the kitchen doorway, sulking.
“Is there any way I could get some breakfast to go?” Wende asked.
Now Cooked climbed back out and waded through the water to the kitchen. Titi huffed inside. Sitting at the table, drinking coffee, Loren read his newspaper, ignoring the whole thing as if he were just another guest.
The previous night they had been kept up by the rapt, orgasmic sounds of lovemaking coming from Dex and Wende’s hut. It had woken Richard from his exhausted slumber, and Ann and he had lain side by side in bed, listening. They snickered at the obvious showmanship, although the truth was that it made each of them mourn the disappearance of lust in their own lives. Why couldn’t they have had the island to themselves so that they could concentrate on healing through nature, communing with the solitariness that was the essence of the desert island ideal, or at least be with civilized people who muffled their cries of pleasure in
Only Ann and Richard showed up for breakfast. Mango was served, a splendid thing—voluptuously split open, orange flesh shiny under Ann’s spoon. She never ate mangoes at home; she didn’t know why. She avoided them at the grocery store. They seemed exotic, difficult with their thick greenish-yellowish-red skin bruised like a sunset, and the large pit pinioned down within its fibery strings. A mystery how to prepare one, but here the fruit was opened, diced, ready and willing. Here mangoes were lovely. She promised herself that, from now on, she would eat them at home to remember being on the island. While they lingered over a third cup of coffee, Loren brought Ann a fax from the main resort. It was yet another note from Javi:
Spent the night in jail. Lorna bailed me out. Don’t worry—everything will be fixed. BTW, Lorna’s not as stuck up as she used to be. Hope you don’t mind me asking her out.
She balled up the paper, but there was nowhere to throw it, so she stuck it in the pocket of her cover-up. Titi glared impatiently at their empty plates, willing them to get up. As Ann and Richard poked along the beach, they saw her and Cooked disappear into the trees.
It was strange to go from full-throttle panic to having nothing to do but worry about one’s tan lines. Should they have stayed back home and stuck it out? Should Ann even now be sitting in the prison of her job? Richard couldn’t bear the thought of his stillborn kitchen. Leisure time yawned in front of them, and without email or Internet, much less TV, Ann thought this might not have been the best idea to get their minds off things after all. Richard had not asked to see the fax, but now, alone, he hinted.
“That from Javi?”
“Yes.”
“Anything I should know?”
“He says, ‘Don’t worry.’”
Richard gave his irritating tight nod.
* * *
When Cooked came back from his morning “nap,” he offered to take the two couples over to a nearby deserted motu for snorkeling.
Ann declined.
“Are you sure?” Richard asked. His voice wheedled like a young boy’s asking permission to go play, not wanting to give away his excitement.
“Go enjoy yourself,” Ann said.
Richard hesitated, knowing solidarity was what was called for, but why couldn’t Ann go along with the program just this once? He craved the release of being back underwater.
She took his hand. “We can’t just sit and stare at each other, right? Nothing is going to get decided today.”
“Can you remind me again what we’re doing here?”
“Assessing our options.”
“It’s not criminal, though, what we did, right? It was our money.”
“It has more to do with intent. The truth is slippery sometimes.” Answered like a true lawyer.
Wende came out in a tiger-print bikini, wearing oversize dark glasses. She tiptoed, as if too much motion hurt. Cooked’s eyes grew big, grinning at the invitation that was Wende as she climbed into the boat. Titi stood in the kitchen doorway, sulking.
“Is there any way I could get some breakfast to go?” Wende asked.
Now Cooked climbed back out and waded through the water to the kitchen. Titi huffed inside. Sitting at the table, drinking coffee, Loren read his newspaper, ignoring the whole thing as if he were just another guest.
The previous night they had been kept up by the rapt, orgasmic sounds of lovemaking coming from Dex and Wende’s hut. It had woken Richard from his exhausted slumber, and Ann and he had lain side by side in bed, listening. They snickered at the obvious showmanship, although the truth was that it made each of them mourn the disappearance of lust in their own lives. Why couldn’t they have had the island to themselves so that they could concentrate on healing through nature, communing with the solitariness that was the essence of the desert island ideal, or at least be with civilized people who muffled their cries of pleasure in
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