On Tuesday night, Mick announces that he’s going over to St. Thomas the next morning and he won’t be back until late, so he can’t meet Ayers after her charter with a smoothie.
“I guess the honeymoon is over,” Ayers says. “I knew it wouldn’t last. What’s happening in St. Thomas?”
“Picking up some stuff for the bar,” Mick says.
“Really?” Ayers says. “Like what, from where?”
“Stuff, from places,” Mick says. “Paper straws, for one thing. I have to take all the plastic straws to recycling and replace them with paper straws. Which, although environmentally friendly, disintegrate once they come in contact with liquid, thereby providing a poor straw experience.”
“And what else?”
“What’s with the third degree?” Mick asks.
She didn’t sleep with Baker. When he pulled up alongside of her out of the blue, she thought, Is this really happening? And then, without thinking twice, she’d climbed into the car with him and directed him to Hawksnest. She thought they would just sit in the parking lot and talk but that wasn’t very romantic, so she led him down the path toward the beach, which was deserted, and she thought, Is that what I want? Romantic?
The truth is, she hasn’t stopped thinking of him since he left. She doesn’t want to like him, but she does. And reading Rosie’s journals is screwing with her head. Rosie willingly had an affair with a man she knew was married. Ayers’s own dear, sweet friend, a person Ayers admired and respected, did that. The story in the diary is, at least, providing some context. Russ was unhappy, at a crossroads career-wise, and he’d been dropped into paradise for the weekend, where he’d met Rosie, who even on her worst day was achingly beautiful. Something had sparked between them—then ignited. It’s the spark and the flame that intrigue Ayers. Did two good people do something they knew was wrong because there was some kind of magical chemistry involved? Or was it plain old human fallibility, weakness in the face of temptation?
Ayers isn’t sure. What she is drawn to in Rosie’s journal is the rawness of Rosie’s desire for Russ and her pain when he leaves.
Has Ayers ever felt that way about anyone? Does she feel that way about Mick? She was hurt and angry—really angry—when she found Mick with Brigid, but that pain might simply have been the blow to her self-esteem and the sting of being rejected. The truth is, the way she feels about Mick now has changed. She still loves him but she doesn’t trust him and she doesn’t trust herself, and sometimes she thinks she went back to him only because it was comfortable and familiar, whereas the idea of embarking on a whole new relationship with Baker Steele is terrifying. And unrealistic. He’s still married. He lives in Houston.
Once they were on the beach, Baker reached for Ayers’s hand, but she batted him away, then turned to confront him. There wasn’t a moon; it was really dark. Ayers could barely see Baker, but despite this, there was an instant pull of attraction. He was so tall and broad; she loved having to crane her neck to look up at him. He had a fresh haircut, she’d noticed; it looked good with his chiseled features and his dimple. He’d gone soft around the middle and there was something dad-like and a little nerdy in his demeanor. But these things set her at ease.
“I didn’t bring you here for that,” Ayers said. “I want to talk.”
Baker nodded. “Yeah, me too. Sorry, it’s a beach, we were walking, I’ve been thinking of you every second of every day since I left, so believe me when I say that reaching for your hand was something I did instinctively.”
“I need to know a couple things,” she said. “One, are you still married?”
“Legally, yes,” Baker said. “It’s only been a few weeks. But Anna, my wife, accepted a surgical post at the Cleveland Clinic with her girlfriend, Louisa, so they’re moving and giving me physical custody of Floyd.”
“Have you started divorce proceedings?” Ayers asked. “Have you spoken to a lawyer?”
“We’re using a mediator,” Baker said. “And yes, I’ve spoken to her. This is happening. There’s no going back. I actually had dinner with Anna and Louisa a few days ago, and, wow, they’re together. Two peas in a pod. An intimidating pair.”
Intimidating, Ayers thought, because they weren’t sexually attracted to men. Ayers let Baker’s typical attitude slide because she had a more pressing question. “How long are you staying down here?”
“We’re moving here,” Baker said. “I have Floyd with me. I want to put him in school.”
This wasn’t the answer Ayers was expecting. “So you packed up all your stuff and shipped it down here?”
“Well…” Baker said.
No, she didn’t think so. It would have been too good to be true.
“We’re here for two weeks. Then I have to go back to Houston for this event at Floyd’s school.”
Which he was supposedly pulling Floyd out of.
“And then I’ll take care of packing up the rest of what we need.”
“So it’s your intention to move down here,” Ayers said. “But if after two weeks you aren’t feeling it, you’ll go back to Houston.”
“It’s my intention to stay,” Baker said. “Cash is staying. And tonight I found out my mother is coming down. So I’ll have a built-in support system.”
Irene, Ayers thought. She had a whole new set of feelings about Irene now that she’d read Rosie’s journals—mostly fear that she, Ayers, could someday be duped and blindsided as badly as Irene had been. It was so important to stay vigilant where your heart was concerned. Why didn’t they teach you that in school?
“What about a job?” Ayers said. “Cash has a job, with me.” Even in the darkness, she could see Baker wince. “I won’t believe you’re staying until you have something tethering you to this island.”
“I’m going to look for a job,” Baker said. “I day-trade for money, I can do that anywhere, which is how I’m able to pick up and leave Houston. But I want something part-time here, something flexible so I can still be around for Floyd. I admit I don’t have any leads yet. I just got here today. The first thing I wanted to do was find you.”
“I’m still with Mick,” Ayers said.
“I know,” Baker said. “Cash told me.” He reached out and touched a strand of her hair. “I’m not going to put any pressure on you. I just want you to know that I’m here because of you.”
Against her wishes, this affected her. “I’m with Mick,” she said again, weakly.
“Well, if things don’t work out with Mick, I’ll be here waiting.” He grinned. “Like a complete idiot. An utter fool.”
She laughed, then they stood smiling at each other and she thought, He’s going to try and kiss me.
He bent down toward her—but stopped. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you back to town.”
Wednesday morning, Ayers drives down to Treasure Island and Mick follows behind her in his blue Jeep with Gordon hanging his head over the side. They’re on their way to the ferry; Mick honks as he peels off.
They have a full boat today, twenty people, six of them kids, and handling that is a tall order, especially because it’s only Cash’s third day of work, his first without Wade there to train him. But Cash seems to be a natural when it comes to managing groups of strangers all keyed up for an adventure. He’s courteous and convivial, he has the gift of gab, and it’s clear that he takes his procedural responsibilities—the passport paperwork, tying up at the docks, cleaning and prepping all the snorkel equipment, and assisting with any young, old, or infirm guests—very seriously. Of course, this job offers a different roll of the dice each and every day; that’s one of the things Ayers likes about it. Occasionally there are mechanical issues with the boat or the weather isn’t great, but that’s for Captain James to deal with. Ayers and Cash handle the humans.
Ayers goes to the top deck to put out the seat cushions. Six kids is a lot, she thinks, especially if the parents start drinking. She decides to tell Cash that she’ll manage the kids and he’ll be in charge of the adults.
Adults are easier. Most of the time.
From her perch, Ayers spies Mick on the top deck of the ferry, Gordon with him on a leash, garnering attention from every dog lover on the boat. Mick took Gordon with him because, with both Ayers and Mick gone all day, there’d be no one to let him out. Still, Ayers suspects Mick also brought Gordon because Gordon is a chick magnet. And sure enough, a girl with long brown hair in a cute white sundress takes the seat next to Mick. The girl puts her arm around Mick and lays her head on his shoulder, so it must be someone they know. Ayers squints; the girl lifts her head and turns.
It’s Brigid.
To get some stuff for the bar, Ayers thinks. Paper straws. This is such bullshit, Ayers can’t believe she bought it! Well, she didn’t quite buy it, did she? She’d had a funny feeling because Mick hated going to St. Thomas. If there was a reason to go, he’d send one of his employees. But when Ayers asked follow-up questions, he’d accused her of giving him the third degree, and she hadn’t argued the point because she was feeling guilty about the journals and about seeing Baker.
Brigid! Where is he going with Brigid? To the recycling center and the restaurant-supply store? Or to the Tap and Still for a long boozy lunch followed by…what? Not back until late, he said. What a jerk!
Gordon puts his paws up on Brigid’s knees and starts licking her face, and Ayers turns away; if she watches any longer, she’s going to be sick. She pulls her phone out of her shorts pocket and as she’s wondering what to text to Mick—what can she say that will make him feel as nauseated as she feels right now?—Cash calls up the stairs.
“Paperwork is ready,” he says. “Permission to board?”
“Permission granted,” James says from the wheelhouse.
Ayers’s phone says it’s ten past eight. Time to get everyone on so they can leave. She shoves her phone back into her shorts pocket, then whips it back out and shoots a quick text to Mick: I saw you with Brigid. Please don’t ever call me again. It’s over.
She feels triumphant, but it lasts only an instant.
Brigid!
The six children are all in the same family, the Dresslers, and they’re all boys, towheaded and tan, ranging in age from fourteen to six. They all have D-names: DJ, Danny, Damian, Duncan, Donner (“Like the reindeer,” the mother says), and Dougie.
Who names a child after a reindeer? Ayers wonders. She’s in a foul mood.
The kids seem relatively well behaved, and the parents—Dave and Donna—are a striking couple, tall and superior-looking. Donna carries a bag (as big as Santa’s!) that holds the entire family’s snorkeling equipment.
You just never know what you’re going to get, Ayers thinks. Today it’s a cross between the von Trapp children and Russian matryoshka dolls.
She finds Cash in the cabin; he’s setting out the platter of fruit and the sliced coconut-banana bread. The greatest thing about Cash is he doesn’t mind the menial jobs. He thinks it’s a privilege! And Cash is clearly skilled with a knife. The fruit is uniformly sliced and spread out in an appetizing pinwheel.
Ayers pulls Cash aside. “I’ll keep a close eye on the boys. You take the so-called grown-ups.”
“Got it, boss,” he says. He turns from Ayers and smiles at a young woman who is hanging by the counter. “What can I get for you?”
“When does the bar open?” the young woman asks.
Ayers has to wait a beat before she answers. This happens every day, but Ayers is in no mood right now for someone whose sole reason for coming aboard Treasure Island is to get shitfaced.
“No alcohol until we’re under way,” Ayers says. “And even then, I’d urge you to be prudent until the snorkeling portion is over.”
“Prudent is my middle name,” she says. “But snorkeling is quite a while from now, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Ayers says. “Baths first—including travel, that takes two hours—then the captain will pick a snorkeling spot. We should be finished snorkeling by eleven or eleven thirty.”
“That’s a long time to be prudent,” the woman says.
Ayers feels herself about to snap. “Once we are on our way to Jost, you can drink as much as you want.”
Cash says, “If Prudent is your middle name, what’s your first name?” He sticks out a hand. “I’m Cash.”
“I’m Maxwell,” she says.
“That’s your first name?” Cash asks.
“’Fraid so,” she says. “It’s kind of confusing, but don’t worry, I’m very female.” She sticks her chest out at Cash, and Ayers notices a tattoo of a keyhole between her breasts. Ayers gets it—she’s waiting for the person who holds the key to her heart.
Cash must notice the tattoo at the same time—how could he not; it’s nestled right there between her boobs, which are straining against the green cups of her bikini—because he says, “Cool tattoo.”
Maxwell glances down at her chest as if she has no idea what he’s talking about. “Oh, thanks,” she says. Over the bikini, she’s wearing a sheer green paisley peasant blouse. She gives a tiny shrug, and the blouse slips down off her shoulder. This girl has all the moves and she has her bright gaze trained on Cash. “I hope you don’t mind my hanging around. It’s just that I came on this trip by myself. I’m visiting a friend of mine from high school who lives here but she said she has a lot of errands today because she works at night—”
Ayers can’t stop herself from jumping in. “Is your friend named Brigid, by any chance?”
“No,” Maxwell says.
“Long shot, I know,” Ayers says. “You just remind me of someone.”
“Anyway,” Maxwell says, now showing Cash one creamy shoulder, “she encouraged me to come out on this tour. She said it’s the best.” She beams at Cash, as though Treasure Island’s sterling reputation is all Cash’s doing. “I think she was trying to get rid of me. I can be a lot.”
“You?” Ayers says.
The boat engine starts. Cash says, “I have to go tend to the ropes. Excuse me, Maxwell.”
“Just call me Max,” she says. “When you’re finished, will you come back and make me a painkiller, extra strong?”
“You got it,” Cash says. He gives her a wink and shoots out a finger like Isaac, the bartender from The Love Boat, a cultural reference Ayers suspects is lost on Max.
Ayers wrestles with her wandering mind. She told Cash she would keep an eye on the kids and let him handle the adults, but by now, all six of the boys might have drowned.
Ayers puts on her headset. “I’m about to give the safety talk,” she says to Max. “You should listen.”
The ride to Virgin Gorda is smooth. Ayers makes herself notice how glorious the water, the sky, and the emerald-green islands are. She is so lucky to live here, to have this job and her job at La Tapa, her friends, her community, Maia and Huck. Rosie is gone, but at least while Ayers is reading the journals, it feels like she has Rosie back. It feels like Rosie is, finally, telling her everything.
But then she succumbs to the red, hot, itchy temptation of thinking about Mick and Brigid. Brigid! If Ayers had seen Mick with anyone else—Emily Ratajkowski, Scarlett Johansson with her tongue in Mick’s ear—it wouldn’t have sickened Ayers the way seeing him with Brigid has. Why did he even bother getting back together with her? Because she was hurting? Because he felt sorry for her? Because her apartment was far more homey and comfortable than the rat hole where he and Gordon lived? Is he using her? Preying on her pain and her wobbly judgment? She’s actively mourning the loss of her best friend and she has been trying to hold it together so she can be whole and strong for Maia. How dare Mick go behind her back again after all Ayers has just been through. That is what makes this unforgivable.
She scans the boat, looking for anyone who seems to be suffering from seasickness, but the passengers look calm and happy, their faces turned toward the sun, hair blowing back in the breeze. The six boys are sitting on a bench between the statuesque bookends of their parents, and there isn’t a single electronic device among them, which Ayers finds impressive.
She leans toward the mother, Donna, and says, “Your boys are so well behaved.”
Donna wraps her arm around the youngest, Dougie, who is sitting next to her, and kisses the top of his head. “Believe me, this is a rare moment of peace. We told them if they behaved today, we’d rent a dinghy tomorrow and go to the pizza boat in Christmas Cove.”
“Good bribe!” Ayers says. “I love Pizza Pi.” Mick had said something the night before about borrowing his boss’s boat so they could raft up in Christmas Cove on Monday—eat pizza, listen to live music.
Maybe now he’ll take Brigid.
“How do you manage six boys?” Ayers asks. Because she’s an only child, she has always been fascinated by big families and she still harbors a fantasy of having a bunch of kids herself someday. Which will probably never happen, seeing as how she can’t even sustain a relationship. (She has to lasso her psyche! Stay in the moment!) “Isn’t it a lot, to keep track of their sports and activities and their dental appointments and haircuts and stuff?” Just looking at the Dressler family brings up visions of reminders written on a chalkboard in the mudroom, a color-coded calendar, baskets labeled with each boy’s name to hold hats and gloves and rainboots.
“They’re all swimmers,” Donna says. “I just drop them off at the Y on Saturday morning and collect them at the end of the day. I go to some of the meets, though I’ve learned to pick and choose. I used to go to every single one and my hair turned green just from sitting in the pool balcony for so long.” She laughs. “They aren’t interested in impressing me, anyway. They want to impress their coach, their teammates, and each other. They all swim freestyle and do the IM, so it’s pretty intense competition.” She looks down to the end of the bench and whispers, “DJ has just committed to swim at Stanford.”
“That’s so cool,” Ayers says. “Where are you guys from?”
“Philadelphia,” Donna says. “The Main Line.”
Sure, of course, Ayers might have predicted that. The Dresslers probably live in an old stone house that has a creek running behind it. The husband, Dave, probably takes the train downtown to work, and Donna probably makes enormous dinners—Taco Tuesdays!—that the boys devour, exhausted from a day of school and swimming the fifty-free in under a minute. Ayers feels herself falling in love with the Dressler family. Adopt me, please, she thinks.
But maybe there are secrets, like soft spots on a seemingly perfect apple. Maybe Donna is having an affair with the kids’ swim coach; maybe Dave is a degenerate gambler who has lost the college savings; maybe the oldest boy got his girlfriend pregnant, which he’ll reveal the day they get home from this vacation, and suddenly, Stanford will be called into question.
Ayers shakes her head. What is wrong with her today? She suspects it’s a combination of the diaries and seeing Mick and Brigid together. It feels like the whole world is hiding something.