Caribbean Crossroads (22 page)

A darkness flitted over her face but she smiled to hide it. She didn’t want to disbelieve he would come through but something inside her did.

He stared, puzzled. “Doth milady doubt my word?”

“No, it’s just … no, I’m not doubting you.” But it came out weak. She moved as if to adjust her falling skirt. “Okay, that works. One visit to each place, and if neither works, it’s off.”

“Wow, you really work at relationships, don’t you?”

“It’s a good plan. A really good plan, actually.” She glanced sideways, pushing away the doubt and focusing on the fact that he was suggesting real post-cruise ideas.

He gave her that sun-on-water smile. “Surprised again? Just because I don’t verbalize my feelings every second—”

“—or look into the whites of my eyes—”

“—doesn’t mean it’s not on my mind.”

“Well, not as much as the Lakers.”

“That’s true.”

Megan fully turned to him, a sudden happy contentment in her soul. He looked back at her quizzically, then leaned toward her. In a quick sure motion she caught him off balance and pushed him into the pool. Laughing hard, she held onto the side of the diving board to steady herself. Bryant bobbed to the surface with a quick shake of his head to clear his hair. He gave a wicked grin and she instinctively pulled up her legs, but he swam around to the springy end of the diving board and pulled down hard and strong several times. Flying into the water she called out, “Bryant!”

After leaving the pool, they used towels to dry off their clothes as best they could, laughing and talking on the way back to their rooms. But in the back of her mind, Megan knew nothing much had changed about the real concerns. It would be different on dry land, and all that that implied. But he had promised he would come to the wedding, his first test of loyalty and reality. And she was ready to trust him, no holding back.

But somewhere in the sky of her mind, a doubtful gray feeling hovered.

***

The final performance was flawless. Even Mrs. Van De Morelle had clapped enthusiastically and brought overflowing yellow rose bouquets backstage for the female cast members. After stowing the last scenery pieces, the cast had enjoyed a private buffet—Megan guessed that was the “flowers” for the men—and hugs, good-byes, and last cell numbers were all exchanged. 

Early the next morning, the cast ambled down the gangplank onto the pier. Megan couldn’t believe it had only been a few months ago she had stood and looked up at the massive ship for the first time. She and Bryant said  good-bye to several of their favorite passengers. Rosa had said farewell         that morning—she and Miguel had brought them a carved wooden statue        of two Turtledoves. The Bow-tie Man escorted the Senior Sensation in an  old-fashioned arm-in-arm down the plank, while he carried one of her      white suitcases. They stopped to give Bryant and Megan a hug and a thank you.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Van De Morelle stopped by the casually grouped cast members. She paused before the two of them.

 “I’ll be in touch, dear”— she leaned into Megan —“unless I see something first in the mail. Say, something sleek and gold embossed?” She winked then lightly embraced Bryant. “All right, I don’t want to get sloppy, or play favorites in front of the cast.” He pecked her on the cheek.

As she walked away, Megan saw Brittany cocooned by a large group of important looking people with slicked hair and expensive watches. An Indian man toted her baby blue matching luggage. She paused and glided over to them. Megan stood tall, ready for a sharp exchange but inconveniently remembered the phrase from her mother—do unto others as you would have done unto you.

 “I wish you both the best,” Brittany said, extending her hands to Megan, enamel sentinels at attention.

 “Congrats on the Intrepid, Brittany,” said Megan, trying to think kind thoughts. “We just heard officially at breakfast.”

Bryant, who barely acknowledged her, simply nodded.

She had the decency to appear slightly embarrassed but recovered as a Premier Performer would. “Thank you. And good job, Megan, especially for your first cruise.” With a momentary linger, she added, “See you two around.” Bryant put both hands on Megan’s shoulders. Megan reached up with her hand and squeezed his. Brittany got the message and walked away.

A few hours later, both Megan and Bryant headed for the airport in a shuttle, sinking into the seats and their own thoughts. Megan couldn’t fight the worry, the knowledge that real life and home were waiting just one day away. What would that mean for her and Bryant?

Megan’s flight left 45 minutes before Bryant’s so he walked her to the D-gate. Pausing before entering the boarding line, she turned quickly to him. She didn’t like sentimental good-byes.

 “I’ll make this short and sweet, and no mushy garbage. Call me when you land so I know you didn’t pull a
Robinson Crusoe
on me.”

 “Daniel Defoe,” he said. “Or a
Swiss Family Robinson.
”

 “Johann David somebody or other.”

 “Wyss.” He smiled. “Or, how about just ‘see you soon’?”

 “For the wedding,” she said, more firmly than she intended.

 “Express miniature ponies couldn’t keep me away.”

 “I’m reassured.”

 “I always keep my word.” He leaned down and hugged her close, warm and enveloping. She breathed in his ocean scent and felt his messy hair tickle her face. The reality hit her, and she released herself just as the tears came close. Tucking the luggage strap unnecessarily on her shoulder, she turned and walked into the line.

 “Hey, Berlin …”

Megan turned instinctively though she had reached the head of the line.

 “I think that wall’s down.”

 “Communist.” She gave a sardonic smile, then turned and walked into the gangway.

He’ll keep his word, she practiced in her mind. But somewhere inside, a deep doubt wriggled into the hollow of her stomach.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Gathered at the first big family dinner home, Bryant felt the familiarity of clanking dinner plates and casual chatter. But underneath he sensed an unmistakable tension. So far they had talked of everything in a superficial newsy way—his cruise experience, their life at home, even his dad’s travels to Uncle Pete’s, which was surprising. Usually nothing but the lumber yard or golfing with Arthur got him off his recliner. Bryant couldn’t place the underlying negativity until his sister Piper coughed and stared meaningfully at her husband, and then at Mitch who sat beside his wife.

 “So, sounds like the cruise was a great experience,” she said. “Especially meeting great people.” Piper adjusted her seat to account for her pregnant stomach.

 “Yeah, the people are always key.”

 “And Megan, is that her name? She sounded a little bit … key.” Piper slightly raised her eyebrows, playfully enough that Bryant smiled but kept slicing his steak.

 “Yes, Megan was key.”

His father chewed slowly and silently, as was his way, but his mother leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Anything we can know or do we have to draw and quarter you first?”

The table conversation dropped to silence. Bryant could hear his knife slicing against the plate.

 “I get it—first the fatted calf then lead the lamb to slaughter. I’m getting the theme here.” He took a bite. “What do you want to know?” He played it casual but inside he didn’t want to say anything. At all. It felt private and not something to discuss over steak, especially in front of his dad.

 “Is she brunette, blonde, bigger than a bread box?” said Mitch, a light brown-haired, solid and serious looking man.

 “She’s . . .” he paused—how did he describe her in a way his family would get? “Like Gidget. Only more of a headache.” But he couldn’t repress the smile, so he cut another piece of steak, not missing the glance his mother gave to his sister as she sat back and folded her arms, satisfied.

“So is she going to see you soon, or is it not that serious?” said Piper.

It was inevitable. First the marriage side, then bam, it would be the lumber yard. He could almost write the script. His jaw tightened but he kept calm. “Actually, I’m going to visit her this weekend. Her best friend is getting married so I’m driving up.” Pictures flashed through his mind—Megan dancing with him on the deck, sitting on the diving board, him holding her at the airport. If he were honest, he couldn’t wait and would be there right now, if he didn’t have to do the dutiful family bit.

Bryant looked up, then side-to-side. The tension had ratcheted up and the faces looked obviously strained. Piper sipped on her water, looking at her husband over the top of the glass.

 “What? What did I say?” said Bryant.

 “Well, it’s just that—” Piper began.

 “I’ve got an offer, in Seattle,” said Mitch.

 “That’s great news, what’s wrong with that?”

 “I need to fly out this weekend for it.”

Bryant’s jaw tightened. “Can’t Ross run the yard?”

His dad folded his arms. “Ross is on vacation till next week. And he’s not a lead guy,” he said, breaking his silence. His tiredness now gave way to the sour expression Bryant knew all too well. “It’s the first vacation he’s had in months.”

The barb found its target. But still Bryant rebelled inside. If his dad loved the yard so much, why didn’t he stop traipsing to every family member’s house and stay here? He noticed the strained expression on his mother’s face, glancing between his dad and him.

Bryant looked at Mitch. “What about Bertie?”

Mitch shook his head. “Come on, Bertie’s good with numbers but not the hands on.” He paused, looking at his wife, Trisha. “I could ask them to reschedule the interview.”

Bryant knew the anger was wrong, but still it spiked, raw and intense, making him want to upend the table and slam it into the wall. He’d been on a cruise, living the life, and they’d been holding down the fort. It was a fact. But he didn’t want it any more than they did. If only he knew what he
did
want—it was barely out of reach, all the time, like a taste he could remember but couldn’t explain. Time was ticking and he’d drawn it out as long as possible, though why he couldn’t understand. The past few years were like a stuck needle on his dad’s 45s—dating the same girls, going to the same places, doing the same gigs, over and over, like an old track that he used to like. 

Until Megan. Instantly, he remembered the look on her face, the doubt. Breaking this promise would kill anything between them. She could not forgive, not now when her trust factor was barely rising, and if he messed that up, Bryant knew it could be so long for good. No second chance.

He looked at the family, all waiting for a response. “I can’t miss this. It’s”—How could he articulate it?—“It’s important.”

Looks were exchanged.

His dad roughly scraped his chair on the hardwood and stood with his knuckles on the table. “So is this. We expect you to hold up your end. Nothing more.”

He paused as if to say something else, as he typically would. But surprisingly, he said nothing. Turning, he walked silently toward his den.

His mother shifted in her chair, giving him a pointed, obligatory look. “That’s not the only thing we need you here for. It’s not your favorite, but Mrs. Landry—”

 “Not another debutante thing,” said Bryant, rolling his eyes.

 “Not technically. But yes, hidden in the usual trappings. Just a minute—” she stopped Bryant as he made to speak. “It’s a fundraiser for the girls’ college and they’re parading every 18- to 25-year-old in the county for a scholarship pageant. You’re the beefcake. They need your charm to help co-host the pre-pageant fundraiser dinner. With Missy.”

 “You have got to be kidding me.” Bryant looked at Piper for help. She only smiled sympathetically. 

 “The Landrys are one of our biggest accounts. You know their building contracts almost entirely sustained the yard during that downturn a few years ago—”

Bryant shook his head. “I’ve already tried dating Missy Landry, you know that. It was a fiasco. I feel like I’m 17 all over again. Out of the whole town they couldn’t get someone else to play game show host?”

Shirley leaned forward. “They’ve practically advertised for weeks that you’ll be hosting. Stella Landry said to me, verbatim, ‘Bryant will make those tickets sell like hotcakes sizzling on a sidewalk.’”

Piper took another drink of water.

 “She obviously thought you had curb appeal and, Missy aside, they are in dire need of the scholarship money. All you have to do is wear a tux, smile at the ladies—young
and
old—and eat rubber chicken. Is that so hard?” 

Bryant looked between the five conspirators at the table—the men staring at their plates and the women with an agenda.

 “It’s a done deal, isn’t it?” he said.

His mom looked at Piper and back to him, somewhat sympathetic but her voice urgent. “That’s not all. There are two more sort of ‘welcome home,’ meet and greet—”

 “—marry me off to the highest bidder,” said Bryant.

 “—one of them is the church women’s auxiliary and they need—”

 “Do I even get a say in these things?” Bryant sat back, exasperated.

 “Bryant, honey, I’m sorry. But you knew the deal waiting when you came home this time. And we had no idea about Megan. You wrote nothing, you told us nothing. Before you left I made it clear that we wanted you to move on with your life, in several ways. And I had to tell these people something.” She sat back with her arms folded. “Besides, we need you here.”

But he was here, and likely would be for the next 50 years of his life.

 “I’m sorry about your not seeing Megan, I really am, but have her come here, instead. We’d love to meet her.” She was unusually serious, and determined. “But we need you here.”

Why did she keep saying that?

Bryant shook his head. So it had begun. Once again his life was not his own—it was get married and get to the yard. And now he would have to bail on Megan, and the wedding. He fought his frustration, pictured Megan’s response, and fought it down again. Between the lumber yard and his family pushing him full steam ahead, what choice did he have?