Hurricanes in Paradise (3 page)

Her heaviness lifted slightly as the car pulled into the tropical and breathtaking setting of the Atlantis. The rich coral towers seemed to welcome her, and when the young man opened the door of the car, salt air rushed through as if it were desperate to reach the wounds in her soul.

She stepped out of the car and barely noticed the young Bahamian bellboys falling over each other trying to get to her luggage. They finally divided and conquered: one closed her door, one took her bags, and one led her to the hotel lobby. She stood in the lobby unaware of its beauty but completely aware of her aloneness. Her mother had begged to come along. Tamyra had assured her she needed a little more time away. But standing in this spectacular lobby with its modern bookcases, waterfall wall, deep black wood-grain floors and countertops, and contemporary sculptures displayed in uniformity inside bookcases, she thought of only one thing: she was all alone.

“You must be Tamyra.” A petite woman whose Southern accent stood out yet whose olive features were complemented in this tropical paradise extended a hand toward her.

Tamyra shook the woman’s hand. “Yes, I’m Tamyra. How did you . . .”

The woman was apparently already prepared for the question. “I’m Riley Sinclair, head of guest relations here, and I try to make sure I know everyone who is coming in for the week.”

Tamyra felt as if she towered over the petite brunette. “My mother called you, didn’t she?” Her hand went quickly to her hip.

Riley crinkled her nose. Obviously she was deciding whether she wanted to tell her the truth or not. “Yes, as a matter of fact she did. And I understand the ways of a Southern mother.”

Tamyra closed her eyes and shook her head.

The woman spoke before Tamyra could. “But I’m glad she did. We’ve held quite a few pageants here through the years, so consider this your second home. And I wanted you to know that I’m here to serve you any way that I can this week.”

“I don’t require much. I just needed to get away. Clear my head and all that good stuff before I start this new season of my life.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve joined us. We’ve got a lovely room ready for you, and this is an ideal place to start a new season of life for anyone. I’ll look forward to seeing you this week.”

“Listen, Riley, I know my mother can be very pushy. . . .”

Riley reached her hand up and touched Tamyra’s bare arm. It held the same warmth her own mother’s had right before she left home. “Your mother didn’t ask me to babysit you. It’s my job to make sure my guests are taken care of.”

Tamyra let the air come in and roll out in a deep and audible sigh. She wondered if her weariness was visible.

“I’d like us to have dinner together one evening if we could,” Riley offered.

“Sounds great.” Tamyra delivered the words with all the professionalism her year as a beauty queen had taught her. Whether she meant it or not.

* * *

Tamyra handed the doorman a five-dollar bill after he dropped off her last bag. She barely noticed the marbled bathroom with its white modern bowls that sat atop wooden consoles with chrome fixtures. She couldn’t have cared less about the luxury bath products that lined one of the sinks, inviting her to unwind in the bathtub or the marbled and tiled shower. She offered an unimpressed glance toward the breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean and the lighthouse that sat at the end of the peninsula of Paradise Island. The two flat-screen televisions that hung in the sunken sitting area and above the wall-length dresser across from her bed meant nothing to her.

Instead, she went straight to her carry-on and pulled out a small, padded fabric cooler. She carried it over to the hidden minibar in the console that separated the bedroom from the sitting area and opened the refrigerator door. She reached inside the bag and pulled out three bottles of medicine, each with a tag received from airport security. She had never walked through security with medicine before. Two months ago she wouldn’t have had to. Her eyes scanned the labels as she placed each inside the refrigerator. The revelation of what her life had become was announced before her in dosages. When the third bottle sat firmly on the top shelf, she closed the door.

And as it closed, her grief opened. If her concrete barrier had been expected to withstand this torrent, it wasn’t prepared. It gave way as quickly as a sandbag holding back a ruptured dam. And if anyone had been next door, they would have beaten the door down to get inside because her wails were so loud. But before any guest arrived, the grief had subsided and left her in a swollen pile on the carpet, asleep from the sheer exhaustion of her flood.

* * *

“Oh, my Lord in heaven, have mercy! I’m in the Bahamas,” Winnie Harris said to the pilot as she stopped in front of the open cockpit door.

“Yes, ma’am, you are,” he said with a wide smile stamped across his tanned face.

She shook her shoulders slightly as if a chill had coursed through her. She heard the stewardess laugh as she turned to walk the Jetway to the terminal and flung her monogrammed tote across her shoulder. The cream canvas of the tote wasn’t as cream as it once was, and her initials were fraying. But shoot, she’d lived seventy-two years and not a single thing on her body was in its original state.

Her barely five-foot, slightly round frame bounced up the corridor of the airport terminal. She hadn’t taken a trip in four years. Anywhere. Not even with the kids. Frankly, since Sam had died, she didn’t find traveling worth the effort. But her kids had driven her crazy. Gave her this trip for her Christmas present, and she’d been dreading it for the last nine months. But here it was. And so was she. Right smack-dab in the Bahamas.

Her clear blue eyes darted upward and found the arrow pointing toward baggage claim. She pointed her body in that direction. She’d traveled enough to know her way through airports. Sam had taken her all through Europe; they took a cruise of the Mediterranean and had traveled doing mission work in Ukraine. She had loved it back then. But now it seemed useless. Plus, until this exact moment, she had never traveled alone. She hugged her tote tighter against her meaty arm as she made the resolution not to call her children this entire week. They had sent her out here, so they could worry sick about her until she got home.

She passed a mirrored wall and turned toward her reflection. It sparkled. Her blue denim outfit was bejeweled and a declaration of her Nashvegas life. She ran her fingers through her snow-white locks, then patted her midsection.

Her body was also reflective of the years she’d traveled and the baggage she’d claimed. Her middle section had found companionship and she’d enjoyed the introductions. So, with no intentions of remarrying, she decided if her midsection made more friends along the way, she’d just see how far her elastic could stretch.

A picture of the Atlantis hotel was lit up on the wall in front of her. She caught her breath and turned her head. She and Sam had come here about fifteen years ago, and she didn’t like going to places they had been. She still avoided Friday night movies, Saturday morning walks, and the Japanese steak house. She was content to put those parts of her life behind her. That included travel. Those desires had died with Sam. And so had a part of her.

She exited the terminal with her Vera Bradley luggage. Salty air blew over her denim as she walked into the Bahamian afternoon sun. It was thick and warm, and as it passed over her, so did a smile and a slight hint of gratitude. Her children, however, would never know.

“You must be Mrs. Winnie Harris?”

Winnie turned toward the nice-looking man and set her tote on the ground. She tugged at the sleeve of her jacket and pulled it off. “And you must be Roy Rogers,” she laughed.

Roy reached up to help her out of her jacket. “I am. Are you ready for your car?”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the jacket he now held. Her thick arms were now fully visible from her sleeveless pink polo. “This is silly, though. I can take a cab. My kids shouldn’t have spent money on a car.”

Roy leaned over and placed his hand on her upper arm. “They want you to enjoy yourself. Plus, it’s not much more than the taxi fare anyway. Climb inside and relax. You’re on Bahamian time now,” he said as he moved his hand and opened the back door to a green 4Runner.

Winnie gave him a smirk and tilted her head. “You treat all the girls like this, Roy?”

“Only the beautiful ones, Miss Winnie. Only the beautiful ones.”

She slapped him playfully and climbed into the car.

He held the door for her, and when she had settled herself and buckled her seat belt, he spoke. “You should know, Miss Winnie, that these Bahamian waters have healing in them.”

“Now, don’t go throwing some voodoo mojo on me or something, Mr. Rogers. I’m a good old Baptist girl, and we don’t go for any of that stuff.”

Roy’s thick laugh came from his gut as his chest shook up and down. “No mojo, Miss Winnie. Just good, healing water. But there’s something you need to know about it.”

Her blue eyes widened.

“You can only find it if you’re willing to face your fears.”

She reached her hand out of the open car door and wagged her finger at him. “Roy, I’m not afraid of anything. I’m the principal of some of the toughest kids in Nashville, who tower head and shoulders over me. I just traveled all the way to the Bahamas at the age of seventy-two all by myself, and I’m trusting that you’re putting me in a car that’s going to take me to my hotel and not some side street where young boys are going to try and have their way with me. Even though I doubt any of them have had this much woman before.”

Roy’s laughter escaped again with a burst.

“But thanks for telling me. If I find someone who needs healing, I’ll let them know they’ve come to the right place.”

“You do that, Miss Winnie. You do that.” His laugh was still audible even after he closed the door.

Her driver was a thirtysomething Bahamian native named Florence. Florence gave her a tour of the city as they wove through the roads of Nassau on the wrong side of the street.

“Ooh, child. You like to ride up people’s butts over here, don’t you,” Winnie said as she pushed her body back into the seat as if that would create distance.

Florence laughed as she jerked the wheel and pulled them around a car that had been coasting in front of them. By the time Florence pulled up to the front of the hotel, Winnie regretted the fact that she had left her Depends at the house.

“Florence, any chance you’re going to be my driver when I leave here?” she asked when Florence opened the door to let her exit. She wasn’t asking out of hope.

“I don’t know, ma’am. Never can tell what my schedule’s going to be.”

She patted the driver’s arm with a slight tremble in her hand. “Well, don’t rush back on account of me, okay, honey?”

“I’ll drive you anywhere, anytime, Miss Winnie. You just call Roy and ask for me.”

“Sure, yeah, absolutely. But I think I’ll probably be staying here most of the time anyway. So don’t sit around waiting for Miss Winnie, okay?”

Florence laughed and climbed back into the car while a young valet retrieved her things.

“Where’s the bar, son? I think I need a drink.”

He laughed. “You can take your pick, ma’am. There are quite a few around here.”

She took in a deep breath and turned toward the lobby. The place was magnificent. Everything about it was modern elegance, yet timeless and classic. And it had a hipness to it too. She wished her students could be here. But she knew most of them wouldn’t be able to comprehend it all. When all you know are gangs, hunger, and drugs, there are some things in life that your soul can’t even begin to assimilate. Beauty like this was often one of them. Some of them still had trouble believing in her, and she was no beauty queen.

She walked into a large room where the front desk and concierge resided, the sound of the waterwall already washing away the stress. “My, my, my . . . look at this place.”

“Are you Ms. Harris?” a brunette asked as she extended her hand.

“Mrs.,” Winnie corrected. It was still Mrs. to her.

“I’m sorry about that.”

Winnie patted the woman’s bony arm. “Honey, not a thing to worry about. And aren’t you a breath of Southern sunshine. Where are you from, darlin’?”

She smiled. “Charleston. I’m Riley Sinclair. I’m the head of guest relations here.”

“Well, Miss Riley Sinclair from Charleston, I love the low country. Shrimp and grits, low-country boils. Can’t you tell I know where the good food is? And speaking of good food, if we’re going to apologize for anything, it needs to be the fact that you pass by food every day and don’t eat it. You’ve been here too long.”

Riley laughed again. “Well, I’ll make sure I do better with that.”

“You need to. Really, honey, men don’t want to marry scrawny chickens. They want hens with breasts and thighs and meat on their bones. Not that I even know if you want to get married or not. Shoot, you might already be married, but if you’re not, you really need to think about putting the fork to your lips, sweetheart. I mean seriously.” She came up for air. Then drew her hand up quickly to her lips. “Now I’m sorry,” she mumbled from behind her hot pink fingernail polish and then dropped her hand. “I tell kids what to do all day long. I doubt you needed to know a bit of what I thought.”