Hurricanes in Paradise (9 page)

Laine and Riley stood beneath the rainbow colors of the Mesa Grill sign. Riley could sense the shift in Laine’s demeanor when the other women left. “I’d like you to meet me at nine in the morning in the foyer of the Royal Tower.”

“Sure. Yes, nine is fine.”

“I would like us to take a tour of all the property tomorrow. That way I can begin to document the history here.”

“That will be great. I’ll be there at nine.”

Laine nodded, then hesitated slightly. “Well, good night, then.”

There seemed to be something else. “Do you need anything else this evening?”

Laine shook her head. “No, I’m fine, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Riley watched Laine make her way down the softly lit corridor of The Cove. The ocean offered background music to what had been a pretty good day. She let the breeze wash away her frustration over losing her day with Gabby tomorrow. If Jeremy’s flight wasn’t coming in so early tomorrow, washing it away might have been a little harder. But she was learning. She was learning that control was an illusion, and she had a feeling that knowing that would help her get through the week.

She stopped at her office and picked up the legal papers Max had left for her. Mia had them waiting on her desk. The thickness of the folder in her hand gave her a sneaking suspicion there would be much partaking of Dr Pepper tonight.

As Riley headed out to her car, her mind analyzed Laine. She had been pretty amicable at dinner. But as soon as Winnie and Tamyra left, she had turned back into the businesswoman who had arrived that afternoon. Mia had been right: there were many layers to Laine Fulton. Riley just wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know what lay at the center.

* * *

Winnie came in and sat down on the sofa, taking in a good hour of the news before she slipped on her nightgown. She ran her hands across the ivory lace at the edge of the scooped neckline. The blue satin felt like silk against her skin. She moved the piece of chocolate the evening housekeeper had placed on her pillow and set it on the bedside table. She climbed under the thick duvet and high-thread-count sheets and let her body fall against the mattress. It seemed to reach out and pull her in. The evening had been perfect. The day had been too, if she was being honest. But life was so different now. Even though moments could be enjoyed, there was still this feeling of something missing.

She rolled over and looked at the pillow next to her. It stared back at her, fluffed and perfect.

“It was a great day, Sam.”

She ran her hands across the top of the pillow.

“But, oh my word, I haven’t stayed up this late since, well . . .”

Her words were broken by a yawn.

“I met the writer. Laine Fulton.”

She laughed.

“Yes, that’s the one. You remember me talking about her. I’ve read all her books. She even said she’d sign the one that I have here. But she’s sad, honey. The child has never had sweet tea. Wears black like she is in perpetual mourning and spends a lot of time avoiding questions.”

She pulled the blanket up underneath her arms.

“The kids won’t believe it when I tell them. But I’m not calling them one time while I’m here,” she announced, sounding like a kid herself. “I’m letting them stew and worry about me.”

She rubbed the pillow again and sighed heavily.

“I know it’s not nice. But they were so demanding about this trip and I just didn’t want to take it.”

She rolled over on her back.

“Yes, I can say that I’m glad I came. I had a really nice day. And tomorrow I hear they think I’m swimming with dolphins. Though there’s no way that’s happening.”

She rolled back over and patted the pillow again.

“Now, don’t you laugh at me. I mean it, Sam. I’m not swimming with any dolphins. They don’t need Blubber taking over the dolphin tank.”

She chuckled softly, then leaned over and pressed her lips against the soft fabric of the pillow cover. The pillow dipped at her movement.

“I love you, Sam. I love you.”

She laid her head on the pillow that would serve as Sam’s chest for the remainder of the evening. Just like the pillow at home had served as his chest for the last three years. The same tears that tried to make their way down her face each evening as she told him she loved him tried once more. And once more they were refused their journey.

* * *

Tamyra stood on the balcony of her suite. The wind whipped across her exposed body. The white tank top and pink sleeping shorts didn’t cover much. She looked out across the ocean. The ocean she had paid no attention to all day long. Tonight it looked like royalty because the full moon hung over it like a crown of light. The moon cast its reflection across the white tips of the waves and followed them all the way to the shore, where they finally collapsed in a crescendo. To her, however, little seemed extraordinary anymore, even majestic oceans at midnight. And crowns were nothing more than a symbol of needed affirmation, restricted diets, and wasted years.

She ran her hands along the still-warm iron of the railing. Her long arms stretched out as far as they could until her cheek pressed against it. Her ears were dull to the crashing of the surf, the wind pushing through the leaves of the palm trees, and even the soft music that the evening housekeeper had started when she turned on the bedside clock radio. The warmth of the railing seemed to warm her entire body. The evening had been nice, she thought, as her mind replayed some of the conversation. She had said more than she intended. But Riley made her feel comfortable. Laine was very interesting. And Winnie was infectious.

Infectious.
The word created a surge from her gut. Before she knew it, she was leaning over the toilet, dinner relieving her of its calories and wasting a hundred dollars’ worth of medicine. When her body had expelled the evening’s contents, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and then stood in front of the mirror. Another surge made its way up through her soul. But this one was different. This time she simply leaned over the sink and let the tears make their way down the drain. Which was fitting because that’s where she officially saw her life headed.

* * *

Laine had taken her time coming back to the room. The colors and sounds of The Cove moved through the open-air corridors with the fluidity of a symphony. The vivid blues that had wrapped their way through the halls that afternoon flowed into rich reds and magentas. A breeze from the ocean blended beautifully with the rhythmic music that played softly and the color that seemed to dance across the large columns that surrounded her.

She reached her room and slipped on her black silk pajama pants and black tank top. Pulling a wine cooler from the refrigerator, she unscrewed the lid and sat down on the sofa, grabbed the remote control and clicked on the television. She pounded her thumb mindlessly until it landed on the Lifetime network. A movie based on one of her books—Mitchell’s favorite book—was just starting. She pointed the remote and clicked the TV off as if scolding a disobedient child.

She scrambled for her iPhone and studied it again. There was still no message from Mitchell, nor had there been the ten other times she had checked. There were ten voice mail messages alright. But they were all from her assistant, whom she was deliberately ignoring.

Mitchell didn’t call much anymore anyway. But now she knew that he would never call her again. And it was driving her crazy. She controlled everything in her world. Her calendar on her iPhone was color-coded. Her schedule was planned down to her bathroom breaks. Her breakfast had been the same every day for the last ten years. She was a woman in complete control. And yet for the last year and a half, she’d had no control over anything, and she didn’t know how long it was going to take until someone discovered how out of control she really was.

But Mitchell knew. He knew everything about her. That’s why he had acted the way he had through their divorce, because he did know her. Mitchell’s knowing her had never been the problem. The problem now was that she didn’t feel as if she even knew herself. And she wasn’t sure anything more frightening existed. She looked down at the wine cooler now perspiring in her hand. She mentally calculated how many drinks she had had today. Five. Was she out of control with that too? She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long swig.

“I did that because I wanted to,” she announced to the bottle now inches from her face.

She set it down on the bedside table, then pulled back the already-drawn duvet cover and curled up beneath it. She lay there, eyes wide-open, staring at the desk sitting in front of the window. After ten minutes she’d had all she could take.

She jerked the duvet cover off; her heels pressed hard against the wood floor as she walked over to the desk. She tugged at it, trying to pull it to the other side of the room. With each barely successful heave, hot tears burned trails down her cheeks. “I want to work in the other room this week! I don’t need a desk to work!” she shouted as she cried.

With the desk only slightly relocated, she collapsed in a raging heap on the floor with her hands still wrapped around the legs of the desk. After a few guttural and expletive outbursts, she stood quickly and swatted at her tears with her hand. She snatched a tissue up from the nightstand and grabbed the phone, pressing
1
.

A voice answered before the second ring. “Hello, this is Gerard.”

She cleared her throat. “Gerard, this is Laine Fulton. I need my desk moved from out in front of my window.”

“Absolutely. I will be there in just a few moments.”

“Thank you.” She hung up. He had not acted like her suggestion was at all strange. It was almost midnight. It should be strange.

She sniffed hard and plopped down on the edge of the bed. Gerard was in and out in less than five minutes. When the door closed, she stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, the quietness surrounding her. Then she went back into the bedroom, grabbed a pillow and the duvet from the bed. The comforter dragged on the ground as she made her way back into the living room and plopped down on the sofa. Curling up like a baby, she pulled the blanket up under her chin and looked into her bedroom. Perfect. She couldn’t see the desk at all from here.

5

Sunday morning . . .

Laine rolled over and almost fell off the edge of the sofa. She gripped the cushion while the repercussions of yesterday’s imbibing wreaked havoc on her bladder and her head. When she returned from the bathroom, she sat down on the edge of the sofa. The African tribal ceremony that played in her skull made going back to sleep out of the question. She squinted to try to read the backlit clock on the DVD player. It looked like a five, but she couldn’t be certain. It was still dark outside, and though this was her favorite part of the day, she didn’t quite feel like paying it any attention this morning.

She laid her head back down on her pillow while the drum solo pounded on her right temple. Expletives rolled beneath her breath as she pushed herself upright. In five minutes she was dressed and out the door. Daughtry blared on her iPhone as she pushed the Down button of the elevator.

The elevator deposited her in a foyer of suites where two neatly pressed Bahamians stood as if waiting to simply greet her. She gave them a raised hand and headed out the door toward the ocean. Her pace matched the rhythm of the music that pulsated in her ears. She turned it up to try to blast out the pounding in her head. The four ibuprofen she popped had yet to infiltrate the front line of her marching band, but she ran anyway.

Periodic lanterns along the large concrete walkway dimly lit the roving pathway that coursed through the myriad of pools and over manicured lawns. She could hear the ocean and breathe in its salty air before it came into view. The moon was slipping away quickly and morning was beginning its push. She stepped from the path and her tennis shoes dug into the thick, damp sand, her weight pushing against her calves, propelling her farther down the beach.

The ocean’s roar was able to make its way past both the pounding of the music and her headache. She loved the ocean. Its massiveness gave her comfort. A comfort that said there was something bigger in the world than her. Mitchell had been that in a way. He had kept the predators at bay. Guarded her talent. Guarded her heart. And in one moment, everything that he had given her was washed away as quickly as the scampering crab that ran toward its hole in front of her. So now, more than ever, she needed to know there was something bigger than her. Even though the mere thought collided with her doubt.