Island Promises (22 page)

With Joe leaving, selling
Reprieve
shouldn’t prove a problem. Riley had no doubts that once he was in the frozen north, the ownership papers would suddenly appear in some official’s office. It was the way things worked on the island. Not a bad system after all. They dispensed their own type of justice without worrying about due process.

Joe was probably still asleep. Riley had been quiet and careful when she rose this morning. She had almost cried out when she found her passport on the galley table. He had delivered on his promise to produce it. Whether he had or not, she’d planned to leave this morning. The reservations for the flights were all in place. One way or another, by bribery or bullying, she’d planned to be on the plane back to the States this afternoon. The passport had just made her journey that much easier.

Emil gestured to her to come along and then pointed at his watch. She knew they had to go. The ride to the small island airport was not far but it was over some very bumpy roads. And scheduled flights meant approximate times. If the pilot was ready early, then the plane went early.

Riley picked an orchid out of one of the pots left over from the wedding. Burying her nose in its scent, she climbed into the back seat of the taxi. Back in the States she would order orchids every day for a while, until it became just one more thing to do, until it lost its power to bring tears to her eyes and a sense of homesickness for a place she’d barely known existed a short time ago. Time to look forward to what would be and not look back to what was lost.

Chapter 11

There was nothing like Chicago in the dead of winter. Bitter winds still swept across the lake, strong enough to knock down children and small dogs. The lake was gray and violent, angry at having been kept so cold for so long. Floes of ice still clung to life, smashed by the white caps. The sky was its usual dingy color with big blue-black clouds blotting out any warmth from the sun. Spring was coming, according to the calendar, but for now it was nowhere in sight.

Riley hugged her coat tighter around her as she hustled toward her apartment building. Since she’d returned from the island, her blood had not been able to adjust. She just couldn’t get warm, no matter how high she turned the heat or how many layers of clothing she put on. Her whole body ached for the sun, for warm breezes touching her skin, and the taste of salt water on her lips when she swam in the ocean. That was another lifetime, a fairy tale, she told herself. This was the real world, the place where she truly belonged. If she repeated the mantra often enough she just might get herself to believe it.

Nodding at Andy, the doorman, as she entered the lobby, she was lucky enough to catch the elevator. At this time of night, approaching eight o’clock, it should be a cinch. Usually the elevator was held up by the multitude of tenants who seemed to take their pets out for walks after dinner and the news. They’d hold the elevator door open while coaxing little Fluffy or Snuffly to come. Usually little Fluffy or Snuffly looked at them with an expression akin to ‘Make Me.’ Riley couldn’t blame the dogs. Who wanted to go out on a winter night in Chicago?

Riley let herself into her apartment and headed straight for the thermostat, cranking it to 80 degrees. Just last week, they’d run a story on the high cost of natural gas for heating this winter. She didn’t care. Another week and she’d be out of here, in New York, which was cold, but not this cold.

Picking her way through the clutter and the boxes, she dropped her coat onto the floor near the door, shucked off her boots, and left them there, too. In just a matter of minutes, she had her suit off, draped over a box marked ‘Work Clothes’ and was into her sweat pants and a sweatshirt she’d had since college. The sweatshirt was frayed around the collar but it was still warm and comfortable. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she scrubbed off her makeup in the bathroom. Her bunny slippers, which she’d also had for decades, completed the ensemble. The pink ears had dulled to nearly white and the cotton ball tails were nearly rubbed away, but they kept her toes warm and cradled her feet.

In the kitchen, she found a beer in the refrigerator and a half-eaten pizza. She didn’t even bother warming it up in the microwave. She flopped into the only chair left, the big, patched recliner, turned the TV to a mindless half-hour comedy show, and began to eat.

Normally, she didn’t watch much TV. Being on it nearly every night was more than enough. But the apartment was so depressing she needed the distraction. She’d been packing almost since the moment she arrived home. Now boxes were scattered across every room. In the living room, only the recliner and the TV were left. Her bedroom had the bed and a nightstand. Everything else had been donated to friends or a homeless shelter. None of her furniture had been worth much. Certainly not enough to pay the exorbitant prices they wanted to ship it to New York. She’d buy new when she got there, which was a better plan anyway, for a fresh start surrounded by new things.

Still there seemed mountains of things to sort. And all of it hers. She couldn’t even rationalize it away by saying some of it belonged to RK and she was waiting for him to come and get it. In a swift maneuver, he had packed the few things that were left shortly after she got back.

The breakup had been astonishingly easy. Riley had wished him well, kissed him hard, and let him go. The relief in his eyes told her he wouldn’t be crying in his beer at the bar for her. No, RK would be out with any number of his friends, the entourage he’d collected in his travels around the world who kept showing up in Chicago. He was not a bad man. He just wasn’t the man for her.

The sound of the intercom buzzer startled her and she spilled beer down the front of her sweatshirt. “Damn,” she cussed as she tripped over a box, mopping at her shirt with the only thing she could find, a pajama bottom.

“Hey, Ms. Santey.” Andy the doorman’s tough voice boomed into the nearly empty space. “There’s a guy here says he’s from the station. Has some papers.”

“Okay, Andy, can you grab them? I’ll get them later.”

“No can do. This guy sez he’s gotta bring ‘em to you in person, sez you gotta sign for ‘em and only you.”

“Send him up.” Riley sighed. In the old days, when she was still one of their hotshot reporters, it wasn’t unusual for the station to messenger over information for stories she’d be working on the next day. Often it was sensitive, confidential material that was only to be delivered to her. Since she’d been back, she’d been out of the loop, a hanger-on who would be out of there next week, and the good stories had gone to the eager young reporters who were panting to take her place. Maybe this was one last hurrah, a final bone they were throwing her way.

Unlocking the door, she padded into the kitchen to wet the end of her pajama bottoms and wipe some more at her sweatshirt, which only succeeded in making a bigger wet mark and releasing more stale beer smell.

“Come in, it’s open,” she called when the knock came. This was Chicago, she wasn’t naïve or taking chances, but Andy was good. He would have checked ID and if the guy didn’t emerge within a few minutes, he’d be calling.

“You need my signature?” She still didn’t look up, busy wiping at the shirt while she took the pen he offered and the clipboard and scribbled her name. She handed it back to the deliveryman and waited for him to hand her the packet. Instead, he placed a bottle in her hand. Inside was a delicate, intricate replica of a sailboat made out of toothpicks. Turning it over in her hand, she could make out the name, in tiny print on the transom,
Reprieve
.

Mouth suddenly dry, Riley looked up into Joe’s eyes.

“If she wasn’t yours before, she is now,” he said. “Without you, she seems lost and empty. Nobody paints their toenails on the foredeck. Nobody burns toast in the galley. And nobody laughs in the sun, tossing her hair in the way that makes me crazy.”

Riley returned her gaze to the glass bottle, running her finger over the surface as though by doing so she might be able to touch
Reprieve
and the life she’d had there.

Slowly, she rotated and gently set the bottle on top of the TV tray she was using as her dining room set. Turning back to him, she wasted no time. She was in his arms, burrowing her head into his shoulder, relishing the smell of him. She sniffed loudly and he laughed. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I want to smell the ocean, the way it smells off the island, clean and pure and inviting.” There
was
a slight hint of the invigorating scent and Riley sighed contentedly.

Joe tipped her face up to his and kissed her. His lips brushing hers suddenly warmed her in a way she hadn’t felt since she returned to the cold north. She felt dizzy and exhilarated and weak all at the same time. Riley pressed against him, anxious to know that they could still melt together, her curves fitting into the hollows of his body. Her arms went around his neck and she held him firmly, but not as tightly as he held her.

“I have missed you,” he groaned. “And I want you right now more than I have wanted anything in my life.”

Right now?
Joe still thought of this as a temporary affair, not a long-term commitment, after all the mental anguish she’d been through? She shoved him, hard.

“Hey,” he said. “Is that anyway to treat a long lost sailor home from the sea?”

“You stay there,” she ordered as he came toward her, ready to take her in his arms again.

“Riley, what the hell is going on here? First, you run away without so much as a decent goodbye. Then, I fly God only knows how many miles into this mess of a place that passes for Chicago in winter. I bribe Millie to tell me how to get past your doorman. And all I get from you is a cold shoulder?” His face darkened in anger, the same look she’d seen when he faced down the pirates on the beach. It occurred to her she should be frightened but she was beyond that, too angry herself to care about any threat he posed.

“You better get used to this so-called winter mess. Maybe you’ll find it nice and cozy rubbing noses with some pale northern beauties.”

He grabbed her arm and hauled her into him until their faces were inches apart. “All right. I’ve had about enough.” He hustled her over to the only chair and forced her down into it. “They might have all been wrong but I thought it was worth a shot. If I didn’t take it, I’d always wonder.”

“Who is this ‘they?’”

“Let’s see. Mitchell, Anthony, Rosa, Stanley, Millie, Henri, even the cab drivers and the guys who deliver parts to the boat. They all said I was a fool to let you go. The more I tried to tell them I didn’t let you go, you left of your own free will, in fact it was your idea, the more they didn’t believe me. Until I began to doubt it myself. Maybe there was some female type thing I was supposed to pick up on. Hell, I don’t know.”

“You were going to leave, I just beat you to the punch.”

The buzzer rang. For a moment they stared at each other, so much left to be said but each afraid to say it.

“I have to answer that.” She ducked her head and scooted around him.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on up there?” Andy’s voice boomed through the apartment. “That delivery guy didn’t come back out. You want I should come up?”

“Actually, Andy, this is a, uh, a friend of mine. He brought some things for me—” she hesitated “—to look over. He’ll be leaving shortly.”

“So what kind of mood you gonna be in tomorrow?” Andy insisted.

Riley bent close to the intercom and whispered, “Dopey.”

“Say again. I couldn’t hear.”

“Dopey.” She said it louder.

“All right then, talk to you tomorrow.”

When she turned back, Joe was smiling. “What was that all about, some kind of secret code?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“If you had been in trouble, what kind of mood would you be in tomorrow?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Dopey for ‘Don’t bother, I’m okay’ and Sneezy for ‘Send in the cavalry.’ It makes perfect sense.”

He laughed, and her heart squeezed. How she’d missed the deep bellow that seemed to reach into parts of her no one else could.

She raised her chin. “You’ve never lived in Chicago,” she said defensively. “It’s a beautiful city but you can’t be too careful.”

“This is the same woman who went toe-to-toe with a band of real-life pirates and nearly scared them straight? Hard to believe.”

“I can be tough. I am tough.”

He stopped laughing and narrowed his gaze. “The question is why are you being so tough with me?”

“You started it.”

“Riley,” he said, clearly frustrated. “I’m so tired of this. Tell me what the hell is going on. What did you mean by ‘beat me to the punch?’”

“Greenland. New York. What does it matter who went first? The intention was the same. To get away. To have
us
be a memory that pops out every once in a while.”

“I never intended that.” He rubbed his eyes, surveyed her tiny apartment and, finding nowhere to sit that wasn’t covered in boxes, finally settled for leaning his tired body against the wall. “And what’s with Greenland?”

“You are so obtuse.” She was nearly yelling. “I know. I read the e-mails. I know you’re going up north to study some endangered something-or-other or to do some global-type-warming survey thing. Don’t lie anymore.”

“Greenland?” For a moment, he looked truly perplexed. Then he began to laugh again.

“I don’t know what you think is so damn funny. From where I sit, not a thing about this is funny.”

“You’re too much.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “I should be really honked off. You’re lucky I’m laughing instead of crying about the money I spent coming all this way to straighten this out. And the time. Geez, I thought the plane would never land.”

She crossed her arms and waited him out, as though she were a kindergarten teacher waiting for the class to stop giggling and get down to business.

“Didn’t they teach you in that fancy journalism school you attended to get both sides of the story? Or is this the new age where you make up whatever facts suit your theory?”

“I’m waiting.” She tapped her foot impatiently.

He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, drawing his knees up and resting his arms on them. “I should just let you wait. But I’m too damn tired to play anymore.” He shoved his hair off his forehead, a move she’d loved just a few weeks ago. No, she still loved it, still wanted to run her hands through that sandy hair while he kissed her. The thought that he could still do this to her made her stomach churn and chest tighten.

“You obviously read my e-mail.”

“A reporter never reveals sources.” She glared down at him.

“Even when those sources are only half-right?”

“What are you talking about? The e-mails were explicit. They had the dates of departure, the flight numbers, everything.”

“Yeah, they had everything. Except my answer.” He paused. “You read only the incoming e-mails, not the outgoing.”

“So what if I did?” Why did she always turn into a fifth grader around him? Next, she’d be tapping him on the back and running away to laugh with her girlfriends when he looked around to see who did it.

“This is an important part of the story. Maybe the lead. You’re the big-time journalist, you tell me. I wrote them I wasn’t going. That I was happy where I was. That I’d met someone and everything seemed to be falling into place, for the first time in my life. The boat, the business, the girl. It just couldn’t get much better. There was no way I was going to jeopardize that. It was someone else’s turn to save the planet. I was too busy saving my own life.”

“But they kept coming. They kept getting more detailed. They-they even sent you the itinerary and a press release . . . with your name on it.”

“Yeah, well, they kept me on the e-mail list for a while. You know how those things go. Once they’re set up, nobody wants to mess with them. Besides, I told them to keep me up-to-date. Just because I’m not going, doesn’t mean I’m not interested in what my friends are doing.”