Page 58 of Stuck in Paradise with You

I shove those memories from my mind, knowing that even if I could forgive, I can never forget, and I say back, simply, ‘Hey.’

The problem is, I wish I could forget all of it, the good stuff too. Because he’s dirty and sweaty, his hair is rugged, and he’s driving me insane with this irrational need to have me in his sights at all times, like I’m a porcelain doll that’s going to break at just the sniff of a storm. Yet the only reason I know he’s been watching me is because I’ve been watching him too.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

I nod. ‘Fine.’

He shakes his head, eyes to the heavens. ‘Don’t be too expressive, will you?’

I’m about to raise my middle finger and tell him toexpress thisbut Joe walks into my field of vision and I remember I’m here in my capacity as a professional, not just someone Luke had a fling with once and ditched on her ass without warning.

I jump up to standing and Joe pats the air with a hand. ‘Sit, rest, you deserve a break.’

‘I’m good, I was just taking two.’ I gesture with my head toward what I can only assume from the extremely good smells coming from the place is a bakery, a few buildings along from where we are. ‘In fact, I was just about to grab us all some sustenance for the next place.’

‘Here, take my wallet; you know what I like,’ Luke says, holding it out for me, the way he has in the past, implicitly trusting me to make his decisions for him.

I stare at it. ‘I have money; I’m sure I can stretch to picking you something up.’

He scoffs. ‘It would pain you to do something nice for me, so here, take it.’

I have no intention of taking his money but I do accept the wallet, if only because to continue the discussion would make me appear even more obstinate in front of my client than Luke is trying to make me seem, and in the grand scheme of what is happening around us… better to take the wallet and not the bait!

As I get closer to the building, which looks similar to the homes we’ve been prepping this morning, the smell of sweet bread has my tummy not just rumbling but screaming at me to fill it.

I step inside what feels like a front lounge – floral upholstery hangs over the windows, rugs cover the otherwise concrete floor, a few tables and chairs and a two-seat sofa fill the open space opposite the counter – and the aromas from the baskets of baked goods have me instantly salivating.

A lady wearing a colorful apron that’s trimmed with decorative white cotton walks into the space carrying a crate of food. She wears a net over a mass of tightly curled and grey-flecked black hair and her lips are painted bright red. When she spots me, she beams.

‘Good mornin’ and good timin’. This is the last batch of fresh baked banana bread. Myfamousbanana bread, you know?’

Her voice is so loud and full of happiness that I could forget the reason I’m on the island. ‘Well, if it’s famous, I’ll take two, please.’

She nods. ‘Still warm, too.’

‘Even better. Do you think you could slice it for me? Just I’m sharing.’ I loosely gesture out of the door, diagonally across the street to where the others are packing up the truck.

‘Sure t’ing,’ she says, setting about the task and leaving the remainder of the loaf breads on the countertop. ‘I’ve seen what you’ve all been doing over there. It’s good to see.’ Her smile is gentler now as she looks at me, rather than the bread she is slicing, making my nerves jitter. ‘We’ve got to help each other in these times. It’s all part of God’s message, see. He’s telling us we aren’t doing good enough at caring for each other and our islands. He’s teaching us a lesson.’ She holds the slices together and slides them into two brown paper bags, which she hands across the counter to me with a wad of napkins. ‘We’ll all come together, love each other, like he wants us to. He’ll forgive us.’

Her words steal mine from me. Her belief and hope are so strong it –she– makes me want to be a better person.Forgiveness, that’s what she thinks the whole storm is about. She isn’t angry or sad, she doesn’t even seem apprehensive, though she has every reason to be; she’s simply accepting. Ready to move on. To forgive and be forgiven.

The strength of her faith is almost palpable. All I can say in response is, ‘Thank you.’

Something tells me I’m thanking her for more than just banana bread but in this moment, I can’t put my finger on what.

I notice a large clock on the wall behind the woman and watch it tick the last few seconds until eleven thirty. We’ll be leaving the island in two and a half hours, our rendezvous time, before the sea gets too rough to get back to Charithonia, wherewe’ll be sheltered and safe, where there’s a chef and endless hurricane provisions.

I look at the entire counter full of food that might never be bought. ‘How much do I owe you?’

She waves a hand. ‘On the house for helping my neighbors. I didn’t know what else to do with myself today, so I did what I always do. I baked and baked in case people want it. You know, some people still don’t believe the hurricane will come and when they change their minds, they’ll have no supplies. They’ll need what I’ve made.’ She shrugs and sets about pouring a coffee from a ready-filtered pot into a polystyrene cup, which she hands to me. ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Oh, ah, yes please to milk. A sweetener too, please, if you have one.’

She busies herself with turning my black coffee white. ‘You might as well choose somethin’ else to take with you. All this won’t keep much longer and at some point, I’ll have to lock up. But I’ll be here as long as I can be, as long as someone might need me.’

‘Can I at least pay for the coffee?’ I ask.

She just pffts. Despite everything going on around her, this woman is full of kindness. And that thought gives me an idea.

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