Page 24 of Submit

You don’t really believe that.

No, I don’t.

Something about his tortured soul resonates within me and creates a trust that defies reason. Whatever is broken in me, seems to be broken worse in him and his presence calls to me like a beacon of light in the dark.

I manage to make it through the pre-dinner drinks without embarrassing myself or Will. It was fairly easy of course because no one spoke to me, but I’m not quite so lucky during dinner. I’m concentrating so hard on not spilling any of my food or drink while Casper’s gaze burns into the side of my head that I almost miss the first question that comes to me.

Embarrassed, I flash a quick smile and hold my napkin up to my mouth to finish chewing before I answer. Thankfully, the governor asked me to tell him about myself in English.

“I’m an only child. I grew up in New Hampshire which is where Willem and I were living before we moved to this beautiful island. I graduated with a degree in marketing from Stanford University.”

I pause to allow for further questions so I’m not just spewing at the mouth. The governor’s wife speaks up and asks about my plans for the future and any goals I have.

I feel my face split into a genuine smile as I answer her. “I would like to help small business owners with their marketing strategies and business plans once I get my visa and am able to be employed here, but for now, I’m taking classes to learn Dutch and volunteering at the cultural arts center.”

While it’s all true, this version of my life story feels rehearsed. It’s all the recent, relevant points, but it leaves out so much. I feel overwhelmed at the self-discovery journey I’ve found myself on since arriving on this island. These days I relate well to Rose DeWitt Bukater from the movie Titanic, when she says, “I feel I’m standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one even looks up.”

I figure it’s wise to leave out the kite surfing lessons in case Casper’s employer isn’t aware of his side hustle. And I definitely don’t want the governor to mention the fact that Casper is an instructor if heisaware. I’m not sure how thrilled Willem would be if he knew my Saturday mornings have been spent in the company of a man that looks as lethal and delicious as Casper does right now. Risking a quick glance at Casper as the governor politely moves on to Dania, I notice that his eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen as they look right at me. The green of his irises has turned almost black. His jaw is still clenched, his nostrils are flaring slightly and his hands are in fists by his sides. I don’t quite understand his reaction but it’s clear he’s upset about something I’ve said.

I try to ignore him through the rest of dinner but I fail and every time I look over the governor’s shoulder, Casper’s eyes are already on mine.

After dinner, the men “retire” to the study to discuss business, dismissing the wives to have another cocktail in a different part of the house. I notice that Casper says something while putting a finger to his ear and then he disappears into the wall again.

Beatrice - the governor’s wife - leads Dania and myself down a hallway decorated with rich art work. I pause to survey one of the pieces more closely when Beatrice backtracks and comes to stand along beside me. Her scent reminds me of a perfume my mother used to wear with rich notes of vanilla that tickle my memory.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” she asks quietly like she’s hesitant to intrude on my moment.

“Very. Is it yours?” I ask, wondering if she is harboring this talent under her bohemian style and calm demeanor. The painting is in vivid colors. A swirl of emotion with anger being the most prominent. I can feel it radiating outward and upward like it’s climbing out of a hole until the reds and oranges mix messily with blues and grays. It’s a captivating piece of art and I feel oddly connected to it like it’s a scene from my own life.

“Hardly,” she says as she laughs lightly. “No, this was from a native Aruban. Beautiful woman. She died giving birth to her fourth child. True to her native customs, she shunned our medicine and wouldn’t let us help when she started hemorrhaging.”

“You were close with her.” It’s a statement, not a question because I can hear the love, admiration, and sadness in her voice.

“Very.” She continues to look wistfully at the painting. “Aruba used to be full of Arawak Indians. A kind, wonderful, people. A few of them remain but they have all mostly assimilated into Dutch culture. Karaya was one of the last holdouts. She died unnecessarily but she begged me not to call for help and just stay with her. She didn’t fear death and wanted to stay true to her way of life to the very end.” Beatrice’s eyes are welling with tears as something wet falls down my own face.

“You were with her?”

“Yes. She had a beautiful soul and I wanted to use my position to help promote her and her artwork. She put so much of herself into her paintings but she didn’t care to learn about the business side, although she did appreciate when she sold several of her paintings through the cultural arts center.”

My mind is racing a mile a minute. I swipe under my eyes hoping my heavy eye makeup hasn’t run from the tears I shed during Beatrice’s story. Up ahead, Dania has turned into the room with the maid, leaving Beatrice and I alone in the hallway.

Emboldened by the privacy of the moment, I say, “Perhaps I could help, if that’s still something you’re interested in? Promoting the local artists? I’m loving the cultural arts center already even though I haven’t spent much time there, and helping people market their skills, crafts, and businesses is where my passion lies.” I speak a little too emphatically as an idea starts to form in my mind.

Beatrice claps her hands together, her eyes bright. “That would be lovely! Put together some ideas and we can go over them. I’m on the board of the CAC and I know several artists both Arawak and Dutch that would be thrilled to have marketing help.”

We continue down the hallway, my steps lighter with the hope of finding purpose. When we turn into the cozy room, the maid is in the corner with a tea service poured.

Beatrice addresses both Dania and I. “I’m happy to have another cocktail poured for you, but when the men continue to drink, I like to switch to tea so at leastoneof us keeps our wits about us.” She chuckles. I was a little harsh and judgmental in my thoughts when we first arrived, thinking the governor only wanted to do what was best for the votes and that his intentions were shady when offering dinner tonight.

Maybe he and his wife are truly trying to figure out what the right move is because Beatrice certainly seems genuine.

We settle in to nice conversation. Both women are much older than me but they treat me as an equal. Dania remains quiet, the same way she did the first time she and I met, and I can tell how hard Beatrice is working to draw her into the conversation.

Twenty minutes after my first cup of tea, I excuse myself.

“Mrs. Von Hoff, may I use your restroom?”

“Of course, darling, and please, call me Bea. It’s back down the hall but instead of turning left into the kitchen, turn right. It will be the second door on the left.”

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