Page 47 of What Happens in Paradise
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Irene says.
“I dunno. Maybe.”
“Well, maybe it worked,” Irene says. She’s afraid to look Huck in the eye so she busies herself by rolling her suitcases over to the slider. “Thank you for coming to get me. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
Huck smiles at her, shaking his head, and she thinks, What? What?
She shoos him away and he heads down the stairs. Only once he’s gone can Irene get a clear breath. She is so keyed up when he’s around, both agitated and happy.
Agent Vasco was attractive. Bah!
Before she goes into the house, Irene stands at the stone wall and inhales the sight of the sea and the verdant island mountains and the lush hillside below. It’s the prettiest place she’s ever seen, but what is she doing here? It’s truly insane, this decision to move down to work on a fishing boat. Has she lost her mind?
Well, yes, Irene thinks. She probably has. And good for her.
Ayers
On Tuesday night, Mick announces that he’s going over to St. Thomas the next morning and he won’t be back until late, so he can’t meet Ayers after her charter with a smoothie.
“I guess the honeymoon is over,” Ayers says. “I knew it wouldn’t last. What’s happening in St. Thomas?”
“Picking up some stuff for the bar,” Mick says.
“Really?” Ayers says. “Like what, from where?”
“Stuff, from places,” Mick says. “Paper straws, for one thing. I have to take all the plastic straws to recycling and replace them with paper straws. Which, although environmentally friendly, disintegrate once they come in contact with liquid, thereby providing a poor straw experience.”
“And what else?”
“What’s with the third degree?” Mick asks.
She didn’t sleep with Baker. When he pulled up alongside of her out of the blue, she thought, Is this really happening? And then, without thinking twice, she’d climbed into the car with him and directed him to Hawksnest. She thought they would just sit in the parking lot and talk but that wasn’t very romantic, so she led him down the path toward the beach, which was deserted, and she thought, Is that what I want? Romantic?
The truth is, she hasn’t stopped thinking of him since he left. She doesn’t want to like him, but she does. And reading Rosie’s journals is screwing with her head. Rosie willingly had an affair with a man she knew was married. Ayers’s own dear, sweet friend, a person Ayers admired and respected, did that. The story in the diary is, at least, providing some context. Russ was unhappy, at a crossroads career-wise, and he’d been dropped into paradise for the weekend, where he’d met Rosie, who even on her worst day was achingly beautiful. Something had sparked between them—then ignited. It’s the spark and the flame that intrigue Ayers. Did two good people do something they knew was wrong because there was some kind of magical chemistry involved? Or was it plain old human fallibility, weakness in the face of temptation?
Ayers isn’t sure. What she is drawn to in Rosie’s journal is the rawness of Rosie’s desire for Russ and her pain when he leaves.
Has Ayers ever felt that way about anyone? Does she feel that way about Mick? She was hurt and angry—really angry—when she found Mick with Brigid, but that pain might simply have been the blow to her self-esteem and the sting of being rejected. The truth is, the way she feels about Mick now has changed. She still loves him but she doesn’t trust him and she doesn’t trust herself, and sometimes she thinks she went back to him only because it was comfortable and familiar, whereas the idea of embarking on a whole new relationship with Baker Steele is terrifying. And unrealistic. He’s still married. He lives in Houston.
Once they were on the beach, Baker reached for Ayers’s hand, but she batted him away, then turned to confront him. There wasn’t a moon; it was really dark. Ayers could barely see Baker, but despite this, there was an instant pull of attraction. He was so tall and broad; she loved having to crane her neck to look up at him. He had a fresh haircut, she’d noticed; it looked good with his chiseled features and his dimple. He’d gone soft around the middle and there was something dad-like and a little nerdy in his demeanor. But these things set her at ease.
“I didn’t bring you here for that,” Ayers said. “I want to talk.”
Baker nodded. “Yeah, me too. Sorry, it’s a beach, we were walking, I’ve been thinking of you every second of every day since I left, so believe me when I say that reaching for your hand was something I did instinctively.”
“I need to know a couple things,” she said. “One, are you still married?”
“Legally, yes,” Baker said. “It’s only been a few weeks. But Anna, my wife, accepted a surgical post at the Cleveland Clinic with her girlfriend, Louisa, so they’re moving and giving me physical custody of Floyd.”
“Have you started divorce proceedings?” Ayers asked. “Have you spoken to a lawyer?”
“We’re using a mediator,” Baker said. “And yes, I’ve spoken to her. This is happening. There’s no going back. I actually had dinner with Anna and Louisa a few days ago, and, wow, they’re together. Two peas in a pod. An intimidating pair.”
Intimidating, Ayers thought, because they weren’t sexually attracted to men. Ayers let Baker’s typical attitude slide because she had a more pressing question. “How long are you staying down here?”
“We’re moving here,” Baker said. “I have Floyd with me. I want to put him in school.”
This wasn’t the answer Ayers was expecting. “So you packed up all your stuff and shipped it down here?”
