Page 57 of Troubles in Paradise
“Um…” Baker looks to Ayers to see if she confirms this.
“Dad, please,” Ayers says. “Yes. Baker and I were together. This is his baby.”
“We’re over the moon,” Sunny says. “We flew all the way from Nairobi to be here.”
“Nairobi, wow.” Baker looks at the photographs hanging on Ayers’s living-room wall—her at the Great Pyramids and the Taj Mahal—and he picks out younger versions of Phil and Sunny. “You’re world travelers.”
“Nomads,” Phil says. “The earth is our home.”
“Where are you staying?” Baker asks. He looks around Ayers’s studio; Winnie is asleep on Ayers’s bed. “Not here?”
“We have a room at Caneel Bay for now,” Phil says. “We’re planning on staying a few weeks, then maybe spending some time in Jamaica, the DR, Antigua and Barbuda, St. Vincent and the Grenadines…”
“Bequia is supposed to be relatively unspoiled,” Sunny says. “We’ve avoided the Caribbean for the most part because it’s so tacky.”
“Gee, thanks, guys,” Ayers says.
“St. John is different,” Phil says. “It still has that rugged-nature-lover vibe.”
“With spots of luxury,” Sunny says. “Like Caneel.”
“There aren’t any all-inclusives,” Phil says. “Just the termall-inclusivemakes me shudder.”
“They’re travel snobs,” Ayers says.
“Anyway, once we complete our little jaunt, we’ll come back here and wait for the baby to be born,” Sunny says.
“That wait could be weeks or months,” Phil says. “So I was going to look into buying a time-share at the Westin.”
“We’ll need a home base here if we ever want to see our grandchild,” Sunny says.
Baker hates to be opportunistic, but…“If you decide you do want a Westin time-share, I can help you,” he says. “I’m working at their sales office right now.”
“Great!” Phil says. “We’ll take one.”
“Dad,” Ayers says. “Don’t tease.”
“Who’s teasing?” Phil says. “I’ll be by to see you in the morning.”
“Free breakfast with mimosas,” Baker says. “And a hundred-dollar resort credit.”
“Hear that, gorgeous?” Phil says to Sunny. “She loves free stuff. We got a discount on our room at Caneel because she told them she’s a travel blogger.”
“We should ask Baker some questions,” Sunny says. “We know nothing about you. Freddy told us the two of you are just casual acquaintances.”
“Mom!” Ayers says.
“Freddy?” Baker says.
“That’s my daughter’s nickname,” Phil says. “Short for ‘Ready, Freddy,’ which was something she used to say often as a child. I can’t believe you don’t even know her nickname.”
“Nobody knows my nickname,” Ayers says. “No. Body.”
Baker is still holding the chips and the smoothie, which is turning his hand numb. He’s afraid to make himself any more comfortable until he’s invited to do so. “Well, I grew up in Iowa City, went to Northwestern, graduated with a business degree, worked on the commodities exchange in Chicago for a few years, and then my soon-to-be-ex-wife, Anna Schaffer, got a job offer in Houston. She’s a cardiothoracic surgeon.”
“A cardiothoracic surgeon?” Sunny says. “That’s impressive!”
Yes, yes, story of Baker’s life—the most impressive thing about him is his wife’s career. “We’re in the process of getting a divorce,” Baker says. “She fell in love with a coworker of hers, a doctor named Louisa Rodriguez”—Baker glances at Ayers’s parents; they seem unfazed by this—“and I have custody of our son, Floyd, who’s four.”
