Page 28 of Juicy Pickle

It’s a starfish, the size of my hand, resting on the bottom.

I reach out and run my fingers over its bumpy surface. It pays me no mind. I wonder for a moment if perhaps it’s dead, but then I spot the tiny noodle-like feet beneath the star, shifting as it subtly moves. Then the entire tip of one of its limbs twists slightly, as if saying hello.

Something breaks open inside me, this creature, this beautiful island, this peace.

I run my thumb gently along its back in farewell, then push on.

I take another breath and swim along the shallows, wishing for snorkeling equipment. I will make do.

The ocean bottom becomes rockier, and bits of kelp float out from the dark spaces in between. I swim around a more complex outcropping, and suddenly, a school of slender fish with yellow fins darts past me.

I pause, letting them go by, marveling at their speed and how they instinctively stay together, even when making a sharp change in direction.

Another larger, long fish follows in their wake.

It’s paradise. I keep going, discovering more starfish, then an entire trove of them all lying together on the ocean floor.

As I swim above them, my shadow crosses over their bodies. A few drift along the bottom, as if trying to get back into the sun.

Absolute paradise.

I break the surface to get my bearings and am surprised to see how far I’ve come. I can’t see the beach or the dock or the employees on their kayaks. Palm trees have sprouted over the cliff that juts into the water.

This area is sandy again, so I walk to the shore. I can follow it back around.

But this is nice. More private than simply sitting away from the others, in full view of how I’ve set myself apart. It felt fine when Caleb and Sarah joined me, but with them gone, it felt elitist. Anti-social. So not me.

Besides, this little trek is good for sobering up.

Rather than turn back, I keep going. I have hours before we have to return to the ship. My time might be best spent exploring.

The seaweed has been pushed onto the shore in a smooth line, left alone since there was no need to rake it away to place lounge chairs. Sand dollars and sea shells dot the dimpled sand.

But then I spot a set of footprints.

Someone else has walked this way, someone with small feet. Today? Or from some other cruise?

Curious, I shield my hand and stare down the beach.

I spot someone, a small figure kneeling on the shore, building a rather impressively sized structure out of sand.

The glare off the water makes it hard for me to make out who it might be, and an oversized sun hat obscures her features. It’s definitely a woman. She wears a black bikini, and a wad of red-flowered fabric tops a straw bag.

I hesitate, trying to decide if I should press forward or go back. The beach stretches beyond her, quiet and unbroken. I can pass her and keep going with only a vague hello.

Her being there settles me, somehow, as if I’ve met a kindred spirit who sees the value in taking a moment to absorb the beauty and solitude of this place.

I keep going. I can either walk to the water and skirt her that way, or I can go farther up the beach, where it fades into the scrub brush.

The water is a safer path, as the beach line is littered with natural sea debris, broken limbs, clumps of kelp, and potentially a beached jellyfish or two.

I decide to go with the water.

To avoid disturbing her, I keep my gaze on the horizon, noting the position of the sun. It’s high afternoon. I’ve come far enough around the small island that I can’t even see the yacht. The water is unbroken.

I sense that I’m getting close to her. She has to be an employee or the wife of one, so there’s no getting out of sayinghello. Surely, though, if she’s this far afield, she’ll also want to keep any pleasantries short.

But before I turn to look at her, I hear a startled gasp.

---