Caribbean Crossroads (13 page)

 “No worries, Jillian. I just hope that—” she faltered. What should she say? Be aware, guys are creeps? Don’t trust them as far as you can background check them? She settled for, “Just be careful. Guys can be, well …”

Jillian pinned up her hair. “Oh, not another one of those talks.” She grabbed her big purse and side hugged Megan. “I won’t be late.” She winked and headed out the door. 

Watching her leave, Megan felt nauseous. Should she stop her, tell her? Tell Derek? She bit the corner of her lip, wondering the best thing to do, which ultimately, for now, was nothing.

Slowly heading back to the room, she entered a narrow hallway and saw petite Rosa with her large cart, topped with unfolded towels.

 “Buenos dias, Rosa.”

Rosa broke into a big smile, like a teenager. “Es buenos noches, Senorita Megan. It ees bery late evening, but close morning.”

 “Right, thanks—I mean, gracias. Still working?”

 “Yees, always working, Senorita Megan,” she said, but smiled. “Do good show tonight?”

 “Si,” said Megan, picking up the towels that were still warm. “Can I help? How do you say …?”

 “¿Cómo puedo ayudarle? No, I fine.”

Megan took up a towel and folded it anyway. “Rosa, do you have a—how do you say, como se dice love, boyfriend—”

 “Mi novio? Si.” She smiled again, also taking a towel and folding it. “Enrique. Good man. Works in de kitchen.”

 “How long have you, um, dated, been in love …?”

 “Bery short, only three month. But he a good man and we bery happy.” She stacked towel upon towel. “You not happy, Senorita Megan.”

 “Me? No, I’m good, very good.” Megan had thought to ask her advice but she couldn’t even begin to phrase the question.

 “No—you no so good. Can I question? Why you always dress like boy?”

Her question was completely unexpected, and innocently asked. It stopped Megan short. She thought of her sweat pants, unfitted T-shirt, and makeup free face. True, she had just finished a show and had dressed down. But even as she wanted to refute the question, Megan’s distance, her clothes, her prickly manner, everything ticker-taped through her mind and she knew what Rosa had said was true.

“You bery pretty. Wear skirt, do hair like dis.” She mimicked curls. “You bery pretty girl. Dere be amor for you.” She nodded, childlike. 

“I—I think.” Megan slowly finished her towel. Was it safe to return to some old ways? Maybe. In order to be herself again, perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing to allow a few feminine touches.

 “Maybe I’ll try, Rosa. Muchas gracias,” said Megan, and spontaneously kissed her on the cheek.

Rosa reached down and gave her a good-sized decorative bag filled with the caramel chocolates she loved. Megan laughed as Rosa nodded and pushed her cart. “Gracias por ayudarme a doblar las toallas.”

 “Gracias por avyu—,” said Megan, trying to repeat but gave up as she headed to her cabin thinking about what Rosa said. No, she wouldn’t dress for guys, especially not now. What was the point? She wasn’t interested in romance, and all they wanted was a trophy girlfriend. When they finished with her they’d go onto the next one, just a bit of pretty fluff on their arm. But Rosa’s comment, so genuinely said, hit a chord. In her quest to be the New Megan, she had let go of everything Old Megan. But that wasn’t necessary, was it? Some things could be kept, to still be her. Like a butterfly near the end of its cocooning, she felt the strict constraints she had put on herself over the past few months beginning to feel tight. They didn’t seem to fit anymore.

She wished she could say the same for Jillian. Megan frowned, thinking of what needed to be said. Her cocooning would be just beginning. 

Opening the door to the cabin, Megan stopped short. Jillian sat on the floor, crying.

 “Jillian, what—what’s wrong? What happened?” And then she knew. Men. So predictable. And women—when would we learn?

Dropping the chocolate bag Megan hurried and knelt by her, saying, “I’m so sorry, I knew it, I knew—”

 “Can you believe it?” Jillian looked up, her face shining as she held up and flashed her ring finger. A modest but unmistakable engagement ring sparkled. “I keep putting it on, taking it off, looking at it in the box—isn’t it gorgeous?”

 “Jillian, my goodness, when?” Megan’s head swirled. If there was a time to say something about Derek, it was now, absolutely now.

“Just a few minutes ago! He had wanted to do it earlier, but then he had to meet with Clint and Marvy to spill the beans, but before curfew, and we were late enough as it was—”

 “—Jillian, I have to tell you—”

 “Derek just bought it today!” Jillian couldn’t tell it fast enough, wiping the tears still fresh on her face. “Chalise and her man-chat about Garrett, it was all fake! Not that she doesn’t think he’s amazing. She and Bryant were sworn to secrecy but told to keep everyone busy.”

Bryant?

“Derek said he hit the store supposedly getting those
bulbs
—oh man, I had given him such a hard time over that, too. Talk about humble pie. I had no clue. He did it while we were sightseeing, isn’t that romantic? Lindsey helped pick it out. She knew exactly what I wanted, which makes at least four of you. I wanted to be sure he got the right thing, you know.” She gazed back and forth from Megan to the ring.

Lindsey. Derek. The store. That’s why she had hugged him, why they looked so happy.

An anchor dropped through her stomach. It was legit. Derek loved Jillian, was trying to surprise her. And Megan had almost ruined it.

It was me. All me. Me and my twisted, warped, hurt little mind.

“I’m—I’m so happy for you, Jillian, truly,” Megan gave her a strong hug. “He’s really a solid, solid, great guy.” Tears were coming and she fought them back. How could she have been so narrow-minded?

Bryant. The things she’d said. The bite of her words came back, sharp and painful.
I thought you had character.
The anchor in her stomach dropped to her feet. What did she do now? 

“What? No annoying guy lecture tonight?” Jillian laughed, nothing bothered her now. “I came back to tell you guys but Chalise already knows. I saw her on the way here. Can you believe it?”

The door opened hard and Brittany hurried in. “Is it true? Chalise just told me that—Jillian, are you serious?” She hurried over and knelt down, turning Jillian’s hand to see the ring. “Yep, he’s a keeper, Jills.” She looked at it in the light. “That’s a real marquis, can you see the bow-tie facet it makes in the light?” She fingered the diamond with a wistful then too cheerful expression. “Congrats, sweetie, that’s such fantastic news. You’ll have to tell Marvy and Clint.”

“Already did. They’re letting us make a ship-to-shore call in—wow, like right now.” She jumped up. “I gotta go. Mom already knows. Derek says he asked for my hand before on another call, remember when he was supposedly playing video games? Isn’t he amazing! I had told my mom something like this might happen, but you never know.” Abruptly, she looked at Megan with an expression of sudden awareness.

 “It’s all good, truly, don’t even think about it.” Megan smiled with the complete reassurance that she felt.

 “You’re the best, Megs,” and gave her a quick squeeze before running out the door.  

Brittany turned to Megan. “Well, that’s real news,” and the enamel sentinels flashed brightly. Immediately, Megan had two feelings—to get out of this conversation with Brittany, and to go make amends with Bryant. But it was already curfew, did she dare risk it? And how would she leave with Brittany here?

 “Well, at least the shower’s free,” said Brittany. Obviously, she felt the same awkwardness. Megan changed into pajamas and her worn cotton bathrobe as if to ready for bed. Opening a book, she tried not to look at the clock. Every minute meant she’d be in more trouble, and less likely to catch him awake. Brittany took her time gathering shower items but finally entered the bathroom.

Quickly, before she second-guessed herself, Megan got up, grabbed the bag of chocolates and stole into the hall, heading to Bryant’s room.

***

Walking quickly through the hallway, Megan felt a lightness and a plummeting at the same time. How could she have misjudged him so completely, again? And made a fool of herself, again. Thinking back to her words, her feelings—so spiteful and mean—remorse filled her until she felt overflowing in apology.

Megan stopped short with a realization: she didn’t know Bryant’s room number.

Great. Megan thought back to the first day. Rosa had been standing close by when she’d pointed out the way, and she remembered seeing Chad coming from a door at the end of the “D” hallway. She only guessed that he roomed with Bryant, but there was no way to know if this were true and berated herself for not listening more closely. Quietly, she stole through the corridors knowing that if Clint caught her, she would be toast.

Surprisingly, a small giggle escaped her. She felt 16 again; curfew, sneaking out, chocolates in hand. It was ridiculous. In fact, as she stood before what could be his door, the idea seemed less and less realistic. But she deserved the humiliation, it was her penance. She looked from side to side, blowing out a breath. Hesitantly, she knocked softly, twice. As she listened for movement, she looked down. Her bathrobe? Faded, with a homemade patch done back in high school, it was a sight. She’d completely forgotten. Panicked, Megan turned to go as the door opened. Bryant squinted at the corridor light, his caramel blond hair askew.

Wow, he still looked good.

 “Oh, sorry to wake you. Did I wake you?” said Megan.

 “No. I was practicing my salsa.”

She bit back a laugh. This was serious, at least it had been half an hour ago. Now it was just ridiculous.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. “Taking breakfast orders?”

 “No, just”—she said, remembering Jillian’s words—“just an order of humble pie.” He looked puzzled. “Listen Bryant, I barely found out, minutes ago actually, about their engagement, Jillian and Derek. And, well,” she paused, waiting for him to make a smug remark. But he just watched her.

“And I know sorry, at this point, is a bit trite. So I brought an equally trite peace offering.” She raised the bag.

“Concierge chocolates?”

 “It’s the best I could do on short notice.”

He hefted the bag, appearing thoughtful. “Well, they are pretty good,” he said, and pointing to the floor they sat down, side by side. He passed her a chocolate and they both unwrapped and helped themselves.

 “She’s sky high, you know,” said Megan. “When I saw the ring and heard that Lindsey helped, I finally got it.”

 “You catch on fast.”

 “I really apologize. Again.” She paused, trying to find what to say, and how much to share. Curse this cruise, and Jillian, and engagements, and misunderstandings. And sitting in the hallway, touching elbows and feeling the heat of his closeness.

Focus.

 “I guess it touched a nerve in me, a very raw nerve. I was just scared for Jillian because …” How she wanted to tell him everything! The need, the yearning to help him understand rushed through her so powerfully she squeezed her right hand painfully to distract her impulse. “Bryant, I know it’s not good enough, and I wish I could explain more, but I
am
sorry, for—for what I said. And how I said it.”

His face clouded and suddenly it felt stiff between them.

Megan wanted to make a joke, something, but knew she couldn’t take back the anger, the meanness of it. She wanted to tell him that hadn’t really been her, that she never spoke to people that way, that she couldn’t fully understand why she was so nasty to him. But, unable to begin, Megan just sat on the hallway floor, awkward, in her bathrobe, praying he understood anyway.

They ate in silence.

 “It hit a nerve with me too,” he said finally, and popped another chocolate in his mouth, a melancholy expression on his face. “My dad. That’s how he used to talk to me—disappointed, and like I’d never measure up. Most of the time he didn’t have the facts, or care about asking for them. He’d just speak and we obeyed.” He scrunched the wrapper.

Megan felt twice stung, though she knew that wasn’t his intent. Then a warmth began, small and sweet, at the realization that even with all that had passed between them, he was opening up to her. “Are you and your dad close now?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. Close as he can be, I guess, but through work mostly. He works hard, the business is hard. But now he’s in and out of the lumber yard, not as controlling as before. I think that’s more from traveling and the yard changing than changing who he is. It’s who his dad was. I guess it’s the nature of the Johnsons.” He stretched back, kicking his legs out and trying to appear casual, but Megan saw the pull at the corner of his mouth.

 “That was a tough generation. They weren’t able to talk like men can now.”

 “Yeah, different days I guess.” They let the silence sit.

He leaned his head back against the wall and half-smiled. “Once he had me and Mitch drive the tractor, I think I was nine or something. We were bringing him wood. Dad was on the roof fixing something, yelling down directions to Mitch, and I’m sitting on top of the wood, barely able to hold it down on the trailer. I thought Mitch would throw up from being scared because he didn’t know how to drive the dang thing. So he was trying but didn’t know how to stop it and rammed a tree. Put the fan in the radiator.”

“Were you guys okay?”

“At first, yeah. He got thrown over the top but rolled off. I got thrown clear and banged up, but that was all. Dad hustled down that ladder like a monkey and hit Mitch with a 2 x 4 on his back, yelling and swearing.”

Megan turned and looked at Bryant’s profile. “Effective discipline technique.”

He shook his head. “Old school. We didn’t know they had zero money, none to fix a tractor anyway.”

 “I thought you didn’t live on a farm.”

 “We didn’t, not really. It was an experiment, to make some ‘extra money,’ you know how that goes. He tried to raise table grapes for a little while, and it was brutal—some years good, some not.”