Caribbean Crossroads (21 page)

Megan turned to Bryant. “It was my sister.”

 “I started tracing things, talking to people, and found out. About him. Things that would make you sick. Things that I still can’t imagine are true. And then the truth about our
relationship
.” She laughed hard and short. “He’d been dating four of us, all at the same time, all for an apartment contest, ranking us on body shape first; specifically, how we looked in a swimsuit, how we cooked and cleaned, if we had income potential to work after marriage. Apparently I was ahead in the cleaning, and—” she hesitated. “Other areas.” She shook her head. “It was a great big joke, but it was working. Four viable candidates. He kept us a secret until he had decided which one would pan out the best, convincing each of us separately that we’d be married by the end of the semester.”

 “Did you tell any of them?”

 “I told my sister what I knew and she got mad. At me.” Megan glanced at Bryant. “Said what did she care. He was a catch, he had a right to look for what he wanted. And he’d found it, she was the one with the ring after all. The rest of us had only been promised one.”

“But then,” she stopped and shook her head. “He still wanted me to clean for them, didn’t see anything wrong with it.” She paused, an ache in her jaw. “So I did.”

Megan closed her eyes. “I just went into duty mode, and part of me didn’t want him to know he’d so fully affected me. To act like I was fine, my usual way of dealing with trauma. So I cleaned for one more week and then at the end of one day, he was watching TV on the couch—some sleazy show—and I told him that I couldn’t come back. He looked over from the screen and said how was he supposed to find a replacement with that kind of short notice. That a job was a job and it had nothing to do with what happened between us. That I was unprofessional and a sore loser, and”—she swallowed—“some other things.”

 “And I stood there, fighting to not give him the satisfaction of emotion. I told him no, in clear terms. And then I left.”

Megan opened her eyes and pulled a stray hair strand from her face. “He never did pay me for that week,” she said. “And I never asked him to.”

Bryant stared out at the sea, his expression dark and pensive. “What happened to your sister?”

Megan looked out over the open water. She had tried to tell her sister, tried to explain what Jackson had done and how he was, with her and with others. But Kara insisted Megan was intent on man-hating him. Megan could understand that to a certain degree—it might sound that way, but it wasn't. After several attempts to reason with Kara, there was nothing more she could do. Kara had always been that way—seeing what she wanted to see, content to believe her reality
was
reality. Jackson had treated her like a queen so what had she to be sore about? Finally, Megan had given up. After hearing of their engagement through the apartment complex grapevine, she finally accepted that Kara had made her choice. And now they both would have to live with it. “They were married five months ago,” she said softly, “and are staying at our house.”

A gull cawed in a melancholy way above the water.

 “And that,” she stared at the rhythmic waves, “is why I am here.”

The swish of the boat sounded in the silence. Bryant stared at the waves, his jaw hard. Without breaking his gaze, he reached over and clasped her hand sure and strong. She felt his warmth and tentatively caressed his tan fingers, the rough callouses—she didn’t know why they surprised her. The water beat a steady cadence—soothing, gentle, no rush. He leaned back in his chair parallel to her, still staring out at the sea. She closed her eyes and pressed his hand to her cheek. With one smooth motion, he released his hand and pulled her in to the nook of his shoulder. She rested her head on his smooth, solid chest, enveloped in his strong arm.  

The churning waves rolled against the ship. People’s voices could be heard in chatter from the deck below—where to go at the next port, should we play shuffle board, what theme is the dinner buffet. It washed over and floated away. Megan heard the hypnotic waves, felt the warmth of his body, and soaked up the closeness. Inside, she felt empty and washed clean, like the churning white froth melting into the glassy calm expanse of the endless ocean before her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

For the remaining few weeks of the tour, she and Bryant spent every available moment together. It was unspoken, an almost magnetic understanding, that time was passing as quickly as the ocean covered by the massive liner. By the final week, both could feel an underpinning of something fragile coming to a close, and though they spoke in tandem conversation, in threads that continued unbroken from one day to the next, they studiously avoided the eggshell subject of home, though the tangible presence of it often made them silent.

Megan soaked up the shared time like the afternoon sun warming the teak deck—most especially the last few excursions spent together on random beaches—and always evenings after performances on their deck by the chessboards. But every now and then that ominous feeling surfaced, that thing she couldn’t define or dismiss. During the early morning hours, she would often pull apart feelings as they led her through several emotional alleys, but always to dead ends, the most difficult one being Bryant and Life After the Cruise. She hated to face the truth but there it was—no job, no plan, no real life. His family sounded warm and supportive, if not anxious to have him home. Megan thought that was normal and was surprised that Bryant found it frustrating. About his father, he was decidedly silent—but what could she say about fathers. She sighed. What could she say about hers?

Despite the surfacing negativity, Megan couldn’t deny the happy changes within herself. Surprising, sometimes breathtaking, she had found herself returning—not a burst, but a gradual opening, petal by petal, like time lapse. And it had felt good. Enlivening. As time had progressed with Bryant, her guard lowered, and she found a better balance between being a friend and much more. Still, questions lingered.

“Why so serious?” Jillian broke her reverie. “Thinking about Rosa?” Megan stopped making her bed and surveyed Jillian who was looking for clothes in the doll-size drawers.

“No. Rosa is all settled,” said Megan. “Turned out Miguel was intending to make a run for it, pressured by others, but decided not to. He and Mrs. V. had a lovely long chat and all is well, and forgiven I think. Bryant was pretty amazing through the whole thing, actually. Translated as best he could between them, and made sure Miguel got the message, if you know what I mean.” Megan smiled at the memory of Bryant towering over the short Latino man, charging him to take good care of Rosa.

“I knew we’d get around to Bryant at some point. I’m betting that was what you were really thinking about,
no
?”

Megan made a face at the Spanish inflection. “I was just thinking about the past few months, how different I feel.”

“You mean how much more you’re back to you?”

“Yes, that too.”

“What’s wrong then? You’re not exactly jolly about it.” Jillian finally selected a light jacket.

“The end of the fairy tale. Now reality awaits—two different states, he has no job, I have a lame one. He has no real life, and I don’t like mine. I really don’t know what’s going to happen from here.”

Jillian groaned. “So ask him.”

“I have, at least tried to. We’re supposed to meet tonight after the show.” She shook her head. “He always tells me, ‘Stop stressing about it. Let it be. Allow things to develop without all this extraneous planning.’”

“He’s right. Except why do you both always have to use such big words?” Jillian pulled on her shoes. “Megs, choose one thing and go to that point and be happy. Then, if you make it to that point in your relationship, choose the next thing—hurdle, challenge, uptight plan, whatever—and be happy, and go from there.”

She walked over to Megan and took her by the shoulder. “But whatever you do,” she stared intently, “don’t wear khaki pants and a T-shirt to my wedding.”

Megan rolled her eyes and they hugged, heading out to breakfast.

After the evening’s performance, most of the cast had chosen to hit an early string of good-bye parties. Brittany was
rarely seen by cast members outside of performances. She was rumored to be spending time with several bigwigs and already had a possible contract on the Intrepid for the next tour. Jillian and Derek spent many uninterrupted hours together—Jillian discussing wedding details and Derek trying to enjoy the last days of unfettered life.

By mutual consent, Bryant and Megan had agreed to meet at the clubhouse swimming pool after the last curtain call. Thankfully, the clubhouse pool was generally empty at that hour due to the more popular outdoor pool and Jacuzzi on the Vista Deck.

Sitting on the low diving board side by side, Megan sat comfortably next to Bryant, her feet brushing and flicking the water. Her mid-length flowing skirt was gently tucked at her knees, though sometimes falling and spilling near the water.

“Just a couple of days. Ready to deal with your family?” said Bryant.

She knew what he meant. “Jacks—I mean, he and my sister won’t be there. They’re in Arizona with his family now, getting into a condo. They’re not planning to visit until Thanksgiving, so I don’t have to deal with anything until then.”

“But seeing your mom?”

“Yes, I’ll be glad to see her. She’s doing good. Better.”

“Better?”

“At times it’s still hard for her, even though it’s been so long since the divorce.” The word felt weighted, floating on the top of the conversation momentarily before sinking deep into it.

“What happened?” said Bryant, with his typical ease.

Pause. “He left.” She kicked the water. “With Edith—the town mayor.” Bryant gave her a look. “I know, it’s like a lame movie. The two of them moved to some dinky town in south Florida. We only hear from him at Christmas now. Really bizarre.”

“What went wrong?”

“Your guess, my guess. Mom’s guess. She doesn’t talk about it much, that’s just her way. But we do know a little something about the term bipolar, and a bunch of debts that Mom finally paid off a year ago. We’ve all made do—my brothers have finally settled down. One’s at college in Arizona dating a really nice girl. Eli works on a crabbing boat on the Oregon coast and stays pretty much year-round, though he doesn’t have to. Sam goes to Nevada State and comes home occasionally to do his laundry.” She shrugged. “They’re good boys and they adore her.” She looked at him. “And me. Won’t call to save their necks but very protective of who comes around.”

“How did they handle the whole King Lear’s Edmund thing?”

“Jackson? They dealt with it more your way. Gave him a black eye,” she said, a sly smile at the memory. “In a family-friendly football game.”

“Aha. All’s fair on the field.”

 “Exactly. Sent the message, but generally they keep it low key now.”

He felt the diving board, checking the make of it. “They sound like my kind of guys.”

“You’d definitely get along.” Megan toyed with the water and looked up discreetly at him, watching his reaction. “Speaking of …”

“It begins.” Bryant checked his watch. “At least you waited for ten entire minutes, that’s a new record.” He stared down at the water. “Let me guess: two different states, two different cultures—although I agree with you there, Nevada is practically its own universe. How do we negotiate it, what exactly are we?”

Megan simply laughed. “You
have
been listening.” He had been joking but there was a familiar undercurrent of frustration. Over the past few weeks she’d come to know it and not be worried by it. The tone only meant he was figuring something out and hadn’t found the solution yet.

“Just because I don’t look into the whites of your eyes every second doesn’t mean my ears don’t work,” he said.

Megan gazed at the white hazy pool light emanating from the green water below. 

“So … what exactly are we?” said Megan. It came out soft and contemplative.

“Two amazing people who have their lives ahead of them. Not to mention incredible and talented—okay, at least one of us.”

“And dead broke, and twelve hours away, if you include freeway construction.”

“There’s that too.” He seemed to pause for a long time. “So come see where I live.”

It hung in the air.

Megan considered how to take that. “I’m not moving.”

“I don’t recall asking you to. Although I thought you’d prefer other living arrangements, all things considered.”

“Funny.” She shook her head. “It’s on principle. The woman always moves, why can’t the man move?”

“Okay, equal rights girl, try this.” He turned to her. “We’ll take turns and see which city we like best. My awesome family—with the exception of a backwards father, but with incredible cooking—or your family with the King Lear psycho brother-in-law.”

Megan shook her head. “Gee, that’s an unbeatable offer. Almost. Because that’s your version. How do I know you don’t live like the Beverly hillbillies?”

“How do I know you don’t live like the Addams family? You could come out for a weekend, throw horseshoes with the relatives, and watch nonstop football on TV. What’s not to love?”

Megan looked up at him. “I don’t like watching televised sports. Is that a problem?”

He paused. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

She kicked up water playfully on his knees. “Okay, what about this? Jillian’s wedding is in a week, perfect timing. I’ll have some of my family there. And I could rig it to see you in a confining but stellar-looking tuxedo.”

“You know that’s a 12-hour drive for mints and a piece of cake.”

“And
a tux.”

“Mine only involves
horseshoes.
Not a chance. I’ll do the drive but in khakis and a decent shirt. Period.”

“Deal.” Megan smiled at the compromise, knowing it was an absolute triumph.

 “In fact, it might even be a
plan
,” he said.

“Is that a mocking tone or an actual pen-me-in?”

He looked down, touched her chin and lifted it to his. “That’s a promise.”