Wet Part 3 (35 page)

Claire shrugged.

“And you know Paul is a control freak. He’s really high-strung, and when he feels like he’s losing control of a situation, he strikes before he thinks, whether it’s with his fists or his words. I know he didn’t mean it.” Rhees cringed at her half-lie. They’d talked about it, and he’d apologized for saying what he had, but he still acted paranoid about Dobbs’ motives toward her. “The Mario thing just really freaked him out. He feels guilty that he wasn’t here to prevent it, and now, he thinks all other men are creepazoids, and he needs to go all caveman every time one of them gets within fifty yards of me.”

Claire laughed. “Yeah.”

“Dobbs is not in the market for a newer, younger wife—especially me. He’s like a father figure, and a friend. You’re it for him.”

“Then why doesn’t he want—” Claire let out a frustrated sigh.

“I overheard my parents once . . . never mind.” Rhees looked away, thinking back on the trauma of hearing her parents discussing their sex life had caused her. She’d blocked out that memory until now.

“What? Tell me.”

“I think guys—older guys—at least my dad, apparently they . . .” She swallowed hard, pushing through her discomfort at the memory. It made her feel stronger knowing she might have information that could help her friend, and that as hard as it felt to bring it up, she could. She refused to let it launch her into a panic attack or give her nightmares.

“Has he had his prostrate checked? Maybe you should recommend he get examined by a doctor. I don’t think it’s you, or your ripe old age of thirty-four, Claire. And it’s definitely
not me
!”

“Prostrate.” Claire looked thoughtful. “Huh.”

“I won’t ask Dobbs to come with us,” Rhees said with a quiet sigh. She put her hand on Claire’s arm. “Gio and I’ll manage.”

oOo

After squaring things around for her trip to the city the next day, Rhees puttered around the shop, putting on a good front, acting like everything was normal, and proving that she could be in charge.

“You look tired Sweet,” Claire said, patting her on the back. “You’re doing a bloody good job with that brave face, but maybe you should go home and rest.”

“That’s code for, go home and have a little breakdown, so you can come back and pretend some more, right?”

“Yes.”

Rhees snorted a laugh and nodded.

“I thought I was doing a better job than that, of hiding how I’d rather be somewhere else, alone, and crying my eyes out.”

“Believe me, no one else knows, but you should go, take a couple of hours, and do just that. You’ll feel better again, until he comes back.”

Rhees gave her a skeptical look.

“All right. I know you don’t believe he’s coming back, so let it make you feel better . . . for a while, and if you’re right, you can do it again, and again, until . . . it’ll get easier, I promise.”

Rhees nodded again, grabbed her pack, and slowly headed across the street.

oOo

Rhees couldn’t cry as much as she thought she would, and found herself sitting on Paul’s bed with her back to the wall, writing in her journal, instead. It helped to put it down on paper, the fear that she’d never see him again. Writing it down somehow made it real, and necessary to find a way to come to terms with it.

She set her pen down and looked around. From where she sat, she could see part of the living room below. She always thought it dark and dreary, and small, so different than her old apartment with a different, bright color on almost every wall. She remembered thinking, the first time she’d seen his place, that it could use a coat of paint to brighten up the boring plywood walls.

Sitting on the bed, remembering Paul’s objections to her being in it, ever, made her crawl to the edge, and off of it. She stood looking at it, imagining all the women that had shared that bed with him. He’d been right. That didn’t really bother her anymore, not really, or at least, not as much as it once would have anyway. But she understood why it bothered him.

She looked at his closet, more than adequate in size, Paul had a lot of clothes, but his toys occupied the bulk of the space. She glanced down at the living room again. The sectional couch took up more room than necessary, and again, his toys were stuffed in every nook and cranny.

She knew why he thought her old apartment was so much better. The wheels started spinning, and the next thing she knew, she’d walked across the street, and stood knocking on Randy’s door.

“How soon do you think we can put together a Williams’ family party?” she asked.

“What’d ya need done, cuz?” Randy answered.

The rest of the afternoon, and into the evening, the most able-bodied of the Williams family painted, rebuilt the railing, and moved things around under Rhees’ direction. When the work was done, more family joined them to dance, eat pizza and drink on the shop’s deck—just another normal family get-together. At eleven, they all kissed Rhees good-bye, and went home.

When they’d all gone, Rhees stood on the deck in a daze, thinking of all they’d accomplished in one day, but she couldn’t ward off the sadness any longer. She missed her husband—her best friend—the man she was sure she’d never see again. She pulled the mat from under the gazebo, made her bed, and cried until she fell asleep.

oOo

Shopping with Gio was exhausting on the little sleep Rhees had managed the last few nights. She didn’t understand a word he and the shop’s tech said, all day, and she was sure it didn’t need to take so long, especially when their non-stop gibberish almost made them miss the last flight back to the island.

While waiting for takeoff, she stared out the window of the puddle jumper, praying Paul would come running out of the airport, over the tarmac, up the wheeled stairs, and into the plane at the last minute. She imagined his surprise to see her sitting on his plane—happy about it. She’d unbuckle her belt, jump into his arms, and they’d exchange exclamations of love and devotion, apologies and plausible explanations—didn’t happen.

When they arrived back at the shop, Gio got right to work. The new phone was installed and ready to go in minutes, but the computers wouldn’t be up and running until the next day. That night, Rhees debated where to sleep, the deck, or at her newly remodeled apartment. She opted for the apartment, hoping the paint fumes would be tolerable twenty-four hours later. She dragged herself across the street, onto the bed she and Paul had shared since May, and thanked God that the pillow from her old apartment still smelled like him.

She hugged it all night, crying into it several times before the morning light broke through the living room window. She pulled herself out of bed, put on her brave, grownup panties, and headed to the shop to face the new day.

oOo

Rhees spent the better part of the fourth day doing what needed to be done. Diving had been therapeutic that morning, but the rest of the day, she felt like a machine, a robot, doing everything expected of her, but even though she’d collapsed several times in her head, her body didn’t give her away.

Gio had the computers up and running by noon, but as three o’clock approached, Rhees finally tapped out, giving Claire the signal that she needed a break. Claire gave her a sad, but understanding look, and Rhees took off.

She raced across the street, unlocked the door, and leaped onto the bed, scampered to the head of it, where she folded herself into a ball, and stared at the door, waiting.

She grabbed Paul’s pillow to her chest and rocked back and forth, listening to the last plane of the day come and go. She said another prayer, but after thirty minutes, she told herself, again, like she had every day at three thirty, that Paul was never coming back. Saying it reset her hope timer back to zero, no hope the first eight hours or so, but eventually, slowly inching stronger until she found herself back in this position, waiting, holding her breath, until she was forced to face reality all over again, each day he didn’t show up.

She grabbed her Whine List and started writing furiously, as she had several times a day since Paul left. As usual, the writing gave her clarity, but today, her clarity screamed of a decision she didn’t want to make, but believed she must. With an agonized howl, she threw the notebook and the pen against the window, and watched as the pen ricocheted off the pane, clattering to the floor. The book landed open at the head of the bed. She left it, setting Paul’s pillow back in its spot, on top of the journal.

Rhees went into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face to wash away any evidence of her crying.

“Ouch,” she cried. “Dang it!” She bent over to pick up the pen after stepping on it, glared at it as if it should have known she didn’t need one more thing against her today, and tossed it onto the bed before heading across the street.

oOo

“We’re in business again,” Claire announced, excitedly, as Rhees walked into the office and sat at her chair.

“That’s good.” Rhees didn’t manage to sound very enthusiastic. She looked over her new computer, but let out a sigh.

“Your break didn’t last long enough,” Claire said. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you get in some snorkeling?”

“That sounds perfect.” Rhees actually smiled. “Are you sure? After four days, there’s got to be a million emails to get through—”

“I’ll get a start on them, but, like you said, it’s been four days. What’s one more?”

“Thanks, Claire. I love you.” Rhees slipped by Claire and made her way to the closet where she and Paul stored their equipment. She bent over and reached in for her mask, snorkel, and fins on the floor, but when she had them in her hands, she straightened and noticed Paul’s scuba gear hanging there, unused since he’d been gone. She couldn’t help the quiet whimper that slipped out.

Claire, suddenly behind her, closed the closet door so that Rhees would have to stop staring at his things.

“Love you too, Sweet.”

They hugged, and then Rhees slipped into the water near the compressor room so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone on the deck. She headed north, letting one of her favorite pastimes soothe her.

With her mask and snorkel on, her face in the water up to her ears, Rhees didn’t hear the sound of the plane fly in and land. No one expected another plane to come in. The three o’clock plane was always the last plane to land each day. 

Chapter 25

P
aul hoped his impatience didn’t come across as hostile, but he wished the plane he’d chartered had a bigger crew than just the pilot. It seemed to take forever for the man to get to the door and let the stairs down. He’d started to do it himself but got chewed out, so Paul waited, biting his tongue.

Paul thanked him, handed him a tip, which the man graciously accepted before climbing back onto the plane, taking off.

Paul let out a grateful sigh to be home. He took a deep breath of the air he’d missed, looked around the deserted airstrip, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and started jogging, knowing the taxi would show up eventually. Ignacio’s most important business strategy meant paying attention to the planes that landed so he could taxi people to their destinations.

Paul’s flight wasn’t expected, but he doubted too many people had missed the sound, or noticed the unscheduled aircraft landing and taking off again.

oOo

Paul handed Ignacio the fare and a generous tip, then made his way across the Plank, worried about the reception Rhees would give him after taking off the way he did. He stealthily ducked his head into the office, but didn’t see her, so he proceeded around the corner to look for her.

He made the full circle around the shop, asking for Rhees along the way, but no one had seen her for hours. When he reached the other side, he walked through the Tunnel, into the office again, just in case he’d somehow missed her.

Seeing the office put back together made him feel guilty, and even more apprehensive about finding her, and trying to make it right. It had to have been a chore to clean up his mess, but it looked better than he’d expected after only four days.

Claire sat working at her station, as usual, but he didn’t recognize either computer, and it surprised him that they’d come up with the means to replace the higher ticket items without him. He remembered the credit card he’d given Rhees, but he had trouble believing she’d actually used it.

Claire looked up, obviously saw him, but turned her attention back to her screen without an acknowledgement. He didn’t blame her.

“She around?” He winced, and waited for Claire to rip him a new one, but she still ignored him. He swore under his breath, at himself, not at Claire’s response to him. He deserved that. “Look, I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have taken off like that. I’m sorry, okay? I just need a chance to convince her. Do you have any suggestions for how I do that?”

Claire acted as if he wasn’t there. He sighed in frustration.

“Please, Claire. I’m an idiot when it comes to her. I’m going to need your help to make this right.”

Claire finally swiveled her chair around to face him.

“I’m done helping you drag that girl through the wringer. If she forgives you, that’s her choice, but you’re on your own.”

“Claire,” he begged, but gave up, understanding her point. “I need to change my clothes. Is she there, at my place?” He tried to sound hopeful. He watched Claire, waiting for any clue, but nothing. He walked across the street, slowly, his head down, still trying to formulate what he needed to say to Rhees, sure he’d find her at his apartment.

The lock hung on the door, fastened, which meant Rhees wasn’t there, and it confused him, worried him. He had no idea where she could be now that she’d given up her spot at Oceanside. He needed to find her, but he also needed to get out of his clothes. He’d been wearing the same jeans for days.

He opened the door and took a step inside before stopping. He took the same step back, looked down the row of apartments, counted the doors, sure he’d just opened the wrong one, as impossible as that had to be, that his key would fit one of the other padlocks.

He looked inside again, looked outside once more.

“What the—” Sure enough, he had the right apartment, the first one on the row. He ran his hand through his hair, looking for a possible motive.

“She’s nesting,” he muttered. His mind kept circling back to the one reason he couldn’t shake. “Oh God,” he moaned, and then he cursed, drawing out the word. “She’s pregnant.”

Instead of his large couch and coffee table, the bed sat before him, against the window, straight ahead, facing the door. The TV still hung in the corner, to his right, but had been remounted, higher up on the wall. It didn’t make sense. It would still be watchable from the bed, but the original mounting would have been better, so he was confused.

His toys that once adorned the now brightly painted walls had been replaced with the pictures and wall decorations from Rhees’ bedroom at Oceanside.

After a full minute of nervous ticking, punch-drunk by what he thought was the only conceivable reason for the way his apartment looked, he finally snorted a laugh and shook his head in wonder.

“I need to find her,” he said aloud after he caught his breath. He smiled, feeling more hopeful now—now that he had one more, very important reason he could use to convince her—she’d have to forgive him.

He raced up the ladder stairs to the loft, and it shocked him again to find his coffee table, and half of his couch, set close to the railing that was now shorter than before. The seating area overlooked the room below, and the line of vision met up perfectly with the higher mounted TV.

The closet had been rearranged too. His clothes were still there, but now hers were too. Again, his sporting equipment was missing, replaced by her things. He’d heard men complain about having to give up their toys to keep the wife happy, but surprisingly, he really didn’t mind.

He shook his head again at how well she’d thought it through, but also wondered how she’d pulled it all off in only four days. He agreed with the arrangement, the way Rhees had switched up the purpose of the two rooms. It was a clever idea, one he’d never thought of, but it actually made sense to make the biggest room in the apartment their bedroom, the room in which they’d be spending the most time.

He’d always hated how confined the loft made him feel at night, the reason he’d only ever slept there when he had someone with him, keeping his mind off the feeling that the walls were closing in on him.

He really liked having the bathroom on the same level as the bedroom too, no more running up and down the steep stairs in the dark. He’d worried about Rhees falling, one of the reasons he’d never wanted her staying there. Rhees had unwittingly resolved most of the objections he’d had about her moving in—except the biggest one—he’d have to call Fahtima and see about having her people deliver another mattress. The apartment looked so different, it gave him hope that he could get past his past, but he’d never be able to make love to Rhees in that bed. 

Thinking about it reminded him—he needed to find his wife. He hurried to change, tossing his dirty clothes over the back of the couch. He knew it would drive Rhees crazy to leave them there in a heap, but he’d pick them up later, after he made more important things right. He slipped on the first pair of swimming shorts he found, and started down the ladder.

He’d been so surprised at the changes Rhees had made, he hadn’t thought anything about the condition of the apartment, but now things started to stand out. The dishes had not only, not been washed, but lay scattered between the kitchen, and now bedroom, food still on them, showing him how little she’d eaten the last few days, and she’d never leave food around.
Bacteria farming
, she called it, and said she could never be a farmer.

The bedspread had been pulled up, but lay wrinkled and messy over the bed. She always made the bed. The clothes she’d worn the last few days, hung over the backs of the chairs at the breakfast bar, over the door to the bathroom, and the floor. The place was a disaster—not really, but for Rhees, the clean-freak—not a good sign.

He sat on the edge of the bed, still looking around, thinking she was even more upset than he’d imagined, and he’d imagined it would be pretty bad. He pinched the bridge of his nose and forced out a long, heavy breath.

“Aw, Baby,” he said, feeling his chest tightening. “I’m so sorry.”

He felt something under him, poking his hamstring, and he stood to see what he’d sat on. He found a pen and set it on the nightstand, where he noticed a cell phone he didn’t recognize. He chuckled.

She’d actually replaced her phone, something he hadn’t gotten around to doing yet, but it was just like her to leave it behind when he really needed to find her.

He noticed the pillows. Both had tear stains, and he ran his fingers over them, beating himself up. He picked one of them up, hoping to smell her scent, but noticed a notebook under where the pillow had been. He could see the writing on the page where it lay open, and after reading a few lines, realized what he was looking at. He’d found Rhees’ Whine List.

Paul once said that it was bad enough to fall in
love,

but to fall in love with your opposite only made it worse. He’s wrong.

Opposites attract,
so the saying goes. I believe there’s a reason for that.

The strengths of one, balance out the weaknesses of
the other, so that together, two imperfect people
become one perfect unit.

Paul stared at the words. A minute later, he ignored his conscience, telling him not to intrude on her most private thoughts, and flipped through the pages, skimming over what she’d written. He finally just turned to the beginning and started to read. Knowing he shouldn’t do something had never stopped him before.

The journal began when she’d dropped out of college to help take care of her mother. She’d just broken up with Sean when they found out her mother was ill. Rhees was only nineteen at the time, too young.

Rhees nursed her mother until her death, a year and a half later, and then, Rhees took on all the responsibilities of caring for the house, and her father. Through the pages of her mourning, she spoke of her desire to learn to dive, to do something courageous, but that she was too chicken to follow through with anything. Paul knew her well enough. She was just too selfless to leave her father. He didn’t need to be a full-time job and yet, Rhees’ empathetic heart would never allow her to leave him to mourn on his own. Paul read on. 

There was a long break in her writing when she’d gotten over the worst of her bereavement, but her entries started up again when they discovered her father’s illness, shortly after Rhees’ twenty-fourth birthday. He hadn’t been himself, but she’d discounted the symptoms because he’d never been the same after losing his wife. Of course, she blamed herself for not seeing the signs and getting him to a doctor sooner.

He died November second, only two and a half months later. Paul wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he read her thoughts, her fears, during the illness and his death. She shouldn’t have had to go through that, and he wished he could have been there for her. He said a quick prayer, thanking God for sending Mrs. Michaels to help.

Paul continued reading through her decision process about what to do with the rest of her life, her surprise when she found out her father had life insurance. She didn’t know until after he’d passed, but he’d purchased the policy during her mother’s illness, while he continued to tell her he didn’t believe in it.

Paul had been paying attention to the dates—that was just the way his brain worked—always analyzing, picking apart the details. He’d think about where he was at each point while Rhees was going through everything. He’d wince in shame at the timing of various events.

She became obsessed with learning how to dive, even though the thought of it scared her to death. He read through the process she used to figure out the best way to go about it, her decision to come to the island . . . Paul rubbed his face, overwhelmingly grateful she’d chosen his island over the others on her short list.

Her comments about other people were always kind and considerate, even toward the people that hadn’t treated her especially kind in return, and she always looked for an excusable reason for their actions.

He found himself laughing aloud at her thoughts of him during their first few weeks, how surprisingly kind they were, considering. She wrote of her concern for him, and her theories of why he acted like such a ‘butthead’, theories she used to excuse him for his behavior. 

“Aw Rhees, you’re just too damned sweet for your own good.” He wondered how he’d ever doubted her pure heart, and he made a promise to himself to make it up to her somehow. He read on.

There were fewer and fewer entries as they spent more and more time together. She’d apologize to herself for not writing more often, but she explained that she only wrote when she was troubled, and she claimed to have no troubles at the time. She expressed her gratitude for such a perfect life.

He grimaced when she mentioned how perfect she thought he was. He honestly didn’t know how to feel about that. He’d been so sure he’d ruined her life, but he could see in writing, her own point of view, how happy he’d made her. How could he begrudge that?

There were a few entries through their engagement, and then an understandable break after the wedding and hijacking, but her writing increased steadily after the dressing room incident and since being back on the island—home, she called it, and she drew a big heart around the word every time she’d written it. Some days, since being back, she’d written more than once in a day, indicating just how much he’d hurt her. He scrunched up his face in an attempt to stem back the tears threatening to fill his eyes.

Reading her innermost thoughts, she was honest about them in her journal. She’d never say any of those things to him—of course she wouldn’t—that might hurt his feelings, and she couldn’t bear that, no matter how much he deserved it. The few things she had said during their many fights hadn’t done any good—he’d refused to listen—to believe her.

He started reading the next entry, and the inclination to cry died, completely. His interest was suddenly piqued when he reached her description of the night he’d stayed on the mainland to get drunk, even if it did make him cringe to see her account, in detail, of how he’d made love to her on the deck.

“What a wonderful thing an orgasm is—my first one,”
she’d written.

“I want to spend the rest of my life in bed with Paul,

letting him make me feel like that again, and again, and again.

Watching him have one too, knowing I did that to him,

might just be even better than having my own.

I’d like to experiment with that thought.”

He still didn’t remember it. He shouldn’t have been drunk for that. He’d robbed himself of that honor and he’d never forgive himself.

He missed her more than ever. The day he left, he’d known the second his plane landed, that he should have taken her with him. He hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place, but he needed to. He’d been so terrified, he couldn’t think straight.