12 Hours In Paradise (6 page)

“In fact, they might be quite unhappy. Maybe their drinking is a way of escaping from their troubles. The man you saw floating here the other day could be in the middle of financial collapse. He’s just been fired from his job after thirty years, and he brought his wife here for one last fling before he tells her the truth. The woman…”

“Arash?”

“Yes?”

“Why do guys do that?”

“
That
being?”

“I don’t know. Girls like to just
talk
sometime. If we say something, it doesn’t mean we’re necessarily unhappy about it. Sometimes it means we’re just making an observation. But then guys think they have to fix everything. My father’s like that too. You don’t have to
fix
everything. Not everything’s fixable, and not everything requires fixing. I was just saying, I walk by and think the pool looks like fun. I still love my life. I still feel happy to be in Hawaii.”

Arash sighed deeply and brought his lips together in a neutral kind of smile.

“I apologize for being a guy,” he said. “And I think there’s something to what you just said.” He sat on the lounge chair beside me. “I was willing to have every last person in the swimming pool suffer just so you would be happy by comparison.”

It was funny, really. Funny but true. Fortunately, we both saw the silly side of it, so we laughed.

“Dorothy?” Arash took my hand and held it gently between his. He tilted his head to one side and peered into my eyes like he was going to say something really significant.

“Yes?”

I loved physical contact with Arash. He didn’t abuse it the way some guys do. Guys who can’t keep their hands off you, pulling you closer than you’re ready to be. And he didn’t underuse it like the guys who seem scared to touch you on the first date. As if you were a sand sculpture that the slightest breeze would reduce to rubble. With Arash, touching was perfection.

Just enough to remind me of our connection.

Just enough to electrify my nerve endings.

And then when he let go, he left me wanting more.

“May I make a confession?”

“Of course.”

I knew silly was coming. I knew Arash well enough even by then. A declaration of love would have been nice, but that only happened in fairy tales and movies. We weren’t even on question number nine yet.

“I have an earworm.”

In a way, his humor had become my lifeline. My way to cope with the strong attachment to him I was already beginning to feel. My way to not be serious and think I loved him before I really loved him.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What’s an earworm?”

“A song that stays with you for many hours, days even—and drives you mad.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Madness can be delightful when it comes to music or beautiful girls who steal your heart. But in this case, it’s a bad thing. Yes. A definite bad thing.”

“What’s the difference? Why in this case is it bad and another case it’s delightful?”

“I’d have to say it’s the quality of the song. One generally doesn’t hear quality songs in an elevator.”

“I actually do know what an earworm is. I get those too sometimes. So annoying.”

“Can I tell you the name of the culprit song?”

“No way. Then it’ll get stuck in
my
head.”

“Please.” He drew out the word and lowered his thick lashes over puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll
sing
it for you. You said you liked my singing.”

“Arash. No.”

“Whistle it?”

“No.”

“Tap out the rhythm on your back?” He looked so cute. Like a little boy begging for a cookie.

“Okay, you can tap out the rhythm on my back, but I don’t understand why it’s so important for you to share this earworm song with me.”

“I was hoping it might crawl out of my ear and into yours.”

“That’s not nice, Arash.” I turned my back to him. He reclined on the lounge chair, and I settled between his legs. He began to tap lightly on my back, slowly at first, and then faster as the melody picked up. His fingertips became drumsticks. The palms of his hands became drum brushes swishing across my back.

“Mmmmm…feels good,” I murmured.

I let the weight of my head pull against the tight muscles on the back of my neck. My hair fell forward across my shoulders. The song went on, and I stopped trying to identify the melody and relaxed into the deep and restful massage.

And then he stopped.

“Well?”

“Huh? Why did you stop?”

Always wanting more.

“Were you able to identify the song?”

The magic was over. I straightened my back and swung my legs around so we were sitting side by side once again. I tossed my head, and my hair swung back over my shoulders.

“Where did you say you picked up this earworm?”

“In an elevator.”

“Figures. I hate elevators.”

“For their poor selection of music?”

“No. I’m claustrophobic.”

“Claustrophobic? We could do something with this. Make it part of our adventure.”

“I don’t see how,” I mumbled.

“It’s
our
adventure. We can make it be anything we want it to be.”

“I really don’t want claustrophobia to be part of our adventure.”

“Fair enough.” He looked down at the list of questions. “Question number nine. ‘For what in your life do you feel the most grateful?’”

“Let’s go sit by the side of the pool. Dangle our feet.”

“Will dangling your feet help you think better?”

“Maybe. Just like walking helps
you
think better.”

The truth was I just wanted to soak my blistered foot.

“In that case, by all means let’s dangle.”

Arash stood and held out his hand for me. He pulled me to my feet, and I held my sandals in the other hand.

“Arash, can we go buy some comfortable rubber flip-flops? My feet are actually killing me.”

I held my foot off the ground so he could see the bottom where the blister had blossomed into unreal proportions.

“So it’s not the dangling that necessarily helps you think. It’s the blister that prevents you from thinking.”

“Something like that,” I said miserably.

Arash swooped me into his arms as easily as if I was an eight-ounce kitten instead of a-hundred-and twenty-something-pound girl.

“You poor thing.” Our faces were so close, we could have kissed. Just another two inches and it would have been unavoidable. I wanted him to. I wanted it badly.

“Let’s dangle for a minute while we answer question number nine, and then I’ll carry you to the ABC Store to buy some new shoes.”

“And maybe a Band-Aid.”

“Definitely a Band-Aid.”

“Just rubber flip-flops.”

He set me down by the side of the pool as carefully as if he was setting a crystal goblet on a glass shelf. Unfortunately for me, I wound up in a puddle of water, which wicked into my dress, and my panties. My butt was soaked. I didn’t mention it, though. Why kill the mood? The dress was disposable and the night was warm.

“What am I the most grateful for?” I turned my gaze skyward and churned the pool water with my feet. “My family.”

“Even Chester?”

“Even Chester. Too easy?”

“Too easy. That’s the answer everyone expects.”

“Well, I’m sorry but it’s true. I can’t help the way I feel.” I knew it was an easy answer, but I was slightly wounded that Arash saw it that way too. “So, what about you?” I sulked.

“Free will. I’m most grateful for free will.”

“Free Willy?” I don’t know why but that tumbled out before I had a chance to stop it. Maybe I was trying to diminish his answer since he thought mine was too easy. Or maybe I was more like my brother than I cared to admit. Did I have more in common with a ten-year-old boy who ate spaghetti out of a can and still had to be tucked into bed than I did with this sophisticated man of the world?

Probably.

But he kindly pretended not to hear. Or maybe he really didn’t.

“There are a lot of places in the world where people don’t have free will, so I’m grateful for mine. Do you know what I mean?”

He looked over at me in a manner so trusting, I scrambled to react in a way that wouldn’t disappoint.

“Yeah. I know what you mean. Your mom?”

“She knows what it’s like for people to not have free will. I suppose she’s given me that gift. The gift to appreciate it and place it above all else. No matter what happens in my life, it will be because of decisions I made. Not decisions that are made for me.”

I believed him. I was happy for him. Proud. I resolved to make that philosophy my own.

“And now let’s get you a pair of new shoes.”

“Flip-flops,” I corrected him. I pulled my foot out of the water to check on the blister. I pressed down in the middle, but there wasn’t yet enough fluid for popping purposes.

“It’s difficult to reconcile your inner beauty with that horrible growth on your foot,” Arash said.

“It’s just a blister.”

He stood and offered his hand to help me up. “Nevertheless.”

“Are you saying your feelings for me have changed because of my ugly blister?”

He winced. “I may not have chosen those exact words, but since you’ve brought it up…”

I pinched his arm, which wasn’t easy since there was basically zero fat. He didn’t flinch, or maybe didn’t even feel it.

“Hop up,” he said, turning his back to me.

“On your back?”

“How else are we going to transport you?”

“That’s very…unladylike. I’m wearing a dress.”

“Are we going to let social conventions stand between you and your health?”

“I can walk,” I said. And I could, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Then after a few steps, I couldn’t resist. “Is it too late to take you up on your offer?”

He stopped walking and turned his back to me. I hopped on, scrunching my dress down between my legs. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned over his shoulder. He coughed.

“If you could just maybe…” he spoke slowly in an exaggerated, phony, high-pitched wheeze, “…allow for an additional one or two centimeters unconstricted space in my trachea, I could direct more oxygen to the places I need it most. Like my brain and my heart.”

I loosened my grip around his neck. “A little overdramatic, aren’t you? Am I too heavy?”

“No, you’re light as a…”

“A what?”

People were staring at us. We must have been quite the sight with our matching outfits.

“The feather.”

“
The
feather? Don’t you mean
a
feather?”

“The feather of the roc.” He began to fake pant as though he was out of breath.

“Rocks don’t have feathers.”

“Not a stone rock. The bird roc. Capable of plucking an elephant from the ground as easily as you would pick up a jelly bean.”

“And I’m as light as its feather? Thanks a lot.” I messed up his hair.

“Now you’ve done it,” he said. “My glasses are askew. Can’t…see…” He wobbled, narrowly missing a garbage can.

“
Opala
!” I reached around and straightened his glasses. “Buried treasure!”

“Must get to help. Must save you.”

I leaned forward and smelled his hair. Some people are visual. Some people are auditory. I’m olfactory, or whatever the term is that describes people for whom smell is the most important sense. He smelled beachy with the faint spice of masculine perspiration. His shoulders were strong and hard underneath my hands. I had an overwhelming urge to bury my face in his spongey, dark hair, allowing my lips to trail down the back of his neck, where I would kiss goose bumps into his flesh.

I didn’t.

But my unsatisfied lust required an outlet, so I unconsciously gripped tighter around his neck.

“Oxygen,” he croaked, and I loosened my grip again. The ABC Store was just ahead of us, so he started to jog. I curled my feet around his waist to avoid hitting sidewalk pedestrians, who were growing fewer in number as the night wore on.

“Excuse us. Coming through,” he said to no one in particular during the last few yards leading up to the entrance to the store. I reluctantly slid off his back, allowing my hands to trail behind me. My dress was a crumpled mess in the front. His shirt was a crumpled mess in the back. We were the crumpled twins.

By the time we got out of the store, we were armed with Band-Aids, moleskin, and a new pair of rubber flip-flops. My old sandals went in the bag with all our other stuff that Arash was carrying. We found a bench, where I sat while he wrapped my foot tenderly with the greatest care. I pulled the newspaper article from the pocket of his shirt and ran my finger down the list of questions.