For Better, for Worse, Forever (3 page)

Brandon’s visit had brought her own loneliness into sharp focus. Only a few months before, she’d been planning her wedding and
looking forward to spending the rest of her life with Mark. She hugged the book to her chest, suddenly missing Mark with an intense yearning. Tears gathered in her eyes. She fought against them, but in the end, they won the battle.
Mark! Mark!
She missed him so much.

April went to bed early and pretended to be sleeping when her parents returned. She kept her eyes closed when her mother peeked inside her room, knowing that she was too old to be tucked in, and her mother too involved with her only daughter not to do so.

The next morning, she went out to breakfast, sat down at the table awash in warm tropical sunlight, and said, “Dad, you told me you’d rent me a car so that I could drive around the island when I felt like it. Is your offer still open?”

Her parents exchanged glances. “Of course. But why not let your mother and me drive you around? We wouldn’t mind, and besides, driving these roads can be confusing. In the Virgin Islands they drive on the left-hand side of the road.”

“I’d rather be by myself,” April said. “I’d like to explore, and don’t worry, I can drive
on the left-hand side just as easily as I can on the right.”

“But—” her mother started.

“It’s all right, Janice.” Hugh Lancaster interrupted his wife’s protest. “If that’s what April wants, then that’s what she’ll have. What would you like to rent?”

“How about a Jeep?”

He nodded. “A Jeep it will be.”

A
pril downshifted and the Jeep wound its way along the coastal highway. Her father had taken her the very next morning into the city of Christiansted, where she’d chosen a black Jeep with a canvas top and zippered sides, all of which she’d removed before driving away. Armed with maps and cautions from her parents, she’d headed east, repeating to herself her mother’s anxious warning, “Remember, stay left. Stay left.”

Wind whipped through her hair as she bounced along the curving highway, rounding bends in the road to glimpse the jewel-blue Caribbean, an occasional rocky cliff, and lush green distant hills. The sun beat down on her arms and shoulders, and the intoxicating
smell of salt air mingled with the sweet aroma of flowers. The roads were few on the island and now, in the height of tourist season, not heavy with traffic. She gripped the wheel and stepped on the accelerator as she remembered when Dr. Sorenson had said that despite weeks of radiation treatments, the tumor entrenched in her cerebellum and brain stem had not responded by shrinking as hoped. He was so, so sorry. There was little else medical science could do for her.

Understanding her anguish at the time, Mark had taken her out to a deserted airstrip and told her to drive as fast and as hard as she wanted. And she had forced his fine old car to its optimum speed and experienced the dangerous but exhilarating balance between control and oblivion. It had been a gift that only Mark could have given her, because he was the only one who understood what it was like to live one’s life with the ever-present specter of death.

Mark would have loved St. Croix. He would have sped along the back roads and climbed trails where only four-wheel-drive vehicles ventured. They would have had such
a good time together. A mist of tears clouded her eyes and she slowed down the Jeep.

She glanced to one side and saw a large sign: T
HE
B
UCCANEER
. On impulse, she spun the wheel of the car and drove through the gateway and down a sloping road across acres of rolling green land. The edges of a golf course lay on her right, and far back, on a bluff overlooking the sea, stood a sprawling clubhouse and hotel. She parked in the lot and walked out on a terrace set with tables and chairs. A hostess asked, “Do you have a lunch reservation?”

April cleared her throat and smiled nervously. She had no business being there. “Actually, I was looking for your pro shop.”

The hostess directed her there, and April hurried out onto the splendid grounds of the luxury resort, down a tiled path, to the shop. Once inside, she asked for Brandon, then busied herself among the clutter of golf paraphernalia. She chided herself, saying that what she was doing was stupid. She had no real reason to see Brandon. She hoped he wasn’t there, that this was a Saturday he
didn’t work. The door opened and she turned to face him across a rack of golf shirts. His face, damp with sweat, broke into a large grin. “I don’t believe it! You came to see me!”

She had to laugh at his genuine astonishment. “I was just driving by and saw the sign. I didn’t even know if you’d be here.”

“I’ve been here since six
A.M
. We open early because golfers like to start before it gets hot. I’m about to take a lunch break. Want to eat with me?”

She wasn’t hungry, but since she’d come this far and knew she couldn’t leave easily, she answered, “Maybe a salad.”

He took her back to the terrace restaurant, ordered and had the food packed in Styrofoam containers, then led her down a winding walkway to a sandy beach area. Hotel guests were sunning themselves and playing in the calm waters. He pulled a small table and two chairs around an alcove of rocks to an isolated strip of sand no larger than a good-sized back porch. “Since the tide’s out, we can sit here,” he said, planting the chair firmly in the wet sand. “It’s private.”

She removed her sandals, allowing warm
water to lap over her feet. He sat across from her so that he was framed in blue sky and bright turquoise ocean. His tanned face glowed and his hair looked golden, streaked by the sun. “I’m starving,” he said, flipping open his container and lifting out a mammoth hamburger.

Watching Brandon wolf down his meal reminded her of all the times she’d eaten with Mark. But, of course, Mark had had to take pills before every meal because of his CF. She thought of “their” special restaurant and of “their” table tucked in the corner.

“What’s funny?” he asked. “You were smiling just then. Have I got mustard smeared on my face?”

Self-conscious, she looked down at her salad. “I was just remembering something, that’s all. Nothing important.”

“I’ll be honest,” he said between bites. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Me neither.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind. Why
did
you change your mind?”

“I didn’t know I needed a reason.”

“My charming personality?” he offered with an infectious grin.

“Certainly that was part of it.” She returned his smile. A gull swooped low over the water behind him. “I was knocking around the island.”

“And you thought, ‘Wonder what old Brandon’s up to? Maybe I should go see the geek.’ ” His joking tone reminded her of Mark’s.

“Actually, I was … lonely.” She kept her gaze on the gull, unable to meet Brandon’s. She hadn’t meant to tell him that.

He leaned back in his chair and searched her face thoughtfully. “I figured something was up with you. I’ve seen you twice and you looked sad both times.” She didn’t respond, so he continued. “I’ve been lonely myself, so I know how it feels.”

“Everybody’s been lonely.”

“But you don’t have to be,” he said. “April, St. Croix is a small place. Everybody knows everybody else, especially those of us who grew up here. Tourists come through all the time, and sometimes the locals hit it off with some of them. We know that the person is going to leave. That’s a given. But we still have a good time together while
we can, as long as the person is on the island …”

She understood what he was trying to tell her—that he would take her under his wing with no strings attached. “Like a babysitter?”

“You’re no baby,” he declared, appraising her in a way that made her pulse flutter. “No. As a friend. This wouldn’t be only for you. You see, I could use a friend myself.”

“There are plenty of tourists who would jump at the chance to be your friend, Brandon.”

“But I don’t want just anybody. I’d like it to be you.”

The way he kept looking at her made her feel even more self-conscious. An inner voice asked,
“What are you doing?”
Suddenly she saw that she was acting flirty, and she was instantly ashamed. She struggled to stand, but the wet sand had sucked around the legs of the chair so that she couldn’t move it. “It’s really getting late. I’ve got to go and you’ve got work.”

“Don’t go yet.” Instantly Brandon was beside her, taking her arm so that she wouldn’t
fall backward. His touch felt warm, and she pulled away as if it had burned her.

“I have to,” she insisted.

“I’d like to see you again. Can I call you? Make a date? I have classes until two, but I’m free evenings. I could show you around St. Croix. Maybe take you over to St. Thomas or St. John.”

“I—I don’t think so.” Despite being in a wide-open space, April felt hemmed in and claustrophobic. “I really have to go now.” She grabbed her sandals and backed away. “Thanks.”

“Call me here if you change your mind,” he said to her as she ducked around the edge of the rocks and fled up the beach toward the parking lot where her Jeep was parked. With her heart hammering, April turned on the engine and shot up the road to the highway, where she forgot the rule about staying in the left-hand lane and almost had a head-on collision.

Jerking the car back into its proper lane, April sped toward the hills and the safety of the villa. She never should have stopped to see Brandon. Not because she wasn’t attracted to him, but because she was. And
because she kept thinking about another guy who’d wanted to date her but whom she’d rejected at first—Mark. Until he’d won her over with his winsome smiles and caring love and swept her heart away. But now Mark was gone and she couldn’t bring him back, and she couldn’t start with someone else.

She floored the accelerator and raced toward home, memories chasing her like the wind.

“Did you have a good time exploring?”

Her mother’s question cut through April’s semiconscious state. She’d hurried home, put on her bathing suit, and gone down to the private beach for a swim. The surf felt warm as bathwater, the white sand bottom soft as velvet. She’d swum and floated to exhaustion, and had finally gone to the beach chair, where she’d slathered herself with sun cream, stretched out, and dozed, hoping to shut off her thoughts. Her mother had come down, bringing a pitcher of cool lemonade. “It was all right,” April answered.

Her mother dragged another chair closer. “Tell me about it.”

“Nothing to tell. I drove around, that’s all.”

She heard her mother sigh. “April, I can’t stand this noncommunication between us. I know you’re hurting, but we used to talk all the time. Now you hardly speak to me. Can’t you tell how this is upsetting me? Don’t you even care?”

Guilt mixed with irritation, yet April knew her mother was right. Her parents had done plenty for her and she’d shut them out. Just months before, she and her mother had been knee-deep in wedding plans; they’d discussed everything. April struggled to sit upright. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just
talk
to me. I love you. I want to help.”

“Nothing can help. I can’t get on top of this, Mom. I start to feel better and then,
pow
, it hits me like a wall. I miss Mark so much.” She took a deep breath. “And every time some guy so much as looks at me, I want to run in the other direction.”

Her mother poured April a glass of lemonade, and gulls swooped over the sea, flinging their lonely cries against the sunset-colored sky. “St. Croix is a paradise. It’s romantic and
makes you want to be with somebody you care about. I understand that.”

“But how can I? I feel so guilty to even be thinking about such things.”

“I know,” her mother said. “I can see it on your face. You feel guilty because you’re alive and Mark isn’t. And because you want to go on living, as you should.”