For Better, for Worse, Forever (6 page)

“It’s not so quiet,” he said. “Listen.”

She heard a faint clacking sound.

“That’s the seedpods of Tibet trees. They’re called ‘mother’s tongue.’ ”

She giggled. “Yes, I recognize the voice.”

Next he took her to an artesian village where wood-carvers were busy shaping everything from small animals to large pieces of furniture from pieces of mahogany. April pronounced it “major cool.”

Brandon bought her several hand-carved combs, which she immediately used to sweep up her hair and secure it off her neck. He also bought her a hand-carved necklace.

“You shouldn’t buy me so much.”

“You’re fun to buy for,” he said, remembering the many small gifts he’d bought for his mother in an effort to lift her spirits when dark depression overtook her. “Here, let me fasten it for you.”

He stepped behind her and slipped the necklace around her neck. He was struggling with the clasp when he noticed the line of blue dots at the base of her neck. “Who’s been drawing on you?”

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“There’s this pattern of little blue specks on your skin. Sort of like blue freckles.”

She jerked the combs from her hair and let it tumble down around her shoulders. She knew what he’d seen—the tiny tattoos the radiologist had made when she’d begun her radiation treatments the year before. But she couldn’t tell him; she couldn’t. “Birthmarks,” she fibbed. “Someone in the family was a blueblood.”

He eyed her, uncertain as to his response. The dots were too orderly, too mathematical and precise to be a random pattern from birth. Yet her message in her attempt to make a joke about them was plain enough: Don’t
ask. “Gee, I thought for a minute you’d been abducted by aliens.”

“I was, but I escaped,” she said, glad he didn’t press her for a serious answer.

“Now that I’ve seen your funny blue freckles, you may as well put your hair back up,” he told her. “It’s hot.”

She complied, lifting her hair and fastening it with the wooden combs, careful to face him as she worked. “Now where?” she asked, pretending the previous conversation had never happened.

“I know where there’s a waterfall, but we’ll have to hike to it. You want to go?”

She did.

She followed him along a partially hidden trail, the sound of falling water growing in intensity. “It’s not much farther,” Brandon said.

Just when she was certain they’d never get there, Brandon moved aside overhanging brush and she saw a clearing. Beyond it she saw the waterfall tumbling from a height of rocks and into a stone-littered pool where the water was so clear that she could see all the way to the bottom. Where the falls hit, water
boiled up white and frothy, like a milk shake. The air felt cool and moist with water droplets.

“Look,” April cried, pointing. “I see a rainbow.” Ribbons of color arched over the tumbling water.

“It’s the way light hits water droplets,” Brandon said.

“Is not. It’s fairy dust.”

He laughed. “Come on. Take off your shoes, we’ll sit on that rock.”

She followed him out onto a jutting rock shelf where water lapped against the cool stone. She dangled her feet and sucked in her breath. “It’s cold.”

“It’s right out of a spring. Nice, huh?”

“Very nice. Thanks for bringing me.”

“I discovered it one day when I was hiking. I’ve never brought anybody here to see it with me.”

April realized that in his way, he was telling her that she was special to him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about his veiled compliment, so she changed the subject. “You hike a lot, don’t you?”

“The whole island is only twenty-three miles long, and when you’ve lived here as
long as I have, you get to know it pretty well.”

“How long have you lived here? And why?”

“I’ve been here since I was seven. My father’s in importing and exporting. He travels a lot, and this is a good jumping-off place to South America and the rest of the Caribbean.”

“So you and your mom spent a lot of time by yourselves?”

At the mention of his mother, April saw him draw away. “Yeah. We did. But she never liked it as much as I did. She was Danish and because the Danish settled this place you’d have thought she’d like it, but she missed her family back in Europe. And Dad was gone so much.”

April was on the verge of asking him what had happened to his mother when a wild bird, brilliant with red and yellow plumage, swooped down from one of the trees with a raucous cry. One of its red tail feathers fluttered into the pool, where it floated and bobbed.

“Look! It’s beautiful.”

“Do you want it?”

“Can you reach it?” It seemed out of his reach and was headed toward the frothy swirl at the foot of the falls. Once there, it would be sucked under and lost.

Brandon grinned and stood. “If you want it, it’s yours.” He dove headfirst into the pool.

“You’ll freeze,” she shouted with a laugh.

He surfaced, swam confidently, and captured the feather. He ceremoniously placed it between his teeth and swam back to her, then pulled himself up onto the rock and, dripping wet, bowed with a flourish, presenting her with the feather prize.

She stood and clapped. “You look like a pirate.”

His grin dazzled her. “The feather’s magic. Make a wish and whatever you want is yours.”

She took it, her mind spinning. There was too much to wish for. “I wish … I could fly just like the bird that lost this feather.”

Mischief danced in his eyes. “You can. Have you ever been parasailing?”

“Are you sure I can do this?” April stood on the back of a speedboat, nibbling nervously
on her bottom lip and watching Brandon and two men from the Buccaneer. One was a driver for the boat, and the other was strapping her into a harness that was attached to a huge parachute. It lay in the sea like a flattened orange jellyfish, lines and ropes slack.

“It’s a no-brainer,” Brandon assured her. “You’re going to love this.” He’d picked her up the next afternoon and driven her to the resort, where he’d paid the two men on duty to take her parasailing.

“It’s not my brains I’m worried about,” she muttered. “It’s my body being smashed into the ocean and turning into shark bait.”

The parasailing instructor laughed heartily. “You’ll do just fine, little lady. I haven’t lost a client yet.” She listened as he instructed her, feeling both apprehensive and excited. “Just hang on and let the boat do the work. You’ll have about fifteen minutes in the air, and then I’ll reel you in like a big fish.” He gestured to a mammoth reel mounted on the back of the boat that held a rope from her harness. The parachute, in turn, was tied to the metal frame of the harness. “Ready?” he asked.

She lied, telling him, “Yes.” The driver
pushed the throttle forward. As the boat gathered speed, she saw the parachute begin to fill and rise and felt her body lift gently off the deck. A thrill shot through her as she rose higher and higher, like a human kite adrift on the wind. Below, the boat looked toylike, the vivid blue ocean bright as sapphire. The noise of the boat’s engine faded too, and the sound of the wind filling the nylon parachute reminded her of a sheet flapping in a stiff breeze.

She could see for miles and miles, islands surrounded by sugar-sand beaches, green rolling hills, and more ocean, vast and blue and stretching into infinity.
So this is how an eagle feels
, she thought.
This is what flying with wings would be like
. Joy bubbled up inside her, all fear and apprehension gone, blown away by the wind and melted by the warmth of the sun. The vastness of creation, the beauty of sea and sky overwhelmed her. She was flying, anchored to earth only by a long tether of nylon rope.

“Hello, Mark,” she said against the wind. “Are you watching?”

B
randon became April’s constant companion. Whenever he wasn’t attending classes or working, he either went to her house or took her to do something. His father was working almost round the clock, taking trips that stretched for days at a time, which Brandon decided was the best thing for both of them. It kept them from fighting. Besides, Brandon liked being with April. He liked her parents too. They catered to her, but she seemed unaffected by their lavish indulgences. The contrast between Brandon’s home life and hers was startling to him. Even when his mother had been alive his home life had never been like April’s. And even though his father made plenty of money, his home
had never had the warmth and togetherness of the one her parents rented on St. Croix.

He made good on his promise to take her sailing one Sunday afternoon toward the end of May. He borrowed a two-person sailboat from a friend and, hitching it to a trailer, drove with April to the far west end of the island, where powder-white beaches surrounded a boat launch. Once they were out on the water, he gave her the tiller.

“What am I supposed to do?” she squealed, gripping the lever that was attached to the rudder that steered the boat.

“Just keep her headed into the wind. If the sail starts to flap or go slack, move the tiller and chase the wind.”

Chase the wind
. April had never experienced such sheer exhilaration as she did in the sailboat. Even parasailing didn’t compare. She was intoxicated by the rise and fall of the bow as it sliced through the water, the sound of the sail filling with wind, and the salty spray of the water wetting her face. She wondered if Mark would have loved it too. He’d been fascinated with fast cars, but she’d never cared much for the smell of exhaust and the noise of roaring engines. The scent of the sea
and the sound of the breeze were much more to her liking.

She watched Brandon covertly. His sun-streaked brown hair was windblown and his skin glowed with a golden tan. He wore a bright red tank top and swimming trunks that showed off his muscular arms and legs. She realized with a start that she was attracted to him and that she cared for him. After Mark, she’d never thought she would care for another guy. And, she reminded herself, with her medical history, she shouldn’t be thinking about such things. It wasn’t fair to Brandon.

“Bring her about!” Brandon shouted, snapping April back to the present.

April turned the tiller until the sail went slack. The boat floundered.

“Watch out for the boom when it comes around.”

The bottom arm of the mainsail slowly swung around as the sail filled again, and as the sail changed directions, so did the boat.

“You’re very good at this,” Brandon said, moving to sit beside her near the tiller. “You sure you’ve never sailed before?”

She shook her head. “But you can bet I’ll
do it again. Tell me about your boat—the one in dry dock.”

“It’s a thirty-two-footer with beautiful teak decks. It can sleep four and has a galley—that’s a kitchen—and it was built in Denmark.”

“Who taught you how to sail?”

A faraway look crept into his blue eyes. “It was my mother’s boat, really. She’s the one who taught me how to sail.”

He told her nothing else, but she sensed his sadness at being reminded of his mother. She was sorry she’d brought it up. “Well, thanks for bringing me today and for taking the time to teach me. It’s wonderful fun.”

“Maybe your father could get you a small boat. There’s got to be water up where you live.”

Now it was April’s turn to back away emotionally. She knew that her time on St. Croix was limited. That sooner or later she’d have to go home. And at home, she’d have to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. “The water around Long Island can sometimes get cold,” she said. “It’s not the same as St. Croix.”

When Brandon dropped her off late in the
afternoon, he asked, “How about dressing up and going to dinner with me tonight? I’ll take you to the Buccaneer. They have a band that plays on Saturday nights. A rock group, not one of those snooze bands.”

She hadn’t dressed up in a long time and thought it might be fun. In the house, she found a note from her mother that she’d gone grocery shopping and that Kelli had called from Oregon. April looked at her watch, realized that it was not yet noon in Oregon, and hurried to the phone. The sound of her friend’s voice brought a lump to her throat.