Northern Moonlight (37 page)

“Hello, Sir.  My name is Giovanni Salvatore.  I’m a fireman here in Burlington.” Upon hearing this, the ranger respectfully tipped his hat.  Gio began to state his business in the park.  “Sir, I know this is not regular practice, but I would like to request permission to plant three trees in the forest.  Do you have the authority to approve that?”

The park ranger caressed his silver beard thoughtfully.  “Mr. Salvatore, I’ve been managing this park for more years than you’ve been alive, and I do have the authority to grant such a request.  But you know planting season is over.  And the groups of tree-planting volunteers sign up months in advance with the county.”

“Yes sir, I do understand the procedure.” Gio gestured toward the chair beside the ranger’s desk.  “May I have a seat?”

“You may, and call me William.”

“Thank you, William.  I’ve come here today to ask you to grant me this permission because I would like to establish a memorial for three people who perished in a fire long ago.” Gio tried to speak calmly and avoid exposing how wrenchingly emotional this moment was for him.  “My parents and brother were murdered by arson back in 1966. Please, William, would you bend your policy just this once and permit me to plant some trees?  It’s all I can do to honor my family.”

William spoke with benevolent authority, “Yes, I will grant you permission.”

William rose to his feet and warmly shook Gio’s hand.  Practically speechless, Gio looked into the man’s weather-worn face and saw there a wisdom that he was not usually privy to.  The man had a paternal aura about him that moved Gio and made him
ponder what his relationship with his own father could have grown into had they been given more time.

“William, you are a kind man.  I don’t have the words to tell you how grateful I am.”

The park ranger’s eyes twinkled with pleasure at Gio’s words, and he led him outside to locate a fertile spot where the trees could be planted.  The men walked deeper into the woods until William finally found a spot suitable for the trees. 

“Campers don’t usually come this far in.  I think this is a nice, quiet place.”  William stomped his foot on the ground to test it.  “It’s plenty moist for planting, and I think these trees will manage just fine even though we’re in the midst of summer.”  He dug into his pocket and retrieved a bright orange colored bar.  “I’ll leave this here as a marker, so you know exactly where to plant.”

Gio surveyed the land that William had chosen, pleased with the private location and the pliable condition of the soil.  “Thank you, William.  I’ll go back to my truck now and get the trees and my tools.” Gio shook the man’s hand warmly as he turned to hike back to his truck.

“Aren’t the trees a little much for you to carry on your own?  You look like a strong fellow, but we’re talking about three trees here!” William called after him.

“I don’t have actual trees, but seedlings.  They’re Douglas firs.  Do you think they’ll thrive here?”

“Yes, absolutely.  This is just the kind of environment a Douglas fir needs, with plenty of moisture and not an excessive amount of wind.  You just give a holler if you need my assistance.  I’ll be back in the office.  Nice meeting you, Fireman.” 

“Very nice meeting you, Ranger.”

The men went their separate ways, as Gio followed the trail back to the gravel parking lot at the forest’s edge.  He was slightly winded after unloading the truck of a shovel, hoe, and the three seedlings.  Carrying his tools in either hand and slinging the burlap sack of seedlings over his shoulder, he started on the trek back to where William had hand-picked the memorial site.  Spotting the orange marker in the distance, Gio began to walk more quickly, eager to shovel into the earth and prepare a place for his trees. 

As Gio speared the earth with his shovel and broke ground, he thought of his parents and brother.   Every inch of soil that he overturned represented the opportunity for growth.  When the soil was ready, Gio reached into his pocket for a measuring tape
and meticulously set the three locations apart so the Douglas firs would reach their optimal growth and not overlap.

After he had completed the memorial plantings, Gio made one final pit stop.  The post office was his last order of business before he could fly into the arms of Sabrina.  As Gio stood by the drop box, he made sure the envelope was sealed tightly and then deposited the letter he had written to Bert Shanty.  Recalling the promise he and Sabrina had made to keep the old man informed, Gio had battled his insomnia of late by writing the man a detailed letter that he knew would be appreciated.  Content that he had done all he needed to before departing, Gio drove back to his loft to await the taxi that would take him to the airport.

Sabrina relaxed on her plush beach towel.  It was a classic day for sunbathing with the afternoon rays beamed bright and scorching on her bronzed skin.  She turned over onto her stomach, unwittingly giving beachcombers an optimal view of her body, skimmed in a string bikini printed with tropical flowers.  Sabrina reached out from her towel and threaded the hot sand between her fingers, comforted by the silky feel of it. 

Overhead, a small plane circled around in the pristine sky, making a startling amount of noise.  Still shaken from the turbulent flight to Martinique, Sabrina removed her sunglasses, propped herself up on her elbows and looked to the heavens.  The plane was writing a message in the sky, and Sabrina squinted in the sunlight to discern what the words were.  In billowing white letters resembling clouds, the plane had written, “Will you marry me, Jacqueline?” Sabrina half-smiled, wondering who Jacqueline was and hoping that she appreciated such a spectacular marriage proposal.  Inevitably, her thoughts meandered to Gio and the romantic surprises he had orchestrated early in their courtship.

With a trembling sigh, Sabrina put her sunglasses back on and lay her cheek against the towel.  Against her better judgment, Sabrina had begun checking off days on her calendar until she would be going home.  As beautiful a place as Martinique was, without her loved ones it felt like a gilded cage.  Still, she retained her professional decorum, having collaborated with Tom just that morning on assembling action shots of scuba divers and snorkelers for his article about water sports in the Caribbean.  She had also photographed and sampled the unofficial national drink called
petit punch
, a tangy concoction of brown sugar crystals, rum, and lime.  It was traditionally served before lunch and gulped in one shot.  For the section on Creole cuisine, Tom and Sabrina had also researched the island’s golden rum as well as liqueur made from ginger and basil.

Working in tandem with Sabrina had obviously piqued Tom’s attraction to her, but her heart was still in Gio’s possession even though he was thousands of miles away.  The distance between them seemed purely illusory, as Sabrina lay in bed each night, swearing that she could smell his familiar masculine scent or hear the deep intonations of his voice.  It was as though he were with her in waking hours and unconscious slumber. She simply could not escape the force of his impact on her.  A few times, she had debated using the hotel’s telephone to reach him, but had firmly decided against it.  She hoped that Cara and her parents had received her postcards by now, as she had also decided against calling them.  She would be sorry if they were worried, but the separation from them had given her even more clarity about her feelings without the impediment of unsolicited opinions. 

The drone of Tom’s voice cut into Sabrina’s seaside reverie.  “Hi there, beautiful.  Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for a response, Tom set his towel down along side hers and lifted his tank top off, leaving him in a baggy pair of swimming trunks.  His torso was smooth and hairless with the outline of a ribcage disturbingly prominent.  Sabrina looked at him from behind her sunglasses, hoping he would perceive her desire to be quiet and alone. 

He was either completely oblivious or completely thick-skulled, as he said, “It’s nice to see you without a camera for once.  A beautiful woman like you should be on the other side of the lens…your…er…boyfriend must love taking pictures of you.”

Sabrina ignored the suggestive undertone of his words and evaded the question.  “It’s nice to have some time to myself.  I’ve been working since I arrived, so lounging on the beach feels like paradise.”

Tom nodded in agreement.  “Tell me about it.  I’ve got writer’s cramp from all the notes I’ve been taking.  It’s hard to keep up with you.  You certainly have a very ambitious vision for this issue of the magazine.  I feel like I’ve visited every nook and cranny of this island.”

“Yes, that is the point, Tom.” Sabrina said impatiently. “Darlene didn’t send me here to sip umbrella drinks and build sandcastles.  She gave me a whole summer to illustrate the majesty of this island.  I have to produce as many quality photos as possible, or I’ll go back to the office looking like a failure.” Sabrina tried not to notice the insolent downward path Tom’s eyes were taking.

“I suppose you’re right.” Tom looked up at the sky where the billowing marriage proposal had faded into the horizon.  “Looks like we’ve already seen the best of the sun today. It won’t be too long until twilight time.   Do you want to get a bite to eat for
dinner?  We could leave the resort grounds and take a ferry into town.  I think the workaholic could use a little play.” Brazenly, he put a hand on her lower back just centimeters away from the fabric of her bikini bottom.

Truly, what was wrong with this man?  Sabrina could not comprehend why he didn’t accept the tactful hints she had been tossing his way ever since his terrifying accosting of her on the deserted beach.  Now he had the nerve to touch her even after she had made it clear that she was in a relationship?  If they were back at the office in Burlington, she would have a case against him for harassment.  Thankfully, he was just a freelancer and she would likely not encounter him on assignment again, as the magazine was a revolving door for writers.  Sabrina decided that this time she needed to be firm in her rejection.

“Tom, I know we’re here as co-workers for the duration of this trip, but I am not much in the mood for company. Thank you for your dinner invitation, but I’ll have to decline.  If you don’t mind, I’m going to head back to my bungalow for a little siesta.  All this sunlight has made me drowsy.”

Tom’s usually affable features darkened with the import of her rejection. He gave her a curt, artificial smile before snatching his towel off the sand and walking away without another word.  His sudden departure made Sabrina feel as though she had spoken too harshly and somehow lost her tact, but she could not worry about a man’s ego right now.  Tom was all but a stranger, and she did not feel she owed him any further explanation.  Snatching up her own towel and packing her beach bag, Sabrina walked bare foot on the sand towards the blissfully private bungalow where respite awaited. 

Inside the bungalow, Sabrina showered vigorously, washing away the clumps of sand that had migrated to her bathing suit.  She scrubbed the brine off of her skin, paying deliberate attention to her lower back, feeling an unpleasant chill run through her at the remembrance of Tom’s hand there.  As brief as the touch had been, the feel of another man’s hands left her feeling slightly violated.  Not bothering to style her hair, Sabrina let it air dry naturally into full, flowing waves.  Even though the afternoon on the beach had stimulated her appetite, Sabrina did not want to leave the bungalow’s reliable shelter until morning.  After that disconcerting exchange on the beach, she did not want to risk running into Tom and being forced to converse. 

She slipped into one of her teddies and settled with a book into the round bed.  It was one of the paperback novels she had bought at the airport in France.  Sabrina sighed, thinking how her life had been so hectic and tumultuous that she had no time to pursue leisure reading.  Before she could finish one chapter, sleep prevailed and left her with the book laid open on her chest and the bedside lamp still illuminated.