Slippery Slopes (19 page)

Melissa nods. “Sure. Sounds good.” She heads off to watch luggage circle round and round on the conveyor belt, hoping to see her red duffel bag.
Black, green, plaid, floral, ugly yellow.
She says the colors in her head as the various suitcases spin past.
Don’t even tell me they lost it.
All around her, fellow passengers claim their luggage and head off to start their vacations.
But what about me?
Melissa doesn’t give in to the small panic. Instead, she waits for her bag.

After all the luggage has been picked up and her bag is nowhere to be found, Melissa plunges into the dwindling crowd of people to find Dove.

“Take me away from this place,” Melissa orders, swinging her arms around at the small airport. “I’m ready to collapse on the beach. Even if I have no clothing, no bathing suit, and no sandals to my name.”

The small features on Dove’s face look sullen. “I can’t find him.”

Here I am worrying about my bag, and she can’t find her boy.
“Okay … maybe he’s late?”

“Maybe.” Dove eyes the faces again, hoping for a glimpse of the sign with her name on it, or just William, barefoot and tan, smiling at her short hair. Instinctively, she touches the ends of her pixie cut, fanning the silvery-blond bangs over her forehead. “Maybe he’s late. Or maybe …” She hates to say it but does. “Or maybe he just forgot.”

“Oh, Dove.” Melissa gives one more glance over her shoulder at the luggage rack but doesn’t see her red duffel. Normally, she would wait and wait and then approach the baggage claim help center, but right now she knows what Dove needs. “You know what? Let’s just take off.” She raises her dark eyebrows. “We’ll grab a cab, head to the nearest beach and kick back with something fruity as we watch the waves.” Dove doesn’t look so sure. “After all, it is New Year’s Day and people are sleeping off their revelry, right? So we’ll relax, too.”

“And reality?” Dove’s voice and face don’t seem entirely convinced.

“Meaning?” Melissa asks, edging Dove and her stuff out the sliding glass doors to the taxi stand.

“What about William? And what about meeting up again with Harley, our old bunkmate? And what about money or a job or a place to stay?”

“All very good points.” Melissa nods as though she’s in a business meeting. “But ones that will have to wait until we have sand in our toes and sun on our cheeks.” Dove crosses her arms, doubtful. Melissa does her best to reassure. “Am I or am I not the queen of planning and pressure? Did I or did I not single-handedly pull off a fancy ball for hundreds of people while nursing broken ribs and a very bruised ego?

Dove gives in. As they step into the heat of the afternoon, the warm air envelops them, sending their shoulders down. Dove peels off her long-sleeved shirt and adjusts her tank top straps. “It does feel good to be something other than cold.”

“Oh, you’re something other than cold all right,” says a voice from behind her.

Dove knows this voice. It could belong to only one person. The one guy she absolutely doesn’t want to see right now, having been stood up by William.

Melissa chimes in, “Oh, you mean hot—something other than cool. I get it.”

Dove blushes and swats a hand at Melissa’s side. She turns so that she is in full view of him. Him. “Max. What the hell are you doing here?” Dove looks at his rumpled shirt, his similarly disheveled khakis, his too-pale feet sticking out of his flip-flops.

Max, immune to Dove’s seeming lack of pleasure at seeing him, pats her on the back. “You didn’t think I’d miss a family holiday, did you?”

Dove’s face remains stony.
Of course. His parents are here. His siblings are here. Here being taken care of by Harley, the supposed hostess.
“I guess I thought you’d stay snowbound. Or, at the very least, go back to Oxford.”

“Oh, you know school doesn’t start for ages,” Max explains, pushing a hand through his cocoa-colored hair. “Plenty of time for a break at the Sugar Hut.”

“The what?” Melissa interjects.

“The Sugar Hut,” Max says, hailing a cab. “Family accommodations.” He slings his bags into the trunk, opens the door to climb in, staring at Dove. “Speaking of accommodations, where are you two headed?”

Melissa opens her mouth to say they have no idea, but Dove grabs her wrist and covers up. “Don’t you worry about that, Max. You just take care of yourself.”

Max slides into the cab and sticks his head out the window. “Well,” he sighs, searching Dove’s face for any signs of like, love, or even lust, “if you need anything, just come to the hut.”

The taxi peels off, leaving Dove and Melissa in a small cloud of sand and grit.

“The hut,” Melissa says, committing the name to memory. “Always good to have a fallback plan.”

“I can’t believe he’s here,” Dove says. Inside, her pulse races from being too close to Max again, too close to her years of liking him, too close to how she’d nearly fallen for him instead of coming here for William.
Maybe I picked the wrong guy,
Dove thinks, looking one last time for William.

“Should we go?” Melissa flags down a cab. The heat prickles up her arm and she wishes she had something—anything—to change into. “I’m going to need a trip into town. Anywhere I can grab a few items to wear.”

Dove nods. “Right. Of course.”
My boy troubles can wait for a while.
Gathering up her strength and pocketing her disappointment over William’s no-show and Max’s intensity, Dove puts on a brave face. “I say we head right over to the Pulse, this tiny little boutique that has—”

“Sounds expensive,” Melissa says, money worries creeping back in.

Remembering her own financial woes, Dove bites her top lip in the center. It wouldn’t be fun to browse and pine for things she could never have, but it might be nice to at least see what’s out there.
Maybe Melissa’s right and we should just figure out where to go, where to sleep, and how to find William.
Momentarily Dove ponders his whereabouts.
On the beach? Working? Rubbing lotion onto another girl’s bare back?
Her stomach turns just picturing it.

“I’d love a shopping spree—even a mini one, trust me,” Melissa says, slipping her pile of dark hair back into a simple elastic band.

“Well, this island isn’t really the place for a massive shopping binge, but you can stumble onto some cool finds.”

“Sounds fun, but …” The heat pads the air, making beads of sweat appear on her upper lip. She wipes them away and adds, “But it’s not worth blowing all of the tips I made at Les Trois. I mean, think back to all that hard work. You don’t want to waste it on a sarong or something, do you?”

“No, I guess not.” Dove’s excitement begins to flag. What, after all, does she have going for her? No long-term boyfriend waiting for her with a rose or other clichéd token of his affections, no swanky hotel to go to, no promising party or plan for the night or days to follow, and not enough money to fund any of the above. “Where is my fairy godmother? If only there was a way to buy stuff without having to pay …”

“Well, there isn’t,” Melissa says. “Let’s get practical and hop on a tram.” The pastel-colored trams have a certain appeal to Melissa—the open windows, the jostling crowd headed into town, being on the move rather than stuck at the airport. “Besides, it’s bound to be cheaper than a taxi.” She wipes her forehead. “I’m going to need a cold drink before I start pounding the pavement for a new job. No shopping for us just yet …”

As soon as the words are out, settling into the tropical air, Dove grins. “Not true …”

Melissa looks skeptical. “How do you figure?” She pats her pocket to remind her friend of its emptiness.

Dove raises her eyebrows, looking like an excited doll. “What if … we charged it?” She pauses, thinking. “To my parents, who I believe still have several accounts around the island. One of which is bound to be at the Pulse …”

Melissa opens her mouth in surprise. “Dove, you wouldn’t dare! I mean, didn’t they specifically tell you that you’re cut off from—”

Dove flags a taxi, newly confident in her decision. She opens the door, chucks her bags into the open trunk, and climbs in. She pats the seat next to her so Melissa will join her, and smiles. “True.
They
cut me off financially. But then again,
they
aren’t
here.
They’re stuck back in the frigid countryside of England. I haven’t asked them for a penny since the summer. Nearly six months of self-sufficiency. They won’t find out for ages, by which point I’ll be able to pay them back with the loads of cash I make at our new fabulous jobs we’ve yet to find.” Melissa hesitates before climbing in next to Dove, wishing her luggage had made the trip to Nevis with her, wishing she hadn’t left Gabe behind—or been left—and wishing whole-heartedly that she had a job to give her some security.

“Maybe one T-shirt or something, but that’s it,” Melissa says as the taxi pulls away from the curb. “But I’ll pay for it. It just wouldn’t be right to scribble down your parents’ names on a charge slip.”

Dove slicks some gloss over her lips and looks out the window, her heart beating rapidly. “You’d be surprised at just how easy it is …” She turns to Melissa and squeezes her hand. “Besides, what’s a holiday without a few surprises?”

“I
CAN’T BELIEVE THERE
are no traffic lights!” Melissa puts her hand out the car window to feel the warm breeze.

I can’t believe Max is here on this tiny island and so far, William isn’t,
Dove thinks to herself, smoothing her short hair so it falls flat on her forehead. With Max so persistent in the past couple of weeks and William so notably absent, being true to her boyfriend was proving more and more difficult. “Not one on the entire island.” Dove nods. “You don’t think William’s gone for good, do you?”

Melissa pats her friend’s pale shoulder. “It’s a brand-new year. He’s probably still at some party or something from last night, and you have way too much going for you to worry about him right now.” Melissa sticks her face partway out the window, breathing in the smells of something sweet, the fragrant island air. “Yum—we have to take a food break before we start another round of romantic woes.”

“Deal,” Dove says and shakes Melissa’s hand. Lined with potted palms, the cobblestone street is filled with just the right number of vacationers—making it not too empty, not too crowded. Dove points to a café a block ahead.

“You can stop there, please,” she says to the taxi driver, who immediately slows down.

Melissa’s stomach rumbles as she watches outdoor diners slide forkfuls of salad and dessert into their mouths, their tanned skin glistening in the sunlight. “Please tell me we can refuel here before the infamous shopping extravaganza?” Melissa pats her belly to show how hungry she is, hoping the distraction will keep Dove from ploughing through with her charge-to-the-parents idea.

Dove leans forward to pay the taxi driver, shoving a wad of crumpled bills back into her wallet before climbing out. “Come on—this place used to have red velvet cake—the best I’ve ever had.” Dove slings her bags onto her small frame and launches full steam ahead toward the café.

Melissa trails slightly behind, soaking up the sunglassed masses, the bronzed boys on Vespa scooters, the well-heeled women in casual yet elegant tropical gear, their shoes click-clacking on the sidewalk. Everywhere are colors: the galleries lining the sidewalk, the buildings complete with gingerbread fretwork in a variety of shades, hanging plants in reds, bright purples, and yellows that trail over the edges of the railings.

Farther up on Main Street the ferryboat lets off small groups of people and then sounds a low horn before setting off into the vibrant blue sea.

Dove stashes her bags behind the hostess stand as though she owns the place and leads Melissa to a table out on the terrace.

“Great spot,” Melissa says, her shoulders relaxing. “I feel like my whole body has to unwind.”

“I know.” Dove nods, looking over Melissa’s head at all the people, wondering if she’ll see someone she knows, and what that might mean. “Whenever I’m cold—which I was twenty-four hours a day at Les Trois—I always hunch up like this.” She demonstrates by bringing her shoulders to her ears.

“Can I get you something?” a tall waitress with an armful of thin gold bangles asks. “We have a great soup, a wonderful roasted lamb with—”

Dove reads Melissa’s face instantly. That kind of food is way too expensive for their budget. They need to make their tip money last as long as possible, “Just your signature is fine.” The waitress gives a perfunctory nod and leaves.

“How are you so well versed in their signature drinks?” Melissa studies Dove’s face. The girl is an enigma. All along she’s been ditching her moneyed past but when Melissa looks at her now, it seems as though Dove is growing less and less sure.

“We—I—my family and I used to take holidays here,” Dove says, motioning at the air around her as though she means on the entire island. “Stayed up near the Botanical Gardens.” Dove grins, thinking back. “This incredible villa rental—belongs to some royal somewhere who uses it one day a year for yachting or something.”

“Sounds pretty grand.” Melissa thinks about her own home, the small but adequate beach house where surfing was a way of life, not just an activity.

“Oh, it was grand. Many grands …” Dove rubs her fingers together to imply the cost. “Massive bedroom suites, open-air entertaining kitchen, you name it.” She shrugs and then smiles when she spots the drinks coming her way. “But that was before—a time long gone by.”

“Do you think we’d have been friends then?” Melissa asks, wondering if maybe timing was everything. She thanks the waitress for the tall cylindrical glass and eyes the drink.

Dove purses her lips. “I don’t know if we would have been friends. Maybe. You can’t really say how you’d have acted if you’re looking back.” She wonders for a minute if maybe she means more than just this hypothetical question. And leans forward, whispering. “Mel? What if I made a huge mistake? What if I never should have committed to William?” Dove grasps her drink in her hand, not sipping at it yet. “I mean, what if all this time I placed too much on my relationship with William only to find it doesn’t mean what I thought it did?”