The Achilles Heel (11 page)

She must have sensed my disappointment and lack of self-confidence, and said, “Don’t
worry about it, honey, I’m a master of organization. It’s necessary that we see everyone
involved and can start to put the pieces together.” She stood up and started circling
the coffee table, making a path around the living room and tapping the dry erase maker
in the palm of her hand as she spoke. “We need to make sure we ask ourselves the right
questions. Who was Jack Whitman? Is Jamie’s intention to harm you, and why does he
want or need to? Why that box was buried in your basement, and was it put there for
you to find or was that a coincidence? What are you supposed to do with the information
in the box; obviously that passport is of crucial concern-and the keys‌—‌what’s the
story with the keys? We know the first one led you to the contents of the metal box,
so my gut tells me there is another box to unlock. Where is that box?” she asked,
still pacing the room like a track horse warming up for a race.

Now, it was my job to write while she spoke. As I scribbled furiously trying to keep
up, connecting boxes together, the finished product looked like the Periodic Table
of Elements.

We both stepped back to admire our work, and Gail turned to face me. With severe honesty,
she asked, “Annie, are you sure you even want to know the answers to any of these
questions? You have the option to hide that box, forget about it, and start a new
life. If that sounds at all appealing to you, you should say so now. Of course, I’m
one hundred percent committed to helping you get all the answers you need to move
on and live happily ever after. Are you?”

I thought about the different possibilities of my situation. I could have let it go
and moved on; stuffed my feelings down deep inside and pretended nothing had ever
happened. I could have gone to the police and let them sort this whole mess out (I
had gotten good at sitting on the bench and letting others play for me) or I could
sack up, wipe the sand out of my vagina and be the person I used to be; the one who
wraps the job up in a tidy little bow and serves it on a silver platter.

“I’m in,” I said, with my best game face on. “Besides, if Jamie is ready to hurt me
over something he feels I deserve, then he is capable of harming his family, and that
means I’d be turning my back on Max and Mia, and I’m not going to do that, not anymore.
If he ever hurt Liz or the kids, then I would essentially be just as responsible as
him, and I don’t want to live with that thought.”

“I was hoping you’d give me an answer like that! Now we need a plan; any thoughts?”
she asked.

“The only thing I am absolutely sure of is that I will be on a plane to St. Croix
as soon as possible, because I have a gut feeling what I’m looking for will be under
that pier. I want the trip to the Islands to appear as though I’m going away for some
much needed R & R though, and I certainly don’t want any red flags to go off in Jamie’s
head. He should know as little as possible about how I spend my time. I need an excuse.”
Now I was pacing. “A reason, think damn it!” I yelled. “I’ve got it! It could be hard
to pull off because I’m going to need the help of my girlfriends, but if I can get
each of them on board, it just might work,” I said.

“What are you thinking?” Gail asked.

“My annual girls’ trip. We normally take a trip during the summer; however, we didn’t
go earlier this year because of Jack’s death.”
Jack’s dead. Jack’s dead.
“I think the girls felt bad taking a trip without me, even though I begged them to
go ahead and make plans, but I hear the Islands are lovely this time of year,” I said
with a smile. “I’ll start making calls tomorrow to see who’s coming with me. That
passport will need some serious consideration; getting it through security is going
to be a challenge, and I’ll have to get creative,” I added.

I felt hopeful yet nervous about the trip, and the thought of being back in St. Croix
was somehow comforting. I knew exactly where I would stay, and was sure the owner
of The Cotton House would give me a great deal, especially if I rented it for a few
months. Being a repeat customer couldn’t hurt either.

KESSLER

M
y least favorite chore when owning a boat is the packing and meticulous organization
of the gear. I wanted to be a responsible boat owner, so after buying Sue, I made
a check list, laminated it and hung it on the cabin door. It turned out be pretty
handy, and being that I have the guy gene, I now time myself to see how fast I can
get everything back in its proper spot; today was a personal best! I still had to
dunk my diving equipment in the pool to wash off the salt water, but I wasn’t counting
that today; again, I’m a guy.

The fresh water pool was liberating after swimming in the ocean for the past two weeks.
It doesn’t seem to matter how many showers I take on the boat, I always have a thin
layer of ocean stuck in my hair and a sea water aroma clinging to my skin.

I was glad to be back on dry land. These weeks were the best I had ever spent in St.
Croix, and I had owned my house long enough that I really did feel like it was home.
My fridge was stocked again, and Rosie had whipped up some incredible chicken salad,
so I made myself a sandwich, which I doused with Tabasco sauce‌—‌and then ate while
taking a quick rinse in my outside shower; washing the sandwich down with an ice cold
beer. I had only left Nashville a month ago, but it felt like years, and I hadn’t
stopped smiling since getting here.

My guitars were parked in a corner of the bedroom, waiting patiently for some attention.
I threw on an LSU T-shirt, grabbed another beer, my Martin D28 twelve string and ambled
out to the patio to play for a while. The guitar hadn’t made it on the boat with me
because I wanted it to feel fresh and new when holding it in my hands again; like
a lovelorn couple waiting for their first embrace. Attachment to tangibles such as
a boat or guitar wasn’t a problem for me; they never change or let me down, but the
attachment to a woman‌—‌especially when I’m at her mercy‌—‌is where I’m lacking. I’d
been mulling over a few songs on the boat, and couldn’t wait to finally hear them
out loud. Song writing had always been the favorite part of my career; touring was
fun in my younger days, but at this stage of my life I always looked forward to the
finale, so I had more time to write.

Digging my fingers into the fretboard and strumming the strings with my calloused
thumb, my heart began beating a little faster and then swelled up a bit. I was really
enjoying myself when the goddamn phone started ringing. I tried to ignore it, but
was already fucking up the song, and the little moment I was having was gone.

“What?” I yelled into the phone.

“Hey, buddy! It’s your old pal, Wade! Do you miss me yet?” he asked.

“No, not yet. I’m gonna need more time for that,” I joked.

“What’s wrong? I need to hear more excitement outta you. Oh shit, I didn’t catch you
jerking off did I? Damn man, I’m sorry! You wanna call me back?” He laughed into the
phone.

“Jesus, have you even hit puberty yet?” I asked him.

“Well, I’ve got hair on my balls, but that’s the extent of it!” he yelled. “Listen,
we’re coming your way.”

“Who’s coming and when?” I asked.

“Me and Hope are coming in two days, and if you don’t want to put us up I totally
understand; I’ll think you’re a douche, but I’ll understand. We’re only staying three
nights; Hope doesn’t want to murder the boys, so she figured she’d better get to relaxin’
somewhere, and I think that sounds boring as hell, so we’re compromising. You up for
it?” he asked.

“Of course! I can’t wait for y’all to get here! Let me know when your flight comes
in and I’ll pick you up from the airport,” I told him.

“Sweet, thanks, buddy. And hey, I hear there’s a casino on the island. You should
know I’m feelin’ lucky! See you soon!” He was laughing as he hung up‌—‌not a regular
person ha-ha laugh but more of a psychotic, I don’t mind jail Muwhahaha!

Shit, I’m going to need a nap.

***

Forgetting how traffic only exists on the island during Pirate week or the Iron Man
Triathlon race, I arrived at the airport way too early but thoroughly enjoyed the
Jeep ride, and the warm breeze blowing through my dirty brown hair.

In high school, I drove a Jeep; you could say it was the first time I fell in love.
She was a used, silver ’87 Wrangler soft top with black interior, and I practically
cried when she lost her mojo and died on the side of the highway. I had wanted another
Jeep ever since, but driving one around Nashville isn’t too practical. St. Croix was
the perfect place to recreate my high school glory days; cherry red, soft top with
tan interior, and she’s a beaut.

I parked and went in through the double doors, found their gate and waited at security
for them to arrive, when an unusually large cluster of people began gathering around
the luggage carousel. Not too many people fly directly into St. Croix; St. Thomas
has the larger airport. Confused and apprehensive, I moved closer to the crowd, and
that’s when I heard the commotion. In inappropriately loud voices, two passengers
were having an argument about why country music does or does not suck, and I knew
one of those voices.

“Oh, lord, no,” I whispered, and that’s about the time Wade saw me standing there
waiting for him.

“Kess!” he shouted across the lobby at me, waving his arms around like some stupid,
country Sasquatch. “You tell this sonabitch Yankee that this God-fearin’, mother-lovin’,
greatest country in the world was founded on country music!”

I just stood there and smiled, waiting for Hope, because I knew she’d be bringing
up the rear, pretending she didn’t know Wade; after all, this wasn’t her first rodeo.

She came over and hugged me tight. “Hey, honey, you look great! They’ve been at it
a while now. You gonna step in or let it work itself out?” she asked.

By now, they were real close together, up in each other’s faces, and the guy started
poking Wade in the chest, calling him a redneck among other things.

“Uh-oh, better get in there,” Hope said, with no urgency in the least.

I went over, grabbed Wade’s arm and pulled him to the luggage carrousel; I had a feeling
I’d be carrying all the bags since he smelled like he bathed in whiskey.

“Aw, my best friend, I missed you, buddy!” he slurred and then slapped me on my ass,
completely forgetting about the guy he apparently challenged to a fight behind the
airport dumpsters. “St. Croix, let’s do this, baby! Woo-Hoo!” he hollered at the top
of his lungs.

There’s a few people who aren’t fans of Wade Rutledge; shocking, I know. He’s the
biggest, loudest and toughest guy in most rooms, but he also has the biggest heart.
To be friends with Wade, you need to hate him before you love him, that’s just how
it works. There’s one in every group of guys, and mine happens to be Wade. Our first
meeting almost ended in a fist fight, and when he saw I wasn’t going to back down
to him, even though I’m four inches shorter, he decided he liked me and came in for
a hug instead. I still punched him in the face; I didn’t want some drunk asshole I
didn’t know hugging me, but he just laughed, told me I was all right, and we’ve been
friends ever since.

I made him sit in the back seat with the luggage, and played tour guide as I drove
them around and pointed out interesting facts about St. Croix to Hope. In between
sips of whiskey from his flask, Wade kept yelling at me to get on the right side of
the road; after a while I stopped trying to explain to him that you drive on the left
side of the road here. He either figured it out or just stopped caring if we wrecked.

I brought the luggage into the house‌—‌the heaviest item being Wade‌—‌and got Hope
settled into one of the guest rooms.

“Don’t trouble yourself, darling.’ I’ll put Wade to bed and come back out so we can
catch up. A quickie will knock him right out and he’ll be snorin’ until the sun comes
up.” She laughed, giving me a wink.

“Yeah, that’s more than I needed to know, but you take your time. I’ll be outside
on the patio pretending y’all aren’t having sex in here,” I stated.

“All right, baby, give me ten minutes.” She gave me a wink as she closed the door.

Wade started hollering, “I can go all night!”

Needless to say, Hope was sitting on the patio with me, drink in hand, less than ten
minutes later.

“Well, this was an exciting evening,” I declared.

“Oh, Kess, he just got so excited to see you; he needed to channel that excitement
and unfortunately for you, me, and the people on our plane, he channeled Jack Daniels.
You know he’s missed you not being next door the past few weeks, even though he’d
never admit it. Now, let’s get to the good stuff. How’s the lady situation down here?”
she pried, her eyes wild with excitement.

“Why are you and Mama D always trying to find me to find a woman? To tell you the
truth, I haven’t even looked. I’ve either been writing songs or out on my boat since
I got here and haven’t really done much else; you know I’m a homebody. Y’all worry
too much about me, and believe me, if I see anyone remotely interesting, I’ll talk
to her. Okay?” I asked.

“All right, but I hope you see her while I’m here, so I can be your wing man and size
her up!” she exclaimed.

“Simmer down, Maverick, let’s talk about you. What’s been going on in Nashville?”
I asked her, way more interested than I should be.

We sat outside on the patio, drank beer and talked into the night. Once we were both
sufficiently tipsy, we decided to hit the hay. Tomorrow, Wade would be rearing to
get into some trouble, so tonight I outta get all the sleep I could, if I was gonna
survive a whole day on the island with him.

ANNIE

I
stayed the night at Gail’s house, but sleep didn’t come easy. The constant ticking
of the clock on the nightstand was a cruel reminder of the dragging hours until sunrise,
and after what felt like years lying awake with my thoughts, I was ready to go home,
too exhausted to care if I was in any physical danger.