The Jumbee (21 page)

She cautiously shook his hand.

“I’m sure you know how difficult I am to impress,” he said, apparently assuming she recognized him. “After watching your performances, I have to tell you that your remarkable talent reaches a level I rarely see. I take it you studied Shakespeare with your father until his death?”

“He taught me a lot.” Esti clutched Rafe’s arm, feeling ridiculously intimidated as the man rattled on about Juliet. It was Alan who had given her the magic she needed to perform, she thought, but his disappearance undermined everything. This artistic man expected too much from her.

With a polite excuse about catching the sunset, Rafe finally pulled her outside, past a line of coolers on the big stone porch. She followed him across the crowded beach, leaving Aurora to chat with George Moore, who looked much less imposing in baggy shorts and a gaudy red shirt. The smell of barbequed chicken followed them across the sand, spiked with the scent of rum and coconut.

As they left the crowds behind them, however, Rafe suddenly slowed down. Danielle’s sister stood in the sand nearby, watching them. Tight black clothes flattered her petite build, her dark hair pulled into a severe knot on top of her head. She looked nothing like Danielle, Esti thought, but was pretty in an eerie, pixyish kind of way.

“Marielle,” Rafe said uncomfortably. “How’ve you been?”

“Looks like you scored again.” As she looked from Rafe to Esti, she raised a single, condemning eyebrow. “Be careful, Esti Legard.”

As Marielle turned and walked back toward the house, Esti heard an almost inaudible groan from Rafe.

Esti reached up and put her finger on his lips. “Doesn’t matter.” At his nonplussed look, she changed the subject. “How long has your family owned Coqui Beach?”

“A hundred years,” Rafe said slowly. “More or less. Look, about Marielle—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Esti repeated. “There’s some things I won’t tell anybody, and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I want to hear about your family instead.”

Rafe was quiet for a minute. “They lived at Manchicay until the massacre. After they moved here, my greatgrandfather eventually bought Coqui Beach from his boss. Esti, look—”

“A pretty nice northern swell tonight. Why do you think that is?”

He seemed completely at a loss. “Uh . . . big storm out on the ocean. Hurricane season usually ends in November.”

“This seems to be the year for unusual storms.” Without saying any more, Esti watched the clouds become pink, then orange. After a moment, Rafe gingerly took her hand and she squeezed his fingers.

As the sky darkened to gray, Ma Harris approached them with purposeful steps. Lucia followed, along with a wiry young West Indian boy wearing thick dreadlocks. Although Lucia gave Esti a smug look, her boyfriend merely stared at Esti as Ma Harris began to talk. Rafe replied in words so fast and deeply accented that Esti didn’t even try to understand them. She needed no brains to know what they were talking about. When she heard the word
wicked
followed by
jumbee,
she mumbled an excuse and yanked herself away.

“Hold on, babe,” Rafe said in surprise.

She walked faster, back toward the house. Bright lights and cheery calypso music spilled over the porch and onto the warm beach. She could see Aurora, lit up by a bonfire beyond the smoky grills, eating chicken with her fingers and laughing with George Moore.

This was nothing like the snow-dusted Christmas parties Esti’s dad had thrown in Oregon. She wanted to be back there, when everything had seemed predictable and normal, her dad tousling her hair as he made his way through the house from one group of friends to another.

She wished with all her heart she was in the dark theater, reciting passages with Alan. Even
that
seemed more normal than this tropically cheerful Christmas party with so many eyes on Esti Legard. A sliver of understanding sliced through her about Alan’s obsessive need for privacy.

As Rafe caught up to her, she began to run.

“Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “What’s the matter, babe?”

“He’s not wicked! He’s honorable.” She clamped her mouth shut at the silly words. A moment ago, as she listened to Ma Harris, she had finally begun to wonder if maybe—the shivers started deep in her stomach—maybe Alan truly
was
a jumbee. It was crazy to believe in ghosts, she thought wildly. He couldn’t really be a jumbee, but nothing else made sense.

“He’s not,” she whispered.

“It’s okay.” Rafe held both of her hands in his, his dark eyes glued to hers. “All Ma Harris said was that I have to protect you. She said I should take you to Carnival, so you can dance with the moko jumbees.”

He smoothed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a faint sparkle hiding in his eyes. “You’s powerful too bad. No matter you all strong and ting, de jumbee he is unpredictable. We gon find moko jumbee dem at Carnival and make sure it have no evil spirit does stalk you.”

Esti closed her eyes. “I’m going insane,” she muttered.

“No.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “But you
are
so damn complicated, I can’t even figure out how to make you feel better.”

She looked out at the blackness of the sea, beyond the thin white line of crashing waves. “I know how you can make me feel better.”

She asked him to drive her to their usual swimming spot on Manchicay Beach, and he willingly complied. Instead of leading her into the warm swell, though, he took a blanket from the back of his Jeep. She followed him to the edge of the sea grape trees where they always found shade during the day. Without a word, Esti helped him spread the blanket over the sand, then sank down beside him, studying his outline in the moonlight.

“Did you know that I’ve only been kissed twice?” She reached up behind her head, weaving her wind-tangled hair into a braid as she tried to hide her nervousness.

“Twice.” He stared at her as if the concept were completely beyond him.

“The first time I almost drowned,” she said, “and the second was under hostile circumstances. So they didn’t really count.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Onstage doesn’t count either, of course. I’m talking in real life.”

“
You?
Esti Legard?”

“Darling!” She imitated the flamboyant talent scout. “I’m sure you know how difficult I am to impress.”

Rafe didn’t laugh. “That’s not possible. Don’t tell me your honorable jumbee never kissed you.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Esti met Rafe’s eyes, her body roiling with emptiness and fury and desire. “I just want to know what a real kiss feels like.”

Rafe stared at her with an inscrutable expression.

“What?” Esti looked at him defiantly. “Don’t you
want
to kiss me?”

His chest rose in a fierce breath, but he didn’t speak. Esti forced herself to meet his gaze, trying to ignore a sudden panic that she had somehow alienated him too. After what seemed like forever, he finally came closer. Although she wished she knew what he was thinking, the desire on his face was unmistakable. As the sand shifted beneath his knees, she choked back a fleeting sense of hysteria.
Would
this make her feel better?

But Rafe didn’t kiss her. He reached out with his hand instead, touching her cheek. His fingertips lightly followed the line of her jaw, then her nose and the ridge of her eyebrows, exploring the shape of her face. His eyes not leaving hers, he let his fingers move to her mouth, tracing the curve of her lips. His touch felt like fire on her skin, glorious and frightening and wonderful.

Abruptly he leaned forward. His fingers twisted into her hair, cupping the back of her head and tipping her face up to meet his. His mouth took over where his hand had begun. Esti melted into him, heat exploding through her body as his tongue traced the tip of her tongue, the line of her teeth. Slowly, his lips discovered the rest of her face, returning to her mouth every now and then as they brushed against her closed eyes, her cheekbones, the lobes of her ears. When he finally straightened, still cupping her head in his hand, she sagged and stared up at him.

“Did that kiss feel real enough?” he whispered.

Instead of answering, Esti reached up to his face. She let her hands make their way across his smooth dark skin, caressing his lips, his nose, his soft eyebrows. She ran her fingers along his cornrows, like knobby silk beneath her fingertips, then brought his head down to hers again.

She was barely aware of him pulling her onto his lap, their lips locked together. His hands felt warm and delicious as they stroked her face, her shoulders, her arms. Her body arched against him hungrily. She was awkwardly unfastening the shoulder straps of her dress, when he abruptly pulled away. Gasping for breath, she stopped, embarrassed.

“I can’t be the only guy you ever kissed,” he said.

“Three times now,” she managed. “You just made up for all those years of wondering.”

“Oh.” He closed his eyes.

“What?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”

“You’ve never done anything else then either.”

“No.” She looked away, hating the sudden thickness in her throat. She didn’t want to think about what she was doing right now. She just wanted to let go and stop worrying, like he’d suggested so long ago.

“Does it matter?” She tried to touch his face again. “I want to do it now. All of it.”

“Crap.” He backed away, dropping to the sand just beyond her reach. “Yeah, it does matter.
He’s
in your head tonight, isn’t he? Even though he left you alone in a dark corner, all you can say is that he’s honorable.”

“Rafe . . .”

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a girl so bad.” He slumped over, panting. “I’ve been waiting for this since the minute I laid eyes on you. If you were any other girl, it would have been a week after we met, but I don’t want you just one time.” His voice rose angrily. “I’ve been with enough girls to know how girls are, and I ain’t making the biggest mistake of my life tonight just because you’re not done pining over
him
yet. I got more honor than a dumb-ass jumbee.”

“Rafe, please.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped.

She ran her hand along his arm. “It’s not a mistake.”

With a groan, he turned his eyes up to the sky. Suddenly pounding his fist into the sand, he leaped to his feet and crossed the sand in a few long strides. As water churned up around his feet, Esti rolled over and covered her face with her hands.

By the time he returned, dripping with salty water, her raging emotions had subsided into an annoying string of hiccups. She watched his moonlit outline in embarrassment, noticing how he carefully sat down on the edge of the blanket so he wouldn’t get her wet.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No.” Esti couldn’t look at his face. “
I’m
sorry.”

“If I’d stayed here one more second, I would have ripped your dress off.”

“Aurora would have been pissed.” Rubbing her eyes, Esti rested her chin on her updrawn knees. “It was a Christmas present. Probably a bad idea for me to leave it in shreds on the beach.”

“I made you cry.” His voice was glum.

“Rafe, why do you put up with me?”

He snorted. “
That
is a weird question.”

“I mean it. I’m not the most stable girl you’ve ever met.”

“Do you want the truth? You might not like it.”

“I want the truth.” Esti sat up straight.

He looked out at Manchineel Cay, dark against the starry sky. “Okay, truth. I’ve always been the guy who can get girls. Girls are predictable and needy, and basically good for one thing. The minute I saw you after all those years, I had one thing on my mind. Definitely not honorable, and I figured it would take me a week, tops.” He gave her a sideways glance.

“I already knew all that.”

“You did?” He seemed stunned.

“Well, duh.” Esti half smiled. “Carmen told me about your reputation months ago. But it’s been three weeks now, and you just turned me down.”

“I’m an idiot.” He shook his head, looking back out at the sea. “Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, you knock my feet out from under me. The first night when you told me why you changed your name, that threw me. I watched you blow everyone away with your power onstage, then land shivering on the beach, totally vulnerable. You kissed me, then set me up to get busted, then bailed me out, then said you’re having some kind of affair, then practically killed yourself to swim the bay with me. Your head seems wrapped around this other jerk, except I really do think I’m the only guy you’ve ever kissed. And now I’m all worried about a stupid thing like honor.” He slowly shook his head. “I never met a girl like you before.”

“How many times have you used that line?”

“Esti . . .”

“That wasn’t fair.” She sighed. “Sorry. Everything I know about love, I learned from Shakespeare. Boy wants sex; girl wants boy. If boy gets sex too easily, he doesn’t want girl anymore. If boy has to work for sex and prove himself to girl, that’s a much more interesting story.”