The Jumbee (26 page)

“Hello, Esti,” he said softly. His voice soaked through the pores of her skin, into every cell of her body.

It took enormous effort to move normally as she sat down, a million confused questions crowding her brain. He was still wrapped in black, a dark hood covering his hair. His hands were hidden by black leather gloves so fine that she might not have noticed them last night when he held her hands. She longed to ask why he wore a mask even now, but she was positive he would somehow disappear if she pushed too much.

His blue eyes searched her, resting briefly on the scratches that covered her arms. After a moment, he leaned back, his expression concerned. Wiry and graceful, he moved with the same powerful elegance as he spoke. “Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Esti said.

When he laughed, she couldn’t help laughing with him. In the candlelight, his eyes seemed to glow from within, as bizarre and beautiful as a ninja. She wanted to crawl across the table before he disappeared again, wrapping herself in his rich voice, his healing touch, his sea-colored eyes.

“Does this mean I’m allowed to ask questions?”

He laughed again. “Have I ever been able to stop you?”

“Every time I’ve tried.” The question that came out of her mouth, however, wasn’t the one she’d planned. “What happened with Mr. Niles this afternoon?”

As a flash of irritation crossed his eyes, she studied him uncomfortably. She hadn’t realized until now how much Mr. Niles’s accusation bothered her.

“Niles is afraid of his own shadow,” Alan said calmly. “He spooked himself right off the stage.”

“Did you have anything to do with it?” She held her breath as the words left her mouth. What if Alan’s answer was yes? Would it make any difference?

“I didn’t touch him, Esti.” Alan looked at her with a steady gaze. “I was nowhere near him when he fell.”

“Why did he say it was my fault?”

“Niles is a superstitious fool. Despite his intelligence, he is deeply West Indian, and he fears the thought of jumbees. He also fears anyone”—Alan smiled ruefully—“associated with jumbees.”

She slowly nodded.

“Did you happen to notice that Frederick McKenzie is superior?” Alan asked.

“Of course.” As she studied his gloved fingers on the table, Esti couldn’t help wishing he would reach for her. “Did you watch us this evening?”

“I did.” Now Alan sounded pleased.

Esti returned another tentative smile, glad that Alan didn’t seem jealous. As his eyes smiled back at her, she let herself be engulfed by a sense of peace she had rarely known around him. His eyes met hers, as deep and mysterious as the ocean, and without thinking, she reached across the small table. He took her hands in his, their palms pressing together for a single searing moment.

As she leaned toward him, yearning for more, he winced as if in pain. He yanked himself away, his chair screeching across the floor. Outlined in the flickering light, his body pressed against the wall behind him, as far from her as he could manage in the tiny room. Although she should have known by now what to expect, Esti almost cried out with the shock of it. The silence in the room was broken only by the sounds of their ragged breathing.

“Not even a palmers’ kiss?” she asked as soon as she could speak.

He wouldn’t look at her. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Apparently not.” Trembling with frustration and desire, and a little bit of fear, she forced herself to relax. “Maybe you should tell me.”

“Meet me here at five o’clock Sunday morning.” He turned to her, his eyes glowing fiercely in the candlelight. “Before the day grows light, I will take you to Manchineel Cay.”

Act Two. Scene Ten.

Esti kicked her feet against the bench in the courtyard, restlessly glancing at her watch. She heard Lucia behind her, discussing sets with another girl. The school campus was usually deserted on Saturday afternoons, although Frederick’s morning rehearsals left a few stragglers.

She studied Manchineel Cay, certain she had memorized every one of its white beaches on this side, all the crags in the rocky cliff, each emerald hill defined by the changing shadows of the sun. She had some ideas where Alan’s house might be hidden, remembering the path of the lonely light she’d watched from her bedroom window. Even so, she couldn’t relax. Melee had it, Carmen had informed her this morning, that Rafe was demoted to washing dishes after getting in a fight with a customer who said Esti put a curse on him.

Picking at the frayed edge of her shorts, Esti tried to ignore the nice tan she’d gotten during Christmas break. She didn’t want to think about those delicious days in the sun with Rafe. Rehearsals were going beautifully, and Frederick loved her. She was achieving everything she ever wanted, and she could feel her dad’s approval deep inside.

Alan’s dreamy voice constantly filled her mind, and she saw his startling eyes every time she looked at the sea. Although she hadn’t dared get together with him again, she often found stray blossoms hidden in odd places around the theater.
Devotion, surrender, and protection from evil.
Catching the deeply sweet fragrance of a flower she’d tucked behind her ear, she was surprised all over again by the joy she felt at Alan’s surrender and devotion.

Then, out of the blue, she would find her stomach churning with uncertainty. Lucia remained as inscrutable as ever, and Esti’s friendship with Carmen had developed an unpleasant edge. Although they still sat together during practice, they rarely saw each other outside of the theater. Although Esti knew it was her own fault, she didn’t know how to change things.

She couldn’t wait for the upcoming showcase next weekend, but she missed Rafe a lot more than she wanted to admit. She needed to apologize; to know that he didn’t hate her. She wanted him to understand why she had gone back to Alan. And . . . she kicked the bench harder. She hated herself for being so fickle. What she really wanted was to throw herself at Rafe, feeling the warmth of his arms around her, his lips on hers, his hands in her hair. She’d gone to sleep last night with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, pretending that Rafe held her.

Leaping to her feet in agitation, she walked back toward the theater. Tomorrow she would see Alan’s house. She hadn’t thought of a good alibi for Aurora yet, but something would surely come to her. She didn’t want to go home and spend this afternoon avoiding conversation with her mom. Maybe she could sneak down to the basement for a couple of hours. If Alan was there, he could help her come up with an excuse that wouldn’t result in Aurora buying plane tickets back to Oregon. If Esti got lucky, he might even let her hold his hand.

As she neared the theater building, she came to a sudden stop. Danielle’s sister stood beside Lucia, intently watching Esti through a curtain of dark hair.

“Esti,” Lucia said, “Frederick, he tell me and Marielle how to make a perfect Capulet orchard with three sheet of plywood.”

“That’s great,” Esti said sincerely to Lucia, then made herself meet Marielle’s piercing eyes.

A tiny, triumphant smile played around Marielle’s mouth. “You broke up with him, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Esti said, abruptly changing her mind about the theater. The last thing she wanted right now was to be trapped into a girlish rant against Rafe. She was wearing her swimsuit beneath her shorts. Maybe the sea would give her the strength she needed.

“I’m going for a swim.” She forced a smile at the two girls. “Have fun with your orchard.”

Before they could reply, she turned and sprinted to the parking lot. It felt good to run, and she moved even faster as she headed down the road, not stopping until she got to the beach. Heaving for breath, she paused on the sand just long enough to kick off her shoes and drape her sweaty clothes on a tree branch. She ran into the water with a gasp, the sea closing around her.

By the time she finally dragged herself back out of the water, the sun was getting low in the sky. Carrying her things to the low-walled shower area by the parking lot, she rinsed the sand from her feet, then pulled her clothes back on over her wet swimsuit. She would be sweaty again anyway by the time she walked up Bayrum Hill.

As she sat down to put on her socks, however, she was startled to see a piece of paper sticking out of one of her shoes. She pulled it free, staring at the letters scribbled across the front.

Holding her breath, she unfolded the note.
Pretty impressive for someone who’s afraid of the water. I blew it, huh? Don’t know what Shakespeare would say, but this boy wants girl. Is that enough for an apology?

Esti looked around hopefully, but the parking lot was deserted except for safari taxis and tourists waiting for the sunset. Smiling, she held the note against her cheek. It was more than enough. If anything, she owed Rafe an apology. And a kiss. . . .

She shook her head, looking out at Manchineel Cay. Nothing made her happier than those rare moments when Alan opened up to her. She had chosen him long before Rafe came back, and she had no regrets. When she went to Manchineel Cay tomorrow, she would finally know the truth.

She almost made it out of the house without any mishaps. As she carefully closed the screen door, however, she tripped over the rosemary that Aurora had planted to repel jumbees. The small ceramic pot shattered loudly as her foot kicked it across the porch.
Rosemary for remembrance,
she thought in disgust.
Or hindrance.

Sure enough, light suddenly glowed from the window of Aurora’s bedroom. As quietly as she could, Esti fled down the road. She had left an honest note explaining where she was going today. Aurora would be furious, of course, but Esti could tell her everything when she got back home. Forgiveness was easier than permission.

Although the theater was locked again, Alan had given her a key to the front door. As Esti fumbled for the key under the weak yellow security light, however, a graceful shadow detached itself from the wall nearby.

“Are you ready to brave the ketch-n-keep?”

She stuffed the key back in her pocket with a smile. “I’m counting on you to keep me out of it this time.”

“You’ll be perfectly safe, as long as you stay with me.”

“Safety tip number twenty-three,” she intoned, “always trust the jumbee when he lures you to his haunted island.”

“Am I luring you there?” he asked softly.

“No.” She gave him a rueful smile. “It’s the other way around. But you can trust me, honest.”

He let out a quiet burst of laughter. “If you hold my hand, I’ll show you the way.”

As she studied the proffered black-wrapped arm, she hesitated. Would it matter, she thought, if he somehow proved that he
was
a jumbee? Did she care? With a burst of impatience at herself, she reached for his leather glove, supple and warm beneath her fingertips. None of it mattered. She ignored the flash of headlights from Bayrum Hill as they started down the path

Alan led her along the slope into the trees, slowing frequently to warn her of rocks or an exposed root that might trip her. He moved with effortless grace, like a lion slipping through the forest, and Esti reveled in his sure guidance. She had always imagined Alan’s physical side matching the power of his voice. The journey reminded her of a blindfold game she used to play at summer camp, her trust building with each guiding step of her partner.

When her feet finally came down on sand, she recognized the familiar scent of the sea grape trees behind Manchicay Beach. With a touch of guilt, she shoved away her memories of Christmas night with Rafe.

“The water will reach no deeper than your knees,” Alan murmured. “Follow me closely to avoid the mangle.” Tightly grasping her hand, he splashed ahead of her.

Warm water swirled around them both, soaking the bottom of Esti’s jeans and filling her shoes. She had no idea what mangle was, but she didn’t like the sound of it, or the thick, swampy smell that made the air difficult to breathe. The ground beneath the water was uneven and silty, sucking at her feet with each step. As they moved forward, Esti felt branches closing in around her, a strangling canopy so dense, she panted for breath in the swamp-smelling air.

Alan finally came to a stop, steadying her with his hand.

“Reach up here.” He lifted her hand to a branch, solid and hard above her head. “Hold tight with both hands, and bring your legs up out of the water.”

She grabbed the branch without asking why. As Alan let go, she heard something big moving in the water nearby. With a gasp, she curled her body as far out of the water as she could.

“Good,” Alan said, his voice calm. “Now bring your feet back down.”

Her feet came down into a boat. She sank to the bottom as it rocked with her weight, terrified it might tip over.

“The barge she sat in,” Alan said, easily swinging himself aboard, “like a burnished throne . . .”

Esti gripped the sides, laughing helplessly as he compared her to Cleopatra and Venus, sitting on a yacht made of gold.