Welcome to Paradise (12 page)

“You do that,” Stanley agreed cordially. “Commune with nature. We’ll work on bringing a mess of nature back with us.”

“Thank God. You know he’d have hooked one of us instead,” Kevin murmured to Gabe, who couldn’t suppress a grin. “He already got my shirt yesterday. Going for my pretty face, but as always, he missed.”

“What are you ladies going to do?” Stanley asked. “You could use a little indulgence after all that hard work.”

“What do you think?” Zara smiled wearily, holding out her still-stained and shriveled hands. “We’re going to have a nice, soapy,
cool
Paradise Creek bath. Our very favorite thing.”

“You’re looking forward to that, I’ll bet,” Gabe said to Mira, dropping back to walk with her. “That was a tough challenge.”

“It was,” she agreed. “On both sides. But you did great. And a tattoo, huh?” she added impulsively. “I was pretty surprised.”

He smiled. “Secret’s out.
Relic of the football days, and my youthful infatuation with my bit of Cherokee heritage.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Famous last words.
What about you? Got any body art hidden away there, someplace I haven’t seen?”

She felt the blush creeping up her throat at the look in his eyes. He was thinking about the evening before, she could tell, when he’d seen . . . quite a bit of her. And he was flirting with her. Wasn’t he?

“No,” she said lamely, wishing she were better at flirting. It just made her nervous. “No tattoos.”

“Good,” he said with satisfaction. “Your skin’s too pretty to mark up. It always reminds me of one of those brown eggs.”

“My skin reminds you of an
egg?”
Wow. He wasn’t that much better at flirting than she was.

He laughed. “I guess that wasn’t too smooth, huh? But it does. You know, that pretty light brown, a few freckles.
A
nice
egg.
A farmer’s market egg.”

She lifted the sunbonnet she’d been swinging along beside her. “I’m probably getting too many of those. I should put this back on.”

“Not on my account,” he said. “I prefer my eggs with some freckles. Just like you.”

They were back in the Clearing again less than twenty-four hours later, and Mira found that she was experiencing a different kind of trepidation this time. She’d known all along that people would be voted out, she reminded herself. She was glad she wasn’t the one leaving, but knowing that she was going to have a hand in making two other people so unhappy . . . It wasn’t pleasant. And she wasn’t sure what to expect today.

She’d just listen and learn, she vowed. There were plenty of others willing to do all the talking required.

This time, they ended up at the opposite end of the clearing from the big outdoor kitchen, at a covered U-shaped arrangement of benches. The homesteads took their seats facing each other, glancing out of the corners of their eyes at the third set of benches, making up the bottom leg of the U.

“Wondering who’s going to be sitting there?” Cliff asked them, coming to take his spot at the top of the layout. “That’s for the jury. Two of you will be sitting there next Sunday afternoon, listening to us talk. Just like Arcadia is listening tonight.”

 
“So, Martin,” he went on, “start us off. You did a lot of research beforehand. Has the experience met your expectations?”

“Yes, in large part,” Martin said judiciously. “It’s certainly been authentic. I feel I have a much more accurate picture now of the challenges the original homesteaders faced.”

“Harder than you anticipated?” Cliff asked innocently.

Mira shot a glance at Kevin, sitting to her right. “He’s been watching the footage,” Kevin whispered. “Storyline time.”

“I believe it’s been difficult for everyone,” Martin said stiffly.

“Gabe, what’s been the hardest thing for you?” was Cliff’s next question.

“I’m not saying the physical work is easy,” Gabe answered slowly from his spot at the end of the bottom bench, “or that I’m not more wiped than I’ve ever been. Except maybe that first year of residency,” he added with a reminiscent smile. “But the hardest thing? I’d have to say it’s seeing the women get so exhausted, how tough it is on them.”

Stanley nodded beside him in thoughtful agreement as Gabe went on. “I can see how, if you really
had
brought your family out here in 1885, you’d feel driven every minute of every day. I’ll bet a lot of them didn’t realize beforehand how much work it’d be. Just like none of us really did, and we’ve had it a whole lot easier than they would have. As a man, you’d feel so responsible for putting your wife in that position, seeing her get that worn down. And the thought that most of them did fail—I’m getting a sense for how crushing that would have been, after all that effort. Even after only a week here. It’s a whole lot more real, living it.”

“You’re shaking your head, Martin,” Cliff said. Martin was, in fact, trading a disapproving glance with Arlene, who was frowning heavily opposite him and looked on the verge of bursting out with a rebuttal, clearly frustrated by the no-talking rule on her side of the shelter.

“I must say I disagree,” Martin said. “Frankly, that sounds incredibly patronizing. Why should the men have been responsible for their wives’ happiness or unhappiness? If a couple, a family, set up a homestead, why would we assume that was the man’s decision? Why wouldn’t it have been something they decided to do together, and worked toward together? Women aren’t fragile clinging vines who can’t handle hard work—then
or
now. Yes, I’m sure it was disappointing not to make it, but Gabe’s attitude . . . Well, I’m afraid his macho inclinations may be getting the better of him, and that he has his head even further back than the nineteenth century.”

“That Gabe,” Kevin drawled. “What a caveman.
So
unattractive.”

“I don’t see how that’s patronizing, what Gabe said,” Mira objected as Martin scowled at Kevin’s back. “Why
wouldn’t
a man who loved his wife feel bad to see her working so hard, and getting so tired?
Because it
is
really hard.
Much harder, physically, than I anticipated,” she admitted. “And it just never, ever ends.”

“Nothing to show for it, either,” Zara put in. “The men—at the end of the day, they’ve built a corral, chopped down trees, whatever. They’ve
done
something. And we’ve just . . . maintained. Cooked and cleaned, weeded and watered.
Over and over.
And at least we have each other. When I think about a woman, alone in her cabin except for her children, the nearest neighbor miles away, no support, nobody to talk to . . .” She shuddered.

“And as for what Martin said—I did a little reading myself,” she added, “when I knew I was coming on the show. It was almost
always
the man’s decision to come out here. Women didn’t have any rights then, remember.
Different times, different roles.
You can’t judge them by today’s standards. And for a woman with kids . . . No, I can’t imagine they were excited about taking this on. It doesn’t mean they weren’t strong and tough once they got here. You’d have to be, to survive it.”

 
“So how do you think a woman would have felt, Mira?” Cliff pressed. “If she’d come out here with her husband, kids, maybe pregnant, and was faced with all this? What do you think her emotional state would have been?”

“I think it would depend,” Mira mused, caught up in the imagined scenario, one she, like Gabe, had given so much thought to during this past week. “On what kind of person she was, and on her husband, how she felt about him. I think everyone’s right, in some respects. Probably some marriages
were
partnerships, just like they are now. And if your husband appreciated how grueling it was, how lonely you were, that would make all the difference. The first day here, when the guys arranged for us to have a break and get clean, that meant a lot.” She saw the expressions on the faces of the women opposite, and guessed that the men on their homestead hadn’t been so considerate.

“So, yes,” she continued. “If you were married to someone who loved you and cared about you, if the dream was something you shared, and you saw him working hard for you, trying to make things better and easier for you like Gabe was saying, like the guys have done for us, I believe you’d do anything to help him in return.” She recognized the annoyed look on Scott’s face, felt the reassuring presence of Stanley beside her, his contemplative gaze on her, and went on. “But if your husband took you for granted, or worse, if he was unkind or even cruel to you, you’d just want to run away. How could it be worth it? But you couldn’t, I guess. You’d be stuck in that marriage, in that life. That’s pretty horrible to think about.”

“Not necessarily. Divorce was actually more common than you’d think,” Cliff said, “especially out here, in the West. Women initiated most of those divorces, too.”

“And just as not everyone made it back then,” he segued smoothly, “two of you homesteaders are going to be leaving tonight. Kevin. What will you be basing your vote on?”

“On who’s productive,” Kevin said promptly. “And who isn’t.”

“So will it be a difficult vote, or is that pretty easy to figure out?”

“Oh, this is the easy one,” Kevin assured him with a smile.

“Agree with that, Stanley?” Cliff asked.

“Yeah,” Stanley answered economically.

“Melody, how about you? Basis for your vote?” Cliff asked.

“Well,”
she began judiciously, tapping her lips with one finger, “I’d say there are different ways of being productive. The most important thing is winning the challenges, keeping our fate in our own hands. If you get all worn out during the week, where’s your energy at challenge time? And then, too, it’s who contributes toward a positive mood. Who makes things more attractive and is, you know, bubbly and fun. And who’s just, like, snarky and sarcastic all the time.” She, too, sent a poisonous look at Kevin’s back. If looks could kill, Mira thought with amusement, Kevin would be
stone-dead
by now.

“And with that,” Cliff announced, “
it
’s time to vote. One last-minute thought: you’re voting for a team. You may want to consider who’ll be leaving the other homestead as well as your own.” Mira saw that Scott was nodding significantly at her. But she and Kevin were right about this one, she was sure of it. At this point, it was all about who was at the back of the pack. And there was no question
who
the bear was going be eating this week.

“Well, at least she’ll be able to call her mom,” Kevin said, as the seven remaining Paradise homesteaders began the walk home in the lengthening afternoon shadows. “I can hear her now, crying about how mean we all were. ‘I’m
popular!’”
he mimicked. “I’m
pretty!”

“I can’t say that was a painful decision,” Zara agreed, “although it was harder than I thought it’d be a couple days ago. And I did feel a little pang of remorse when I saw the look on Chelsea’s face. I’ll bet Melody’s in for a few harsh words before Mommy makes it all better.”

Kevin snorted. “From what Rachel told me yesterday, things wouldn’t have been any different if Arcadia had won. Chelsea might have a more forceful personality, but let’s just say she isn’t a workaholic. They might have had a little more discussion than we did, though. Opinion was divided, I hear.”

Zara shot him a warning glance.

“Who else?” Mira asked, the hollow feeling inside telling her that she already knew the answer.

Kevin cast a quick look behind
him,
saw that Stanley and Gabe were following, with Martin bringing up the rear in earnest lecture mode with Maria-Elena as his unfortunate victim. “Arlene’s ruffled some major feathers among the women,” he said. “There’s nothing that she hasn’t read up on. Or even worse, she’s done it before, and she can kindly point out how you’re doing it all wrong. It’s getting on Rachel’s last nerve, and I think even Lupe’s had it. She’s a harder worker than Chelsea, though, which saved her this time.”

“Oh,” Mira said with relief.

“But don’t fool yourself,” Zara told her bluntly. “Scott’s not winning any popularity contests with the men—
or
the women. He doesn’t exactly fall all over himself with gratitude for what they do, Hank says. Saying ‘thanks for dinner’ now and then goes a long way, you know.”

“Why are you telling Mira that?” Kevin protested. “It’s just going to upset her. I thought
I
was the resident bitch.”

“She’s already heard some of it. And she needs to know what’s happening,” Zara argued. “Maybe she can persuade Scott to lighten up next time she sees him.
Unless he does, and swings the tide back to Arlene, Mira’s going to be gone the next time Arcadia wins.
And I don’t want to be left here with four guys and Maria-Elena. She’s done better than I thought she would, but she’s no Mira.”

“Right,” Kevin scoffed. “Mira’s going to tell Scott to shape his nasty ass up, and he’s going to say, ‘
You
’re right, sweetheart. I’ve been a real tool. Thank you so much for pointing that out, so I can change.’
Wanna
bet?”

Mira dropped back a pace, not wanting to hear any more, her emotions in turmoil. She’d warmed at Zara’s praise, but her heart sank at the thought of having to leave just when she was getting the hang of this. Her steps slowed, and she found Gabe coming up beside her.

“That wasn’t too fun,” he began. “The voting, I mean.”

“No,” she agreed. She was still casting about for what to say next when he went on.

“Thanks for coming to my defense back there. My caveman tendencies, I mean. I should tell you,” he confessed, “I still open doors too.
Pure reflex by this point.
Blame my regressive upbringing.”

“Well, Arlene might not like it,” Mira said with a little smile, “but I suspect most women would. We want to be taken seriously, but a little consideration never hurts either.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, “why did you apply for the show in the first place? Besides the money, I mean. Not to further your show-business career, unless I’m dead wrong. And you aren’t a reality-show fan. So why? Was it Scott?”

“Partly,” she admitted. “He wanted to win the million dollars, of course—and just to win. You’ve probably guessed that. But I wanted to do it too. I’d have to, to have taken the risk. I’m not even positive that my job will be waiting for me when I go back. That’s pretty scary.”

“Is this where you tell me your grandmother needs life-saving surgery that costs, let’s see, half a million dollars?” he asked in alarm.

She laughed. Despite the ridiculous response he stirred in her, he was so easy to talk to. “Nothing like that, thank goodness. I just wanted a . . . a break. A change. I’ve been in the same field more than five years now. And it’s a job a lot of people would kill to have,” she felt compelled to point out. “It pays well, and it’s got a great career track.”

“Management consulting,” he remembered. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“For one thing, it means you’re never home. We’re mostly onsite, at the client’s office. Living in hotels. And nobody likes you. It’s like being a dentist. When the management consultants show up, people are going to lose their jobs, and everyone knows it. That part’s hard.”

Gabe’s mouth twisted in rueful agreement. “Yeah. That’s why I’m
not
a dentist.
Or a gynecologist.
Talk about being an unwelcome visitor.”

She was startled into a giggle. “Yeah, even worse. ‘Hi, I’m Dr. Gabe. Meet my freezing cold speculum.’”

He let out a surprised bark of laughter. “You’ve got a spunky side in there after all, don’t you? You should let it out more often.”

“Not everyone likes it,” she smiled back at him.

“I do,” he assured her. “You can show me that side anytime.”
  

She warmed at the appreciative look in his eyes. Maybe she didn’t hate flirting so much after all. “Maybe I will. Anyway, I’m loving the chance to have some weeks—a couple weeks anyway,” she amended as she remembered what Zara had said, “of being in one place, and things being so . . . so simple. Having such a completely different experience. Challenging myself. I don’t really care for the competition aspect,” she admitted, “but we haven’t had to deal much with that yet, have we? I’m just trying to enjoy it.” She laughed a little. “When I’m not hating it because I’m dirty and tired and there’s still so much to do, that is. Because it’s nothing like I expected. I thought I’d be spending a lot of time sitting outside, or going for long walks. Ha.”