Someone Else's Ocean(51)

“First, it was his tongue and then from inside. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“You poor thing, you got blasted.”

“What?”

“Blasted. You can come both ways. He rubs your G inside with his penis or stimulates the clit outside. You can have both at the same time too.”

Fire spread through my lower half as I imagined the possibilities.

“And I see today we’re getting educational,” Toby chimed in from the door of our office before he chuckled and looked over at me. “And I guess congratulations are in order?”

“God,” I buried my head in my hands and muffled a “Hi, Toby.”

“Happy Saturday, ladies,” he said carrying his water bottle in and making the switch.

“See you later, Jasmine,” I said in an attempt to make a quick exit. “Call me if you need anything.”

She waved me off as she drank Toby in with a crocodile smile. God bless the poor man, it was only a matter of time.





Warm wind whipped through my hair as I blazed a trail through the roads I’d come to know. After a year in St. Thomas, I really had no choice but to take on the ‘Hakuna Matata’ attitude. Len sang “Steal My Sunshine” as I pulled up to the rental and parked my Jeep. I opened three sets of glass double doors from the living room to the patio and let the ocean air filter in while I laid out a bottle of wine and one of Banion’s bouquets on the countertop. Half an hour later, I greeted two pale-faced couples. As soon as they pulled up, the driver—a tall, thin, wiry man with thick brown hair—jumped out and held out the keys over the hood to the laughing passenger who I assumed was his wife.

“Oh, hell no, I’m not driving here,” she said with a guilty smile.

“Did you know it was left side versus right here!?” He exclaimed as she winked at me in greeting, mid-argument with her husband. She knew, all right, she knew because I told her. The U.S. Virgin Islands were formerly owned by the British. It’s kind of like renting a car in England, but… not. Same driver’s side but you drive on the opposite side of the road. With steep mountain cliffs and neck breaking turns—not to mention impatient natives—for those unprepared, it’s pretty much the scariest experience ever from the airport to their destination.

“I can arrange for a driver for the rest of your trip,” I piped in as all four of them looked my way. “Hi, I’m Koti.”

A woman close to my age came toward me and gripped me in a bear hug. “Oh, this place, Koti! It’s even more amazing than the pictures.”

“Hi, Kelli. Wait until you see the inside.” I whispered, hugging her back. I greeted the two men pulling bags from the trunk of the rental.

“Guys, I know you’re anxious to get settled, but if you can let the bags wait a minute so I could show you around, I would appreciate it.” The men reluctantly let the bags go and followed me down the tinted cement shell concrete stairs that sat surrounded by lush tropical plants. When I opened the door, they all gasped in unison. At the time I took the reservation and spoke to Kelli, I wanted to make sure she got the best rental we had. She had just survived her second round of chemo and deserved the oasis she was about to spend a week in. The tears that shimmered in her eyes as she assessed her piece of the island did it all for me. She lifted a grateful gaze to mine before she raced out onto the marble porch at the back of the house and tackled her husband, who had already covered half of the top floor. His smile matched hers and in a simple maneuver he gripped her from his back and pulled her tightly to him. Excited whispers were exchanged between them as he held her like his lifeline and his eyes conveyed everything he felt for her. My chest swelled with admiration while another part of me rejoiced in their excitement.

It was my favorite type of rush, sharing my peaceful island with those who deserved some peace of their own.

But I’d never had life be so ugly as to dish out cancer.

Kelli’s eyes found me again and I pushed a tear away with my finger in an attempt to mask it as she mouthed “thank you.”

The other couple, who Kelli told me was her best friend and husband, stood on a separate porch and rapidly spoke while they pointed to the lone mountain nestled across their lawn, made of deep blue water.

“That’s Hans Lolich,” I pointed out, “And it’s for sale. Thirty-five million and it’s yours.”

The couples roamed the house taking in their rented oasis and kept their eyes glued past the cliffside back patio that stretched the length of the large two-story villa. It took me several minutes to get their attention, but I had to admit I loved watching them run around like children who just arrived at their first carnival.

“Okay, guys listen up.” For the next few minutes, I showed them around the house and explained as much as I could get through to them, when their thoughts were on their first drink and a dive in their private pool.

Once I had them settled, and we’d said our goodbyes, I made my way out the front door and left the keys on the mahogany table next to it.

“Hey!” I turned to see Kelli close the front door behind her, her hands clasped on the knob. “I know you rented this house to me for under the normal weekly rate.” I saw her audibly swallow and had to fight emotion to keep my tears from coming. She needed this trip. I’d heard it in her voice when she made the reservation, the defeat, the need to be excited about something, anything. It was rare that I spoke to a client for more than a few minutes, but Kelli and I spoke for the better part of an hour when she called. After my talk with her, I spent a day or two trying to imagine what it was like having poison shoved into my veins while I fought for my life and counted on others to try to save it.