What Happens in Paradise(51)

Ayers goes to the top deck to put out the seat cushions. Six kids is a lot, she thinks, especially if the parents start drinking. She decides to tell Cash that she’ll manage the kids and he’ll be in charge of the adults.

Adults are easier. Most of the time.

From her perch, Ayers spies Mick on the top deck of the ferry, Gordon with him on a leash, garnering attention from every dog lover on the boat. Mick took Gordon with him because, with both Ayers and Mick gone all day, there’d be no one to let him out. Still, Ayers suspects Mick also brought Gordon because Gordon is a chick magnet. And sure enough, a girl with long brown hair in a cute white sundress takes the seat next to Mick. The girl puts her arm around Mick and lays her head on his shoulder, so it must be someone they know. Ayers squints; the girl lifts her head and turns.

It’s Brigid.

To get some stuff for the bar, Ayers thinks. Paper straws. This is such bullshit, Ayers can’t believe she bought it! Well, she didn’t quite buy it, did she? She’d had a funny feeling because Mick hated going to St. Thomas. If there was a reason to go, he’d send one of his employees. But when Ayers asked follow-up questions, he’d accused her of giving him the third degree, and she hadn’t argued the point because she was feeling guilty about the journals and about seeing Baker.

Brigid! Where is he going with Brigid? To the recycling center and the restaurant-supply store? Or to the Tap and Still for a long boozy lunch followed by…what? Not back until late, he said. What a jerk!

Gordon puts his paws up on Brigid’s knees and starts licking her face, and Ayers turns away; if she watches any longer, she’s going to be sick. She pulls her phone out of her shorts pocket and as she’s wondering what to text to Mick—what can she say that will make him feel as nauseated as she feels right now?—Cash calls up the stairs.

“Paperwork is ready,” he says. “Permission to board?”

“Permission granted,” James says from the wheelhouse.

Ayers’s phone says it’s ten past eight. Time to get everyone on so they can leave. She shoves her phone back into her shorts pocket, then whips it back out and shoots a quick text to Mick: I saw you with Brigid. Please don’t ever call me again. It’s over.

She feels triumphant, but it lasts only an instant.

Brigid!



The six children are all in the same family, the Dresslers, and they’re all boys, towheaded and tan, ranging in age from fourteen to six. They all have D-names: DJ, Danny, Damian, Duncan, Donner (“Like the reindeer,” the mother says), and Dougie.

Who names a child after a reindeer? Ayers wonders. She’s in a foul mood.

The kids seem relatively well behaved, and the parents—Dave and Donna—are a striking couple, tall and superior-looking. Donna carries a bag (as big as Santa’s!) that holds the entire family’s snorkeling equipment.

You just never know what you’re going to get, Ayers thinks. Today it’s a cross between the von Trapp children and Russian matryoshka dolls.

She finds Cash in the cabin; he’s setting out the platter of fruit and the sliced coconut-banana bread. The greatest thing about Cash is he doesn’t mind the menial jobs. He thinks it’s a privilege! And Cash is clearly skilled with a knife. The fruit is uniformly sliced and spread out in an appetizing pinwheel.

Ayers pulls Cash aside. “I’ll keep a close eye on the boys. You take the so-called grown-ups.”

“Got it, boss,” he says. He turns from Ayers and smiles at a young woman who is hanging by the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“When does the bar open?” the young woman asks.

Ayers has to wait a beat before she answers. This happens every day, but Ayers is in no mood right now for someone whose sole reason for coming aboard Treasure Island is to get shitfaced.

“No alcohol until we’re under way,” Ayers says. “And even then, I’d urge you to be prudent until the snorkeling portion is over.”

“Prudent is my middle name,” she says. “But snorkeling is quite a while from now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ayers says. “Baths first—including travel, that takes two hours—then the captain will pick a snorkeling spot. We should be finished snorkeling by eleven or eleven thirty.”

“That’s a long time to be prudent,” the woman says.

Ayers feels herself about to snap. “Once we are on our way to Jost, you can drink as much as you want.”

Cash says, “If Prudent is your middle name, what’s your first name?” He sticks out a hand. “I’m Cash.”

“I’m Maxwell,” she says.

“That’s your first name?” Cash asks.

“’Fraid so,” she says. “It’s kind of confusing, but don’t worry, I’m very female.” She sticks her chest out at Cash, and Ayers notices a tattoo of a keyhole between her breasts. Ayers gets it—she’s waiting for the person who holds the key to her heart.

Cash must notice the tattoo at the same time—how could he not; it’s nestled right there between her boobs, which are straining against the green cups of her bikini—because he says, “Cool tattoo.”

Maxwell glances down at her chest as if she has no idea what he’s talking about. “Oh, thanks,” she says. Over the bikini, she’s wearing a sheer green paisley peasant blouse. She gives a tiny shrug, and the blouse slips down off her shoulder. This girl has all the moves and she has her bright gaze trained on Cash. “I hope you don’t mind my hanging around. It’s just that I came on this trip by myself. I’m visiting a friend of mine from high school who lives here but she said she has a lot of errands today because she works at night—”