What Happens in Paradise(75)

“Wow,” she says to Huck. She’s wet—and cold for the first time since she’s been here.

“D,” he says. “For difficult.”

“There’s no charter tomorrow, correct?”

“Correct,” Huck says. “You get a day off, unless something comes up at the last minute, which has been known to happen.”

Irene nods and wraps her arms around herself. She’s shivering.

Huck notices and holds his arms open.

She stares at him.

“I’m just offering you a hug,” Huck says. “That was tough on you and the news I greeted you with was no picnic either.”

Irene takes a tentative step toward him. He wraps his arms around her. It has been…well, a long time since a man held her like this. Russ, before he left for his “business trip” after Christmas? Had he hugged Irene or kissed her goodbye?

No, she remembers. She had been in Coralville returning some Christmas presents for Milly. She had been angry at Russ for leaving over the new year, and as punishment, she had denied him a proper goodbye.

She tries to remember what Christmas had been like. It was just the two of them in the morning in front of the tree, opening gifts. They had talked to each of the boys on the phone and they had joined Milly for the Christmas lunch served at Brown Deer.

Had they been intimate? Had they hugged and kissed? They’d held hands, she remembers, during the Christmas Eve service at First Presbyterian.

That had been nice, Irene supposes, but it hadn’t offered the comfort or the rush of this hug. Irene fits into Huck’s arms perfectly. His body is solid and warm. Can she trust him? She feels like the answer is yes—but she would have said exactly the same thing about Russell Steele. She would have said Russ was beyond reproach.

“Let me take you to dinner tonight,” Huck says in her ear. “Maia is with Ayers and I have an idea. We’ll go over to St. Thomas.”

St. Thomas is bigger, and they can be anonymous. For some reason, this suits Irene better than being seen out in Cruz Bay, where everyone knows Huck and might guess who Irene is.

“Okay,” she says.



Irene meets Huck back at the dock at six thirty. He told her to dress up and so she’s wearing a spring-green linen sheath with a belted middle, a dress she bought for Baker’s high-school graduation thirteen years earlier—right around the time that Russ met Rosie, although she tries to put this thought out of her mind.

Huck is wearing a blue button-down shirt, ironed khakis, and if Irene isn’t mistaken, there’s a navy blazer folded across the back of the captain’s seat.

This is a real date.

Huck has wine on the boat. He pours her a glass of Cakebread chardonnay—she can’t believe he remembered what kind of wine she likes—and he opens a beer for himself.

“We aren’t going far,” he says. “Just over to the yacht club in Red Hook. Fifteen minutes.”

They cruise out, nice and easy, across Sir Francis Drake Channel as the sun sets. Irene considers sitting in the bow and letting the wind catch her hair—it’s out of its braid tonight—but instead, she sits next to Huck where she can listen to the music, Jackson Browne singing “Running on Empty.” The sky glows pink and blue and gold; Huck is humming; Irene’s wine is crisp and cold. There is nothing wrong with this moment.

The world is a strange and mysterious place, Irene thinks. How is it possible that Russ’s web of deceit and his secret second life led Irene here? She laughs at the absurdity of it. Huck never met Russ but Russ certainly knew that Huck existed. What would Russ think if he could see Huck and Irene now? It turns Irene’s mind into a pretzel just considering it.

They pull into a slip at the St. Thomas Yacht Club and a cute young man in white shorts and a green polo hurries over to help with the ropes. He offers Irene a hand up to the dock.

“Captain Huck,” he says. “Good to see you again, sir. It’s been a while.”

“Good to see you, Seth,” Huck says. “Are we all set inside?”

“Yes, sir,” Seth says. “They’re ready for you. Enjoy your dinner.”

Huck offers Irene his arm and walks her down the dock. He’s wearing his blazer now and Irene is soothed by how at ease he seems and how gentlemanly he is as he opens the door to the club and ushers Irene inside.

The hostess, a stunning young West Indian woman, greets Huck with a kiss and introduces herself as Jacinda to Irene, then leads Huck and Irene to a table by the front window that overlooks the docks and the water. Irene can see the twinkling lights of St. John in the distance.

Theirs is the only table set. They are the only people in the dining room.

“Is it…always this empty?”

“The kitchen normally isn’t open tonight,” Huck says. “But they owe me a favor.”

So they are having a private dinner. The whole club, all to themselves.

“The prime rib is very good here,” Huck says. “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of fish.”

They eat like royalty: Warm rolls with sweet butter, organic greens with homemade papaya vinaigrette, prime rib, baked potato with lots of butter and sour cream, and, for dessert, sabayon and berries. Huck and Irene drink wine with dinner, then end with a sipping rum, a twenty-five-year-old El Dorado that is even better than the Flor de Ca?a, Huck says.