A refreshing breeze blew in from the sea and rattled the tarp a little, then ruffled the banana leaves and pressed the thick flannel nightdress she was wearing against her legs. Her knees were drawn up, and she hugged them to her chest, digging her feet into the sand.
The water was a deep aqua blue and in the distance she could hear the waves rumble against the reef. Closer, flies buzzed around the kelp on the shore where sand crabs skittered across the wet sand and burrowed deep before a wave could sweep them out to sea.
Hank staggered out of the rushing water and plopped down next to her. “You should come in the water, Smitty. It’s great diving.”
She looked out at the lagoon, at the cool water. But she didn’t say anything.
“There are all the oysters you could ever eat down there, sweetheart.”
She looked at him. “You just think I’m the one who can pick the ones with pearls.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re right.”
They sat there for a moment before Margaret looked at him. “I need a favor.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d like you to teach Lydia how to swim.”
“You can swim.”
“You’re teaching Theodore. You can easily teach Lydia at the same time. And I’m still sunburned,” she added.
“You don’t look sunburned to me.”
“Trust me, I am.”
He watched her for a moment. “You went in the water this morning.”
“You said the saltwater would help my skin heal faster.”
“Yeah, but that was over a week ago.”
“I was too sore to go in until now,” she said, trying to sound tired. “I think I was in the sun too long again.” She raised her hand to her forehead and heaved a big sigh. “I’ve been feeling rather lightheaded.”
He watched her for a moment, and she hoped he didn’t see through her. After a minute, he said, “Okay, I’ll teach her.”
“Thank you,” she said as weakly as she could.
“But only until you’re able to take over. Got it?”
She nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around her. He was looking out at the sea so she took the opportunity to watch him.
Beads of saltwater shimmered on his tanned skin, and the remnants of sea foam still bubbled on his ankles. He raised his wet hands to his forehead and combed his fingers through his black hair, slicking it back from his tanned face.
Those cutoff pants hit him midthigh and were a concession to decency. But his body was still exposed—dark skin and the black hair that grew so thickly over his chest and down his rippled belly only to disappear into the waist of his pants where the fabric clung to the outlines of his form and the color of his flesh showed through the wet cotton. The black hair reappeared on his tanned thighs and calves. His legs were long and hard and thick with rippling muscles that looked like slithering snakes when he walked.
She watched the way his arms flexed as he leaned back on his elbows and stared out at the sea, the way the water trickled down his ribs and slid around to his back before it dripped into the white sand.
She didn’t know how long she looked at his body. Time didn’t enter into her thoughts, only an absurd fascination with the rugged look of him—of dark hair, tanned muscle and tendon that made his body male. Only an awareness of differences between them. That not only did they see the world from different perceptions and philosophies, but their differences were physical as well.
She looked away, uncomfortable with him so close and wearing so little. She touched her mouth, aware that it was suddenly dry. She glanced at him to see if he’d noticed her.
He was frowning up at the sky where Muddy was flying overhead with Lydia and Theodore. “I still don’t believe what I’m seeing.”
“Me either.” She looked away, keeping her eyes on a spot in the sand.
“Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”
