So here she was, doing her version of a Disney princess and sweeping the sand off the boards of the wraparound porch.
Why did all Disney princesses sweep something at some point in their respective movies? Was it a not-so-veiled comment on a woman’s place in the world? Or was it simply more fun to sing and dance with a broom in hand?
Hmm.Something to think about.
Although no matter how hard she tried to apply herself to the topic, her traitorous mind kept returning to Mason.
Mason and that kiss.
Mason and all her untenable feelings for him.
Mason in the lovely Donna’s arms.
Just keep sweeping, Alex. A body in motion stays in motion. And sometimes a body in motion can stop a mind in motion. So just keep sweeping.
Making her way down the wide wooden steps, she industriously sent clouds of dust into the yard. When the last tread was clear, she stepped down and wiggled her bare toes in the sand. It was warm and soft. Inexplicably, it felt like home.
Home…
Turning a slow pirouette, she took in the sight of the big clapboard house with its peeling paint and creaky hurricane shutters. Another half turn, and there was the crescent-moon-shaped beach hugging the turquoise waters of the lagoon. Further out was the reef that protected this side of the island from the crash of the ocean, and anchored just beyond it was the big salvage ship they used daily in their search for theSanta Cristina.
There was the long dock she liked to sit on and watch the sunset. Above her head were the palm trees that woke her up each day by chattering in the morning breeze. And there was the hammock where she liked to sip sweet tea and read. That is when Uncle John wasn’t occupying it for his afternoon siestas.
She dragged in a breath, and it was filled with the warm smells of sand and salty sea, plus the more pungent aroma of Uncle John’s infamous chicory coffee as it wafted from inside the house.
Having been born and raised in the Crescent City, John swore his java was the cure for anything from a concussion to the common cold. Of course, John wasalsoa vocal proponent of marijuana, claiming he smoked it for his glaucoma, even though Alex was pretty sure his eyes were just fine.
In short, Uncle John enjoyed his substances.
She remembered one evening when he’d found her sitting out on the dock. For nearly thirty minutes while the sun sank into the sea, he’d regaled her with his theory that it was crazy-pants that humans drank the milk of other mammals.
I mean, it’s not natural. If it were natural, you’d see a hippo gettin’ a gullet full of gazelle milk, right?He’d waved his joint in the air.Scientifically speakin’, we’re pretty screwed up as a species.
When Alex had asked him,How high are you?his answer had been,Yes.Then he’d grinned and declared,But see, that’s the thing about bein’ stoned. It makes you interestin’. Much better than alcohol, which makes you dumb.
She found herself smiling at the memory, and was surprised because she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of smiling. Not today.
Meat ambled by her, stopping to sniff her toes before following his nose around the side of the porch. Li’l Bastard strutted in Meat’s wake, clucking contentedly. And once again, that word drifted through her head, as sweet as a lullaby.
Home…
If she couldn’t find a way to reconcile her feelings for Mason, what would that mean for her future on the island?
The Deep Six guys needed her. Because even though the colonial Spanish documents pertaining to the sinking of theSanta Cristinawere written in a language very similar to the one still spoken today, the writing itself had drastically changed over the centuries.
The flowing script, calledprocesal, had rounded symbols connected by long Arabic-like letters. She was one of about twenty people alive who could translate it, thanks to an interest she took in it after doing her undergrad thesis on Mel Fisher’s hunt for, and eventual excavation of, the renownedAtocha. Afterward, she’d spent a year in Seville, Spain, under the tutelage of a master inprocesal.
But she could read the old documents for the guys from anywhere. And even though it would break her heart to leave, she didn’t know if she could stand staying, what with—
She felt his presence behind her before she heard his footfall.
“Alex?” His deep voice was soft. His tone inquisitive.
She clutched the broom handle tightly and briefly squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to prepare herself for the visual onslaught that was Mason McCarthy. Turning slowly, she made extra sure what was in her heart didn’t show on her face. “Yeah?”
“It’s lunchtime.”
She wondered what her response should be to this seemingly inane bit of information.So it is? Bon appétit? Did you know the abbreviation “lunch” is taken from the Northern English word “luncheon,” which is itself derived from the Anglo-Saxon word “nuncheon” or “nunchin” meaning “noon drink”?
