I shrugged. “Together, yes. Happy?” I looked out over the water and thought about this. “Sometimes, yeah. Often, actually. But you know how some people have those relationships where they can’t live with each other and can’t live without each other?”
He shrugged. “In theory, yeah. With friends, totally. I’m just lucky enough not to have any firsthand experience.”
I nodded. “Well, that’s good. Because I have and it is no picnic.” The thought of Hayes was like a shard of glass. I looked down into my martini, realizing I was drinking it too quickly. I was rambling. “And what about you?” I asked, eager to get off the subject. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Yes. And she finds it perfectly acceptable for me to shepherd beautiful young women around on yachts in the Caribbean. She wouldn’t have wanted to come with me to this shithole anyway.”
“Who would? These eggs Benedict are barely edible.” They were divine. “So, is it inappropriate of me to ask why you’re here all alone?”
He laughed. “No. Not inappropriate. We’re in international waters so anything goes.” He took a sip of his martini. “Two of my best friends are meeting me in a couple days to spend some time in Anegada, and then we’re going to pick my parents up in Saint Thomas to go to Jost Van Dyke for a bit before I finish my vacationin Tortola. But believe it or not, no one could take three weeks off to come with me the whole time.” He lifted his glass. “So I’m lucky I met you.”
I lifted my glass. “Cheers to that!”
He put his napkin on the table. “Let’s go to the front of the boat, pretend it’s ours, and laugh snidely at the unwashed masses cruising by on their fifty-foot yachts.” He took off his T-shirt, crumpling it on the chair.
I took off my dress so I could start working on my tan and followed him.
We stretched out on the loungers on the front deck. The sun felt warm and perfect.
“Do you mind if we cruise a little?” he asked. “I thought we’d go to Soggy Dollar for lunch.”
I lit up. I had read all about the famous local beachfront bar. “Yes, please!”
It occurred to me then that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to be in another country with a man I barely knew on a boat that wasn’t even his. But I was lulled into contentment by the drink and the sun and the gentle water, so I let the worry pass by and focused, instead, on how great my tan was going to be.
Three hours later, waves crashed over the dinghy, threatening to capsize our little boat as we made our way to shore again. “I should have had Axle bring us in,” Conner said, laughing as the spray drenched us again.
Axle. The first mate. I wondered how many people actually worked on this boat.
“But then what kind of adventurers would we be?” I practicallyshouted over the noise of the angry surf. The water farther out was calm, but the breakers were huge despite the clear skies.
Once we—somehow—made it to shore, I helped him pull the boat up onto the sand.
The white maxi dress that had seemed so chic this morning now clung to my skin, feeling disgusting. I wasn’t sure if I could go to the bar in just my bathing suit, but even still, this would never do. I peeled my dress off and spread it on the side of the dinghy to dry. “Can I go in like this?” I asked Conner, peering up at the open-air space to see what other people were wearing.
“Can you go to the Soggy Dollar Bar in your bikini?” he asked. “I believe that’s the dress code.”
He reached out to take my hand and led me to an open table where he plopped down in a plastic chair. I wished I had brought a towel, but it probably would have gotten drenched too. I looked at the chair warily.
As I sat down, a goat—an actual goat—jumped up on top of the low table and peered at me curiously.
I burst out laughing. “I only take you to the finest places,” Conner said.
Butthiswas what I had really imagined when I dreamed of the islands—laid-back bars, random livestock, colorful, open-air settings.
Conner pulled the goat by the collar he was wearing—which, I noted, bore the insignia of my rival university, UNC—but he stood firm, bleating sorrowfully at him.
We both dissolved into hysterics. “He wins,” Conner said, sitting back down.
“A goat isn’t the worst dining companion I’ve ever had,” I said.
At that moment, I had the most distinct urge to write a letter tomy grandmother—something I did very, very often. I wanted to tell her that I was having so much fun that I had forgotten all about the wedding drama and home and work. Everything, really, except for Conner and this magical day. And I knew I would do it all over again if he asked me.
EDITHHigher GroundJuly 16, 1916
Edith could barely see, the rain was coming down so hard. She was soaked through her clothes, her poor horse so wet that she could hardly balance atop his saturated skin.Dear Lord, please let it stop, she prayed. The storm the week before had caused Asheville’s French Broad River to rise considerably. But after just four dry days, here they were again, drowning in rain just as fierce. Noble, who’d insisted on riding beside Edith, called over the noise of the driving rain, “The paper said yesterday brought more rain to the Blue Ridge than had ever been reported in a single twenty-four-hour period in all of the United States! Can you believe that?”
As the drops pelted Edith’s face, she called back, with a hint of irony, “Well, Noble, I really can.”
