“Let me go. You’re hurting me.”
Jerry laughs. “I’ll just take the watch from the major’s daughter. Neither she nor her husband looks like they’ll give me any trouble.”
“That’s not what Tony wants you to do.”
“Tony’s not here, and I’m not dumb enough to let you go because of him.”
My back arches over the railing and my feet barely touch the deck. He’s gonna push me over, and I’ll drown in the Atlantic. Nothing left of me except memories of the girl I was. Nothing about the girl I want to be.
“Come on, Jerry. You want that pocket watch more than you want to hurt me. And you don’t want to make an enemy of Tony.”
“A minute ago, your idea was to throw Tony aside and work with Major Thomas. What happened to that plan? A lie? Like most everything that comes outta your mouth?”
Jerry’s large hand wraps around my throat before I can scream.
The pearl-handled switchblade is in my back pocket. My mother’s voice can’t help me now. What am I gonna do?
Jerry spins me around, but our feet tangle. We stumble, and I end up with both arms wrapped around the railing and don’t intend to let go. He won’t toss me overboard. The man is surprised by our new positions and loosens his grip. I drive my knee into his groin, putting all my weight behind it. He hunches forward, if only for an instant, blinks, and then rushes at me. I hunch down and spring up. He is so off-balance when I drive my body into him again that he falls over the railing, his eyes wide, his mouth forming anOof shock as he tumbles over and over until he splashes into the sea.
Madness inspires madness.
If I hear my mother’s voice one more time, I might follow Jerry into the sea. Where was she all those years when I desperately needed her? The disembodied voice inside my head is unbearable, a cruel reminder of the help that never comes—the help I need now.
CHAPTER 18
ZINZI
Trench Town, Kingston
Two days since we kissed. Two days since I last saw or spoke to him. On the first day, I worked, did my job at the Constant Spring Hotel. I stayed busy. Then, yesterday, a telegram from Accompong put Byron out of my mind for a little while.
A note from my mother, Momma Hazel Green, written by one of my brothers, Raymond, the eldest, because she never bothered to learn how to write, let alone send a telegram. She surprises me with a request: She wants me to guide a group of tourists to the Cockpit and Accompong—Americans on the SSTalamancafrom New York City, arriving in Kingston this very week. She promises I won’t have to stay in Accompong long, but she would be immensely grateful if I could do her this favor.
So many questions. Why call it a favor? Who are these people? Why me? I am not a tour guide, though I do know the Cockpit inside and out.
There has been some distance between my mother and me that has nothing to do with miles. Something broke between us years ago. Sometimes I, naïvely, blame her fear of my lovefor mermaids, but that was never the reason. I didn’t believe in the magic she hid in her cloth pouches and woven baskets. I didn’t believe in the potions, the herbal mixtures, or the talismans.
My relationship with my mother is like a river flowing toward the sea, but not a direct path—barriers exist. Dams. Broken promises. A young girl’s need to have someone to blame, as the ones she loved so eagerly kept dying.
It’s the last sentence that makes it impossible to say no. “This is Raymond. Momma is very ill and needs to see you.”
I tuck the note in the top drawer of my dresser. I’ll figure out what to do about it tomorrow.
Allan Coombs’s Office, King Street, Kingston
Sitting in Allan’s office, between Raymond’s note and no news of Byron, I am battling an overwhelming sense of dread.
“What did you say?” Allan asks, lifting his gaze from the newspaper he’s been reading.
Had I voiced my concerns aloud? Maybe. “I’m worried about Byron.”
“Why? Where is he?”
“I’m not sure where he is,” I reply.
“Your concern sounds like it should stay on the other side of the front door. He’s not our problem—not when we have a major rally to plan.”
I understand Allan’s curtness. The Kingston Waterfront protest is shaping up to be the largest of the year. Here I am acting like a lovesick schoolgirl after just one kiss when so much more is on the line. “Sorry,” I apologize sincerely.
