"That Sanibel clothing company,” she replied, her tone icy and impatient, “happens to be an international company listed on NASDAQ.”
I said, “Sorry. The founders of Chico’s used to keep me updated. We’ve lost touch.”
“Is that another jab about how I got my job? Maybe I haven’t thanked you enough. Okay, I’ll say it again: Thanks.”
I was still smiling. “Do you realize your piney-woods accent comes back when you’re mad? File that tidbit away so all the people you think you’re fooling don’t stumble onto the truth about the real Shay Money. Or have you gone back to using Shanay?”
The woman growled in frustration. “Don’t call me that. You can be such an asshole.”
“It’s the only way I can relate to anal-retentive friends.”
Bridge lights shadowed her scowl in rhythmic panels as we descended onto the island. “Okay, okay. So I’m not proud of what’s on the video. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to become someone I’m not. Maybe the mask finally slipped when we were on Saint Arc. White trash, that’s what the camera captured. Me. Yeah, the real me, and cameras don’t lie. What do you expect from the daughter of Dexter Ray Money?”
The late Dex Money, Shay’s father, was one of the foulest men I’d ever met.
"Excuses,” I said. "Self-pity and excuses-that’s what I’d expect. .. if I didn’t know you so well.”
I watched the girl straighten. After a moment, she whispered, “My God, that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it? I’m acting just like him.”
I pretended not to hear.
A moment later, she said, “Thanks. Thanks for the boot in the butt. Doc, you are right. I may be the daughter of… of-” Her voice thickened, then she slapped the steering wheel. “I may be his daughter, but I sure don’t have to behave like that sad, dead son of a bitch.”
I nodded and sipped my water.
“All his life, he did nothing but get trickier and cuter when he was in trouble. He hurt the people who cared for him, and he made excuses- mostly to cops. And you’re no cop. I owe you a lot. You and your sister. The way you two helped when you had no reason in the world to help. I’ve been lying to you, and Ransom, too. If I can’t tell you two the truth, who can I trust?”
Ransom Gatrell is my cousin, not my sister, but I no longer bother correcting people.
Shay sniffled, her voice still shaky, but she got the words out: “Sorry, Doc. Give me a sec?”
I said, “Relax. It’s no big deal.” Then, for some reason, I had to add, “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
3
On Sanibel, Shay downshifted and turned onto Periwinkle, the island’s main drag. She drove in silence, tilting her head so wind could find her hair. The road was narrowed by tree shadow, and I gulped air that tasted of saltwater and asphalt-scented rain. When returning from an airport, after a long flight, the dulled intimacies of home become fresh again. So why did I feel restless?
I’d missed something. Not long flights… but elements that were associated with travel.
It had been a while, as I told Shay.
Until that moment, I’d considered the trip an interruption. June’s a good month in Florida. Squalls and heat begin their metrical interplay. Tourism slows, fishing’s superb, mangoes are ripe. The old fish camp marina where I live is at its quirky best because the reduced population allows locals to focus on their own small dramas.
My personal dramas had taken a pleasant turn. A love interest from the past had returned, and I’d been weighing the pros and cons of resuming the relationship. I had unusual projects under way in my lab. My son was healthy, my daughter was growing, and the mothers of each child were happily occupied with their own lives, so rarely caused trouble in mine. And vice versa.
Summer is a favorite time of year, and Florida’s personal little secret. So why travel?
But friendship isn’t a recreational vehicle. It is a covenant. I take the obligations seriously. So I dropped everything when the girl yelled help.
Now I pretended to concentrate on my briefcase as Shay wrestled with the decision to tell me the truth, or stick with her story.
“Okay… I’ll start at the beginning and tell you what really happened.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Jesus, Doc… this is so damn embarrassing. We were so stupid! It isn’t easy to talk about.”
I said, “I’ll match my personal stupidities with anyone’s. You’re safe with me.”
“Humph.” It was the sound of reflection. “True. Always have been with you. I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. You were soaking wet, all dressed in black, and I thought you’d come to rob us-”
Patiently, I said, “We were talking about your girls’ weekend in the Caribbean.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Well… my bridesmaids deserved a break. Michael and I are having a huge wedding. I’ve delegated a lot of the work to those ladies. Plus, planning a wedding-and this may come as a surprise to a guy like you-but planning a wedding is one of the most stressful things you can imagine. I’ve read it ranks up there with buying a house or dealing with a friend’s death. I was about crazy, and we all needed a break.”
I said, “You’ve always been generous,” letting her get to the truth in her own way.
“I decided on a surprise vacation, just the four of us. I asked around for travel tips, narrowed it down to a couple of islands, then asked around until I found the perfect girls’ hideaway. Our own seaside house, secluded but with shopping, lots of books, yoga, and a private beach for topless sunbathing. A really wicked beach. That’s the way I described it in the invitations. Unfortunately, it came exactly as advertised.”
It wasn’t their first trip. She and her friends liked exotic destinations, away from local gossips.
“We’ve had our secret fun, sure. We trust each other not to blab. The saintly, girly-girl types are a pain in the ass-after all those years in Catholic school? But we are not sluts. And we never came close to getting as wild as we did on Saint Arc. I swear to God, I still don’t understand how it got out of control.”
When Shay sensed me looking at her, she huffed, “I mean it. It was our last night on the island. The last time we’d ever be together free and single since finishing our master’s degrees, and we’d been bawling all day. Life changes so damn fast. We wanted to cut loose and have some laughs. But it was a Sunday night, nothing going on.
“That’s when the men appeared. Three strangers.
“They came strolling onto our private little beach, looking for a party some movie people were throwing. Supposedly. They were polite and funny. We invited them in. They made special margaritas. A little later, we put on music and started dancing. But we didn’t pair off right away. It was more of a group thing.”
Shay told me the guys brought a couple of joints, local grass. She hadn’t smoked since college.
“Because I was high, the whole scene seemed hilarious. But innocent. Us with these good-looking dudes with French or Caribbean accents, passing around a joint. Maybe because they were younger, we felt in control. They didn’t even realize we were laughing at them, so cool-acting. But then it got to be more like a dare between us girls when the guys said they wanted to get in the pool. Who’d be the first to say ‘stop’? Beryl or Liz, Corey or me?”
No one said stop. The night kept going.
Shay leaned toward the steering wheel, no longer guarded. “It was my party, and I let it go too far. I don’t know why, and it’s driving me nuts.”
I said, “You didn’t force your friends. They’re older than you. Beryl’s, what, three or four years older?”
“Four. And she’s the queen of Ice Queens-usually-and she was the first one with her suit off. But it doesn’t matter. I was in charge. I didn’t stop it when I had the chance. Everything felt slow and dreamy. They told us the grass was really strong shit, but man, I don’t know.”
“You think they slipped you something else?”
“I’ve wondered about it. If they did, I hope I never get the chance to buy the stuff because I don’t think I could pass up the chance. The feeling was incredible. Like someone hit the happy switch, and all my stress was gone. It was also like… like I got a dose of aphrodisiac down where it counts.”