“So long, Princess,” he said, and hopped down into the boat. He disappeared around the curve of the bow as she looked after him, then Ann turned reluctantly toward the house.
Luisa was making lunch as Ann came inside, closing the sliding-glass door behind her to contain the conditioned air. Luisa nodded toward the hall and Ann went down to her mother’s room.
“Mom?” she said, outside her parents’ door.
“Come in,” her mother called.
Ann walked into the dressing room where her mother was stepping into a pair of pumps.
“Hi, honey. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be having lunch at the club. I’ve already told Luisa to save something for your father whenever he wanders in from his golf game, so just be a good girl and eat whatever she gives you, okay? And remember, those carpet people are coming, so stay out of their way and let them work. Your father has been griping about the stains in his den for the last three months. What are your plans for the afternoon?” Margaret Talbot’s cool, aristocratic tones, still retaining a hint of New England, floated toward Ann as her mother clipped on a pair of earrings.
“I thought I’d just hang around here, maybe take a swim. Amy is coming over tonight.”
“All right, sweetie, have fun. It’s so nice to have you home again. And remember, we’re going shopping tomorrow on the big island.” Her mother came over to her and kissed her cheek.
“Okay.”
“See you at dinner. Bye-bye.” Margaret picked up her purse and tennis racket, grabbing her carryall and waving to her daughter as she left the bedroom.
“Bye.” her mother into the hall, returning to the kitchen to find Luisa pouring out a glass of iced lemonade. Several oatmeal and raisin cookies and a folded napkin sat beside it on a ceramic tray.
“Is that my lunch?” Ann asked.
“Of course not, your mother would have a fit,” Luisa replied crisply.
“It’s for that boy working on the boat, isn’t it?” Ann said, snatching a cookie.
“So?”
“I’ll take it out to him.”
“You will not,” Luisa said firmly.
“Why not?”
“Your father wouldn’t want you talking to that boy,” Luisa replied, picking up the tray herself.
“What’s wrong, is he a criminal or something?” Ann asked around a mouthful of oatmeal, intrigued.
Luisa didn’t answer, merely walked toward the back patio, the tray in her hands.
“So then why is it okay for you to talk to him, Luisa?” Ann inquired logically, abandoning the remains of the cookie on the kitchen table.
The front doorbell rang.
“I think you’d better get that,” Ann said to Luisa, deftly taking the tray from the older woman’s hands.
“You can answer it,” Luisa said.
“No, I can’t. It’s the carpet cleaners, I can see the van through the window. You have to talk to them.”
Luisa sighed and turned around as Ann slipped through the patio doors, balancing the tray with one hand as she moved the slider closed with the other.
Ann walked carefully over the back lawn toward the boat as the ice clinked in the tall glass. She was almost to the boat when she heard a yelp and a curse, followed by frantic rummaging sounds. She put the tray down on the lawn and ran the rest of the way, jumping down from the dock and peering into the engine well.
The workman was sitting cross-legged on the deck, wrapping a filthy towel around his hand as blood gushed from his thumb.
“Oh, my God,” Ann said, running to his side. “What on earth did you do?”
“I was trimming the fuel line when the knife slipped,” he replied tersely, wadding the dingy terry cloth against his hand. It was rapidly turning red.
“That’s really bleeding badly, you have to get to the hospital,” Ann said. “Let me just run inside and get my car keys and I’ll take you there.”
“No way,” he replied. “My truck is parked out by the road, I can drive.”
“You can’t drive with your hand like that, especially a manual transmission,” Ann said, already turning for the house. She didn’t wait for him to answer but sprinted back inside, grabbing her purse from her dresser and pulling a pair of shorts on over her bikini bottoms. She paused to slip into her sandals as Luisa came after her and asked, “Where do you think you’re going? Lunch is almost ready.”
“The boy working on the boat hurt his hand badly, I’m taking him to Palm Hospital,” Ann replied, running for the side door leading to the garage.
“You can’t drive him all the way to the hospital!” Luisa called anxiously, scuttling after her charge. “Let one of the carpet cleaners take him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ann said to Luisa over her shoulder, jumping into her car and pressing the release for the garage door, which began to ascend automatically behind them. “They have a schedule to keep and they’re already unraveling the hose from the van. And you know what my father will say if his rug isn’t cleaned on time. I’m doing nothing, I can take him. Now get out of the way so I can back up the car, okay?”
Luisa moved reluctantly, her expression unhappy, as Ann backed the car down the long drive leading to the street. Once there she saw that the boat workman was trying to do a U turn in his ancient truck, operating the controls with his injured hand.
Ann zoomed in front of him, blocking his truck with her car. She got out, leaving her door open as she walked over to him and looked up inquiringly into the cab.
“Get out of my way,” he said tightly, not even pausing to glance at her.
“Having a little trouble?” she asked mildly.
“I’ll make it,” he replied shortly.
“Sure you will, if you can manage to drive that Stone Age truck with your mangled hand and don’t pass out from loss of blood along the way.”
“Not all of us can afford a new sports car every year, Miss Talbot,” he said irritably. He threw the truck into reverse awkwardly and it lurched and died. He closed his eyes.
“Very good—looks like you’re stuck. Now will you stop being such a macho idiot and let me drive you to the hospital?”
He said nothing, his conflicted expression indicating the struggle between his overwhelming desire to handle the situation himself and his realization that she was right. Logic finally won and he put the truck into neutral and let it roll to the side of the road. Then he jumped down from the cab and said tersely, “I’m going to bleed all over your fancy leather upholstery.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Ann replied, getting back behind the wheel of her car as he slid into the front seat on the passenger side, trying futilely to rewrap the already sopping towel around his wound.
“Use this,” she said, grabbing a sweater from her back seat and handing it to him.
“Isn’t this yours?” he said, accepting the garment with his good hand.
“I have others,” she said shortly.
He shot her an unreadable glance and then did as she said, dropping the towel on the floor and substituting her pullover for it. He cradled the injured hand in his lap and sat bolt upright, looking out the window as Ann drove.
“Why don’t you sit back and relax?” she said to him. “I’m not going to bite you.”
He obeyed, letting his shoulders touch the seat and closing his eyes. He looked pale beneath his tan and seemed drained. The loss of blood, or the shock of the accident, must have been affecting him.
“You should hold your hand upright and put pressure on the cut,” Ann said. “It will slow the bleeding.”
“Who are you, Florence Nightingale?”
“I had a first-aid course in school.”
“Stop telling me what to do, okay?”
Ann shrugged. “Okay. I’m only trying to help.”
Out of the corner of her eye Ann saw him lift the injured hand with the good one and press his opposing thumb over the cut.
She smiled to herself and kept on driving.
The trip to the hospital over the causeway to Big Palm Island took only ten minutes, but it seemed longer. When they reached the emergency room entrance he bolted out the door of her car as soon as it stopped moving.
“Hey, wait for me!” Ann called, throwing the gearshift into park and grabbing her keys from the ignition. By the time she got inside he was already registering with the clerk.