Jaden Skye: Death by Honeymoon

Finally, there was nothing to fear. The wedding was over, he was hers, and their honeymoon so far was all she’d ever dreamt of. Lying beside him on a blanket on the white Caribbean sands, surrounded by the beauty of the turquoise waters, she exhaled.

Nothing could have prepared her for the unbelievable beauty of this place. The beach was surrounded by palm trees, winding roads and hidden birds. Some of them sang intermittently as the waves rolled up onto the shore. It had power to heal the upset she’d gone through. No one had been able to stop their wedding from happening, although his family had tried.

Clint moved closer. She could smell his suntan lotion, mixed with salt from the ocean. He took her slender hand and his rugged strength rose up through her, as she turned to him and smiled. It was a smile of contentment. Of Victory. Cindy had won. She’d fought hard for this marriage, and nothing could take it away.

As if reading her thoughts, Clint whispered in her ear, “We did it. We’re together now, forever. Everything else is in the past.”

Cindy took a deep breath. She’d always been afraid to believe in forever, but now she could. Her relationship with Clint was soothing her mind. Her own father had died when she was a little girl and it had been a long time before she’d been willing to trust life again. With Clint beside her, she could.

Cindy watched the sun glistening on the waves, rising faster and faster. High tide was coming in. The surf here was fed by swirling currents from the Atlantic Ocean, pouring into the cove. The sound of the waves, crashing on the rocks, startled her for a moment. This place was perfect for Clint. He was an avid surfer, craved the ocean, and required challenge. This beach was off the beaten course, wild, untamed, not the usual destination for travelers. It was famous for its wild surf.

“It will make our honeymoon even more thrilling,” he’d said, when he suggested this spot. There were milder turfs nearby, where she could surf as well. But Cindy wanted it to be the honeymoon of his dreams. It didn’t matter to her that most couples went to the comfortable West Side of Barbados, while they headed East to the rugged shore.

“Where did you say you were going?” the driver that picked them up from the airport had asked twice .

“El Barado Hotel,” Clint had repeated.

The driver had looked at them, skeptical. “You know where you’re going? You’re going to the real Barbados. You’re sure?”

“Very sure,” Clint grinned.

“Ok.” Then the car had sped away from the airport, turning off the main road.

Cindy was proud of Clint. He was so sure of everything. He wasn’t one to take old, tired familiar pathways. Cindy loved that about him. He reminded her of what was possible. She used to be strong and confident like that. His words brought her back to herself.

As their car had wound its way further and further, Cindy realized they were heading somewhere out of the ordinary. They wound through country lanes, past sugar cane farms and quaint villages made up of small single-story houses. There were food shacks along the roads and simple clapboard churches. It was clearly where the locals lived and worked.

Their car had driven quickly through the villages, and right up to the hotel. It seemed to be rushing, as if there weren’t a minute to lose.

“There it is,” the driver had pointed.

The hotel came into view, sprawled behind rocks, at the edge of the beach, looking out at the ocean. “Not too many people know about this place.”

The outside of the hotel was trimmed with wraparound plantation shutters, brass hanging lamps and hurricane lights. Clint had found out about it from some executives at his company, who were also rabid surfers, like him. They loved Clint. As a wedding present, the company offered to pay part of the expenses.

He was thrilled. Cindy and Clint had tipped the driver generously, as he’d brought their bags up to the front door.

Alex, a grinning local, hefty man in his fifties, greeted them.

“Welcome to the Island,” he’d said in a lilting tone. “We are happy to have you here. Our honeymoon guests are our favorites. Congratulations.”

Cindy felt warm inside as she’d entered. She’d looked through the large windows in the lobby, overlooking the ocean, and saw miles of rolling waves. She knew Clint would see that and have an overwhelming urge to surf.

Alex had patted Clint on the shoulder. “You a strong swimmer?” he’d asked.

Clint had grinned. A lifeguard when he was younger, that was his last concern. “It’s what I came here for. Don’t worry: I’m right where I belong.” He always said that when he came to the ocean.

There was a lot to do. Scuba diving, snorkeling, visiting the island’s indigenous turtles, photographing this incredible place.

They got a key and went right up to their room. It was open, airy, with salty breezes wafting in. There was a patio and a low-plank coffee table filled with seashells and sea urchins. Best of all, you could hear the waves, constantly crashing on the sand and rocks outside. They’d dropped their luggage, changed quickly and headed right down to the beach.

Day after day had been fantastic. They’d been snorkeling, swimming, dancing, having delicious dinners, and making love all night long. Laying here now on the sand with her new husband, Cindy felt as if she had been welcomed into a new phase of life. She put her head on Clint’s shoulder.

These days of happiness had wiped away the pressures and worries they’d grown so accustomed to the past several months. His family’s agitation and schemes drifted like smoke into the crystal blue sky. It hadn’t been easy. There had been one obstacle after another.

Now the time was passing quickly. They had only two days left. Cindy’s heart dropped at the thought of leaving.

“I don’t want this to ever end,” she’d said when they woke up that morning, before they got out of bed.

“It won’t end,” he’d answered softly. “We’ll remember this forever.”

“Do you promise?”

He’d laughed. “Of course.”

“Don’t promise something you can’t keep,” Cindy joked. She knew he was always good for his word.

“I promise,” he repeated.

For no reason at all, her heart dropped. “But everything ends--”

“Not necessarily,” he stroked her long, auburn hair, and kissed the freckles on her forehead. “We take our memories with us wherever we go.”

It never occurred to Cindy that there was any possibility that they wouldn’t actually leave the island in two days’ time.

Or that, four days later, she would still be on the island—and cradling her husband’s dead body in her arms.

The day it happened was perfect. They woke up early to a cloudless day, nestled in each other’s arms. They showered together and went downstairs for breakfast, laughing. It seemed that the whole world was at peace that day. As they ate breakfast out on the Veranda, they were serenaded by a throng of birds, flying in and out of the branches of the trees that surrounded the hotel.

“It must be the amazing weather,” Clint had said, gazing at the water and sky. “Sky’s so blue, air’s so still, doesn’t even seem as if there could be a ripple in the ocean.” It was unusual weather for the island.

Over breakfast they talked about the souvenirs they were bringing home: huge, crusty sea shells, driftwood, throw cushions covered with tropical prints, photographs of whistling turtles, porpoises and flying fish . There was something for everyone.