Marcia Talley - Without a Grave

‘Why aren’t you sitting with Jaime, Alice?’ I asked as I sat cross-legged on the blanket beside her.

‘I’m not speaking to him.’

Although I could think of a thousand reasons, I couldn’t resist asking why.

‘I put my foot down, Hannah. I teared up and I put my hands on my hips and I said nuh-uh, no-way, fuhgeddaboudit.’

I felt like I’d tuned in to the middle of a sitcom, lost without the script.

‘He gave me this ring, and now he wants it back.’ She leaned sideways, bumped her shoulder against mine. ‘I think he wants to pawn it.’

Alice offered her right hand for inspection. On her little finger, she wore a small emerald and gold ring. ‘Jaime needs money?’ I asked as I admired the ring.

Sally Parker had owned a ring like that, I thought. My stomach churned.

Alice shrugged. ‘Who. Freaking. Knows. Every time I mention money, Jaime tells me to shut up. So I do.’

‘Where’s Jaime now?’ I asked his bride. ‘I haven’t seen him since he brought the first aid kit.’

She reached for her teddy bear. ‘He’s probably with his precious sister, hiding under daddy’s desk.’

The lights flickered once, twice, then died. As Jaime had predicted, the generator had run out of gas. ‘Are you going to be OK?’ I asked Alice as I squinted at her into the dark.

‘I think so.’

‘Do you want me to stay with you?’

‘I’m OK. I’ve got Mr Patches.’ She grabbed the bear’s paw and helped him wave goodbye to me.

‘I need to go check on my husband, Alice, but if you want company, just bring Mr Patches and come join us.’ I patted her knee, comforting her just as I would a child.

I made my way back to Paul largely by feel, guided by the beam of the flashlight Molly had turned on. As the storm continued to rage, I straddled the end of Paul’s lounge chair, thinking about Alice’s ring. A thin gold band with an emerald perched on top. There must be thousands like it in the world.

Yet I was convinced Jaime had stolen it from Sally.

As I stared into the dark, my eyes slowly adjusting, I wondered if I should confront Jaime about the ring as I had about the boat. I scanned the room, but didn’t see him.

A Coleman lamp burned in the corner where two sailors huddled, reading in its light. I could see Gator’s Nikes, a ragged disgrace to the brand, sticking out from beneath his blanket as he slept with his head under a table, curled up next to his dog. Every once in a while a flashlight would play eerily over a face as it was flicked on, played around the floor as if looking for something, then switched off.

Helen continued to roar, uprooting trees and hurling them against the building thump-thump-thump . Rain dashed against the windows as if someone were throwing gravel, while over our heads, the roof moaned and popped. I looked up, convinced we were going to lose the roof, and grateful when I couldn’t see daylight.

I nudged Paul. ‘Move over, sweetheart.’ He stirred sleepily. I squeezed myself on to the narrow lounger beside him, nestling against the warmth of his thigh. I pulled the sleeping bag tightly around us, and as the wind continued to howl like a demented soul, I prayed.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the noise stopped. I awoke to a deadly, silent calm.

Hurricane Helen’s eye.

Sometime during the storm, Alice had made her way over to us. She had sandwiched herself between Molly’s lounger and mine, clutching her blanket and Mr Patches. ‘How much time do you think we have?’ Alice asked. ‘Before it comes back, I mean.’

I consulted with Paul who was wide awake now, too. ‘Thirty-five minutes, give or take.’

Jaime appeared out of nowhere and met Gator at the front door. Together, the two men lifted the hurricane bar and threw the doors wide, flooding the club room with grayish-yellow light. Justice frolicked out, presumably in search of a tree. Considering the intensity of the storm, I thought he’d be doomed to disappointment.

Alice had been watching the dog, but she suddenly said, ‘There’s something I have to do.’ Before I could stop her, she dropped Mr Patches on the floor, aimed a venomous glance at her husband, and ran out the door.

Jaime stared after her, fists clenched at his sides. ‘Alice, you crazy bitch! Come back!’

‘Do you want me to go after her?’ I asked Jaime.

Jaime pawed the soggy carpet with the toe of his shoe. ‘No, I’ll go talk to her.’

I bounced up and down on my toes, shaking the knots out of my calves, watching Jaime disappear through what was left of the garden.

‘Want to go for a walk?’ Paul asked. He’d come up behind me.

‘Are you sure you’re up for a walk?’ I asked, staring pointedly at his bandage.

‘Sure I’m sure. I need to work out the kinks. Been lying down too long.’

Hand in hand, we walked through the open door and into the artificial twilight of the storm.

When I saw the destruction Helen had wrought, I couldn’t believe the building had survived. The Tamarind Tree gardens had been ripped bare of plants – lignum vitae, sea grape, casuarinas, bougainvilla, hibiscus – scoured by the wind off the face of the earth. The few palm trees that had survived were bent double. Others, less resilient, had lost their heads, snapped off about ten feet above ground. One enormous trunk had crashed down on the pool bar, reducing it to rubble. Other trunks lay higgledy-piggledy around the grounds like enormous matchsticks tossed down by an angry god.

We walked down the path, hardly speaking, climbing over limbs, wading through piles of wet debris. When we reached the resort gate, the guardhouse had disappeared. The turnstile pointed straight up, twisted like a strawberry Twizzler.

‘Want to go into town?’ I asked, curious to see how the settlement had fared.

Paul checked his watch. ‘No time.’

Back at the Tamarind Tree, the staff were still policing the grounds. The wind blew hot and gentle as we helped with the cleanup. We picked up fallen coconuts and branches and tossed them into what was left of the golf cart shed where we hoped the wind couldn’t find them.

I was helping Jeremy Thomas check the shutters, securing all the dog downs when the wind began to rise, blowing hot against my neck.

Jeremy banged his fist against a shutter, testing it. ‘Inside.’

I went.

‘Where’s Alice?’ I asked Molly as I pawed through my duffle looking for the Fig Newtons, dreading the return of Helen. We’d already had one hour of hell. Wasn’t that enough?

‘I don’t think she’s back yet.’

I ripped the cellophane off the package and held it out. ‘Cookie?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Where’s Paul?’

‘Bathroom.’ Molly took a bite of cookie and chewed. ‘Said if he wasn’t back in five minutes, send out a search party.’

‘Ha ha.’

Alice Madonna was a two-cookie worry, then a three. ‘Should I go look for her?’ I asked Paul when he came back from the bathroom. ‘What’ll happen to her if they bar the door?’

Paul’s arm snaked around my shoulder and squeezed. ‘Give her a few minutes. She’s silly, but not stupid. She’ll be back.’

Paul was right.

Alice came back, but she was not alone. She scurried through the door staggering under the weight of a purple leather bag, earning a frown from Gator who was waiting at the door, counting heads, to bar it. Alice headed straight for her corner and sat down. I couldn’t see her face from where I sat, but as she passed me, framed in the light at the door, I suspected she’d been crying. Her sneakers, once white, were water-stained and covered in sand.

I wormed out from under my husband’s arm. ‘Let me see what’s bothering her.’

I crossed the room in seconds and popped behind the bar. ‘Hey, Alice, mind if I join you?’