Sue Civil-Brown - The Life Of Reilly

Jack paused in the process of spreading out a tablecloth on the slightly rusted wrought-iron table on his small brick patio, a patio that rippled and dipped a bit because his predecessor hadn’t thought to make a level bed of sand to support the bricks, all of which looked like castoffs from a brickyard.

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

Zed-the-Bait-Guy shrugged and moved a wad of chewing tobacco a little more firmly into his cheek. “Tablecloth.”

“Oh.” Jack looked at the oilcloth he was spreading, a sheet he’d bought from Hanratty’s general store a couple years back. It was already cracking along the folds. “You think this is fancy?”

“I think you wouldn’t bother for me.”

Jack had to grin at that. “You’re right, Zed. For you I’d let the rust show.”

“Rust adds to the taste,” Zed said. “So who is it?”

“The new teacher. I thought I’d be neighborly.”

Zed nodded and turned to spit into the spittoon he kept on his side of the property line. The wad landed with an audible ping that sent a shudder up the back of Jack’s neck. He had to remind himself that millions of viewers watched baseball players do exactly the same thing, dozens of times during each game. In glorious full-color close-ups, too. The reminder didn’t help.

Jack swallowed hard, then spoke. “Could you move that a bit farther away while we’re eating tonight?”

Zed shrugged. “Won’t be here. Big game tonight.”

“What are the stakes?” Jack asked. He didn’t have to ask what kind of game. Poker was the game on Treasure Island.

“Me and Fred Hanks are facing off with Mick McDonald and Joe Cranston. Winner gets to ask Hester LeBlanc out to dinner.”

“Ahh.”

Hester had been widowed nearly two years ago when her fisherman husband had gone overboard during a severe squall. There was some talk that he’d gone over on purpose, rather than face Hester’s anger, since she’d just learned he was sparking around with Camille Danza. Some went so far as to suggest that Hester…arranged…his untimely demise, although Jack saw nothing in her that would hint at such a possibility. Even on Treasure Island, sometimes gossip was just that—gossip.

Regardless, thus far the island’s middle-aged, would-be lotharios had respected her mourning. Apparently they had decided that long enough was long enough. “Good luck.”

Zed shrugged philosophically. “Winning only means you get to ask first. Doesn’t mean she’ll say yes.”

“True.”

“That schoolteacher though…” He smiled. “Quite a looker.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Liar! Jack felt instantly ashamed. He was a preacher for heaven’s sake. He had no business lying.

“Maybe you’d better get Buck Shanahan to fly you into Aruba to get your eyes checked then,” Zed suggested, with a twinkle in his eye that made clear he did not believe Jack one iota. “Whatcha making?”

“Just salad and grilled fish.”

Zed shook his head. “No dessert? No taters? Look, I got a couple of bakers you can have. They’re pretty good cooked on the coals. And I have some rum cake I picked up in Aruba. Ain’t been opened yet.”

Before Jack could say anything, Zed was hurrying toward his back door.

Jack shook his head smiling and finished spreading the oilcloth. That was one of the things he loved about this island. On Treasure Island, being neighborly wasn’t merely a phrase; it was a way of life.

When Lynn Reilly arrived, he had the potatoes wrapped in foil and baking on the hot gray coals, the salad tossed and ready, and the fish seasoned with dill and on the rack, prepped for grilling.

He’d even dug into the church’s supply of communion wine for a bottle of passable red, although he knew he ought to serve white wine with fish. Unfortunately, his budget didn’t allow for buying wine from the only supplier on the island, the casino.

“Smells delicious,” Lynn said appreciatively as she took a chair at the table and accepted a goblet of wine. She had changed into a white sun dress that caught the red of the setting sun and reflected it back as pink. The sky overhead seemed ablaze tonight, probably heralding rain for tomorrow.

“I hope you like dill,” he said, reaching for the wire fish basket.

“Love it.”

The potatoes were done, so he put the fish over the heat. It would cook fast, even though the coals had burned low and gray.

“It’s nice of you to ask me over,” Lynn said. “I’ve got a grill out back and a patio, too, but every time I think of actually grilling, it seems like a lot of effort for just one person.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s funny, when I moved here, I was sure I was going to do all those things that come to mind when you move to the tropics. Cook and eat outside, spend hours on the beach or in the water.”

He chuckled. “I know. It turns out you have to make a real effort to do it, just the way it was back on the mainland. I fight the battle every day.”

“Do you?” She looped her fingers and rested her chin on them.

“Yep. I don’t know if I feel lazy because of the weather and the lifestyle, or if it really is too much trouble to bother for one person.”

She laughed, her brown eyes sparkling. “The air is so soft it’s almost tranquilizing. And when the breeze starts in the evening, I just want to sit and enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I have the same problem. The longer you live here, the easier it gets to function, but at first you just want to go on a permanent vacation.”

“School keeps me busy, thank goodness. Some things can’t be ignored, like teaching a class or grading papers.”

He flipped the fish over. “How many students do you have?”

“All the younger ones, from first grade up, then high-school physics one and two, calculus and applied math.” She held up a hand. “It sounds like a lot, but I have a total of sixty-three kids.”

“So lots of individual attention.”

“That’s what attracted me to this island in the first place. With so few students in each class, we can explore more. And I can get some of them hooked on science, so maybe they’ll stay with it after they graduate.”

“You’re passionate,” he said.

She shrugged. “There’s a big universe out there. The better we understand it, the better we’ll know our place in it. Maybe we’ll stop acting as if it’s our garbage can. In fact, I’m thinking about taking some of the classes for a day trip to see an island in its pristine state. One of the parents was telling me about a small island where the only fresh water is in a rain pool.”

Jack nodded and tested the fish. “Just another minute.” Looking back at her, he continued. “I don’t think our kids appreciate just how important rain pools are to our survival. This island would be dead without rain, and we’ve had to dig cisterns in the rock up on the volcano to ensure a steady flow. It doesn’t just magically come out of the tap.”

“It doesn’t do that anywhere,” she smiled. “But yes, I agree with your point. It’s especially critical on these small islands. Rain is truly the gift of life.”

“Just ask Mars.” He removed the fish from the grill and gently pushed a piece onto each plate. Then he forked the potatoes out of the coals and set them on a separate plate. “I’m afraid I don’t have sour cream, but I have—”

“I have sour cream,” said a voice from the deepening dark next door. Zed stepped out of the shadows. For once tobacco didn’t create a bulge in his cheek. “You must be the new schoolteacher.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Lynn, this is Zed.”

“Zed-the-Bait-Guy,” Lynn said quickly.

“Hi.” Zed extended a hand in greeting and smiled broadly, a mistake considering what the chaw had done to his teeth. “Let me get that sour cream for you.”