Monica Richardson - An Island Affair

I, on the other hand, had great memories of home and immediately thought that the family should convert the old houses into bed-and-breakfasts. I knew that the Bahamas was a beautiful, tourist-driven place, and such a business would generate a nice income for all six of us—an income that I desperately needed in my life at the moment.

“Who has time to run a bed-and-breakfast, let alone three of them?” asked Alyson, my oldest sister, who was the successful real-estate agent in the family. “I certainly don’t. I’m with Nate. I say we revitalize the properties and place them on the market. I can have a solid contract on them in no time.”

“I definitely can’t move to the islands right now. I’m up for reelection!” exclaimed Edward. “But I have a friend who owns his own construction business. He can definitely do the work. I’ll fly over and assist as much as I can, but I can’t move here.”

Finally we agreed that we weren’t going to sell the properties, but develop them. We wanted to honor our father’s wishes—to do something great with the properties, as he’d suggested. But the reality was, the properties would require more time and effort—not to mention resources—than any of us would be able to provide alone.

“I like Jasmine’s idea of developing the properties into bed-and-breakfasts. And I think we should call it the Grove,” said my sister Whitney. “I’d be happy to help run the place when the school year ends.” Whitney had gone to college in Dallas, Texas, and never returned to the Bahamas. Instead, she’d accepted a teaching position at an elementary school there and made her home in a cozy little Dallas suburb.

My youngest brother, Dennison, had been as quiet as a church mouse for most of the conversation. As the baby of the family, he was often forgotten.

“Denny, you haven’t said what you think about all of this,” I said. “What would you like to see happen with the properties?”

“I don’t really care one way or the other,” he said.

“I think if we do this bed-and-breakfast thing, Denny could probably play a major role in running the place,” suggested Alyson, “especially since he’s the only one who lives at home right now.”

“No,” said Denny.

“Why not?” asked Alyson. “You’re not doing anything else! It’s not like you’re going to college.”

Dennison, who had been a few weeks from graduating high school, hadn’t yet identified a school of higher education.

“Of course he’s going to college,” said Nate, the ever-protective brother. “He just hasn’t figured out where. Get off his back!”

“I haven’t applied anywhere because I’m not going to college,” said Denny matter-of-factly.

The entire household fell silent. No one said anything for what seemed like a lifetime. We all waited for hell to break loose.

My mother, who hadn’t said much either, stood with her hands on her hips. “Dennison Talbot, what do you mean you’re not going to college?”

We waited for Denny’s response.

“I’ve enlisted in the Royal Bahamas Defence Force. I’ve already sworn in, and after graduation, I’m due to be deployed to the United States to train with the US Navy Seals.”

“Have you lost all the sense God gave you, child?” My mother’s Bahamian accent suddenly seemed stronger than normal. It usually came and went, considering she wasn’t a native. She turned to my father. “Paul John, did you hear what your son just said?”

“Daddy.” Denny tried to whisper, but failed. “You said you would talk to her.”

“You knew about this, Paul?” she calmly asked my father.

“Beverly, this is not the time for this discussion,” my father said calmly. “Not while we’re discussing the children’s inheritance. One issue at a time.”

“This discussion is not over.” She pointed a finger at Denny and then at my father. “We will revisit it.”

With Denny going away soon, the idea of turning the properties into a successful business had seemed impossible, particularly since we were all scattered about the US. Pulling this off would require a sacrifice that no one was willing to make—except for me. Having had very little success as a model-turned-actress, I was ready to return home.

“I’ll do it,” I volunteered. “I’ll move back home and oversee the construction. And I’ll even write the business and marketing plan.”

“Have you ever written a business plan before, Jasmine?” asked Alyson.

“Yes, at Spelman,” I told her. My classes in college had equipped me with a great deal of business knowledge.

“Have you ever written a real business plan for a real business, I mean?”

“Well, no...”

“Where have you used what you learned at Spelman? In Hollywood?” Alyson continued.

I rolled my eyes at my sister, who’d obviously found humor in the fact that I’d chosen a different career path than the rest of my siblings.

* * *

A few hours later, I placed the photos back into the boxes I’d found them in. It was getting late, and I needed to make my way to the water taxi before nightfall. I did a final walk-through of the house, shut off all the lights, secured the place and then stepped outside.

I was surprised to find Jackson seated on a stoop outside, chattering on his phone.

“What are you still doing here?” I asked him once he’d wrapped up his call.

“I had a few loose ends to tie up.”

“You sure you aren’t stalking me?”

“Of course not. I have better things to do than to stalk you.”

“I told you I’d be fine,” I said.

“I know, but I wanted to make sure anyway.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

“Good.”

I smiled as I hopped into the backseat of the cab. Of all those bad qualities I’d pinpointed in Jackson, I could not accuse him of not being a gentleman.

Chapter 4

Jasmine

My father stood at the dock with his graying sideburns, tall, slender frame and round midsection. He wiped sweat from his dark brown face with a handkerchief and grinned a wide grin when he saw me.

“Hello, darling,” his deep voice greeted me.

“Hi, Daddy.” I hugged my father. “You didn’t have to pick me up. I could’ve gotten a taxi.”

I was happy to see my father. It reminded me of the times he’d picked me up from school when I was much younger. He’d stand outside the little pink schoolhouse and wait to walk me home. I’d tell him all about my day, and we’d stop for fresh fruit at the market—papayas, mangoes and pineapples.

“It’s okay. Your mother sent me to the market anyway. I think she wanted me out of the house—sometimes I get on her nerves, if you can believe that.”

“I don’t believe that.” I laughed.

“It’s true.” Daddy laughed heartily. “Besides, I couldn’t wait to find out how things went at the Grove today. I’m so proud of you, and your brothers and sisters for taking this on.” He had a strong Bahamian accent, though he was not born or raised in the Bahamas. He grew up in Key West. But with both parents of Bahamian descent, he was bound to speak just like them.

My siblings and I had Bahamian accents as well, although I tried with all my might to lose mine once I left the islands. And with California being a huge melting pot, my accent was just one of many dialects there.

“I found all sorts of things belonging to Grammy and Granddad. Photos and paintings and stuff. Lots of photos of Granddad and his band.”

My father smiled.

“My father was a multitalented musician. He played the trumpet, traveled throughout the Caribbean with his band. He played the goombay drums, and when he lived in Key West, he was a self-taught pianist. He had his very own baby grand piano and had it shipped over from the States.”