Элин Хильдебранд - What Happens in Paradise

“Are you worried about her moving in with you?” Huck asks. A week in Napa is one thing, he thinks; sharing closet space is another.

“I know it’s a gamble,” Kyle says. “But I’m sixty-four years old and life gave me another chance to be happy. Only an idiot would say no to that out of fear.”

Huck stares over the turquoise sheet of the water toward the verdant hills of St. John. Kyle must sense that his words have stirred something up in Huck because he claps Huck on the shoulder and says, “You hungry? We got enough sandwiches for everyone.”

They catch another barracuda, then Adam suggests heading over toward Little St. James and Huck agrees; the spot he picked has lost its magic, apparently. In the next place they troll, Ahmed catches a decent-size tuna, then Harry brings in a wahoo big enough to serve as dinner and Huck relaxes. He cracks open a Coke and turns up the Who’s “Baba O’Riley” and casts a line himself. He gets a fish on almost instantly and hands the line over to Grover, who reels in a second wahoo, bigger than the first. Then Kyle catches a tuna. Ahmed takes a nap in the shade. Huck overhears Adam talking to Grover about business school, and suddenly Huck knows what Adam wants to tell him—but he won’t let it ruin the afternoon.

At quarter past two, it’s time to turn the boat back. Kyle passes out Romeo y Julietas and Huck gratefully accepts one. He loves Cuban cigars. LeeAnn absolutely forbade them, so Huck can’t light up without feeling like he’s indulging in a guilty pleasure.

How does Irene feel about them? he wonders.

Life gave me another chance to be happy. Only an idiot would say no to that out of fear.

Huck thinks of the first time he saw Irene, her chestnut braid draped over one shoulder as she marched down the dock calling him “Mr. Powers.” Now that he knows her a little better, he realizes she doesn’t mess around nor suffer fools—but still, it was impressive, the way she talked herself onto his boat.

We just clicked.

Had Huck and Irene clicked? He would have a hard time saying they hadn’t.

Angler Cupcake.

There’s nothing like the wisdom of a twelve-year-old, Huck thinks. Maia was right. Huck misses Irene and that’s why he’s grumpy.

When they tie up back at the dock, Adam fillets the fish for the gentlemen and Kyle pours a shot of tequila for everyone. They clink glasses and throw back the shots. Kyle thanks Huck profusely and slips him a generous tip, which Huck nearly refuses because the guy has given Huck so much already. If nothing else, he has changed Huck’s mind about bachelor parties.

Temporarily, anyway.

They shake hands and say their goodbyes and Huck says maybe he’ll see them in town over the next few days, it’s not impossible, although Huck hasn’t been out since Rosie died.

“They were terrific!” Huck says to Adam once they’re gone. He slips Adam one of the hundreds that Kyle gave him. Those are the kind of men Huck would have as friends, if he had time for friends.

Adam stuffs the hundred in his pocket. “Cap,” he says. The boy looks green around the gills, downright seasick, as though he will be the one to upchuck off the back of the boat. And just like that, Huck is snapped out of the golden reverie that a good day out on the water provides. He’s back to real life: the money under his bed, the FBI, and whatever Adam has to tell him.

Huck decides to cut the kid a break and do the hard part for him. “You’re leaving me?” he says.

Adam nods morosely. “I’m moving to upstate New York to be with Marissa.”

Upstate New York? Huck thinks. What did this girl Marissa do to him?

“It’s cold in upstate New York,” Huck says. “It snows. A lot. And there’s no ocean.”

“I love her,” Adam says, and he swallows. “I’m in love with her.”

Huck nods. He yearns to tell Adam that, more than half the time, love dies, and it probably dies quicker in places like Oneida and Oneonta. But Huck won’t be that curmudgeonly skeptic today.

“They have lakes,” Huck says. “ Great lakes. You can fly-fish.”

Adam looks so relieved that Huck’s afraid the boy might try to kiss him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought I’d do,” he says. “In the summer.”

Huck lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. “So you’ll leave in May, then? Or June?”

“A week from Tuesday,” Adam says.

A week from Tuesday, Huck thinks.

“Oneonta in January,” Huck says. “Must be love.”

That night after dinner—fresh, perfectly grilled wahoo that even Maia agrees is sublime—Huck heads out to the deck with his pack of Camel Lights and his cell phone.

Agent Vasco or Irene? He decides on one, then changes his mind and decides on the other. Then back, then back again.

Irene.

He’s almost more nervous about calling her than about calling the FBI. He is more nervous about calling her because he has no idea how the conversation will go.

She answers on the first ring. “Oh, Huck, is that you?”

Her voice stirs something in him. He exhales smoke. “It’s me.” He pauses. He had planned to say, I’m calling to check on you. Or I’m calling to see how you’re doing. But instead the words that fly out of his mouth are “I have a business proposition. My first mate, Adam, quit on me today and I can’t properly run my charter without a mate. So I’m calling to offer you a job.”

There’s a pause long enough for Huck to take a drag off his cigarette, consider the lights of the Westin below and the cruise ship headed to St. Croix in the distance, and castigate himself for acting like a fool. He should have gone with How’ve you been?

“What does it pay?” Irene asks.

He grins and tells her the truth. “Hundred bucks for a half day, two hundred for a full day,” he says. “Plus tips.” He clears his throat. “Plus fish.”

“That sounds fair,” she says. “When do I start?”

He has to rein in the joy in his voice before he makes the second call. He clears his throat, takes a cleansing breath, lights another cigarette, and dials.

“Colette Vasco.”

“Agent Vasco, this is Sam Powers calling from St. John. I’m Rosie’s—”

“Yes, hello, Captain Powers,” Agent Vasco says. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any further news—”

“ I have news,” Huck says. He lowers his voice in case Maia happens to pop out of her room in search of some Ben and Jerry’s Brownie Batter Core. “I found a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars hidden in a dresser drawer in Rosie’s room. I thought you would want to know.”

“Yes,” Agent Vasco says. “Yes, you’re certainly right about that. What would be a good time tomorrow for me to stop by?”

Baker

When he tells his “school wives”—Wendy, Becky, Debbie, and Ellen—that Anna has asked him to get a sitter for Floyd so that she and Louisa can take Baker to dinner at Indigo and “civilly discuss arrangements,” they all start talking at once.

“Don’t let them railroad you,” Wendy says. “Ask for full custody if that’s what you want.”

Debbie slides a business card across the table: Perla Piuggi, Esq. “My divorce attorney,” she says. “Pitbull.”

“We’ve agreed to do mediation,” Baker says.

“Using words like civilly and mediation nearly always means an ambush is coming,” Becky says.

Baker slips the card into his pocket.

“I’m dying to eat at Indigo,” Ellen says. “Their tasting menus are the talk of the city. It’s neo–soul food.”

“I’m in,” Wendy says. “Let’s book a table the same night.” She cackles. “That way if things go south, you can come sit with us.”