Элин Хильдебранд - What Happens in Paradise

They eat like royalty: Warm rolls with sweet butter, organic greens with homemade papaya vinaigrette, prime rib, baked potato with lots of butter and sour cream, and, for dessert, sabayon and berries. Huck and Irene drink wine with dinner, then end with a sipping rum, a twenty-five-year-old El Dorado that is even better than the Flor de Caña, Huck says.

They do not talk about the Vickerses’ arrest or what it might mean. They don’t talk about Russ or Rosie or real estate fraud or Todd Croft or frozen accounts. Irene pushes all that away, though during the natural lulls in the conversation, it feels like she’s holding an unruly mob behind a door. It feels, as they finish up dinner, like Agent Vasco has just taken a seat at the table; that’s how badly Irene wants to talk about it.

Instead, she says, “The mother on the boat today thought we were married. She said, ‘You have a good man there.’ She said she could tell how much you cared for me.” The instant these words are out, Irene feels her cheeks burn.

“I hate to break it to you, AC,” Huck says. “Everyone who gets on that boat thinks we’re married.” He reaches for Irene’s hand. “And everyone can see how much I care for you.”

They head back to the boat, hand in hand. There are stars overhead and it feels like there’s a bright, burning star in Irene’s chest. What is happening?

Huck helps Irene down into the boat. Before he turns on the running lights, he takes Irene’s face in his hands and he kisses her. The kiss is sweet but intense—and there is no room for thoughts of anything or anyone else, not even Agent Vasco.

Ayers

There’s no such thing as a clean breakup, Ayers thinks.

When she and Mick hashed it out, Ayers told him exactly how she felt—his infidelity with Brigid was insurmountable. Mick said that he had bumped into Brigid on the ferry and Ayers believed that—but she still didn’t trust him, with Brigid or with anyone else.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said.

Deep down, she acknowledges that the fault is not entirely Mick’s. Ayers wanted a chance to be with Baker and she refused to sleep with him while she was still with Mick. She had only gotten back together with Mick as a way to exact revenge on both Baker and Cash for withholding the truth about who they were, and then once she and Mick—and Gordon—were back in their routine, Ayers was comfortable, if not particularly happy.

Now that she has slept with Baker—and without protection, like an irresponsible idiot—and now that Baker has left to go back to Houston, Ayers is neither comfortable nor happy.

She had meant to take it slow and steady with Baker. She had vowed to wait until he came back from Houston to consummate their relationship. But passion and high emotion had ruled and although their night together had been unforgettable—at least for her—now the anticipation is gone. Baker might decide Ayers isn’t worth returning for.

Monday morning, there’s a knock on her door. Ayers is in bed. Mondays she’s off from both jobs, though she has Maia tonight. Ayers is picking Maia up in town at six and they have plans to get takeout from De Coal Pot.

Ayers doesn’t like unexpected knocks at the door. Who could it be at nine thirty in the morning? Her landlady? Jehovah’s Witnesses?

She pulls a pillow over her head. The door is locked. Whoever you are, she thinks, please go away. Monday is her day of rest.

“Hello?” a voice says, loud and clear. “Ayers?”

It’s Mick. He still has a key. Why didn’t she ask for her key back?

A second later there’s a flutter of footsteps as Gordon comes running into the bedroom and jumps up on Ayers’s bed. Mick is no dummy, she thinks. He sent his goodwill ambassador in first.

But Mick soon follows. “Get up,” he says.

Ayers flips over and partially opens one eye. “What are you doing here?” Does she need to remind him that they’ve broken up? What if she had company?

“It’s Monday,” Mick says. “We’re going to Christmas Cove. The boat is anchored in Frank Bay. I have rum punch, I have water, I have snacks, I have your snorkel and fins.”

“It’s over, Mick,” Ayers says. “We’re through.”

Mick sits on the bed and brushes Ayers’s hair out of her eyes. “We’re not through,” he says. “We’ll never be through.”

He looks unreasonably good, for Mick. He has a day’s worth of scruff, which is how she likes him best, and he’s gotten some sun on his face, making his eyes look very green. Gordon has already snuggled against the curve of Ayers’s back. Ayers closes her eyes for one second and travels back in time to before the disgusting discovery of Brigid, back when Mick and Gordon were “her boys,” back when life was calm and happy.

But she can travel backward only in her mind. In real time, she has no choice but to move forward. Baker. And Floyd too, she supposes. Assuming they come back.

“I slept with Baker last week,” Ayers says. “The night we broke up.”

Mick’s eyebrows shoot up in an expression of surprise, and then a split second later, Ayers sees the hurt, which was her aim. “Banker? Wow. You wasted no time.”

Ayers props herself up on her elbows. “I like him,” she says. “He’s a grown-up. He doesn’t lie to me.”

“Doesn’t he?” Mick says. “He didn’t tell you who he was. And his father”—Mick whistles—“didn’t exactly serve as a role model in the honesty department.”

Ayers should never have told Mick anything about Baker. “He’s not his father,” she says. “I’m nothing like my parents. You’re nothing like yours.”

“Point taken,” Mick says. “I’m sure you want me to be angry or jealous about your tryst with Banker, and I am.” He takes a couple of deep breaths and Ayers can see his Irish temper eddying beneath the surface. Baker is bigger than Mick, but Mick is fiercer; if they ever came to blows, Baker would lose. “But I’m glad you got it out of your system. I had my fling and now you’ve had yours—”

“It doesn’t work like that, Mick,” Ayers says. “I didn’t do it for revenge. This isn’t a tit for tat. And by the way, I waited until we were broken up—”

“You waited, what, an hour? And we aren’t really broken up. We had a misunderstanding, and you overreacted. Bumping into Brigid on the ferry doesn’t warrant a breakup. Check the relationship rule book. Ask your friends.”

“I don’t have any friends,” Ayers says.

“That’s what this is really about,” Mick says. “Banker, Money…they’re attractive to you because it’s a connection to Rosie.”

“Baker is in love with me,” Ayers says.

“Oh, really?” Mick says. “Well, where is he now? Is he here with a pineapple-banana smoothie, waiting for you in the Jeep? Has he planned the best day off imaginable, complete with a new Jack Johnson Spotify playlist and a solemn promise that we can order the carbonara pizza and the bloomin’ onion pizza and the chocolate-banana Pizza Stix? Did he arrange for Captain Stephen from the Singing Dog to play his guitar for three hours this afternoon? Did he make a reservation for tonight at the Longboard?”

“I have Maia tonight,” Ayers says.

“I know,” Mick says. “I made the reservation for three people.”

Ayers has to give him credit for that. Maia will die of happiness, eating at the Longboard with Mick. She loves the lobster tacos.

“It’s over, Mick,” Ayers says, though even she can hear that her voice lacks conviction. “Go to Christmas Cove by yourself and when everyone asks where I am, tell them we broke up. Or better still, take Brigid with you so they figure it out on their own.”