Page 12 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

“I wasn’t aware there are perfect places to fall in love,” Wes says from next to me as he dips one foot into the lapping water.

“Well,” Molly concedes. She’s only a few yards away from us now, and still wading closer. “I guess there aren’t anybadplaces to fall in love—”

“Uh, yes there are,” Wes says, blinking at her. “There aretonsof bad places to fall in love.”

“Absolutely,” I echo, frowning.

“Prison,” Wes says.

“Rehab,” I add.

“Family reunion.” Wes again.

“Hospice—”

“Fine!” Molly cuts me off, fisting her hands on her hips and frowning at us. “Fine. I was wrong. There are bad places to fall in love. Butthisisn’t one of them.” She waves her arms, gesturing at the waterfall and the lush greenery around us. The movements are awkward and uncoordinated, the kind of hand-waving that would make me nervous if I were standing right next to her.

I look at Wes just as he looks at me, and we grin. Teasing Molly was always high on the to-do list when we were younger.

I turn to check on Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, but they seem to be doing just fine. They’re still talking amongst themselves, their whispers low, as Mrs. O’Malley rubs kneading fingers in circles over Mr. O’Malley’s knee. That makes me a little nervous, but I guess I’ll just trust them to know their limits. I’m distracted, anyway, when I hear Wes speak again.

“Molly, what are you—for the love. Stop taking—Molly!”

My head jerks back to him, but he’s looking at his sister with an expression of outrage. I follow his gaze, just in time to see Molly shimmying her shorts down her legs. Her t-shirt is already off, draped over her shoulder, revealing one of those retro-looking swimsuits that looks like a sailor’s outfit.

“Molly!” Wes says again.

“We’re swimming, Wes,” she says, rolling her eyes as she finally gets her shorts down to her ankles. She’s still standing in a few inches of water. “What do people wear when they swim?”

Wes folds his arms stubbornly across his chest but doesn’t answer.

“Swimsuits, Wes. They wear swimsuits,” she says. I watch nervously as she steps out of her shorts, half expecting her to lose her balance and fall, but she doesn’t. She manages to stay upright, tossing her shorts and shirt over to where her parents are standing so that she’s left looking distractingly like a pin-up girl from the 1950s.

“I’m not taking my shirt off,” Wes says, pointing to his chest. “We have company.” He jerks his chin in my direction but doesn’t look away from Molly. “So can you please stay decent?”

Molly frowns at him. “Keep your shirt on or don’t, but don’t project your insecurities onto me. I look good and I feel great, so I’m going to stay exactly as I am.”

“Unbelievable,” Wes grumbles as she turns and walks away, heading back into the deeper water. “She took a few psych courses years ago, and she still thinks she can analyze me.”

Personally I think she’s spot on, but I’m wise enough to keep this to myself. Also kept to myself is my appreciation of her curves—because good grief, those curves areflawless—and sexiest of all, the way she handles herself with complete and utter confidence. Not once does she look around to see who’s watching her; not once does she seem unsure. It’s…well, it’s attractive. Really, really attractive to see a woman—and as much as I hesitate to think of her that way, Molly is all woman—who’s happy with herself.

I sigh, pulling my eyes away from her. Maybe in another life, where she wasn’t Wes’s baby sister and where I actually had the desire to date or fall in love. It’s not worth thinking about now, though. Especially since I need to be paying attention to more than just Molly. I know this isn’tmyisland, and I know no one has signed disclaimers or safety waivers, but I still feel responsible for getting this group back to their cruise ship in one piece this evening.

Which is why, some thirty seconds later when Mr. O’Malley takes one wobbly-looking step into the water, my gut twists anxiously. I don’t know how bad his knee is, and I don’t know how to ask, but these rocks are slick. He takes another step, and then another, and I fight the urge to go stand next to him so he’ll have something to hold onto.

“Wait for me, Robert,” Mrs. O’Malley calls to him from where she’s tentatively trying to find her footing.

Yes, Robert, wait for her,I think.Go back to your wife and please, please don’t get hurt on my watch.

But maybe the universe is feeling spiteful; maybe Mr. O’Malley is simply impatient. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t slow down, and the nature that so favored Molly turns its back on her father.

I watch with horror and paralyzed limbs as Mr. O’Malley steps further into the water. I see the flash of surprise on his face, his arms flying up at his sides. And I watch as he goes down, pitching face-first into water that’s not deep enough to cushion the fall, as all of his weight lands on his knees.

Five

Molly

Of my two parents,I think I’m most like my father.

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