Page 9 of Broken Heat
We passed two thatch-roofed drink stands. At the second we grabbed iced teas with lime green straws and wandered toward the biggest open pool. Several swimmers were doing laps and a few people hung out at the shallow end steps.
“That looks refreshing.” Elon stopped to watch the sparkling scene.
“We can swim if you’d like.”
“I would like that. But show me more.”
I nodded. We passed a hedge and a series of tall fences. “This area has the private pools. We can schedule one if the public pools are too much for you.”
“Ah, I get it. If you’re in heat and you don’t want to be around others, then these are here. Well, I don’t have to worry about that. I don’t get heats anymore.”
“I’m aware of that.” I glanced at him, but he was staring at the ground, mouth shut.
“All right, then,” I continued. “Up ahead and beyond that rise we have an eighteen-hole golf course. Where the jungle creeps in on those final holes, it’s very challenging and fun.”
“Nice.”
“And to the right are the tennis courts.” Through some low-hanging trees, the fence could be seen along with the green-painted courts.
“And badminton, too?” he asked.
“Yes. The nets are up on west side.” The blue path divided before us. “If we go straight, we’ll be at the golf course. There’s a snack and drink bar there, and all the equipment you’ll need.”
“Oh. No, not right now,” he replied.
“All right. This way, then.” The other direction curved, taking us west and back down toward his cabin.
“The facility owns this whole island?”
“Yes. A lot of the north side is still wild. The only thing beyond the golf course is the barracks. That’s what we call it. It’s an apartment complex where employees live.”
“All this and you haven’t shown me an actual beach.” Elon stood with his chin up, sniffing the air. “I smell the ocean.”
I waved my hand ahead of us. “We’re surrounded by sea cliffs. The lagoon is at the lowest point where we can access the beach. There’s a path people used when they came by boat years ago, before the landing strip was built.”
A wind came up, soft and warm, ruffling against Elon’s dark hair.
“Is that the only beach access?”
“It is. We’re very hidden here, as you know. Off the grid. We have our own solar energy, our own cell tower and Internet, which you were given the passwords for in your email welcome letter.”
“The jungle surrounds this place,” he observed. “I couldn’t even see it from the plane, just jungle.”
“Yes. We’re on the map as a number, not Omega Island. Mail is sent to Martinique, then privately brought in on planes like the one you came here on.”
“It’s like your own little country.”
“It is.”
Elon finally looked up. His eyes caught the light, glistening. “I like it.”
I smiled. “Good.”
The walk had been refreshing for both of us. I didn’t observe actual sadness from Elon, but he had walls up. I’d expected that. We were going to be sharing a lot more than just leisurely walks through the parkland. That took trust, and trust took as much time as it needed to build.
Elon had lost a mate. Even if it was three years ago, to him it could still feel like just yesterday. There was a reason he didn’t have heats when his body was healthy. It was still primed for his mate. A mate who no longer existed.
In my own grief counseling during the past month, I learned about all the different types of grief, and that there was no one right way to behave. Everyone was different. I learned the loss of my friend who no longer wanted contact with me counted as “loss of a loved one.”
