Page 61 of Playing With Matches
“Just keep at it,” he’d said. “One of these times, you’ll get the wind and the angle of the sail just right, and then like magic, you’ll be off. You’ll be flying!”
Cutting through the waves right now does feel a bit like flying. I’ve managed to get up on the board, and the wind is in my favor. Unlike the murky Pacific where I first learned to sail, the water here is clear. No worries of unseen monsters lurking below. I feel completely in control, having both the perspective and skill to navigate these waters.
You’ve got this, Jackson.
I find myself wishing my dad could see me now as I skip across the waves, catching air. I feel redeemed from my earlier wipeout on the flow rider. Like a child, I almost want to shout, “Yippee! Look at me!”
I balance on one foot, dragging the other in the water, flipping the sail around. Then I throw the sail into the wind, experiencing a thrill as it magically boomerangs back into my waiting hands. Glancing back at the shore, I can’t deny that I’m hoping that Isla might be watching. But she doesn’t seem to be. She’s back to work, seated in a shaded cabana typing away. A few feet away from her, Marco appears to be napping, a hat on his face.
There’s nobody to witness my triumph. Nobody but me.
Oh well. It still feels fucking fantastic.
After a bit more play and practicing some long-forgotten tricks, I start to feel tired. My body has a worked-over and pleasantly weak feeling that you just can’t get in the gym. It’s time to head in before I run out of energy. I turn back towards the pier to return the equipment.
As I’m bringing it in, I notice a plume of smoke streaking the horizon. I wonder who - or what - it might be. Whatever it is, I hope it’s not too serious.
* * *
I’ve just finishedre-applying sunscreen and getting situated on a chaise in the cabana. Isla is working, and Marco is still asleep. He’s snoring and drooling like a warthog, I note with silent glee. No point in waking him up.
I spy Alexis running towards us. “Guys!” she calls out.
“Guys!” she repeats with more emphasis. “Did you hear? There’s been an accident on the catamaran that the cast and crew were on! They’re just pulling into the pier!”
When we get there, the scene at the end of the pier is pure chaos. The resort’s security staff won’t let us pass, so we’re forced to wait on the beach with the rest of the onlookers as the paramedics back up an ambulance. I can see Rory standing with Rob, who is talking to what appears to be some kind of coast guard official. When Rory sees me, she pushes past the line of security and rushes toward us.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she curses. “I need a hug. This has been one of the scariest days of my life! And I did a season as a PA onReal Housewives!”
“What happened? Who got hurt?” Alexis asks Rory. She’s on her tiptoes scanning for the other passengers.
I see Lacey, who is being carried piggyback style by Ryker. Darwin is walking alongside, stroking her back. And then I see Paula, the blind girl. She’s wearing dark sunglasses and using a cane as she makes her way to the end of the pier, flanked by the blonde nurse Chloe and the dive instructor who was passing out the snorkels this morning.
They guide Paula onto a waiting golf cart. I can’t help noticing that Chloe suddenly seems pretty cozy with the dive guy. He gives Chloe a ten-second long hug, complete with a tender, soothing mini back rub afterwards. His hand is resting gently and protectively at the small of Chloe’s back as she climbs into the golf cart beside Paula.
Shit. I hadn’t factored in resort staff as a potential additional spoiler for our matches. This doesn’t bode well.
“Is Paula okay?” I ask Rory
“Paula? She’s fine. She was sitting far from the fire, and she didn’t even go in the water.”
“But, what’s wrong with her eyes?” Marco pipes up, staring after the departing golf cart with what seems to be genuine concern.
“She’s blind?” Rory says, looking at Marco like he’s a complete idiot for not catching on to this already. “I mean, notblindblind, she can see shapes and colors and stuff, but considering the day we’ve just had, I don’t think anyone wanted to take any chances of her taking a tumble off the pier.” Rory turns back to me and sighs. “Can I get that hug now?”
“Sure,” I oblige, pulling her in and wrapping my arms around her bony, bikini-clad frame. She lays a hot, sticky cheek on my bare chest. I pat her back tentatively, in a “there, there” way like you would with a little kid, hoping to hasten the end of the embrace. Her spiky hair is itching the crap out of me, and the buckle of her life jacket is scraping against my ribcage.
“It’s okay, Bella. Everything will be fine,” Marco croons reassuringly. He’s massaging Isla’s shoulders, which isn’t doing anything to soothe me. Isla catches me glaring and raises an eyebrow at me. I cease to pat Rory’s back and hold my hands out in a “there, we’re done here” fashion, but she doesn’t budge.
“Excuse me? Rory? Has anyone seen Owen?” Alexis taps Rory’s shoulder insistently, “He didn’t get hurt, did he?”
Thank you, Alexis.
“Mmmm, what? No. Owen is fine.” Rory says, reluctantly backing away. “He’s just gathering everyone’s stuff. See - there he is.” She points at the figure walking off the pier holding six backpacks. He looks like a proper pack mule.
Alexis takes off running, shoving past security to rush to his side to help him.
“Oh good. I was hoping I might run into you here - save me a trip.” says a familiar voice behind me. I turn around, surprised to see the shaggy weather-beaten face of none other than Cappy. He’s wearing the same faded sea captain’s hat as he was in the airport, along with a striped tee and jeans that might have been white, once upon a time. More importantly, he’s holding my backpack.
