Page 36 of That Birthday in Barbados
She drops her head on my shoulder, and we sit there, silent and bonded. I don’t even know how it happened so quickly. We just met, but I feel it, and it grabs me deep down in the gut. I feel her hurt. It’s like something real and tangible that’s formed in the air between us.
She relaxes into sleep. Her head droops a little, and her breathing deepens. I’m almost glad. At least sleep has the ability to steal the pain of those memories. I wait a couple of minutes to make sure she’s completely out. I angle my body slightly away from her, stand and manage to slip my arm around her waist. I lift her in a single swoop. I know she can’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds at five-seven or so, but Catherine asleep is a lot more than one-twenty. And I’m really hoping that room key is in the small clutch purse still draped across her shoulder and no doubt filled with sand.
I head for the walkway between the hotel and the beach. I step up, holding onto her tighter. The last thing I want to do is stumble and drop her.
When I get to the door that leads to the guest rooms, I reach two fingers out and pull the handle. I determine not to slip on the marble and walk straight for the staircase that leads to the third floor.
I admit to being out of breath when we get there, spin instructor or not.
Still holding her in my arms, I fumble for the small purse I am really hoping holds her room key. I turn the twist latch and slip my hand inside. Sand. Lipstick. Breath mints? Card key. Yes.
I pull it out, slide it in the lock, realize I’ve inserted it the wrong way and try again. The light on top of the lock flashes bright green, and the door clicks open. I shoulder it in and step quickly inside, even as it swings shut behind me.
I head straight for the bed, glad that housekeeping has already provided turn down service. I lean in and place her gently on the covers. I don’t see her waking up to change clothes. Which means she’llhave to sleep in the sandy dress because me helping her out of it would be crossing a line I’m not going to cross.
Me, on the other hand? I’ll sleep in the chair, but the clothes have to go.
Chapter Thirteen
“If you’re going to do something tonight that you’ll be sorry for tomorrow morning, sleep late.”
? Henny Youngman
Catherine
OH. MY. GOSH. My head hurts.
I open my eyes and try to remember where I am.
I literally feel as if I’ve been kicked in the head by a mule. Which, I guess, by any realistic consideration, I have. Three times, actually. And that’s not counting the rum punch.
The blackout curtains fail to contain the strip of sunlight stealing its way into the room.
My eyes adjust to the dimness, and I suddenly realize I’m not alone. I bolt up against the pillow, fear flooding my veins so quickly that I am lightheaded with it.
My feet are on the floor when I see that it is Anders.
Sleeping in the chair. His head cocked to one side in what looks to be a very uncomfortable position. And he’s wearing the white hotel robe from my closet.
I glance down to see what I’m wearing.
The dress I wore to dinner. And, oh my gosh, where did I get all this sand?
The sheets are gritty with it. I put a hand to the back of my hair and find it there as well.
A fuzzy recollection of me, on the beach, pulling Anders down into the sand. Oh. Dear. Heavens.
Heat floods my face at the memory. Embarrassment and something else too. I feel the weight of him on top of me, his mouth sinking onto mine.
I make a dash for the bathroom, close the door and lock it.
My phone is on the sink with enough battery life left to reveal the time as six-thirty. I consider waking Anders since he has to get to his class, but I can’t face him without a shower first. I turn on the water and step inside before it warms up, blasting myself with the cold spray and gasping even as I admit I deserve it.
I stand still until the water turns warm and then let it sluice the sand from my body and my hair. If mortification has a theme song, it has opened a club in my head, its beat pounding out a rhythm I am sure I will march to all day long.
I’ve dragged the shower out as long as I should. There’s no avoiding an encounter with Anders. Might as well get it over with. Walk of shame coming right up.
I get out, towel off and slip on the white robe hanging on the door. I run a comb through my hair and drag my feet to the bedroom, calling his name to wake him up.
