Page 54 of That Birthday in Barbados
“There’s nothing you need to explain, Anders.”
“I’m pretty sure there is.”
“I saw Celeste at the spa last night.”
I take this in, nod once. “So you know we didn’t-”
“It’s none of my business,” she says, repositioning her bag on her shoulder.
“What if I said I’d like it to be?”
“Anders.”
Just the way she says my name reveals exactly what she’s thinking. We’re a waste of time. She lives in New York City. I live here. She’ll be gone in a matter of days. I’m not going anywhere. “I know,” I say. “And if you go strictly with logic, you’re exactly right. Only where you’re concerned, I’m not feeling very logical.”
She wants to argue. I see it on her face. She bites her lip once, sighs as if giving in to something she doesn’t understand. And then she says, “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”
*
WE SIT ATa table close to the beach. An umbrella protects us from the already heated sun, and all around us birds sing happy songs, the lyrics of which I suspect have something to do with bountiful food and life in paradise.
The waitress approaches our table with a smile and asks for the room number. Catherine tells her and then adds, “I’ll have a guest on my ticket this morning.”
“Not a problem,” the pretty young woman says, looking at me with a smile.
“Thanks,” I say.
As soon as she leaves the table, Catherine pushes back her chair and says, “Come on. You need to see why your students struggle to sweat so much in your class.”
I follow her to the area where the buffet is set up. We make our way to the juice bar first, and I take in the individual signs identifying what is in each pitcher. “Carrot, green juice, watermelon,” I say. “This looks like it won’t do too much damage.”
She smiles and says, “Oh, you haven’t been challenged yet.”
We take our juice back to the table and then reach for plates at the omelet bar. We meander in the direction of our individual choices, until I’m finally heading back to the table with enough calories to get me through at least seventy-two hours.
Catherine is already seated, and she takes in my heaping plate with a knowing smile. “See what I mean,” she says.
“Yeah, I think I do. What is it about a buffet that turns innocent men into gluttons?”
She laughs softly. “Women too,” she says, pointing at her own plate.
“I should have stuck with the juice,” I say.
For the first couple of minutes, we eat in silence, and I finally put down my fork and look at her. “Everything you’ve thought about why we would be wrong to continue this thing we’ve been flirting with between us is almost for sure correct. We live thousands of miles apart, have chosen completely different lifestyles. In a few days, you’ll be gone. I’ll still be here.”
She puts down her fork, watching me with conflicted eyes. “Yes. And yet.”
“And yet,” I repeat.
“I don’t want to close the door.”
“Neither do I.”
“If we can agree that we know what this is, something that has no hope of living beyond my time here. . .”
I wait as she lets the words trail off. I take a sip of my juice, set the glass down and nod once. We’re both adults living in reality. If anyone understands what reality is, I do. “Agreed,” I say.
Chapter Twenty-three
