Page 8 of That Birthday in Barbados
I follow her up the stairs where she uses a card to open the door. I step inside behind her, relieved to be here. The room is luxurious, aview of the oceanvisible through the open curtains that lead to a private porch.
“Your luggage will be here shortly,” she says. “Shall I have someone unpack for you?”
“Thank you, but I’m all good, thanks.”
“The refrigerator is stocked with drinks. And there’s ice in the bucket just there. I hope you have a wonderful stay at the Sandy Lane, Ms. Camilleri. If there’s anything we can do for you at any time, just call the front desk.”
“Thank you so much,” I say.
She leaves the room then, closing the door quietly behind her. I fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as a wave of sudden fatigue hits me. I compare the room to the one Connor and I had on our honeymoon. This one is much nicer. We weren’t on the oceanfront then. Extra money had gone back into the business, and we felt fortunate to be at the hotel at all, our honeymoon a definite splurge.
I close my eyes, and a memory comes floating up. A very nice attendant had escorted us to our room then as well. No sooner had he closed the door than Connor said, “Finally.”
He unbuttoned his shirt, grabbing the bottom and tearing it off over his head. He’d walked straight for me, pushed me onto the bed and pulledoff my clothes,one deliberate piece at a time until I lay naked on the bed. He stood, unzipped his pants and then removed them altogether.
I stared at him, unable to take my eyes off him. It was the first time I had seen him this way. We’d waited until marriage, wanting to save the first time, for it to be as special as our love for each other.
He lay down next to me, running his hand over my shoulder, around the curve of my breast to settle at my waist. He kissed me then, long and slow, and I can still remember how it felt, the way I had wanted to stay there with him forever, loving and being loved.
My eyes snap open now, and I stare at the ceiling above me. Not for the first time, it seems a shame that memories cannot stay with us as they were. That what comes after has the power to reshape what seemed right and true at the time. But betrayal does that. It’s the rust that corrodes and collapses and requires us to see that what we thought would last forever never really had a chance of doing so.
Muted laughter floats up now from the beach below my oceanfront room. Children’slaughter, happy, carefree. I wonder what would have happened had Connor and I made a baby on our honeymoon here. Would we still be together? Would our lives have taken a different track? Would I have seen my business differently, not let it become the focus of our marriage?
Tears well up and slide down my face. I don’t bother to wipe them away because it’s been so long since I cried, I’m almost glad to know I still can.
But what is there to cry about?
I married a man who turned out to be someone I didn’t know at all. A man who chose my sister over me. If there’s anything to cry about, it’s my gullibility. That I’d actually thought love lasted forever.
It doesn’t.
If itexists at all, it won’t last. And if you don’t expect something to last, it can’t hurt you when it finally decides to leave. Sorry, Madeline, but that’s the real truth.
*
I WAKE TO A knock at the door.
I open my eyes, reluctant to yield to the pull toward consciousness. I pull myself up on one elbow, noticing the darkness now serving as a backdrop to my porch view. What time is it?
I squint at the clock next to the bed. 8:45. Oh gosh.
A voice sounds from the door.“Housekeeping.”
I get up, still in my travel clothes and go to open it. The woman standing on the other side smiles at me. “Turn downservice?”
“Ah, yes, please,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
“Do you need fresh towels?” she asks.
“No. I’m all good on that.”
She walks to the sliding glass doors and closes the curtains. When she begins to tidy the bed, I say, “I’m going to take a shower. Thank you so much.”
“Have a good evening, Miss,” she says with a smile.
I step into the bathroom and close the door, flicking on the light to stare at myself in the mirror. Oy. The nap didn’t help.
A marble shower sits in the far corner of the room. I walk over to turn on the water, adjusting the temperature. I shrug out of my clothes, gratefulthat I won’t be wearing heavy winter things for the next two weeks.
