He jogged up the trail until he grew winded. Then he walked at a brisk pace until he was on the final uphill leg. When he crossed over the top of the ridge and started down to the village, he saw her boat tied beside the pier and hurried down, skidding on the dirt path, almost falling near the stairs. On the boardwalk, he rushed past tourists, zigzagging around them like a football receiver until he was near the pier. There he walked at a stroll, whistled, and put his hands behind his back. When he realized how ridiculous he looked, he stopped whistling.
When Edward saw his mystery woman, he took a step back to hide himself behind the policeman’s booth. She was standing over her bucket, talking to a couple. The man and woman looked to be in their sixties, were wrinkled and pale, and had the grey-blonde hair of Scandinavians. They couldn’t have been more of a contrast with Mystery Girl. Her skin was youthfully firm, mocha-colored. Behind her head was a voluminous bun of hair, black with burgundy highlights. She was shorter than they were, but nicely athletic in her blue jean cutoffs showing off legs with the sleekness of a jaguar.
Edward wiped sweat off his face with his shirt and stepped out from his hiding place, pretending to look out toward the end of the pier, his gaze hanging dangerously on her. Under a cotton shirt knotted over her breasts, a bikini top or bra was apparent. He found his glances dropping onto her long, creamy smooth legs. She wore flip-flops on her feet, and a single ankle bracelet over one foot.
Edward tapped the railing as he passed within a few feet of them. Mystery Girl leaned down, reached into her bucket, and pulled out a lobster. The man let out some sounds that showed his awe. This obviously made Mystery Girl proud. She beamed at her catch.
Edward stopped a few yards away and looked down into the cove, its water as blue as an old coke bottle, and turned an ear in their direction.
“They’ll never let us take it aboard,” the older woman said. She looked back at the shops obviously uninterested in the lobster.
“You’d be amazed what they’ll do for you if you tell them it’s your anniversary. The chef will even cook it for you. And you won’t get anything fresher—”
“Wonderful-wonderful. Darling, look at the size of it.” The man smiled at Mystery Girl.
“They have lobster on the menu.” With her arm through her husband’s, she started to turn and pull him away.
“We could ask.” The man wasn’t moving for the moment. “Think of it – fresh lobster. It’s like we caught it from the boat—”
“Really. We don’t want to carry that thing around.”
“I have some bags.”
There was a quiet moment where the white woman appeared to be contemplating another argument. The younger woman’s smile didn’t falter. Her sparkling, almond-brown eyes caught Edward’s in a brief unconscious glance. She immediately looked back at the couple and Edward turned, leaning over the rail, pretending to be interested in whatever was in the water directly below him.
“We’d like to walk around a bit.”
“If you’d like, I’ll wait for you.”
Edward was sure she was about to lose a sale. He turned around and took a step toward the three.
“That’s a real beauty. You selling it?”
Mystery Girl looked at him, her entire expression easy and welcoming.
“Yes. Caught this morning.”
“That’s got to be one of the biggest I’ve ever seen.”
The older woman took the cue, not to buy the thing but to flee. She whispered something to her husband and pulled him away. They were a few feet away when the husband turned his head back and thanked the girl.
“You’re very welcome,” the young woman said without any hint of defeat.
She leaned over and put the lobster back into the bucket. It flicked two times against the side as it touched the bottom, splattering water up on her shirt. She stood straight and faced Edward, slapping her hands clean. He took one last look at the couple before swallowing and biting his lip.
“Would you like to buy one?” She tilted her head slightly as she asked the question.
“How much for one?”
“Thirty dollars.”
Edward reached into his pocket and played with the ten-dollar bill he had, thinking about the smelly, powerless fridge in his kitchen.
“I’m afraid I didn’t bring my wallet—”
“No problem. I can take it to your boat or… hotel, if you’re staying on Tortola.”
Edwards looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have a boat. I’m not a tourist.” He shook his head, looking up at her from under his brow.
“You’re not?” One of her eyebrows rose.
“I’m, uhm, living on the island.”
“Which one?”
“Uh, this one.”
“Oh. You’re a caretaker? No problem.” The woman’s smile returned. “I’ll take it to your house.”
“Don’t do that.” He waved a hand up. “I’ll come back here some time and get one.”
“OK. You can get one later,” she said with a tone that showed she knew he had no intention of buying anything from her. She picked up the bucket and started walking away, her flip-flops slapping the wood planks.
Edward felt a ping in his chest, his heart rattling like an out-of-tune car engine. It seemed every night before going to sleep he had imagined meeting Mystery Girl and how it would go, picturing a longer conversation about living on an island, fishing, or boating. He had imagined she would laugh at all his jokes and they would talk for hours and perhaps do many other things together that didn’t involve talking at all. He knew it was wrong, but with all his familiarity with her, having watched her work and pass his house in her boat, having studied her details with his binoculars like one studies an exotic bird, he felt snubbed as she walked away. Edward took one quick step in her direction.
“Hey, sorry I messed up your sale.”
“What?” She stopped and turned.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you close the deal.”
She shrugged. “Can’t force people to buy.”
“It’s just, well, you were so close.” Edward caught himself brushing aside his bangs too many times and forced his hand down to his side.
“Plenty of others to ask.”
“I guess you sell more to the tourists on the sailboats, huh?” As casually as he could, he took a step toward her.
“How do you know that?”
“What?”
“How do you know I sell to the sailboats?”
“The sailboats? How do I know? Well, I’m just guessing. You know because they need food, right? They probably have kitchens, right? Most hotel rooms don’t have a kitchen like a boat.”
“Galley.”
“What?”
“On a boat, the kitchen is called a galley.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, you should know. You got a boat.” Edward laughed, wanting to kick himself.
“Yeah. See you.” She walked over to where her boat was tied, put the bucket down and straddled the ladder. She put an arm through the bucket handle before climbing down.
Edward leaned over the rail and watched her cast off. She moved into the captain’s chair, started the motor, and maneuvered the boat away. When she was clear of the pylons, to his surprise, she looked back. She saw him watching and gave him a wave, filling him with a world of hope. He stayed there on the pier, watching her boat until it moved out of view.
Later, after he returned home, he filled six pages with details of her face and form. Eyes, lips, neckline, legs, cleavage. He dumped these details out onto the paper like a thief dumping out a bag of stolen goods, surveying his day’s take. He expected to feel some satisfaction from drawing her details, but it wasn’t enough. Her image kept rising in his mind. After all his sketching, there was still something bothering him. A feeling, an annoying pain stuck to his ribs, lingered in his throat, pulled at his chest muscles. It made him feel that he had not accomplished anything at all.