The career counselor smiled at Edward as she might smile at a retarded kid who had just pushed a peg into a hole.
“That’s the right attitude, dear, but I need to tell you where it is.”
He stopped himself from laughing. It boiled up his chest and he held it in his throat. Where was it? Who cares? Out of state was even better, because the idea hit him. He would not tell his parents – payback for pushing him to work at Uncle Lew’s warehouse. They wouldn’t know where he was. He wanted them fretting by the phone with tears streaming down their cheeks, huddling around their little kitchen table in their little gated-community condo filled with their disgustingly glossy furniture, unusable crocheted pillows and frames of wilting flower crap. He hoped they were plagued by hurricanes, alligators, mosquitoes, and invasive pythons, heat waves and Miami Vice drug lords – or whatever they had down there.
“It’s in Tortola.”
“Great.” Six months earlier, Edward knew the exact college he wanted to work at, the salary and benefits he required. Now, he didn’t know where he would be sleeping in three weeks.
The career counselor looked at him with one drawn-on eyebrow raised. When he didn’t say anything, she looked back at her monitor.
“Dear, you know where Tortola is?”
“It’s in… no.” Edward blinked.
“It’s the British Virgin Isles.”
“Really? That’s fantastic.”
“The last person quit after two weeks because he couldn’t take it.”
“Take what? The sun?”
“The isolation. That’s the biggest concern for me. The property is on an island near Tortola. It might be quite lonely.”
“That’s fine with me. I can do my artwork.”
She eyed him as she leaned back. The chair chirped.
“And are you able to leave your home here? Do you have a lease? It says they need someone ASAP, so if you can sign up now, you have an advantage.”
But that was the funny part. Edward wouldn’t have a home in three weeks and his childhood house had already begun a metamorphosis. The old drapes would be ripped down, his fingerprints would soon be painted over, new carpet would be put in. The house had started forgetting him. He wanted to wake up in his room and walk down the stairs to the kitchen where his mother was cooking pancakes, sit at that long table and watch his father tinker on a clock or faucet or lamp as he was always doing. Edward wanted to lie on the couch, and pet his long-gone dog. He wanted to climb the back fence and visit friends who had long ago moved away. He wanted to go back, but he couldn’t.
He smiled, thinking it funny that a career counselor had no career for him. It seemed to him that she wasn’t helping him find a job; she was helping him find a place to stay. You should be called a Home Councelor. He bit back the words.
~~3~~
When the plane hit an air pocket, the duties booklet slipped off Edward’s lap, waking him from his dozing. Outside the window, through the flicker of the propeller, anthill-sized mounds rose out of glassy blue. From his altitude, he could see that the islands trailed off southward into a semi-organized way into the hazy horizon. With everything he had to do, selling and donating everything in his apartment he didn’t want to take, preparing required documents and quitting his teaching at the WCC, the past two weeks had passed in a blur.
The duties booklet was from the estate management company. They had repeatedly told him that it was a requirement for him to read it. Memorize it. Live by it. Edward had waited until he was boarding the plane in Miami for Tortola to crack it open. And then he fell asleep.
He picked up the duties booklet from off the floor. Then he pulled out the airline magazine from the pocket in front of him. He scanned over an article about art exhibits at the High Museum in Atlanta, faintly aware that the plane was descending toward an island. He glanced out at a trapezoid of grey growing ahead. Before long, the ground came up. The plane bumped down onto the foreign place, wheels screeched, flaps on the wings flared. As the plane slowed, he waited for some emotion – or something – to overwhelm him because someone once told him that travel changes a person. He waited, but nothing happened.
Edward followed the other passengers out, pausing at the top of the stairs to look around for something remarkable, but there was green grass, blue sky and white buildings like everywhere else. The only difference was the warm, moist breeze that was like a breath blowing on him in his long-sleeved shirt. He claimed his suitcase off a cart on the tarmac, feeling the sweat forming under his clothes, and followed the line toward the main concourse, a long façade of connected archways facing the parked airplanes and runway.
Immediately inside, he spotted his name on a clipboard. It was being held by a tall, broad-shouldered black woman in a skirt suit, wearing glossy lipstick, blue eyeliner and steep high heels. She stood among a group of people watching the disembarking passengers. She stood facing the line of people with tired eyes that looked out the windows as she drummed the sign with extended fingernails. Edward stopped in front of her.
“Mr. Tache?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Edward held out his hand. She ignored this gesture.
“I’m Ms. Sarah wid Pillar and Associate. The one you spoke wid on dah phoon. You ‘ave all your dings?”
“Yeah. Right here.” Edward looked down at the suitcase and laptop bag. When he looked up, Ms Sarah was walking away. He hurried to catch up with her.
“OK, den. We’ll get on our way to dah island.”
“Thought this was an island.” Edward laughed.
“Oh, nooo. Petah Island. We ‘ave to take dah boot. Did you read dah duties?”
“The duties? Oh yeah, the duties – sure of course.”
“Good. Cuz you must perform dah duties and you must ‘ave dah ‘ouse ready at all time. Do you understand dat’s most important?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Been goin out deer every day for two week now. Dirty minute each way. Getting sick ov id. But now dat you ‘ere, won’t ‘ave to.”
Ms. Sarah walked fast, even in her high heels, which tapped the floor like a horse trot. He chased her out glass doors, across a lane and up to a Jeep Cherokee. She opened the back so he could put his luggage inside. After they got in and shut the doors, she turned to face him, holding the car key at the ready.
“Now, Mr. Tache, I tell you some-ding. You and I know you want to go to town and party, but you must stay around dah property.” As she spoke, she pointed the key at his chest. “If I catch you missin, you lose dah job. Understand dat? I ‘ave too many young kid come and dink dis play time. One girl work for me while she say she studyin. But I catch her in dah club too many time. I fire her before she can open her big fat mouth and tell me some excuse. I doonh ‘ave nooo time to play wid yah. Got it? You must stay dere and perform your duties in an acceptable manner. You be paid at dah end of de munt, but you should ‘ave every-ding you need in supplies.”
The sun glared off the hood and the air inside sweltered. A drop of sweat worked its way down the side of Edward’s face. He quickly nodded. When she saw that he wasn’t going to answer, she inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine started and cool air started blowing out the vents.
The road followed the southern foot of the mountain, down into a valley and along a shoreline of docks, piers and tourist shops. Edward took in all the quaint structures, trying to find names for the fluorescent house colors. Stoplight green, preteen pink and radioactive yellow. Walls and fences that weren’t colored were whitewashed. He squinted through the brightness of the dazzling day and sparkling shoreline, realizing he had no sunglasses.
They parked in a lot next to one of the dock entrances. Edward unloaded his suitcase and computer bag and followed Ms. Sarah through a gate and down one of a dozen piers lined with sailboats and yachts of various sizes. They stopped at a large open motorboat. A short canopy covered the front dashboard and seats, and gave just enough shade for the man napping in the captain’s chair.