“Careful there!” Tom said.
“Be right back,” she said, disappearing below. Moments later, she returned wearing a sarong high over her swimsuit.
“Hey, get over here. Snug your hot body closer,” said Tom.
“Stalker.” She nuzzled, then ruffled his hair, looking toward the little boat. “Better slow down.”
He nodded, slowing.
“Don’t want to drown them.”
Tom cut the engine. The small boat cautiously approached the yacht. The couple on board waved. Tom waved back.
“They were going toward Sandy Spit,” said Carolina.
“Lots of big yachts stop there.”
“But their engine’s failing and we’re closer.”
“And isolated,” said Tom, smelling the skin on her shoulder and sighing. “We could ignore them.”
“Don’t get weird on me, okay? That might make me nervous.”
“Too late.”
“Sorry for the grease,” she said, laughing as his fingers stalled in a tangle of her hair. “Three days at sea and everything goes to hell.”
“Speaking of that.” He squinted through the binoculars. “The sea’s rough right now. They’re rocking.”
“Closer, closer.”
“Drink,” he said, handing her another brown bottle, “then come back and cuddle. Keep in mind we’re on our honeymoon.”
Carolina tossed her old, half-finished bottle, then drank. Tom picked up a new bottle and drank, too.
Silvery-pink clouds blew in the western sky, the indigo sea churning below. The boat pulled up beside them so quickly that the pounding on the side of their yacht startled them both.
“Permission to climb aboard?” asked the muscular young man, smiling. “Always wanted to say that.”
“Sure,” said Tom. He hung a ladder down the side. The young man and his partner, a young woman in a bikini only partly covered by a shirt, grabbed the ladder and nimbly ascended.
“Got a cigarette?” the young man asked immediately upon dropping onto the deck. He wore a sleeveless tee over a pair of bulky, flowered Hawaiian trunks with multiple pockets that enhanced the fit legs that thrust out of them.
Carolina rummaged and extracted a lighter and a pack from a pocket in the bin beside her.
“Cool,” the young man said.
She threw the pack and lighter at him.
He caught with easy grace, lit his cigarette, inhaled, and exhaled. “Oh, what a killer.”
The girl sprawled against the rail beside him, her damp, white cotton shirt tied above a flat, pierced navel. Autumn gold hair floated around her head as light and thick as feathers. Her skin, rusty-over-beige, bore few traces of the sun they must have survived. She looked like a model, taller than most women, utterly at ease with her body. “Wow, thank you SO MUCH for picking us up. That was so scary.” She plunked a beach bag down beside herself.
Her boyfriend frowned slightly. “It’s not like we were going to drown.”
“We were an awful long way from another boat,” she said, pointing down at the Whaler, “to be carrying so much water. You take too many risks.”
“Jude,” the young man said suddenly, extending a hand, turning everyone’s attention away from the boat. He smiled again. Tom shook, then Carolina.
“Shauna,” said the girl, her eyes less friendly, her teeth less prominent than Jude’s, though no less bleached. They shook hands.
“Thirsty?” Carolina asked, after Jude and Tom tied the Whaler to the yacht.
“Got beer?” said Jude.
Carolina handed him one. Jude sipped, grimaced. “What is this?” He examined the label. “Hey!”
“Sorry,” Tom said, taking it from him. “I’m in recovery.” He found another, similar-looking bottle and handed it to Jude. “This will suit you better.”
Jude drank. “Recovery. No offense, but have you ever considered that that is a fad promoted by dull people to dull people down?”
“How ’bout you, Shauna?” Carolina asked before Tom had a chance to respond.
“Anything cold.”
Carolina handed her a beer.
“Where to?” Tom asked, starting up the yacht’s motor.
The two younger people looked at each other. “The dock at Cane Garden Bay. Imagine someone renting someone a leaky boat with a bad engine!” Jude said.
“Seems unusually stupid. You sure it’s leaking?” Tom asked.
“We don’t know that for sure, although the water got deeper, it seems to me.” Shauna adjusted the ties on her bikini. “See, the guy who rented it told us to let ’er rip if we wanted to reach the Spit in a small boat like that. So we were going fast, but Jude got distracted when this huge yacht breezed by us...”
“The engine sucked. Weak piece of crap.” Jude said.
“Jude says the engine got wet. Anyway, we lost power.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s what happened.”
“You didn’t call for help on the radio?” asked Carolina, looking over the side of the yacht into the small, swamped boat drifting astride.
“Of course. Bum radio. Big surprise,” Jude said.
“And forget mobile phones out here,” Shauna added. “No reception.”
The sky darkened suddenly, cotton-ball clouds fluffing over the sun.
“What time does your rental-man close?” Tom asked, hand over his eyes scanning the bumpy brown island in the distance.
Jude looked toward Tortola. “No rush. He lives right next to the dock. Someone can find him.” He leaned back, one hand stroking the cushion. “Let’s face it, your ride beats our ride.” He looked around. “Nice.”
“Ha,” Shauna said. “That’s for sure.” She finished her beer quickly. He finished his.
“Thanks for picking us up,” said Shauna.
“Where have you been staying?” Carolina asked.
“Smuggler’s Cove,” Jude said.
“Is that also on Tortola?”
“Right,” said Shauna. “The far side. Past Long Bay? We have friends there with a house. Not air-conditioned, if you can believe that. Hot. But there’s a teeny-weeny pool.”
“Which fruit bats love in the evenings,” said Jude.
“They swoop down to drink,” said Shauna.
“We’ll have to see it sometime.” Carolina squeezed Tom’s arm. “We don’t know that part of Tortola.”
“A hidden gem of the Caribbean, the travel writers say.” Shauna reflected Carolina’s motion, squeezing Jude’s arm.
“There used to be smugglers and pirates all over,” said Jude. “Norman’s Island? In those caves.” He moved away from Shauna, splashing fresh water from a jug over his sweating body. “They brought down European ships and stole their booty. They hid in the caves until the heat was off, then sailed away, totally rich.”
The conversation stalled. After Carolina offered him another beer and he took it, Jude sat down and lay back against the cushions, eyes closed, catching the last bit of sunlight.
“How ’bout some wine, Shauna? We have some cold white. California. Prize-winning,” Carolina said, with a private smile for Tom.
“Sounds good, but first, where’s the head?”
“Down the stairs to the right of the galley,” Tom said.
Carolina took her below, then rummaged around the galley. After Shauna finished, she returned to the deck and Carolina lingered below. Tom appeared. “You gave him near beer?”
“I stink as a host, yep.”
“Bad enough we drink the stuff,” Carolina muttered and put together a plate of goodies on a platter that resembled a big green leaf. “Shouldn’t you be steering?”
“Gave Jude a turn.”
“Is that wise?”
“Don’t worry.”
They returned to the deck. Tom and Carolina stayed close to each other, a lingering look or touch between them here and there. Tom took the wheel from Jude, who settled back beside Shauna.
“Honeymooners?” Shauna asked, looking first at Tom, then Carolina.