Eventually the other girls impressed upon me the need to shower and make myself presentable for dinner. While we got ready, they filled me in on the least boring parts of the tour, as well as the loose itinerary for the week. (Unfortunately, it sounded like a lot of snorkeling.)
“And the rules,” Jenny said. “Don’t forget those.” She handed me a crumpled sheaf of papers.
“Right.” Demetria rolled her eyes. “Comandante Saltzman runs a pretty tight ship on Cavador.”
“What a sweet job, though,” Clarissa said. “I want to be an island caretaker when I grow up.” We lapsed into silence as we tried to imagine Clarissa playing servant to anyone.
RULES OF CAVADOR KEY
1) Barbarian names ONLY outside of the tomb or other official ceremonies. Remember, we’re not all Diggers here.
2) Though most of the visiting barbarian family members are aware of this island’s true purpose, there’s no reason to go blabbing about it at random. Your oaths still hold.
3) Try to limit showers to ten minutes or less, no more than once a day. We are dealing with severe water shortages.
4) The generators will be shut off every night at precisely 10 P.M. Each room is equipped with candles and flashlights if you wish to stay up later than that. (Tomb excepted.)
5) Special dietary requests will be submitted, in writing, at least three days prior to your visit.
6) The only barbarians allowed on this island are the wives and biological children of active knights and/or patriarchs.
7) No, there is no pool. The ocean is a few feet away. Deal with it.
This went on in the same vein for several pages. At the bottom of the last sheet, there was a handwritten addition:
*No co-educational sleeping arrangements will be provided without proof of matrimony.
“I think we’ve found our new slogan,” Demetria said.
The main compound of Cavador Key was composed of four buildings. One was the cabin the other knights were using, near the shower house. Then there was a larger building in a Key West style, with big windows, a sloping roof, and a wraparound porch. This, Demetria informed me, housed the kitchens, dining room, billiard and rec room, and “library.” Upstairs, the main hall had a few small apartments for married Diggers and families, though Clarissa explained that they were all currently occupied, which was why we girls had been relegated to the distant cabin. There was also a small, windowless, stucco structure that served as the island’s “tomb,” and looked too hot to even think of entering (“Looks like a strip club,” Jenny said). Finally, there was the little cypress-wood house where the caretaker lived. None of the buildings was particularly beautiful or grand, but each appeared well built and maintained. I wonder how much it cost the Tobias Trust each year to keep this island. Little wonder it was used for far more than a Spring Break hangout by the current club. That could hardly justify the cost. I gathered that patriarchs could drop in for some rest and relaxation anytime they chose.
What I didn’t expect was to see my favorite of them all waiting for us on the front porch of the main building.
“Amy!” Malcolm cried, sliding off the steps and coming to meet me, arms outstretched. “I heard you took a dip on the way over.”
I hugged my big sib hard. “What are you doing here!” He hadn’t dropped any hints at all over e-mail. But maybe keeping this secret was why his communication had dropped off.
“Surprise!” He ruffled my hair. “Had about enough as I could stand of Alaskan winters. And I’d thought Connecticut was bad.” The recent Eli grad had been spending a gap year on a fishing crew before starting business school.
“I still can’t believe you’re here, though,” I said.
“What, thought I’d prefer to take my vacation with my parents?”
I looked down. Malcolm was currently estranged from his father, an ultra-conservative state governor who didn’t take kindly to the news that his only son preferred the company of men. “Still getting the silent treatment?”
“I figure they’ll relent when they reach the age where I’ll sock ’em away in a nursing home if they don’t.”
“Good idea.”
“So tell me about your trip over here.” I couldn’t blame Malcolm for changing the subject. “What happened?”
“You must have already heard a dozen different versions.”
“Yeah, but I want the one out of your mouth.”
What, didn’t he trust his buddy Poe’s interpretation? Speaking of, where was Poe?
The other girls had wandered into the rec room to join the rest of the island’s inhabitants. I caught sight of a television, a bunch of board games, a pool table, and a dart set, but nothing really held my interest until I saw the lone figure on a chair in the corner, in a dark shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, reading. Poe. I stopped short.
“Do you know how to play backgammon?” Malcolm asked, still headed into the rec room. “I think I’ve got time to teach you before din—” He noticed I hadn’t followed him. “Amy?”
“Actually, can I talk to you for a minute?” I beckoned him back outside.
He furrowed his brow. “Sure. What’s up?”
But I didn’t say anything more until we were a safe distance from the crowd, seated on a picnic table bench on the far side of the porch. “I have a question for you, but it’s kind of…um, personal.”
“Yes, I’m gay.”
“You really are a fan of saying that, aren’t you?”
“Once you start, you just can’t stop.”
“Seriously, though, you can’t laugh at me,” I said.
He smiled. “I make no promises.”
“Okay, fine. You can’t make fun of me, then. And if I’m totally off base, you have to forget I ever said anything, and never tell anyone this conversation happened.”
“I swear on Persephone. Now you’ve got me really intrigued.” Malcolm leaned forward, his hands on the bench between us, his expression one of amused anticipation.
I took a deep breath. “Does P—Jamie…like me?”
Malcolm blinked. This was clearly not the kind of dirt he’d been expecting.
“I mean, like me like me,” I clarified quickly.
“What are you, twelve?” he asked, incredulous.
“You aren’t supposed to make fun of me!” I scolded.
“You never said you were going to act like a teenybopper. That’s a special circumstance. Any judge would agree.”
“Fine.” I started to rise. “Like I said, forget I asked.”
“Wait, Amy. Sit down,” he said with a sigh. Malcolm was leaning his fists against the wood, staring down at his knuckles.
I sat. “What?”
He didn’t look up. “This is all just between us, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t say he likes you.”
“Oh.” Oh. Of course not. How stupid of me. How ridiculous, really—
“He’s pretty much in love with you.”
“What?” I whispered.
“Amy, don’t…” Malcolm’s face had gone red. “He’d kill me if he knew I just told you that.”
I jumped up. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because you hate him, remember?” Malcolm grabbed my arm and pulled me back on to the bench, dropping his voice to a low growl. “Remember how you hate him? Remember how I had to send you about twelve thousand e-mails last semester before you agreed to even talk to him?”
“I don’t…hate him,” I stammered.
“Since when?”
Since last semester, actually, when I’d finally talked to him, but that was hardly the point. “I don’t understand. How can he—” No way was I using the L-word. “—feel that way about me? We had a very strong mutual dislike, remember?”
“Yes,” Malcolm said snidely. “I remember. I heard it nonstop from both of you.”
“So what makes you think…”