Caribbean Crossroads (12 page)

Megan opened her mouth to speak but closed it as soon as she saw she was outmaneuvered. That was Jillian for you.

Ultimately, Bryant, Chad, Brittany, and Jasmine ended up in one taxi, while Jillian and Megan shared another with two crew guys. It was a tight squeeze but with comfortable chatter. Both groups merged at the main strip loaded with badly dressed—and hardly dressed—tourists. Brightly bedecked locals called out to them from the shop fronts in broken English and encouraging gestures, inviting them into their stores with a frantic wave or a shock-white smile.

The group mingled and talked throughout the few hours with Megan careful to keep her distance from Bryant. The success made her careless so that when they entered the restaurant, she was looking at the décor before she knew the seating arrangements.

“Over here, they can seat us now,” said Jillian, pointing the way for Megan, Jasmine, Bryant, and Chad.

Megan looked stricken, but Jillian was having none of it.

“Hello, didn’t you hear? They can seat us but only at two tables. You guys take the outside.” She leaned into Megan. “Brittany doesn’t want more sun on her skin and Chalise wants to talk to me about Garrett. Not exactly guy conversation, if you know what I mean.” She added with a certain smile, “And be nice to Bryant today.”

Megan gave her a look.

The waitress led them informally to a table poorly shaded by an obviously fake thatched roof umbrella. Plastic silverware lay strewn on the white plastic table.

“Trust me, the food is better than the decor,” said Jasmine, pulling out her iPod earbuds. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she wore a sixties tie-dyed shirt over a flowing skirt.

 “Nice skirt,” said Megan. It looked cool and comfortable.

 “They’re the best air-conditioning around,” she said, settling in a chair next to Chad, and took up a menu. “You should get one. They sell them at that corner store we just passed.”  

Megan gazed up the street at the store just as Bryant took the seat next to her. She ignored him and continued, “You’ve been here before?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Jasmine. “The chimichanga is good, and safe. They deep fry it. You can get a lot of stomach bugs on these trips so be Indiana Jones—‘Choose wisely.’”

The waitress took their order, smiling and wearing a red, yellow, and green colored blouse and skirt. All of them ordered chimichangas. 

Jasmine and Chad struck up conversation, something about natural energy sources. Bryant turned to Megan.

“So, Berlin, feeling less hostile today?” His eyes crinkled in that almost laughing way.

She immediately appeared interested in the store fronts and noisy tourists. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You did good this week, dance wise.” He leaned back in the chair. “Got the salsa solid, anyway. You stopped looking at your feet.”

A sarcastic remark was on her tongue but she saw his earnestness and simply said, “Thanks.”

Both of them sat for a while in silence, gazing at the passersby. Megan felt her face flush with the awareness of his tanned arm close to hers, his strong legs almost touching her knee. What was the matter with her?

Remember, Casual Acquaintance. Be polite. She added, “I never really thanked you properly for your help.”

 “Lunch would work.” He squinted at her, smiling. She ignored the familiar tingle in her tummy.

 “I thought Dancing with the Stars coaching was included.” She went to take a drink of water.

 “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “Only do bottled at these places.”

 “Oh. Thanks. Again.”

 “That’s included.” He smiled at her, relaxed. She tried to look indifferent but those eyes, that energy, like he could read her real thoughts. She could smell his ocean scent and felt the pull of his easy, inviting smile. Without the fight, she could feel herself slipping into that comfortable realm with him, letting down her guard. Truly, it was too exhausting to keep it up. But what else could she do to stay emotionally safe? She needed a new strategy.

A Buddy. That was it, like she had been with Sam’s friends. A light-hearted go-to pal. Someone to talk sports with and shoot hoops, none of this emotional garbage. Just keep it light, fun, devil-may-care. Yes, that would work. Because Casual Acquaintance definitely wasn’t working. They practically had sparks coming out of their faces already.  

 “You know,” she said, “I finally figured out what’s wrong with your face.”

 “Oh, here we go.”

 “No, I mean, there’s something different that I couldn’t put a finger on. But it just came to me. It’s your nose.”

He nodded, understanding. “I broke it.”

 “Football injury? Star QB makes the game-winning play, cool victory dance at the end?”

 “Not even close.”

 “Hockey injury?”

 “In northern California?” He cocked his head. “It was a fight.”

She was shocked, he didn’t seem the aggressive type. “Any bars involved?”

“No, just my brother.” The waitress arrived with the food on large platters—a sea of refried beans, Mexican rice, and sizzling chimichanga bars loaded with toppings. They each dug into the offerings.

After a few minutes, Megan started again. “So, this fight, what was it about? Two brothers fighting over the same woman kind of thing?”

He spread the toppings then sliced a big chunk. “It was a cow,” he said and popped the piece into his mouth.

 “Oh, that’s rich.” She cut into her meal. “Come on, details.”

He shrugged and swallowed. “I was supposed to sell her. I’d raised her—well, my brother, Mitch, and I. But he’d lost interest after a month, and said so. I’d done all the work. And I’d already talked to Wendell about the sale—when she’d be ready and all that. And you better believe I had every penny of that $1400 planned out.”

 “You actually raised a cow, surfer boy? Do they even have cows in California?”

 “Yeah, they come down for the wine festivals.” He cut another bite.

 “So I’ll say, just to be a sport, that you actually did raise a cow. Did you have a farm?”

 “No, it was an experiment of my dad’s, trying to teach us suburban white trash some good old-fashioned values.”

 “Did it work?”

 “I raised the cow, didn’t I? Man, this is good.” Stuffing more food in his mouth, his apathy only fueled the fire. She really wanted to know.

“So then you wanted to sell it. For?”

He paused. “A GTO.”

She stared. “I’m guessing that’s a car?”

His turned his head sharply. “Guessing? A ’69 GTO? That’s the best muscle car there was, at least for sale, and restoration. And Mitch bought it right out from under me, and gave the guy the promise of my share of Zippy, if you can believe that.” He banged his fork on the plate as he cut another bite.

Jasmine looked up from her meal, earbuds hanging out, as Chad looked up from his electronic game; they returned to both.

“Zippy? Is that a real name for a cow?” Megan bit into her chimichanga. “And obviously you’ve come to terms with this experience, your anger and all that. What happened?”

 “Dad said for us to go work it out.”

 “So?”

 “Do you only speak in monosyllables?” he said.

 “Wow, that was a big word, and you didn’t even sound it out.” She chewed slowly, a half-smile with closed lips.

 “Yeah, we worked it out. On each other’s faces.”

 “Sounds helpful. How did he look?”

 “Busted jaw and 13 stitches.” He tried but could not repress the smile while Megan shook her head in disgust. “Come on. It’s a big deal to be fourteen and take down your older brother.”

 “How much older?”

 “Twenty-two months.”

 “Hail the conquering hero.”

He passed her tabasco sauce which she ixnayed.

 “At the time he was a wannabe body builder, so a little more to it than that.” With a few more bites he finished the rest of his chimichanga.
“
I couldn’t use my hand for a week, but it was okay.”

 “So, you’re good friends then, you and your brother Mitch?”

 “Yeah, the best.”

 “That sounds about right.” She smiled at the irony, finishing another bite.

He glanced sideways at her. “You got brothers?” The sunlight caught the waves in his hair. With his white shirt, khaki shorts, and easy repose, Megan found herself thinking how nice sitting together on the beach would be.

Be. A. Buddy.

 “Yep, three older brothers and pretty much the same. Fighting, wrestling, plotting revenge, that kind of thing. They’d do small stuff at the beginning, Vaseline on the toilet seats, tape the kitchen sink sprayer and whatnot. But it was usually Mom who got the brunt of it. Then, they got older and it got more intense.”

“Explosives,” he said, a slight glimmer in his eye.

“Apparently you know the drill,” she said. “They were always making something out of household whatever. But when they blew up the shed that was it.”

“What’d they use?”

She shot him a glance. “Renegade.”

“You have to admit, it’s kind of cool they knew how.”

“Right up until Dad jumped off the porch, took their heads, and literally cracked them together. That was worth seeing.” She sat back and crossed her legs, thinking back to those days. “I don’t think he really blamed them though, I didn’t either. They basically grew themselves up at that point.”

“Why’s that?”

Megan reined up. How had she gotten so personal so quickly? Where was the Buddy? Next, she’d be telling him everything.

Turning her wrist, she noted the time. “I think we had better head back if we’re to make the shuttle in time.”

“Was that an obvious detour in the conversation?” He waited.

She paused, deciding.

“We don’t want to be late.” She gazed steadily at him.

He shrugged. “You’re the boss.” He grabbed the ticket lying on the table before she had a chance. Megan gave him a look but he ignored her.

They stood up and Jasmine and Chad came to life. As Megan looked out at the street, she stopped cold. Coming out of a small side souvenir shop much farther down was Derek, but he was with a girl that was not Jillian. They were laughing about something. He handed her a shopping bag and she hugged him, beaming. He held on, finally separating but talking close. Megan squinted and stared harder. But Derek was supposed to be buying lightbulbs with the guys on the other side of town. And yet, that was him. And that was most obviously not Jillian.

What in the world?

“You coming?” Bryant stood next to her, looking in the same direction, then stiffened.

“Un-be-lievable. That can’t be right,” said Megan, wondering whether to call out to him but unsure he could even hear over the noisy street sounds. The guilty pair had glanced warily from side to side then split up. Derek was now walking down the street, looking at nothing but with a huge smile breaking over his face. Megan felt sick.

“That two-timing jerk.” Megan felt an overwhelming anger surge through her. “I’m calling him on it.”

“Wait,” Bryant put his hand on her arm. She looked down at it. “Take a minute and think this through.” He glanced at Jasmine and Chad walking up to the cashier stand.

 “Think what through? He’s a cheat,” she said, yanking her arm free.

 “Megan, you don’t know what it was.” The way he said her name, it did something to her. Warm, reassuring, it was like butter syrup. She ignored it and came back to the moment.

 “Are you telling me that I didn’t see what I saw?”

 “No,” he said. “But there could be a hundred reasons for what it was. Don’t say anything until you know more. Maybe it could cause problems that aren’t yours to cause.”

Megan was shocked. His look was strange, his manner insistent. And then she got it.

 “It’s just a great big boys’ club, isn’t it?” Megan spoke low and disgusted. “Smile and all’s well when Jillian’s around. But when she’s gone, the true colors come out and everybody’s in on it. I thought you had character. But it’s just the silent oath, isn’t it?”

Standing close to him, she saw his eyes widen then his jaw shut tight, but she turned and walked out, not looking behind her.

The shuttle ride back was painstakingly quiet. Megan had chosen a seat as far from Bryant as possible and observed that Brittany sat close by him, although to be fair, it was one of the last open seats. They chatted off and on during the ride home, but Megan wasn’t interested.    

She can have him, Megan thought, a sick feeling in her stomach. She had tried to think of other reasons why Derek would have been there, would have lied, would have been hugging the girl so close then looking around to see if anyone saw. Derek had seemed like such a good guy but it was a Jackson kind of move all over again. And the kicker had been Bryant insistently defending him. Typical guy.

Jillian and Derek sat in the back, behind her. Megan forced herself not to look, or say anything, at least not yet. Staring out the window at the passing exotic landscape she sifted through disturbing questions. What would she tell Jillian? How much? And more importantly, when?  

CHAPTER SEVEN

Throughout the next day, Megan tried several times to catch Jillian alone but someone or something seemed to continually get in the way. Perhaps it was fueled by the fact that Megan still had no real plan of how to break the news. Each time she thought of it, a burning anger welled within her. The situation was bad enough, but to be forced into it, for her to have break her friend’s heart because
they
couldn’t man up, made her furious. For some reason mostly at Bryant.

By the evening show, Megan hadn’t seen Jillian and studiously avoided eye contact with Bryant. After the routine performance, she hurried off stage as soon as it was over but only to be detained by Marvy on a costume issue. On her way to change, Megan saw Derek in the hall. He said a bright hello and she returned a terse nod.

The nerve of the male species, she thought, and opened the dressing room door.

Jillian jumped up from her chair. “Derek wants to hang out so can I take a rain check on girl chat tonight?” She had already changed and was finishing her hair.

Megan opened her mouth, on the verge of blurting it out, but an unseen something held her back. Bryant’s warning flashed annoyingly in her mind—
might cause problems that aren’t yours to cause.
She wished to swat it away like a summer fly.