Caribbean Crossroads (25 page)

Suddenly came the image of Megan on the Jamaican dance floor, looking up at him, trusting him, loving him. The feeling shocked him, the warmth and security. He shook his head. She was definitely not showing a lot of warmth or security right now, except to her dead-end job. Yet something compelled him still, but what he couldn’t say. All he knew was to pursue this until he could figure out the solution.

Hopefully, his plan would work. If not, it was the yard for good.

***

Monday mornings always felt a little bleak to Megan but especially with no exciting event to look forward to. After the wedding celebration, all last week the office had seemed particularly dismal, much like when she had returned from the cruise. Megan looked around and shook her head. Her first few days back she had been shocked by the familiar state of the office—it was as if she had never left. Same yellow on the walls, pale and worn. Same computer that Tina couldn’t get to work. Same fax machine that stuck on the number nine. It wasn’t bad, it was just—the same. And she wasn’t.

Facing another seemingly mundane day, Megan put her purse below the desk and switched on her computer. Bryant had called only once and texted twice during the past two weeks, having been “busy” at the yard and with “other stuff.” The lack of communication only confirmed to her what Brittany and Mrs. V. had said—personal communication was not his forte. Neither was his understanding about promises. So far, Dry Land Bryant was not stacking up to Cruise Ship Romancer. Megan was seeing the light and not liking what it showed.

After a few hours of sorting through job requests, placing six individuals, and faxing a ridiculous amount of paperwork, she looked up at the sound of the bell on the front door.

Her mouth fell open. Bryant entered the waiting room with that almost arrogant smile on his face. He knew he’d surprised her. Big.

Bryant? Here?

It took her a moment to comprehend what she was seeing. His wavy hair—cut shorter and more business-like—his rugged build, his tanned face. He was here, in Harperville, Nevada, standing in her office.

Megan felt her insides swirl. Just the sight of him conjured those familiar giddy feelings—cuddling on the deck, kissing on the dance floor. Within seconds a slide show of memories flashed through her mind and heart.

But then came the memories of the past two weeks. Reality. And the tightening in her stomach from the concerns she’d felt and feared. No, she told herself, she would be smart. Safe. Rational. She would not be detoured by those sudden bursts of romantic feeling. Even if he did drive 12 hours, just for her. Through construction. And look so dang good doing it, too. She gripped the side of the desk.

Be. Strong.

Putting on her professional demeanor, Megan called to him in the foyer without rising from her chair. “May I help you?”

He paused mid-step, holding his keys and looking around the empty waiting area. “I sure hope so. I’m looking for a job.”

“Just take a seat and fill out an application clipboard on the table. I’ll be right with you.” She spoke as smooth as honey butter. He looked puzzled at first but then smiled again and sat down, grabbing a clipboard from a stack in a box.

Megan scooted in her chair so that he couldn’t readily see her behind the small service counter and began making phone calls. She fought to cling to reason. Couldn’t make it to the wedding? Couldn’t call or connect during the past two weeks more than a hello? Couldn’t call her now to let her know that he was coming? 

He could wait.

Megan repeated this in her mind like a mantra, trying to focus on paperwork and keeping a functional attitude, but finding herself sneaking looks into the foyer. He busily completed the application, the math problem expression on his face. Several times she fought the urge to run to him, hold him, tell him how ecstatic she was to see him. But deep down she knew this set the future precedent. How she handled his broken promises and poor behavior today would determine how he respected her down the road.

Right?

A full half hour later, Megan walked to the service counter and yelled out to the still empty waiting room, “Next,” and sat back at her desk.

Bryant stood, stared at her, then stepped through the swinging door next to the counter and sat across from her at the desk.

Megan reached for the clipboard and perused his papers.
Okay, pal, I’ll play along until I figure out just what you’re doing.

“So, why are you really here?” she said.

“I told you, I’m looking for a job.”

“That’s slightly humorous.”
 

“I’m serious.” He still retained that knowing I-surprised-you look around his eyes, like a little boy who had scored something good. “What incredible job opportunity could I expect to experience, I mean, with your fantastic placement abilities?”

“I’m not sure.” Megan fought again between reaching across and hugging him, and yelling at him for dissing his promise and making her worry like crazy. Was he really here for a job or was this a joke? And he had left the yard? For how long?

As if in answer to her question, he sat forward, his blue eyes intense. “I’m here for one week, Megan—one week to see if I can make it work here.”

“You mean, find a job?”

“To make it work on both fronts.” He looked at her meaningfully. “If we can see this is real, outside of cruise ships and curtain calls, then we’ll know where to go from there, right? One week here. Then you can take a week off and come see how I live.”

Megan stared, thinking through it. “I don’t know what to say. What about the yard, did you decide anything?”

Bryant’s face darkened. “It’s taken care of. For now.”

So he hadn’t decided on anything yet. Megan breathed slowly, trying to calm herself. Yes, he was here, showing how he felt about her. And it was a romantic and sweet gesture. But then again, what did one week do? It seemed more of the same, an unrealistic situation. Just like the cruise ship, being here for a week was temporary. Nothing solid, nothing solved. She wanted steady, sure, a plan. He’d had weeks on the ship to figure out a solution and still nothing. Then he canceled his first big commitment to her, unable to leave the yard. Then suddenly he up and leaves the yard in a grandiose gesture but without even talking with her about it. She wanted to think happy thoughts but Jackson was too fresh for her to ignore. This wasn’t the kind of steady relationship behavior she was looking for. Sandy beaches and Vista Decks were over, it was time to knuckle down to real life. But could he?

She pursed her lips, tapping her fingers on the desk. “Well, let’s take a look, shall we? What exactly are your skills?”

“I make a mean breakfast.” He raised his eyebrows playfully. “And give great Valentines.”

She kept a straight face. “Fabulous. I’m sure the girls in hometown Channing, California, could tell me all about it.”

His eyes narrowed but he only shrugged, missing her opening for him to apologize, or further explain.

“Well, with those skills certainly there are loads of jobs perfect for you,” she continued. “However, the Chippendales calendar is already out, so let’s look at something a bit more challenging, shall we?” She scrolled her computer lists, passing up exec jobs, media prompter, etcetera.

Bryant leaned back with his arm resting on the top of the chair, the arrogant smile on his face. “I think I can pretty much handle what little Harperville, Nevada, might have to offer.”

In the blink of an eye, the way he sat in the chair, his confident air, Megan felt transported to those last moments with Jackson. Intuitively, she knew it was unfair, that the comparison wasn’t real. But it still stuck to her, gnawing at her doubts. 

Her cursor passed over a particularly unpleasant job title. Megan felt the beginning of an idea. “Aha, I think I have the perfect fit. Just fill out this paperwork.”

“More paperwork?”

“The blessing of honest toil.”

Yes, she would give him the week, definitely. But not fluffy temp jobs and homemade dinners. She’d give him the reality of what “little Harperville” had to offer, and see if he could hack it, day in and day out. Deep down she desperately needed to know he was in it all the way, not just when it was pleasant or convenient, but when real life waited. He had said let’s see what it’s like outside of cruise ships and curtain calls. She couldn’t agree more.    

Megan realized he was waiting. “Where are you staying?”

“At the Motel 6.”

“By Lucky D’s casino?”

“That’s the one.”

She whistled softly. “You might want to pack something. I mean other than clothes.”

“So I’ve been told.” He seemed aware she was softening, and did the wrong thing by smiling that I-know-how-to-get-you grin. “Better than a wedding reception, don’t you think?”

“We’ll see.” She was back to business.
Yep, that was men. Blow off not keeping a promise with a bit of boyish charm and a ride in to save the day.

“Okay, be at this address by 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.” She handed him the paper. He took it without glancing at it, steadily smiling at her. Then nodding his head, he turned to go.

Megan watched him leave, fighting not to run after him.

We’ll see if you’re still smiling tomorrow.
 

***

“Is this the right address?” Bryant said to the old woman at the door, surveying the decrepit street.

“Oh yes, indeed,” she said, warbling cheerfully. “We’ve needed some insulation now for, oh, I don’t know how long. It’s right up here in the attic.” She opened the creaking door and told him, as they slowly trudged upstairs, that a “few things” needed fixing before they could begin the insulation.

Walking into the five-foot-high attic, he realized at once he was in trouble. Chairs, boxes, trunks, and knickknacks of every sort filled the space. Add “moving man” to the job requirements, he thought wryly.

“I don’t see a blower,” said Bryant.

“Oh no, we don’t use those kinds of new-fangled things. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.” She smiled and patted his arm. “I’ll have some lemonade for you in a few hours.”

Already the sweat broke out on his forehead. It was going to be hot, back-breaking work, all by hand. He thought of Megan, shook his head, and started moving the closest boxes.

***

At 5:30 p.m., Megan pulled up to the old house. Bryant was covered head to toe with sparkling bits of insulation, obviously wrapping up a conversation with the homeowner at the door.

Megan waited by his truck.

“Hey, boss, a personal visit?” Bryant strode over to her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She willed the flutters in her stomach to be still. “You need to turn in your time card each day. I thought this being your first day I would save you the trouble.”

Annoyingly, his eyes sported an arrogant bring-it-on look. “Aha. Well, isn’t that nice, the boss thinking about one of her lowly workers. Well, seeing as you’re down here, wanna catch a movie? For employee morale and all that.”

She shook her head. “I don’t date employees. But I’m sure other plans won’t be hard to find.”

“What, around here?” Bryant gestured expansively at the broken down neighborhood. “This is a great place. There’s like one movie theater with three whole movies, it’s great. And if I get really bored there’s a Piggly Wiggly down the way—ice cream sandwiches, three for a buck.”

“Sounds like your night is made.”

“Oh, I’m set.” He stared her down, the challenging air still present. “Right after I pick out the small, burrowing pieces of insulation glass in the numberless pores of my skin. If I rub my arm just right, it feels really good, like a piranha is eating my limbs.”

Megan kept a straight face. “Gee, that sounds like fun. Well, I’d better get going. I’ll put you down for eight hours, and here”—she tore off a white sheet and handed it to him—“is the address of your next assignment. Be there at—”

“—7:00 a.m.?”

“You got it. Thanks, Bryant.”

“Anytime, Megan.”

She felt him watch her leave, knowing he still wore that ingratiating smile.

The next afternoon, although her work was finished, Megan found herself hanging around the office, just in case Bryant dropped by his time card. It was crazy to even think about it—literally crazy. She was giving him the worst possible jobs available in the greater metropolis of Harperville and Wells, Nevada, and still she was hoping he’d come by to see her? Yes. Because she had to know his staying power, his ability to commit.

And deep down she knew it wasn’t just that. This was buying her more time to figure out where the two of them could go from here. With no signs of any major changes in his life—no settling down, no clear plan—it was just the same situation as on the cruise ship. What exactly was she looking for, then? She had no idea. Just something solid, decisive—something that said he had his life figured out and not just a quick fix or placating people.

And yet, the Old Megan part of her knew she was being hard on him. It wasn’t his fault she’d experienced Jackson. Or her dad leaving. It wasn’t right to make him go through these emotional tests just to make her feel more secure. But, at this point, she didn’t know how else to do it. Trusting her instincts alone wasn’t working, hadn’t worked. She needed something solid to hold onto, something that said he was a sure thing before going any further.

Sighing, she closed down her computer just as the doorbell jingled. She scooted out of her chair but smelled him before she saw him. Megan came from around her desk and saw Bryant standing in the reception area. His body was soaked in something all the way to his chest where an irregular horizontal line delineated the dry. Within minutes the stench completely permeated the room.

“Just came to turn in my time card,” he said, holding out a piece of paper. Megan walked through the swinging door, holding her nose, and gingerly took the time card from him. She could have sworn he had smeared it on purpose.

“I’m sorry, Bryant, you’ll need to leave. What you’re wearing is not clean office attire.”

“Oh, okay.” In one smooth motion he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.