Sanibel Scribbles (27 page)

“She is a well-balanced individual,” commented Ruth. “She handles a zillion tasks at once without slacking on anything.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Denver as he filled the kitchen basin with hot water. “She’s bobbing up and down, barely surviving. Buoys never sink. They bob. Yep, she’s a buoy. You just don’t see it.”

It was only her first day on the island, and Connie could take drink orders within one minute of customers sitting down. Even with a table of fifteen, she smiled her way through their shouting demands, as if she were a professional demand handler. She delivered appetizers in a timely manner, before delivering the lunches, and she picked up excess straw or cracker wrappers, dirty plates, and any other items cluttering the tables as the customers ate. The thing that amazed her coworkers the most was Connie’s ability to carry on a stimulating conversation with the guests she served, and she did so with a look in her eye, the kind that says “this woman has been sitting in a silent library one hour too long and is now absolutely craving discussion, the louder the better, with anyone.” People liked Connie and, like a boomerang, she liked them right back.

“Well, you’ve survived your first day and evening waiting tables on this mangrove out in no-man’s-land,” said Vicki. “Nice job.”

“I’ve done it. I’m actually here. I can’t believe it,” laughed Connie. “I think I like no-man’s-land.”

“Well, it sure likes you. Do you always have so many men flirting with you?”

“No, no. Oh, absolutely not,” she replied in an offended manner. “I
have no intentions with these men, none at all. I’ll have adult conversation with anyone who feels like talking. Although, I admit, the attention does feel kinda nice.”

“Well, if you’re up to it, why don’t you join me on the chairs out in front? I’ll just be sitting out there catching my breath from the hectic night. It’s a nice way to unwind,” said Vicki after her last table walked out the door and into the darkness. “I’m taking a mug of hot chocolate out there with me. It feels a bit breezy tonight. Help yourself to some.”

“That sounds great, but maybe I’ll add a dose of Bacardi,” answered Connie. “I haven’t had a drink in, gosh, how many years? Do I dare? Should I have a drink?”

“I don’t know. Do you have a problem with it?” asked Vicki.

“Do I sound like I do?” asked Connie. “Because no, I don’t. I’m just a woman in need of a drink who has gone too long without, nothing more. Don’t make me laugh again. Gosh, last time I almost peed my pants.”

“Please, refrain. When your last guest is gone, meet me outside.” Vicki waved to the few stragglers hanging out at the bar as the aroma of prime rib from the kitchen followed her outside.

The white wooden chairs felt cold against her bare legs, and the night wind kept stubbornly blowing her hair wildly across her face, interrupting her view of the navy blue water with its bobbing boats. There were no stars, no clouds, and the moon was barely visible. Just black outer space and serene surroundings.

Vicki loved being outdoors, but she had never enjoyed it the way she did here, under the stars and on the water off the coast of Florida. She couldn’t remember ever closing her eyes while standing outside in Michigan, in the yard, or anywhere. Why didn’t she do this before?
What does Michigan’s air smell like? What does it feel like? Do its stars differ from these stars? Does the moon look different from Michigan than it does here in Florida?

She regretted never taking the time to savor her own state’s environment and longed to stand outside in her yard in Saugatuck: to close her eyes, to smell, to feel, and to tear a leaf off a tree and hold it in her hand. She would do that when she returned. She promised herself that she
would notice all of nature more, feel it and enjoy it. Even if it meant doing an angel in the snow, she would do it. She tasted the salty tang of the air as she took in a breath and felt the warmth of the night’s temperature on her arms. She looked up, saw no stars, then closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She could
breathe
.

“Vicki, that prime rib smell is like an aromatherapy treatment. My pores are eating it up.” The wooden screen door slammed behind Connie, then a second later it slammed again.

Two male guests left the bar in trail behind and took it upon themselves to join the women.

“We hope you ladies like history,” said one. “We love it,” said Connie.

“Speak for yourself,” Vicki said. “I’m more of a language buff.”

“Hi, I’m Hank, and this is George. We’re history professors, sailing for the summer, trying hard to keep our conversations off the subject of world wars, the Declaration of Independence, and the Great Awakening,” said the man, whose skin made him look as if he had spent the last thirty years swimming in a slow cooker.

“That’s right. Maybe you two can help divert our endlessly long discussion concerning the French Revolution as portrayed in a recent Hollywood movie,” chimed in George.

“Yes, you do need rescuing,” joked in Vicki. “So, which boat is yours?”

“It’s out that way about fifty yards. It’s a forty-foot sailboat.”

“We took a small inflatable dinghy here for dinner, and we’re anchoring right where we’re at tonight,” said the other as he downed his drink. “Hey, have you ladies heard of Spook Island?”

“Oh yes, actually, my customers talk about it all the time.” Vicki sipped her hot chocolate. “From what I hear, everyone who has ever tried getting there has run into difficulty.”

“Well, we think we know where it is, not too far from here. What do you say, would you two like to venture out and give it a try?”

“Stranger danger,” Connie whispered to Vicki.

“What did you say?” Vicki glanced at the woman sitting beside her. How could a woman who packed a bear named Snuffy and said things like “stranger danger” make it out to an island like this in the first place?

“On second thought, we’d love to discover Spook Island,” Connie stated loudly, with no fear. “Yes, we accept your invitation!”

“Are you crazy?” asked Vicki. “It’s black out there tonight.”

“Not with this flashlight,” offered Hank.

“How are we going to get there?”

“Our dinghy. It’s durable enough. Come on,” said George, setting his drink on the grass, then standing up to offer his hands to Connie. “Let’s not waste any time.”

“I’m game,” said Connie as she let the man pull her up from her chair.

“I don’t know, Connie,” said Vicki. “It’s late. Shouldn’t we find it during daylight?”

“Vicki, it’s called
Spook Island
. Any place with a name like that requires a night search,” laughed her newfound friend. Again, her laughter got completely out of control, and all four adults were totally engrossed in hysterics for about five minutes. The chorus of laughter allowed Vicki a moment to study and imitate its style, and no one noticed as her laugh started blending with that of her new friend.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Am I crazy? Am I really here?” Connie asked the others, now cramped in a rubber life raft made for two.

“You’re here, you’re here, for real,” three voices chimed together. Their flashlight lit only a small circle of the dark, rippling water ahead, and they had paddled about one hundred yards from Tarpon Key when the sky god, Zeus, tossed wind and rain at them. Cold waves splashed their faces and awoke Vicki to the realization of where she was and what she was doing. She felt a moment of panic as she glanced down at the black water that housed all creatures great and small, toothless and non-toothless, full and hungry, all down under.

“My toes are cold,” she said. “I’m thinking of dipping them in my hot chocolate.”

“Mind if I lick it off?” asked Hank, who, perhaps on purpose, but hopefully by accident, had just squeezed her behind.

“Ugh,” replied Vicki, glancing over at Connie to see if she had found that gross as well. The night was too black for facial expressions to be visible, and the gusty wind carried droplets of saltwater into their now burning eyes.

“Ugh,” she said again, in part because she wanted to clearly send the signal that she wasn’t at all interested in the history professors, and because she now felt cold, tired, cramped, and nervous about the men and the weather, which was like an unpredictable, unknown beast that showed up out of nowhere. How could she have been so stupid as to actually set sail for, no, to actually set dinghy for Spook Island with these two strangers, or as her new friend, Connie, initially referred to them as, “stranger dangers”?

“Connie?”

“Yes, Vicki.”

“Is your first opinion of people usually accurate?”

“Yes, always. My problem is that I never go with my gut reaction. Why do you ask, Vicki?”

“Never mind,” she said. “Too late now,” she mumbled under her breath.

“I think we had better reroute to our sailboat,” stated George. “Not because her toes are cold, but these waves are starting to hit us. Where did this come from?”

“I’ve got an idea.” Vicki massaged her toes where they stuck out of her sandals. “Let’s return to Tarpon Key and call it a night. Great attempt, but, hey, looks like our quest to discover Spook Island is triggering a mysterious storm.”

“We’re closer to the boat,” said Hank. “We’re not going to make it much longer in this dinghy, not with these waves and this wind.”

It was true. The sky had started out navy blue and progressed into black. The water had also started out as navy and now looked like wet tar.

“Take us to your boat, then. Safety is number one,” said Connie, still nursing her mug of hot chocolate with Bacardi.

“You’ve still got that drink? If it was a to-go cup, I’d say keep it, but that heavy mug is going to weigh us down,” said Vicki, only half teasing. Her other half didn’t like the ride any more.

“Toss the mug,” shouted Hank. “Take your last swig and toss.”

Despite the waves, the water splashing in their faces and weather arriving in an unknown manner, the group laughed as Connie downed the last of her drink and threw the ceramic mug overboard into the blackness.
“I’m queen of the world,” shouted Connie with her arms up. “I can’t believe I’m here. What a change in routine.”

They made it to the boat, but, according to the radio, the winds gave no indication of dying down. “You’re history experts, so tell me,” said Connie as she sat cuddled in a blanket on the couch. “Did Pocahontas really save John Smith’s life?”

They discussed the fearless leader of the Jamestown colony captured by Powhatan’s Indians for a good hour as the waves swayed the sailboat, and it tugged and strained on the lines to its anchor below. With no sign of the wind calming, the men opened a bottle of wine, drank it, then opened another and another. The women each had one glass, but turned down the continuous offers after that.

“Let’s have fun now,” slurred George as he reached over and kissed Connie’s neck. “There’s not a whole lot of privacy here, but you women don’t mind.”

“You’ve got that wrong,” said Vicki.

“You sure do,” added Connie. Her tone became more authorative. “We’d like to go back to the island now. We both have to work early, and it’s well after midnight.”

“Well, ladies, we’ll take you back in the morning, but we’re not going out in the dinghy in this weather. Besides, we didn’t take you out here to chat about Pocahontas and to catch some z’s.”

“Sorry if we gave you the wrong impression,” said Vicki. “But we want to go back now.”

“That’s right,” said Connie. “In fact, my husband would die if he knew where I was and what I was doing right now. He’d -”

“That’s a good one,” said George. “Where’s your ring?”

“It’s usually right here. See? You can see somewhat of a white mark from not getting any sun there.” Connie pointed.

“We told you once, we’re not taking you back. There’s too much wind.”

“But this is a
sail
boat. These boats love wind, don’t they? I’d like to go back now,” said Vicki.

“This isn’t
wind
, this is a
storm
, and we’re
not
going to take you back. Not tonight.” George walked over to the kitchen drawer and pulled out
the corkscrew once again.

“I’d really like to go back to Tarpon Key now!”

“You heard what she said, she wants to go back to Tarpon Key now, so either you’ll take us, or we’ll dinghy ourselves back!” Connie blurted out.

“Be our guests. Take the dinghy and your lives, you two dingbats!”

Connie threw the blanket on the floor and took Vicki’s hands. “Come on, honey. We got ourselves into this, and we’re gonna get ourselves out.”

“What?” whispered Vicki. “How?”

“We have to get out of here. I don’t like the look of this. This isn’t good.”

As they made their way up the narrow steps to the door leading to the deck, the women clutched arms and tried blocking out the sounds of the drunk men, laughing and watching them from below.

“I should have taken that blanket with us,” said Connie. “I didn’t know it could get so cold out here in the summer.”

“Are we really going to do this?”

“Vicki, I don’t know about you, but I have to. I think I’ve been hit with a cold wave. I can’t believe I’m out here. I’m married.”

The women carefully lowered the boarding ladder and settled into the wet dinghy. Within seconds they began paddling like crazy, steering in the direction of the island.

“Vicki, I’ve been wanting to come out to this island now for months. I saw the ad in the paper one Sunday when I was clipping coupons,” Connie said. “I cut it out and hid it away in a junk drawer. I don’t know why I

did that.”

“And you started packing, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve had my suitcase packed and hidden under our bed for weeks, adding to it almost daily. Gosh, I haven’t been on a vacation in a long time.”

“So this is your vacation?”

“I’m so ashamed. I told my husband I needed a week alone at my mother’s house, and I’ve worked out a crazy story so I won’t get caught.”

“Do you love this guy you’re married to?”

“Of course. We’ve been married almost eleven years. I’ve never loved
anyone else. This isn’t about me being unhappy with him.”