The Rhythm of the August Rain (19 page)

“How come you never said anything about her looking for some woman who'd disappeared?” Eric asked Shad now, trying not to make it sound like an accusation. “I mean, something as serious as that—”

“Shannon didn't want nobody to worry about her.”

“I just hope you all know what you're doing.” Eric sniffed loudly, nostrils flaring. “It's been a long time and you know Jamaica. It sounds like a hopeless case.”

“Maybe not so hopeless, boss. That's why we going to see an old Rasta on Sunday.”

“If I didn't know that my going with you could be a liability, I would go, believe me.”

“Boss, don't worry yourself,” Shad said, whining a little to pacify. “Everything cool, man, everything under control.”

“Yeah, right.”

D
escending one slow step at a time, Shannon felt her dread rising with the noontime heat from the driveway. She tugged at her ponytail, making sure it fit smoothly through the hole in her baseball cap. In the last few days she'd tried to live with the reality that Eric had a girlfriend, that her relationship with him now was nothing more than being the mother of his child. She'd been angry to begin with, sending Bongo and Eve to the restaurant to drum, wanting to hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. The hardest part had been admitting to herself that she'd hoped, the tiny tendrils still clinging to her heart, that something would be triggered by the three of them coming together with this trip.

“You should've told me he was involved with the woman on the island, whatever her name is,” she'd told Jennifer the afternoon before, her voice tinged with betrayal.

“I didn't know what—what his status was—if he and Simone were still . . . ,” Jennifer had said, leaning forward in the verandah chair, an unlit cigarette between two fingers. “I was hoping it wouldn't really matter.”

“We have a child together. Didn't you think I'd want to know?”

“I thought—”

“You knew they had a relationship when she was here, didn't you?”

Jennifer cupped her hands and lit the cigarette. “Everybody knew by the time she left.”

“Doesn't he talk about her?”

“You know Eric—tight-lipped.”

Waving the smoke away, Shannon frowned. “What's she like? Tell me the truth.” It had become an interrogation, no time for diplomatic curiosity.

“She's divorced, worked in advertising in Atlanta. Nice, nobody's fool, though.”

“Is she really coming for the groundbreaking like Shad said? You're taking care of the guest list, you should know.”

“Lambert told me she was coming.”

“And you never said anything.”

“I didn't want to carry tales, Shan.” Jennifer pulled at her cigarette. “They're best friends, you know.”

“I don't get the logic.”

“Honestly? I thought you'd be gone before the groundbreaking.” Jennifer had looked up at the verandah's eaves where a large purple-and-white orchid was fluttering in the breeze. “If anything, Eric should have told you himself, although I don't know why I'd expect him to. He doesn't clean up his messes very well, does he?”

Shannon kept her eyes on the railing to avoid looking at the island. “If she's coming to the groundbreaking, that can only mean they're still involved.”

“She could be coming to give her support. Her brother Cameron came up with the idea for the hotel when he came down to find her last year. He's a commercial real estate guy and he brokered the deal with some client of his, a man named Danny Caines, who wanted to own a hotel in Jamaica. I mean, if it hadn't been for Simone, there'd be no new hotel.”

Jennifer's last words formed themselves into an excruciating thought that Shannon had taken back to her bedroom, the thought that Simone had helped Eric rebuild his life—and she, Shannon, had not. During his most painful, needy time, she had done nothing. A few guilty hours later she'd balanced it out by assuring herself that she'd given Eric a daughter, and a daughter was far more valuable than a hotel. And besides (this she had to focus on repeatedly before it sank in), he was entitled to date whom he wished, as was she.

It wasn't as if she'd been celibate in the intervening years. There'd been a few affairs, which had ended when she insisted they take it to a higher level. Eve needed a family, she'd say, even as the men were shrinking away. While talking with Chantrelle one day, she'd realized that she used the tactic to end her relationships, most with unavailable men or men who couldn't commit, because she didn't really want them. The most recent had lasted four years. It was with a younger man from Alberta, an engineer with a mining company who came to Toronto twice a month. But her fondness for Thomas was nothing like the way she'd fallen for Eric, the zing of infatuation keeping her awake the first night she met him.

She still remembered every detail of that night when she'd been on the hotel's verandah looking at the stars, when Eric had introduced himself and they'd talked for two hours, the electricity between them making the night air hum around her ears. But, no, Tom she'd trusted and had been willing to build on that. When she sang her song about getting married, it had ended yet again, and for the last year she'd been content being alone.

Earlier that day, Shannon had decided that it was time to speak her mind to Eric. She was older, more mature, and certainly able to tell him, calmly, that she knew his secret, and she would make light of how she and Simone might bump into each other. But the old Jeep wasn't in the parking lot when she crossed the road, and she let the pasted-on smile relax. When she rounded the hedge, however, there he was, seated behind the bar across from three customers, making her breath catch in her throat.

“Hey,” he sang out when she stepped onto the concrete floor, “long time no see.” She knew it was only a greeting to impress the tourists, who swung their heads around to see whom he was talking to.

Shannon took off her sunglasses. “Hi, is Shad around?”

“No, he's off to Ocho Rios to buy decorations for his party.”

“I didn't know he was having a party,” she said, aware that the newcomers were taking note of her clothes, her accent.

“It's on Saturday night,” Eric said, addressing the young couple and elderly woman across from him. “If you're still in the area, you should check it out.”

The man fished in his shorts for his wallet. “We're on our way to Ocho Rios ourselves.” He placed a credit card on the counter. “Y'all have fun, though.”

After they left, Eric offered her a drink and she asked for a Guinness. “That's right, you always liked it.”

Because it makes me feel bold, she wanted to say.

He placed the dark beer on a coaster in front of her. “Is Eve coming over?”

“She's gone rafting with Jennifer and the kids.”

“Has she shown you her latest trick?” He sat down on Shad's stool, smiling broadly as if he hadn't a care in the world.

“What trick?” She took a sip.

“Sucking her teeth. Shad taught her the last time she was here.” Eric laughed, slapping his thigh. “You should have seen her, trying to pull the air in between her teeth and moving her mouth all over the place.”

“Yes, she came back and showed us.”

“She's enjoying herself, don't you think?”

“I hope so. I had to drag her here kicking and screaming.”

“It's a different story now, though, learning the drums and everything. She's even been trying to speak patois. You should hear her mimicking Shad and Maisie.” Eric was tickled, she could tell, as if he'd created a new life for Eve.

“Heard the patois, too.”

“I've been meaning to talk to you about the—you know—the thing about her taking the cigarettes. I don't want to say anything to her about it.”

“There's nothing more to say to her. She was caught by the shop owner. He threatened to call the police, but he called me instead and decided not to report it to the police, thank God. The counselor said we shouldn't talk about it with her yet.”

“Has she told you why—what made her do it?”

“Nope, tight-lipped girl.” She took another swig of courage. “Like her father.”

Eric pulled his hair back, a pucker between his brows. “What's
that
supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“I don't know who you're calling tight-lipped.” He stood up and straightened his shirt. “It's not like you've come clean about this
detective
work I'm hearing about.”

Her head jerked back. “What detective work?”

“I hear that you're not only doing this magazine stuff, but you've been looking for some—for some woman who went missing.”

The zing she felt this time made heat pour through her face. “She's not missing. She's dead.”

“
Dead?
That's even worse. Why don't they hire a detective?”

“The—it's not a big deal. She had a relationship with a Rastafarian man and I'm just asking a few questions as I move around for the article.”

“And you're going to some compound for some ceremony thing, I hear.”

“I'm just going to take a few photographs, ask a few questions.”

“You have any idea how dangerous it is, going to a Rasta compound asking questions?”

“You talk about Rastafarians as if—as if they're
aliens
or something.”

“You know exactly what I mean; you said the same thing to Eve yourself. They're different from you and me, and some of them don't like white people.”

“I haven't had any trouble—”

“I've lived here a long time and—”

“I can take care of myself, thank you, Eric!” she said, trying and failing to lower her voice. “I've been doing very well so far. What do you think I'm doing every day? I've been flying all over the world to make a living, so I can raise
our
daughter.” The words were flying out of her mouth, emboldened by the lonely years.

“I don't want anything to happen to you.” He looked around the empty bar. “There've been incidents where . . . You don't want to end up like—like the woman you're looking for.”

“It's part of my
job
, Eric. What you want me to do, tell my boss that I won't take the assignment? How can I do that? I need the money for Eve to go to college—”

“And if you're going to take care of Eve, you need to keep safe. That's my point.”

“You don't trust me, is
that
your point?”

“Of course I trust you.”

“Thank you very much.” She hoped he read the sarcasm in her eyes.

“You're trying to make me feel guilty, aren't you?”

“You
should
feel frigging guilty.”

“Oh, right.” He slapped the fridge. “Here it comes.”

“It makes sense, don't you think? All of a sudden, you're Mr. Concerned, worried about my welfare. Did you worry about me when I was trekking across the outback of Australia or—or in the bazaar in Morocco? Did you even know where I was most of the time? I've been managing with no help from you, thank you very much. Not so much as a card on my birthday, not even at Christmas. Two calls a year and you're worried about me? Give me a break, Eric!”

He opened the fridge door. “I'm thinking about Eve, too, if anything—”

“Eve?” she shrieked at his back. “When have you ever cared what happens to her? Thirteen years and you've seen your daughter three times, three fucking times in her entire life!”

“I couldn't—”

“Did you even remember it's her birthday next week?”

“Of course I did.” He turned around, his cheeks shiny.

“She's going to be thirteen, Eric, in case you forgot. Thirteen years and you've never even invited her to your home. You're her father, or did you forget? Don't you think she'd want to know who you are? I had to bring her down for her to see you!”

He spread his arms. “Don't you see how I live? I don't have a hotel anymore.”

“That's no excuse and you know it.”

“But I send you the money—”

“I give you that, but it's your presence that's important, Eric. Joseph said the same thing when he called the first time. Both of your children don't even
know
you.”

“Is that what this is all about? You walk in here looking like a dark cloud, and now you're throwing this at me, just like how Joseph threw all that—that negative stuff at me when he was here.”

“What did you expect? That we'd appear, all sweetness and light, and nothing would come up about—”

“Where was she going to stay? I only have one bedroom, for chrissake!”

“If you'd wanted to see her, you'd have found somewhere, Jennifer's or somewhere. But the truth is—”

“The truth is that I didn't have the money to send for her or come visit—if you even want to know the truth.”

“But you could at least have
called
—”

The roar of a machine flung itself between them. They looked toward the noise and the sudden peace it brought. “The bulldozer next door,” he shouted, gesturing.

She nodded and yelled back, “We can hear it from the house.” Each word was tight and clear, her heart still racing. She wasn't done with him.

H
ow it look?” Shad said. He stroked the black satin lapels and the salesman winced.

Maisie adjusted the brim of her straw hat for a better view. “You looking sweet, man.”

Snatching up some plastic flowers from a vase, Shad thrust them into the hand of the salesman and pretended to walk him down the aisle, dum-dumming all the way to the store's front door.

“I hope Beth look happier than him.” Maisie giggled.