days, the nights. “Belonging,” she said. “The A-team. Work I’m good at. Respect, if grudging, from both sides of the table.” A man at the bar started to sing loudly and off-key to a gaggle of laughing women. “The money is just a way to keep score,” she said. “Everything is about keeping score.”
When the last notes of Aretha Franklin’s “Chain of Fools” faded out, she heard the surf fizzing onto the sand.
“Why the surprising nickname?” she asked.
“Why do you care?”
Touché, she thought. “Who wouldn’t be intrigued by a macho guy choosing a flimsy name?”
“Nicknames choose you,” he said. He gazed out at the boats. “I once had a pet green iguana named Curly.” The music shifted to Linda Ronstadt’s “Desperado.” He mouthed a line of the lyrics.
“One of my favorite songs,” she said.
“That voice’ll stab your heart,” he said. He listened for another line. “Curly and I spent a lot of time in bars. I’d challenge tourist guys to a game of darts, and, since I always won, they’d have to either kiss Curly or buy everyone a round of drinks.”
“Did you challenge women?”
“Sure, but they had to kiss me. After Curly bit a guy, I left her on board. By then, people were calling me Lizard Man. When Jason and I took over Iguana—that was already her name—well, Liz just stuck.”
“I thought iguanas were afraid of people.”
“I got her as a hatchling and spent a lot of time with her.”
“A lizard charmer,” she said. Patient, gentle, constant, she thought. “Was she lurking with the grog while we were sailing?”
“Someone stole her.”
“Desperado” ended; James Taylor’s “Mexico” followed. Liz tapped the rhythm on his thigh. When the waiter signaled toward their empty bottles, he shook his head. “Got big plans for the rest of your time here?”
Getting that elusive grip, she thought, but she said, “Exploring.”
“We’re off at dawn for English Harbour, or I’d dare you to try sailing again.”
“You couldn’t get me back on that boat of yours, even on a dare.”
“Your loss,” he said. He rose and extended his hand.
She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.
“Not the first or last Killer Bee casualty.” He helped her up and slipped his arm through hers. He smelled of beer, soap, and salt. He navigated her to the water’s edge, where a bright lap of foam gleaming in the Resort’s lights guided them back to the wharf.
“Did you make your birthday wish?” he said.
“If wishes were horses . . . .”
“Never miss a chance to wish.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, pretending. Over her few childhood birthday cakes, she’d wished her mother would come home, and when it hadn’t worked, she’d stopped making birthday wishes. Now, with all her plans upended, even if her current fog dissipated, she didn’t know what future to wish for.
She wobbled and her eyes sprang open; he touched her shoulders to steady her. She reached for the railing and he let go.
“What terrified you about the water today?” he asked.
Underwater lights attached to the pilings cast arcs of turquoise in the otherwise black sea.
“I’ve always had this thing about dark water, but I don’t think that was it—or all of it. Is there something spooky about this island?” Ever since her arrival, she’d felt porous and fragmented, as if she were cracking open. Drunk even when sober, and overly candid when tipsy.
“Could be just superstition, but I’ve heard people say there are magnets in the mountain that can cause clairvoyance or hypersensitivity to the supernatural,” Liz said. “Or maybe what you feel is just that old Caribbean magic coaxing you to let down your guard.”
They strolled to the end of the wharf.
“Jason beat me to the zodiac,” he said. “I’ll have to swim home.”
“You’re joking,” she said, eyeing the inky water, the distance to Iguana.
“Got a better idea?” In one swift motion, he removed his necklace, looped it over her head, and said, “Many happy returns.”
The warm bead fell heavily against her breastbone. She inspected it under the wharf light: a pentagonal shape, worn smooth. “You mustn’t,” she said. “This is some sort of talisman.”
“It’s a blue bead of Statia,” he said. “Rare diving treasure. Too bad you’ll never get down there to see any of it.” He touched the bead, then dove into the water. He surfaced in a swirl of phosphorescence, looked up at her, and feathered his arms, which made him appear to sparkle. “See you around.”
His words hung between them, more a question than a farewell. Els clasped the bead, the