8. Clive
Clive
T he dock creaks under my feet as I walk its length. The crystal clear water reveals angelfish darting between the coral formations below. I pause at the end, closing my eyes and breathing in the salt air, trying to clear my mind.
I shouldn’t have risen to Jack’s bait. It was childish and unprofessional, precisely what he wanted. But something about how he treats Rebecca—like she’s an accessory rather than a partner—makes my blood boil.
“Clive?”
I turn to find Rebecca descending the stone steps, one hand holding her sun hat in place. The white bikini stands out against her lightly tanned skin, making her look like something from a high-end resort advertisement.
“I’m sorry about that,” she says, joining me on the dock. “Jack can be... abrasive sometimes.”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “I’ve known Jack for fifteen years. I’m used to it.”
“Still.” She looks out at the water, the breeze lifting strands of her dark hair. “It was rude. Especially since you’ve been generous enough to invite us here.”
“You’re welcome here anytime,” I say too quickly. Then, trying to sound more casual: “The house sits empty most of the year anyway.”
“It’s beautiful.” She turns in a small circle, taking in the view. “I can see why you kept it in the divorce.”
I smile. “Kay got the Aspen house. She preferred mountains to beaches.”
“I can’t imagine choosing mountains over this.” Rebecca gestures toward the endless blue horizon. The movement causes her to lose balance slightly on the gently rocking dock.
I instinctively reach out, my hand catching her elbow to steady her. The contact is brief, but I feel it like an electric current.
“Sorry,” she says with a small laugh. “Sea legs.”
“No need to apologize.” I withdraw my hand, perhaps a beat too slowly.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture I’ve noticed. “So... are the boats ready for tomorrow?”
“Let’s see.” I lead her to where two sleek boats are tied up. One is a small speedboat perfect for snorkeling trips, and the other is a larger fishing vessel with all the equipment Jack will want later in the day.
Rebecca trails her fingers along the polished wood of the speedboat’s railing. “This is gorgeous.”
“Handcrafted in Italy,” I say, watching her face light up with genuine interest. “Do you like boats?”
“I love being on the water,” she admits. “My family had a sailboat when I was younger. Before my parents got too busy for family outings.”
A hint of old pain in her voice resonates with me. “My father taught me to sail as a boy,” I tell her. “It was the only time he wasn’t working or drinking.”
Her eyes meet mine, filled with a quiet understanding that catches me off guard. “It’s funny how we hold onto those moments, right? The rare times when they were actually present.”
I nod, surprised by how easily she’s cut to the heart of it. Most people respond with pity or awkward platitudes when I mention my father’s drinking.
“Would you like to take her out?” I gesture to the speedboat. “Just a quick spin around the bay. The reef looks spectacular from above.”
Rebecca glances back toward the house, hesitation crossing her features. “I should probably check if Jack needs anything else...”
The words hang between us, and I see something in her expression—a flicker of awareness, perhaps, of the pattern she’s caught in.
“Of course,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “Another time.”
She shifts her weight and then seems to make a decision. “Actually, a quick boat ride sounds perfect. Jack’s probably fallen back asleep anyway.”
I try not to look too pleased as I untie the mooring lines. “Hop in. I’ll show you my favorite cove.”
Rebecca carefully steps into the boat, settling onto the cushioned seat while I prepare for our excursion. Within minutes, we’re skimming across the turquoise water, the wind whipping her hair back from her face. Her smile is genuine now, unguarded in a way I rarely see when Jack is around.
“This is amazing!” she shouts over the engine noise, lifting her face to the sun.
I ease back on the throttle as we approach a secluded stretch of coastline, where limestone cliffs drop dramatically into crystal-clear water. The boat slows to a gentle drift.
“This is my thinking spot,” I tell her, cutting the engine. “When business gets overwhelming, or I need perspective, I come here.”
Rebecca leans over the side, peering into the water. “I can see why. It’s like being in another world.”
The following silence is comfortable, unmarred by the need to fill it with small talk. I watch Becca take in the scenery, cataloging the small details of her expression—the way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when she smiles, the thoughtful purse of her lips.
“Can I ask you something personal?” she says suddenly, facing me.
“Of course.”
“Why did you and Kay really split up? Jack says it was because you were married to your work, but...” She trails off, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that’s too intrusive.”
“No, it’s a fair question.” I lean back, considering how to answer. “The simple version is that Kay and I wanted different things. She wanted the status of being married to me more than she wanted an actual partnership.”
Rebecca nods slowly. “And the complicated version?”
I meet her gaze directly. “The complicated version is that we never should have married in the first place. We mistook mutual ambition for compatibility.”
I can’t help but notice Becca’s expression change—a subtle shift that suggests my words have resonated with her in some unexpected way.
“I think I understand that more than you know,” she says finally, her voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of water against the hull.
Before I can respond, a speedboat roars past in the distance, breaking the spell. Rebecca straightens, glancing at her watch.
“We should probably head back,” she says, though I detect reluctance in her tone.
“Of course.”
I restart the engine, guiding us back toward the dock at a leisurely pace. Neither of us seems eager to return to the reality waiting at Casa Azul. As we approach, I spot a figure on the dock—Jack, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the scowl on his face.
“Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” I mutter.
Rebecca’s soft laugh carries a hint of resignation. “And probably not happy.”
I help her from the boat, conscious of Jack’s eyes on us, as I steady her with a hand at her elbow.
“There you are,” Jack calls, his voice carrying that entitled edge that sets my teeth on edge. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“Just showing Rebecca the coastline,” I reply, keeping my tone professionally cordial as I secure the boat.
Jack slides a possessive arm around Rebecca’s waist. “Next time, let me know before you disappear with my girlfriend, old man.”
I catch the flash of embarrassment on Rebecca’s face before she composes herself.
“It was just a quick boat ride, Jack,” she says quietly.
“Whatever.” He kisses her temple in a gesture that seems more about marking territory than affection. “You should rest before dinner. Mom says Miguel is setting up dinner for us on the beach.”
Rebecca nods, casting me an apologetic glance before allowing Jack to lead her back toward the house. I watch them go, noticing her shoulders tense slightly under his guiding hand.
I finish securing the boat, taking longer than necessary. My hands move automatically through the familiar motions. At the same time, my mind replays Becca’s smile as we skimmed across the water—so different from the carefully composed expression she wears around Jack.
As I return to the house, my feet leave wet prints on the weathered planks. I need a cold drink and some distance from what just happened. That moment on the water felt dangerous—like standing too close to a precipice.
Casa Azul rises before me, its white walls glowing against the cloudless sky. I built this place as a sanctuary, but with Kay, Jack, and Becca all under its roof, it feels more like a pressure cooker. I take the stone steps two at a time, eager to shower off the salt water and sort through my thoughts.
Miguel, my groundskeeper, nods respectfully as I pass through the open-air living room. “Senor Bishop, the bar is stocked for this evening. And I’ve arranged for the beach dinner as requested.”
“Thank you, Miguel. Everything looks perfect.”