Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam
M y house is three small buildings, in a low-lying area in the jungle on the north end of the island. It was built as employee housing for the estate further down the road but was sold off by the new owners when they turned the mansion house into a vacation home. I was lucky enough to snag the property for a song the first year we moved to the island to start renovating The Sands.
The largest of the buildings is my main house. It has a large open room on the lower level with a finished bathroom and ladder loft. I’ve arranged the main room to function as a living room with a couch and small TV, as well as a kitchenette of sorts with a coffee maker and mini fridge. The actual kitchen is in the next building, separated from the main house by a short path. Last fall I installed a slanted, a-frame corrugated metal roof over the walkway, so I can stay out of the rain when heading over to cook in one of our many tropical rain showers.
It’s a bit unorthodox, as the guys like to tease me about from the comfort of their mansions, but it’s more my style. I love the feeling of living in a house that really could only exist in a place like this. All three of my friends and co-owners live in houses that could easily be in the States, or anywhere else, with imported furniture, central air, and massive refrigerators.
It’s all so unnecessary and so out of place. Buildings like that exist at odds with the natural beauty of the tropics. My property embraces it.
I’ve upgraded a bit every year and finally reached a place where I can say that I have all the comforts I need. The covered walkway was a big improvement, and a few years back I installed a mini split a/c unit in the main house, something everyone was amazed I went without for so long. I shrugged them off, but the hard truth of the matter is, I’m just not here all that often, and almost never in the hottest part of the day. I work long hours giving The Sands and its employees everything they need to thrive.
The upgrades I’ve completed over the last few years haven’t been for me, they’ve been done with the future in mind. I would never admit to my friends that I was trying to get this place ready for a family, but I know they know. You’d have to be blind not to see it. The guys are a lot of things—spoiled, stubborn, arrogant—but they’re far from unobservant. And they know me well.
The last of my three buildings has been the focus of my time and energy this season and will continue to be until I get it just the way I want. The single story, one room hut sits between the main house and the kitchen, forming a triangle. The covered walkway between that house and the main house is almost completed and when it is, I plan to finish the bed and build a shelving unit, as well as a window seating area in front of the large picture window that takes up most of the south facing wall. It looks out over my small garden and the orchard of fruit trees planted by past residents.
The sleeping loft in the main house has been fine for me, but a proper bedroom is what’s going to make this place a home.
I toss my keys on the counter and pull a bottle of light, local lager from my mini-fridge and snuggle it into a blue foam koozie to take with me out into the yard. I glance at the couch and consider flopping down there, but there’s too many usable hours left in the day to give in already.
I grab a rake and head down to the lower side of the north end, where the jungle is always trying to reclaim the land. I cut back the plants here yesterday morning, leaving the branches and palms in a neat mound. Using the rake and a broad, wide shovel, as well as thick leather gloved hands, I load everything into the wheelbarrow and push the thing down the narrow path into the jungle where I have my brush pile.
Looking down over the now clear area, a feeling of pride comes over me, bringing a smile to my lips. There really is no greater satisfaction than seeing the finished product of your own hard work. I wish more people understood that.
I peel off my shirt and use it to mop sweat from my brow. It’s a hot time of day to be out here working, but I use the time I’ve got. I spot a project I’ve been putting off in a shady part of the yard and head over there.
Three hours later, the shadows are growing longer, and I get my first mosquito bite. I guess it’s time to call it a day. Outside, anyway. There’s plenty of work to be done in the house after I relinquish the yard to flying insects.
In the outdoor shower connected to the main house, I close my eyes and let the refreshing water wash away the day. It was one for the records, that’s for sure. I’ve been keeping the thoughts at bay with grueling manual labor, but now that my body’s at rest, they all come flooding back.
Naomi is incredible. Every moment with her is incredible.
And incredibly stupid.
I had plenty of time to come to my senses after our night together in Austin, and I let it all go at the first sight of her. I was defenseless from the moment she stepped off the boat with her rolling suitcase and bright smile.
And then she ambushed me with that video, something I should still be pissed about, but anger toward her for taping our private moments is the last thing I’m feeling. Just the thought of the video, ready for me to hit play at any moment, has my cock stiffening, cool water be damned.
I should check my phone.
I laugh to myself as I duck my head under the water, rinsing off the last of the soap and dragging my hands down my face. That damn plastic rectangle is on my mind all day. I’m honestly surprised I left it in the house during my afternoon of yard work.
I hit the faucet, water conservation always at the front of my mind, and dry off with a towel still warm from the sun. When I get into my living room, striped towel tucked around my waist, I walk straight to my phone like it’s a beacon calling to me.
No messages.
Okay. That’s fine.
When I left her, she was loading her suitcases into the cart to be taken to Dom and Reina’s house. I’m sure she’s busy unpacking and getting reacquainted with her brother after many years of little to no contact.
I bite my lip as I think back to the conversation we had when I first entered her hotel room earlier.
“Why are you so afraid of him?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
I know damn well why I’m apprehensive about putting my relationship with Dom on shaky ground. But, while it would make my life more challenging, I’m not exactly afraid of him.
Not like Naomi seemed to be.
I’ve known Dom my whole life. I know the guy isn’t violent or abusive. But he does lean toward controlling, and he’s stubborn as hell. I frown, imagining her growing up with him and their father as the only family she had to lean on.
Naomi’s mother died right after she was born, some kind of complication with the pregnancy or birth that was never explained to me. I have a memory of her funeral so vivid it almost feels like a scene from a movie. The whole family in dark outfits with somber expressions stepping up to the grave to toss white roses onto the lowering casket.
After that day, their mother was never mentioned again. It was an unspoken rule, but one everyone obeyed. Granted, I didn’t spend a lot of time around Dom’s younger sister, so it's very possible she had other support systems in place, kinder ones. But if she did, I never saw them.
I only remember hearing the tragedy of Naomi’s birth mentioned one time after that, passing by their father’s library on my way up to Dom’s bedroom one day. He was speaking on the phone, and I distinctly remember hearing the words, “Nothing but trouble, since the day she was born.”
When I got to Dom’s room, I asked if his sister was okay, and he told me she had been in trouble at school again for skipping class and dress code violations.
That memory haunts me now. The idea that she could have been told over the years that her mother’s death was somehow her fault. That the man of the house considered her a sorry replacement for the woman he loved dearly. I don’t know how I could ever ask her about it, but I hope someone did. I hope there’s someone out there who tells her she deserves to be here, no matter how her birth changed the family.
But I doubt Dom is that person.
Somehow, my phone is back in my hand. Or possibly I never set it down to begin with. I stare at the screen for too long, finally shaking myself out of the trance it seems to have me under. I check to make sure the ringer is on, so I’ll know the moment I get a message, and leave it on the counter to get dressed.
Another hour with no messages and I’m officially concerned. I sit on a stool at the kitchen bar and watch the reflection of the ceiling fan in the dark phone screen.
I should go over there.
No, that’s crazy.
I should send a message.
But what if she’s in a place where someone sees her phone and reads the message?
I don’t know what to do. My eyes drop closed as the impossibility of the situation starts to make my head ache.
The phone chimes so loud I nearly fall off the stool. I snatch it up and stand, more wide awake in this moment than I’ve been in hours.
A photo message from Naomi. It’s her standing in what I know is Dom’s living room, the panoramic view of the ocean and sky behind her. I can tell from the color of the sky that it was taken at least an hour ago, her face partially shadowed by the back lighting of bright sun.
She’s smiling.
I text back immediately.
Sam: Settling in?
Naomi: I’m officially canceling my gym membership.
A wide grin spreads over my face. I know exactly what she means by that.
Dom bought his island mansion while we were still in New York, haggling the sale price of the resort with the brokers. At the time, it seemed to me a show of optimism on his part that was wildly out of character. We didn’t even own the resort yet and he was already buying a house. He was the most excited about the prospect of the new resort, second only to me, and the idea of finally getting his own kitchen to create the restaurant of his dreams.
When we showed up on the island to sign the paperwork and Dom got to take possession of his new house, what we found there is the stuff of legends. Of all the squabbles and actual fights we’ve had as a group of four guys, never did I worry for the safety of my two friends as much as I did when they stood at the base of the hundred white stone steps that led up to Dom’s new house.
The only way up to Dom’s new house, we learned.
Avery and Ben had a riotous time poking fun at him while I tried to help him make the best of it. When he finally snapped and turned on the guys, it took all my strength to hold him back from pummeling them.
Over the years, we’ve all gotten used to it, but it’s still a sight to behold for anyone new to the island or Dom’s house. One hundred and six steps up and one hundred and six steps down. Each and every time.
He installed a handrail when Reina moved in, which I’ll never admit to being grateful for.
Sam: It’s pretty incredible, huh?
Naomi: Yup. He told me he prefers it this way. *crying laughing emoji*
While it feels disloyal to be making fun of my friend behind his back, I can’t help but smile again at that.
Sam: I’m sure he did.
Sam: How’s your new room?
Naomi: Huge. Gorgeous, of course. I’m sure I’ll feel right at home here…
I bite my lip and consider her statement. Being relatively new to extended text conversations, I still struggle with discerning tone. I decide to change the subject.
Glancing around the room, I look for something in my own house that feels worthy of sharing with her. This place is no hilltop mansion, but I’m proud of it. I decide on the window over the sofa, where the sunset is just visible through the trees and the white magnolia flowers just outside glow almost golden in the warm light.
I snap the picture and send it. Naomi responds right away.
Naomi: Beautiful! I heard you have your own property somewhere. Can I see it sometime?
I glance back at the cozy green sofa, cast in slanted light from the window. I can imagine her there, smiling up at me as she curls her bare legs beneath her. I have to close my eyes as a pang of longing hits me so hard it takes my breath away.
Sam: Of course.
I don’t know how it’ll work, but I’m not about to deny her anything.
Naomi: I’m having dinner with Reina tonight while Dom works. I’ll be down at the resort tomorrow helping Fran with wedding stuff. See you then ?
The thought of waiting until tomorrow to see her, and then seeing her only at the resort, surrounded by people, is not what I was hoping for.
Sam: Sounds good.
Naomi: Well, I guess this is goodnight…
The three dots at the end of her sentence nearly give me a heart attack. What does she mean by that? Does she mean that it’s actually not goodnight and there’s more coming? Did she hit the extra punctuation by accident?
I’m once again baffled that people use this as their main form of communication. It’s no wonder the world is splintering into disarray.
Sam: See you tomorrow
I purposely leave my sentence open, with no period, just in case she wants to keep messaging. I grind my teeth at the sloppy look of my sentence fragment as it hangs in the conversation thread. I quickly add a smiling sun emoji and hit send.
Naomi sends back a palm tree.
I’ve never been so confused in my life.