Chapter 40
40
LUKE
We fell asleep facing each other, our heads on pillows, the thin covers over us. Carrie closed her eyes as she talked about taking a trip around Italy and as she spoke, her pauses for breath between words grew longer, her voice became quieter, until eventually, with her hand still tucked under her cheek, she’d fallen asleep.
I watched her – serene, beautiful – and willed myself to stay awake, to take her in, because I knew that today we might get power back, the airport might reopen, and she might head back to New York without me. Then what? I have no idea. I don’t know if she found being friends last night, getting to know new things about each other from the last seven years, speaking of dreams and aspirations we’ve not spoken of before, as amazing as I did. Simultaneously excruciating because I kept forgetting, in our proximity, in our shared smiles and laughter, in the gazes we held for a beat too long, that I promised her no funny business. No touching, no holding, and definitely no other stuff.
If today does turn out to be our last day together, then I don’t want to spend the entirety of it with other people. We’ll be with others long enough when we boat across to Virgin Gorda to see what help we can provide. So this morning, I slipped quietly out of the room, hoping she wouldn’t wake and find me missing, while I went to the main house to grab coffees and a tray of breakfast for two.
Now, I set down my tray on the deck outside my pod, tease the door open, then pick up the tray and move inside.
The sun is up, casting shadows across Carrie’s soft skin, highlighting her eyes that start to flicker. A few of the others are up already and sitting around the dining area in the main house. No one questioned why I was stacking a tray to leave. Either it was obvious, or the obsession with Carrie and me has faded.
Bringing the tray to the bed, I slip off my footwear and sit onto my side, back against the wall, coffee in hand. I wait for that moment when Carrie will open her eyes. When she does, she finds the coffee, the food, then me, and it’s me who gets her biggest grin. That small fact makes me feel ten feet tall.
I’m trying my best not to come on too strong. I’m forcing myself to be a friend if that’s all she’s willing to give me. But my soaring heartrate has nothing to do with caffeine.
‘You brought me breakfast in bed?’ she asks sleepily. Adorably so.
‘Yoghurts, fruit, boiled eggs and bread. You get first dibs because you know I’ll eat anything.’
‘Not true!’ She comes up to sit, her back against the wall in my t-shirt, the bedsheet across her otherwise bare legs. She reaches for her coffee with one hand and points to me with the other. ‘You refused to eat jellied eel in that sushi place we went to for a meeting in Midtown that time.’
‘Oh, come on! Jellied eel? That’s not food.’
‘In your nitpicky opinion.’
‘Said by a woman who refuses to try olives.’
She slurps her drink then swallows. ‘Actually, also not true. I have tried black olives on pizza and Callum made me try one of those big green ones in a dirty martini.’
‘And?’
‘Awful. Disgusting. Wouldn’t feed them to Eddie.’
I laugh so loudly, I think I startle her, because she pauses – dragon fruit mid-air – then lowers her head shyly. ‘I like that I can still do that,’ she says. She must register my perplexity because she adds, ‘Make you laugh like that.’
I’m staring at her, and she’s staring at me, and all I can think is how badly I want to reach over and kiss her lips. How badly I’d like every weekend morning to start like this. Us in bed together, laughing, joking, eating, with no place to go, no one to please. How I’d touch her and she’d touch me and eventually the bedsheet would go, then our clothes would?—
I jump, literally jump, from the bed and head to the bathroom. ‘That coffee’s a strong antidiuretic,’ I say, running off to hide and chill out before I blow this whole friendship thing.
We’re loading a boat with water and other aid – Carrie, Roy, Henry, Jenny, Monique, Dave, Glen and me – ready to head to Virgin Gorda to see what help we can be over there. Not knowing what state the island will be in when we arrive. We’re all set when Joe jogs down to the dock of the boat house.
‘We’ve got service and Wi-Fi back up and running,’ he says, one foot on the dock, the other on the boat.
He seeks out Carrie and the way my internal organs seem to fall through the boat, to the bottom of the ocean, and continue going, tells me I know what’s coming.
‘The airport in Tortola hasn’t reopened yet, Carrie, but I can get you on a helicopter this afternoon from here to Puerto Rico, then a flight back to New York tonight.’
‘You can?’ Carrie’s response is relieved, excited even, and, though it shouldn’t, it kills me to hear it.
She has to leave at some point. On Monday, when she arrived, I’d have been ready to dance on the runway behind her plane as she left. But things changed. Something beyond my control. Now, the idea of her leaving is gutting.
She glances my way and, though she’s wearing shades, I wonder what she’s looking for.
‘I— That’s… great, thanks so much, Joe. I— Ah, really appreciate it.’ I hear it in her voice. She’s conflicted.
It’s a small win; maybe I’m just wanting to hear something, but it still gives me hope. I think, through my disappointment, I smile at her. Reassure her it’s a good thing. Or try, at least.
‘It’s the least I can do,’ Joe says. ‘If anyone else wants to go, there’ll be three spare seats.’ He looks at me. ‘Luke?’
I could go with her. Back to New York. Then what? There’s no guarantee of something between us. Besides that, Joe and his family need me here and they’ve been there for me when I’ve really needed them. So, while I’m conflicted, too – heavily so – I shake my head. ‘I’ll stay a few more days and help out as much as I can.’
‘I’m happy to stay, too, of course,’ Carrie says.
‘I wasn’t suggesting you should, Carrie,’ I tell her. ‘My work, my friends, half my life is here. You need to get home to see your friends and family. To see Eddie. To work. You—’ My voice breaks, forcing me to cough. ‘You should go.’
Joe shifts his focus back and forth between the two of us. ‘Settled then. Yes?’
Carrie gives him a nod with little conviction. But it’s affirmative.
She’s going.
Back to her life where I don’t exist to her.
‘I’d still like to come to the island with you all and help for as long as I can today,’ Carrie says. ‘Is that feasible?’
‘Absolutely,’ Joe says, hopping onto the boat. ‘We’ll come back in time for the chopper.’
I check my watch. I might have four or five hours left to convince her that…
What? That I can be a friend with no funny business? That she should want my companionship in her life?
That I’m the guy for her. I’ve changed. I’ve learnt. I see my mistakes and I know that if I don’t make her mine, I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life regretting it.
Probably die a lonely, old, celibate man, because she’s reminded me this week that no one compares to her. Nothing compares to the way I feel when we’re together.
There’s no going back.
Henry kicks the boat into gear and we drive across the, paradoxically, tranquil water to Virgin Gorda.
It doesn’t matter that the sound of the boat skating along the water is too loud to hold a normal conversation because my thoughts are loud enough to drown everything else out in any event.
The balance is this: on the one hand, I can be miserable and act like I’m doomed, as if Carrie and I have no chance. Or, on the other hand, I can make the most of the next few hours. This is what I decide to do.
I hop off the boat when we dock at a very different looking harbor to the one we arrived into three days ago. It’s hard to comprehend this is the same place. Boats have been flipped and crashed into one another by the storm. The surrounding buildings are in various states of destruction. No roofs. Cars picked up by the wind and dropped into buildings. A laundry machine sticks out of the shell of what used to be a small, family run restaurant.
As we drive deeper into the island – aiming mostly for the same places as three days ago – the mess is unconceivable. While before, the locals were still remarkably upbeat during our last visit, jovial, perhaps even disbelieving that a storm would transpire, today, there is laughter, there are jokes, but there’s a subdued undertone.
Though I want to spend time with Carrie, our hours on the island seem to disappear; time seems to have sped up exactly when I want it to slow down. We hand out water and provisions and help out in any way we can. Some of the stops we made on Thursday are unreachable, due to fallen trees and landslips, so we support the clearing of roads as best we can.
Between efforts, I watch Carrie working alongside us, when she really doesn’t have to. She shouldn’t even be here. I watch her chat with islanders as if she’s part of their community. Through it all, she exudes warmth and empathy. She listens, she offers words of support, and she displays a confidence and ease in her own skin that she’s developed over the years we’ve been apart.
I can imagine her as a partner in her firm. An incredible one. One who works hard, but deals with others with compassion. One who can win over colleagues and clients with authenticity and kindness.
Against the backdrop of destruction, she is the cliché of a breath of fresh air.
This whole experience is giving me a sense of perspective. An explicit guide as to what I need to do. I’ve tried not to come on too strong, but screw that. This is my chance and I might not get another one.
When we get back to Charithonia, I’m going to lay it out for her. Exactly how I feel about her and what I want. Then, I guess the ball will be in her court.
We pull into the boat house on Charithonia and I hold out a hand to help Carrie off the boat. Just the simple feel of her hand in mine gives me even more conviction that I’m going to do the right thing. What feels natural and essential.
Only, Ella is waiting on the dock. ‘The helicopter is inbound, Joe,’ she says. Carrie and I turn to look at her. ‘Twenty minutes. I tried to get in touch with you but either your phone was switched off or you lost signal.’
‘It’s still patchy,’ Joe replies. Then he looks to me apologetically, as if he’s been reading my inner turmoil all day, then to Carrie. ‘Can you be ready in twenty, Carrie?’
‘Ah, yes. Sure.’ She drops my hand and I feel… burned. Bereft. ‘I’ll run up to get my luggage now. I’d like to say goodbye to everyone. Where will you all be?’
I feel lost, as if I’m still at sea, without a boat or even a paddle. I thought I had time when we got back to speak with her. Now… Maybe this was never meant to be. Maybe the universe is trying to show me this is a bad idea. Accept a friendship, if it’s on the table. Take nothing, if not, as punishment for screwing up so badly in the past.
‘We’ll meet you at the helipad,’ Joe says. ‘You’ve seen it, up on the hill?’
She nods, twists her lips into a smile I sense she doesn’t feel, then looks at her feet. ‘Great. Great. Perfect. I’ll run now to clean up and get my things. Ah, thank you, both.’
She glances up at me so fleetingly that I don’t get a sense of what she’s feeling and I wish I had, because perhaps it would give me a clue as to what to do next. As it is, I watch her jog from the dock and when I step out of the boat house, see her still jogging up the hill.
I feel a hand come down on my shoulder and I know it’s Joe, though I’m not able to look at him or speak to him.
She hugs everyone in turn – Alisha, Ella, the kids (who are fairly distracted by looking far into the distance for a speck they think is a helicopter coming our way), Lola, Dionne, Monique.
When it’s Henry’s turn, Carrie jibes, ‘Are you getting paid to hug me goodbye?’ But the way one of her eyebrows is raised tells me she’s toying with him.
I hear him apologize to her and I feel my hackles rise when he adds, ‘For the record, if it wasn’t for the whole Luke thing, and my job, there’d have been no holding me back.’
Carrie rolls her eyes, smiling. ‘That self-assuredness will get you in trouble, Henry.’ I suppose it was a nice thing for him to say. But I am here. There is a whole Luke thing.
Next comes small talk with Dave, Thom, Kevin and Jenny.
It feels like a never-ending procession because I’m desperate to hold her, to see what she has to say to me, and, I think, building up the courage to say the things I’ve been thinking about all day. Or a very abbreviated version of them, because that speck in the sky actually was the inbound chopper.
I start to shift my body weight, ready to move in next, but Joe steps forward.
He tugs Carrie into an embrace so hard that she thuds against his chest, chuckling as she lands. ‘Thanks for hosting me, Joe. It’s been… honestly, life changing. Wholly unexpected but, for lots of reasons, a trip I’ll never forget.’
‘Are we good, Carrie? I promise, if I’m ever going to try to get you and Luke in the same place again, I’ll be upfront about it.’
She briefly looks at me, where I’m standing a little way in front of the group now, having wandered with my hands in my pockets, kicking up dirt with my toes, because I feel like a petulant child so I’m acting like one. A child whose favorite soft toy has been taken away and can’t imagine ever sleeping without it.
‘We’re good,’ she tells Joe. ‘And I’ll bring Eric up to speed with everything when I get back. He’ll be in touch.’
‘For the record,’ Joe says, ‘Eric has been our point of contact at the firm for a long time but you never missed a step, Carrie. I know I had an ulterior motive for bringing you here but your advice was great and I’ll feed that back to Rachel.’
‘Thank you.’
They hug again, then the sound of the chopper is drawing closer. ‘Well, goodbye, everyone, and good luck with everything. If I can support from New York, you must let me know, okay?’
Finally, she’s walking toward me, as the chopper comes firmly into view across my shoulder, getting louder and louder on its approach.
We face each other, a little way from the group, her luggage like an unwanted interruption on the floor by her feet. Suddenly, all my rehearsed words and sensible thoughts from today have gone.