Chapter 12
lovelillibet My first breakfast is the deep breath I consume when I finish my morning meditations. Filling myself with clean air gives me the spiritual fuel I need to sail out into the now.
Love, Lillibet
Image: A blue-and-white platter with tropical fruits including mango, papaya, lychee, and apple bananas.
#justbreathe #smoothsailing #fillherup #consciousfasting
Jefferson had never tasted papaya. The teardrop shape and mottled green-and-yellow skin suggested something in the squash family, until he watched Keoki’s knife slice one in half without visible effort. After scooping out the fat black seeds, Lillibet’s chef placed an entire half on a white plate, squeezed a wedge of lime over the exposed orange flesh, and pinched a purple-and-white blossom from the floral arrangement on the counter, placing it next to the papaya.
“Don’t eat the flower,” he said, handing Jefferson the plate and a spoon.
They were the only ones in the kitchen. Jefferson had already walked down to the beach, hoping to see the sunrise—and anyone else who might be there to greet the day. He’d struck out on both counts. Lingering cloud cover muted the colors on display, and he’d been alone at the water’s edge.
“There’s a table in back,” Keoki told him, nodding at the kitchen door. “I’ll bring out coffee when it’s ready.”
“You don’t have to wait on me.”
“Might as well enjoy the quiet.”
Jefferson heard the unspoken while it lasts.
The chair was still damp with dew, but the temperature of the air was pleasant enough that it didn’t matter. Jefferson sat with his back to the pool masquerading as a lagoon, preferring the view of swaying palms above the deep green hedge.
He took a deep breath, letting the feeling of the place settle over him. Sunshine, salt-tinged breeze, the distant murmur of the ocean: If this were a real vacation, it was the moment he’d know he had arrived at his destination, with nothing but relaxation ahead. But if he’d learned anything last night, it was that he couldn’t afford to let his guard down—least of all around Lillibet.
Jefferson could mostly forgive himself for the beach, when he hadn’t known better than to be dazzled. Some of the blame for yesterday evening could be laid at the feet of jet lag and tequila fumes. Today he needed to keep his head on straight. Fade into the background and pay a lot less attention to their hostess.
The spoon dipped into the soft flesh of the papaya as if he were scooping ice cream. Jefferson’s experience of tropical fruit was mostly of the canned variety, so the flavor ambushed him, impossibly mild and sweet, with a hint of tang from the citrus. It was rich but also delicate, almost perfumed. A perfect summer peach dripping with juice came close, but the difference between this papaya and the grocery store fruit Jefferson typically brought home—the mealy apples and bland bananas—was like comparing homemade pie to a goop-filled lump from a vending machine.
“Are you in love?” Hildy asked, pulling out the chair next to his.
Jefferson swallowed before he choked.
“With the papaya.” She slapped him on the back, sounding even more pleased with herself than usual. “Because your face got kind of dreamy, by Jefferson Jones standards. Like you were thinking about having an emotion.”
“I was enjoying a quiet breakfast.”
“Poor baby. Hermit time is over.” She had her own plate, with several other types of fruit, including a tiny banana, next to her papaya half. He watched her take the first bite.
“That is so freaking good. Did you try the mango?” Hildy transferred a slice to his plate. “No offense to everyone I’ve ever dated, but it’s better than sex.”
“I’ll have to tell my grandmother,” Keoki said, setting a carafe and two mugs on the table. “Not the sex part.” He pulled a sugar shaker from the pocket of his apron, placing it next to the mugs, before reaching back in for spoons. “It’s from her tree. I’ll be right back with coconut yogurt.”
After he disappeared into the kitchen, the sliding glass doors to the living room opened. Jefferson made a conscious effort to slow his spiking pulse before looking up.
It wasn’t Lillibet.
Her housekeeper slouched onto the lawn, one hand to her temple. What he could see of her face around the dark glasses was pale.
“Ouch,” Hildy murmured, watching her cross the grass to join them. “Looks like somebody has a tequil-er headache. That’s one thing spring break in Cabo will teach you. Check yourself before you get wrecked.”
Mrs.—the last name escaped Jefferson; McGillicuddy, maybe?—collapsed into a chair, sliding down until her head came to rest against the back of the seat.
“Coffee,” she rasped. Jefferson hadn’t touched his, so he slid the mug over. “Do you have any pain pills?”
Hildy rummaged in her bag, pulling out a travel-size metal container of Advil. “Would you like some fruit?” she asked the new arrival, watching her wash two tablets down with coffee.
“Ugh, no.” The hungover housekeeper gulped more coffee. “Where’s Keoki? We need a bell.”
Jefferson held up the carafe, refilling her mug when she set it down.
“That’s better,” she said halfway through the second cup. “A wee bit better.”
Her accent wasn’t quite as strong this morning. Jefferson had once worked with a Hungarian photographer who reacted to alcohol the same way, his otherwise precise English twisting into borderline incomprehensibility after he’d had a few.
“Will Lillibet be joining us?” Hildy asked. “I know she likes to meditate first, to start the energy flowing from the inside. And she prefers not to rely on artificial stimulants.” She sighed at the mug cradled in her hands. “I tried switching to juice, but it’s not the same. I need coffee to wake up enough to make the juice.”
“Sure, an’ he’ll make it fer ya.” The housekeeper nodded at Keoki, who had emerged from the kitchen with a tray bearing yogurt and bowls.
“Make what?” he asked. “French toast? Omelet? Soufflé?”
“Juice us up some o’ that kale and ginger. Like Lillibet likes.”
He scowled as if she’d asked him to flambé roadkill. “I only cook real food. She needs eggs and Portuguese sausage. Safer for everyone,” he muttered, heading back to the house with his empty tray.
“I’ll have some as well,” the housekeeper called after him. “He dotes on her,” she confided to Hildy and Jefferson.
“I can tell.” Hildy shot Jefferson a knowing look.
“Aloha and guten morgen.” Their host, dressed in another suit, waved from the steps leading down from the porch, as if to make sure everyone watched his approach. He stopped behind an empty chair, scanning the table several times before settling his attention on the housekeeper.
“Where is my charming wife this morning?” He seemed to take pleasure in saying the word, though the extra emphasis wasn’t enough to get the housekeeper’s attention. She stared into her cup, ignoring his existence.
“My wife Lillibet,” he added, clearing his throat. “I’ve been looking for her.”
“She’ll be about her business, won’t she?” the housekeeper said. “Hither and yon.”
It looked as though he wanted to press the point, until another glance around the table reminded him they had company.
“Please tell my wife, Lillibet, that the lawyer will be here to speak with us this afternoon.”
The housekeeper lifted her cup in an ironic salute. “No rest for the wicked,” she sighed when his back was turned, before heaving herself out of the chair.
“You see what I’m talking about?” Hildy said when the two of them were alone with the housekeeper’s dirty dishes. “There’s something going on here. Besides the staff phoning it in.”
“Maybe it’s her day off.” That was at least as likely as Hildy’s swinging sexcapades theory. “What do you think he meant, about the lawyer?”
“Eh.” Hildy scraped the skin of the papaya with the edge of her spoon. “Lawyers are always sniffing around this kind of household. Taxes, estate planning, money laundering, who knows? Mo’ money, mo’ paperwork.”
A flutter of fabric caught his eye. Lillibet peeked around the corner of the house, looking both ways before tiptoeing barefoot onto the grass. There was a sneaky quality to her movements that—combined with their host’s earlier interrogation—made Jefferson wonder if she was avoiding her husband.
As she crossed the lawn, her black-and-white dress floated in the breeze, exposing flashes of tanned calf.
“I can’t wait until I’m old enough to rock a caftan,” Hildy informed him. “That’s definitely vintage, by the way, which is so cool. Sustainable and chic. Mind you, Lillibet could wear anything and make it look good. Did you see her portrait this morning?”
Jefferson shook his head, unsure what the subject of clothing had to do with that picture.
“She’s wearing the cutest little shorts. You know those ones with the suspenders, like they wear in Switzerland? The OG hot pants. You should check it out. Even though we both know you prefer the real thing. Lillibet, that is. Not short shorts.” She snapped her fingers. “Lederhosen. That’s the name.”
They watched her approach, long hair shining with the rich gold of old brass where it caught the sun.
“Did a slow song start playing in your head?” Hildy whispered. “I listen to a lot of oldies, so I know things from your generation. Is it that ‘you look wonderful tonight’ one?”
There were no flies on Hildy. He’d give her that much, even if she apparently thought he was a Boomer.
“More of an instrumental track? Harp? Pan flute? Saxophone solo?”
“Cowbell. That’s how we roll in Wyoming.”
That made her laugh, which gave Jefferson an excuse to grin, as he’d wanted to since Lillibet stepped into view.
Hildy hopped out of her chair and threw her arms around Lillibet before springing back with a chagrined expression. “Sorry. That’s not appropriate for a professional relationship. Not that I’m trying to wheel and deal before you’ve even had breakfast. Although I am really excited to open that dialogue. Most likely in your office—unless you want to be somewhere more organic? To unharness our energies?”
“Breathe,” Jefferson murmured.
“Right.” Hildy gave an exaggerated inhale, and Lillibet took advantage of the brief pause to claim a chair. “Oh, did your husband find you?”
Their hostess shot to her feet as if she’d landed on something sharp. “It’s about curtains. For the shower. That’s why he’s looking for me.”
“So, shower curtains,” Hildy translated.
Lillibet pointed at her. “Exactly. I’ll text him.” She patted her pocket but didn’t take out her phone. “Um. We should go out,” she said, glancing at the house. “Exploring. I’d love to show you some of the island.”
“Yes!” Hildy pressed her palms together in prayer pose. “That would be amazing. JJ can take pictures while the two of us talk shop.” She looked down at her flowy pants. “Should I change? Are we thinking beach or brunch?”
Lillibet’s head jerked at the sound of the kitchen door opening. Her face relaxed as the housekeeper rejoined them, a piece of toast in one hand.
“I was telling them about our plans,” Lillibet said.
The housekeeper scowled. “Were you, now?”
“You know. A little sightseeing. Away from the house.” A silent message seemed to pass between them—something they didn’t want to share with guests. Maybe one of the showers had gone rogue and they needed to clear the premises before it killed again.
“Reckon it’d be a bonny day fer snerklin. Down Tartle Carve way. Sure as me name is…”
“Jean-Colleen,” Lillibet filled in when the other woman trailed off. Though that was by far the least mysterious part of her statement.
“Aye.” It sounded a little Popeye, squint and all. “Shake the lead out, mates. We leave in five.”
* * *
It turned out they were going snorkeling, at a place called Turtle Cove. When Jefferson admitted he didn’t travel with flippers or a mask, the housekeeper assured him he could rent whatever he needed. The second Hildy slid into the backseat beside him, Lillibet threw her husband’s luxury SUV into reverse.
“Sorry,” Hildy said, apologizing for the two extra minutes it had taken her to put on a bathing suit and pack her beach bag. “I couldn’t find my invisibility hat. So we don’t get papped,” she explained, when Lillibet sent her a wide-eyed look in the rearview mirror. Hildy held up a blue baseball cap with a faded smiley face logo. “Even if we weren’t keeping this story on lock for our properties, I don’t do unstaged candids.”
“Perish the thought,” Jefferson said under his breath.
Hildy whacked him with the hat. “I brought something for you, too. Even though you don’t need a disguise because no one’s going to recognize you unless you put on a snowsuit and carry me across the sand.”
“No,” he said, preemptively.
“‘Meme, Myself, and I—That Time I Accidentally Went Viral.’ The Jefferson Jones story.” Hildy held up a finger to signal a new idea incoming. “‘A Hero Comes Along.’ Too on-the-nose? I’ll have to make sure there isn’t a porno with that title. And Mariah Carey is a little out there for you emotionally, JJ. In the sense that she expresses them. I’ll save that one for me.”
Jefferson waited to see if the merry-go-round was going to pick up speed, but with a self-conscious glance at Lillibet, Hildy broke off, running her hand up and down the strap of her seat belt. “Enough of that. It’s hard to shut off the packaging part of my brain. It’s so ingrained. Which is why I’m going to be a boss bitch editor. But we are not talking about that right now, because we are in the moment. Let’s go see some fishies!”
* * *
Jefferson had never considered underwater photography, there not being much call for it in the mountains. A different quiet held sway when your face was submerged, both like and unlike being alone in the woods. A slow current instead of wind, the undulating of marine plants, fish flashing past in bursts of brilliant color that put the earthy camouflage of four-legged creatures to shame.
If he thought of himself as an observer, hovering over the aquatic metropolis, Jefferson could forget what he was wearing. Hildy had waited until they were at the beach to hand him the rash guard. At that point there was no going back; they’d spent half an hour driving a handful of miles on the two-lane road, because even the rich had to contend with the traffic of too many people trying to enjoy the same small patch of impossibly beautiful island.
It hadn’t always been this crowded, Lillibet explained from the driver’s seat, while her housekeeper napped against the passenger window. At least not when she was a kid, out here away from the tourist hot spots of Waikiki. Jefferson added that piece of information to the rough mental sketch he’d been drawing of her background, while she went on to explain how locals were caught between needing the influx of cash from all those visitors and wondering at what point they would hit critical mass.
“Only room for so many on this floating door,” the housekeeper, whom Hildy had taken to calling Mrs. OMG, said through a yawn. “Someone’s got to be thrown into the deeps or we’re all goin’ down.”
Jefferson had been here less than a day and could already see why so many people were desperate to visit—and, having come once, would dream of returning. That was one thing you could say for his part of the world: It didn’t appeal to everyone. Especially in winter, which could mean anytime from October to June. If you wanted bare skin, warm breezes, and outdoor swimming, it was easy to resist the siren call of Wyoming.
Nor did you need special beachwear to live there, which was how he’d wound up at the mercy of Hildy’s twisted sense of men’s fashion.
“Fit check,” she’d announced, circling a finger to get him to turn around after he squeezed himself into the long-sleeved shirt. “Oh. Oh my.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if overcome with some strong emotion. (Jefferson suspected it was joy.) “It’s even better than I thought it would be.”
He looked down at the patterned faux-gold, giving way at the elbows to swirling turquoise … gloves? “What the hell am I wearing, Hildegarde?”
“You’re Aquaman.” She poked him in the belly, where a series of shadowy curves suggested an overdeveloped chest. “SPF50 and I gave you a six-pack, Grandpa. You’re welcome.”
Hildy had tried to convince him to put on the matching leggings, but he was wise to her game and used sunscreen everywhere his swim trunks didn’t cover. The fish didn’t care that he was dressed like an overgrown child on Halloween, but Jefferson wasted no time peeling off the superhero swim shirt as soon as they were on dry land.
“You better lube yourself up if you’re going to run around topless.” Hildy pulled a tube of sunscreen from her bag and tossed it at him. “I’d help, but my hands are sandy, so I might take off all your chest hair. Your first foray into manscaping should probably be in a more hygienic setting.”
“I’ll manage.”
“What about your back?” She turned to Lillibet. “Would you mind? I don’t want him to fry. You can teach him your special technique. The Wagyu massage. The relaxation helps with absorption,” Hildy explained for Jefferson’s benefit. Enjoy, she mouthed.
Lillibet hesitated before holding out her hand. Jefferson passed her the sunscreen with equal reluctance. Mostly reluctance.
She started at the top of his spine, stroking up the nape of his neck before letting her fingers trail down over his shoulder blades. What began as a light touch grew firmer as she rubbed the sunscreen into his skin, working it over his deltoids and then lower, her fingers slipping between his arm and his side to make sure everything was covered. Jefferson’s body desperately wanted to lean into her touch, so he tensed his muscles to keep from giving in. Hopefully she didn’t think he was flexing to impress her.
“How is it?” Hildy asked. “Soothing?”
What was a word that meant the opposite of that? His brain was too scrambled to play thesaurus. Jefferson had one clear thought, and it wasn’t something he could say out loud. I wish I had more skin so she would never stop touching me.
“Bloody hell,” growled the housekeeper, standing up from her towel. “Give me that.”
“I’m almost finished,” Lillibet said, holding the sunscreen out of reach.
“It’s me job,” the housekeeper argued.
“Sunscreening people?”
“Helping you. Afore you can help yourself, missy.” This time Mrs. OMG succeeded in yanking the tube away. After squirting sunscreen onto her palm, she slapped it onto his back with both hands, wasting no time on gentleness.
“There,” she announced, capping the sunscreen and handing it to Jefferson. “Yer on yer own for them wee hairy man nipples.”
Hildy choked on her can of Passion Orange juice. “Waxing is quick and easy, JJ. Well, it’s quick.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Might as well get one o’ them spray tans while you’re at it.” The housekeeper thumped him in the gut.
He was beginning to understand why Keoki had opted to stay home.
“Who needs a snack?” Lillibet asked, sparing him further commentary on his personal grooming. Maybe she thought he was beyond hope. That would explain why she seemed to be having a hard time looking in his direction. “We should get shave ice!”
“Aye,” the housekeeper agreed. “Reckon someone needs a cool down.”