Chapter 13
13
D ean had been so good with Ryan. He said he wasn’t a good father, but he’d treated the boy with such kindness and attentiveness. Maybe he’d just never given himself the chance to be that way with his daughters.
The walk had shown them so many beautiful things along the way, not just Ryan and his turtle. Sandpipers pecked at airholes in the sand, searching for clams or worms as the waves rolled out. Seabirds, terns, she thought, circled in the sky.
As they walked, she made out two fishermen tugging fish out of their nets. They threw back the ones that were still breathing, and the rest they put into ice bags. As the terns dive-bombed the bags, one of men raced at the birds, shooing them away, but every so often, they threw a dead fish down the beach for the birds to take.
“I suppose I should feel depressed, all those poor dead fish,” she said.
Dean slung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “It’s the circle of life. They’ll sell those fish in the market later today and sustain their families.”
She laid her head on his shoulder for a moment. “You’re right. The circle of life. Feeding their families. Feeding the terns. And maybe when their mothers are old and gray, they won’t have to carry a heavy tray of push puppets along the boardwalk with aching knees.”
At the end of the long stretch of sand, they circled a small lagoon that had formed in some long-ago storm, the flow of water etching the sides ever deeper. Egrets waded along the marshy slopes, and a great blue heron perched on a log poking out of the water. Gnarled pieces of driftwood floated lazily, and a flock of cormorants landed on the lagoon’s opposite shore.
They’d walked at least a couple of miles when Dean asked, “Ready to go back?”
“I’m certainly ready for a swim.” The water skimming over her feet as they’d strolled was warm and inviting. “But let’s do it closer to the hotel.”
The fishermen had cleared their nets and ridden off with their bootie, but Ryan’s sea turtle was intact, though they couldn’t see either him or his parents on the beach.
“I’ll send his pictures now so I don’t forget,” Dean said, and they stopped at the edge of the water, looking through each other’s photos and sending the best to the boy.
Finally back at their hotel’s beachfront, Greer tore her cover-up over her head. “It’s getting hot now. The water will feel good.” Folding the garment on the dry sand beyond reach of the waves, she tucked her sunglasses between its folds.
Throwing his T-shirt down next to her cover-up, he tossed his sunglasses on top.
“Give me your phone,” she said, tucking it in her cover-up pocket when he did.
Dean grabbed her hand then, running with her. They plunged into the warm water, and he pulled her along until the water was up to her waist.
She shrieked as a big wave rolled in, knocking her off her feet, dunking her, and she was glad she’d taken off her sunglasses. Whirling with the wave into the shore, she came up laughing, sand down her suit.
Dean was laughing too. “That was fantastic. Let’s do it again.”
They ran out over and over, waiting for that perfect wave. They seemed to come in cycles, every fourth or fifth wave big enough to crash over her. She bodysurfed into the shore, gathering more sand in her suit and not caring about it.
They laughed and swam and held hands, rode the waves, and it was amazing.
Especially when they were out far enough that their feet no longer touched the sand and Dean drew her in, wrapping his arms around her, his hand on the back of her head drawing her in for a salty, wet, delicious kiss. Then they broke apart, laughing, taking another wave before doing it all over again.
She felt young. She felt strong. She felt sexy. Especially as they bobbed in the water, and she felt him hard against her belly as he held her for another kiss.
Thoughts of Conrad floated farther and farther away from her. She didn’t have to think about him anymore or worry about what would happen when she got home. He’d already walked out on her. It was just those final few words that needed to be said and they would be over.
A wave hit her badly the next time, bowling her over, dragging her under, and finally spitting her onto the sand. Coughing, her nose full of seawater, she lay for a moment at the water’s edge, looking at the sky above.
Until Dean stood over her. “Are you okay?” He fell to his knees beside her.
She plugged her nose to get the water out, coughed once more. “I’m fine. I just let it hit me wrong.”
“We should get out now, get a drink. That was a long walk. We don’t want to get dehydrated.” He helped her to her feet.
“Just let me run back into the ocean and get the sand out of my suit.” They held hands again, going only deep enough to duck down and wash away most of the sand.
Luckily she hadn’t lost her water shoes in that last big wave, and being wet, she didn’t put her cover-up on again, only her sunglasses. They weren’t halfway across the sand when Dean said, “The beach has gotten pretty freaking hot since we walked down here.”
While he was barefoot, her water shoes protected her, but she ran with him. Until he flung himself down on his lounger, rubbing his hot feet, and laughing.
“You two look like drowned rats,” Bernice called.
Cynthia pulled her glasses down her nose. “Looks like you had fun.”
“It was incredible out there.” Dean dried his face. “You really have to try it. The water’s warm, the waves are good. I could do that all day.”
“But we got thirsty,” Greer said, not wanting to tell the girls she’d flubbed the last wave.
Lisa held up fruit on a stick. “You should get one of these. Mango on a stick. It’ll quench your thirst.” The diagonally sliced mango now resembled a pineapple.
“Those are freaking awesome.” Dean looked at Greer. “You want one?”
“Oh yeah.”
Cynthia pointed. “We got them at that food cart over there.”
“I’ll get a couple.” Then he looked at the girls. “You want anything else right now?”
They shook their heads, and he went down the line of chairs asking who wanted what.
“I need one of those mango things,” Nana said. “I saw Lisa and Cynthia eating them. And I need one. Bad.” She sounded like a teenage girl.
Greer laid out on the lounge chair, letting the warm Mexican air dry her. “Your grandmother is a hoot. She talks just like a young person.”
Lisa laughed. “OMG. She’s always asking us what the latest new word is. And then she uses it on her friends.”
Cynthia laughed. “One time, she heard Kyle call Lucas a dildo.” Both girls were laughing, and Greer didn’t bother asking if the two boys were cousins. “And the next thing you know, she called her friend Annie a little dildo.”
Lisa continued the story between hysterical bouts of laughter. “Of course, Annie knew what the word meant. And she told Nana.”
The story was coming out in fits and starts, Cynthia saying, “And Nana didn’t even get mad at Kyle or Lucas. She just told us the story at the next Sunday dinner and said that when we used a new word, we really needed to explain what it meant.”
“We’ve all stopped saying words like that in front of her,” Lisa admitted. “Or the next thing you know, she’d be calling Annie a douche bag or something.”
“Are she and Annie still friends?” Greer said, laughing.
Lisa flapped a hand. “Oh yeah. Annie thought it was hilarious. Especially when she got to shock Nana by telling her exactly what a dildo was.”
“We adore Nana,” Cynthia added, though Greer was already well aware of that. “She’s one of us.”
“She says it’s because she’s old.” Lisa pulled another mango chunk off the stick, popped it in her mouth and talked around it. “She says at her age she just doesn’t care anymore. Whatever she can do to make people laugh is what she’ll do.”
“Although back in the nineteen-fifties…” Cynthia leaned over to push Lisa lightly with her finger. “She would have been horrified.”
Her sister shrugged. “I like to think she was always this way. But then again, it’s nice to know people mellow with age.”
How the two girls had mellowed themselves when their father wasn’t nearby. Maybe that was a good sign, showing they could eventually let go of the anger that had brewed for years. It would take time. But she had high hopes for the family.
Dean returned with handfuls of mango-on-a-stick, passing them out along the way until he reached Greer. “Here you go.”
“It really looks like a pineapple. Or maybe an artichoke with the leaves coming out.” Sliced in a geometric pattern, the mango cubes came loose easily.
“OMG,” she parroted Lisa and savored the first bite, eyes closed. Until she looked at Dean. “This is delicious. Thank you so much. It’s just what I needed.” Then, without prompting, she told the girls about their walk. “It’s beautiful with all the shorebirds. And a young guy was making a sand turtle.” Still holding the mango stick, she licked her fingers clean, then picked up her phone, putting it on her lap and tapping into her photo gallery until she found the picture of Ryan leaping in the air over his turtle. “Here, look.” She held it out for the girls to see.
Dean couldn’t seem to resist adding, “We helped him find shells to put on the turtle’s back.”
Cynthia looked at him, and Greer felt her sunglasses hiding something in her eyes. Maybe a smile. Hopefully admiration. “That turtle is rad.”
“We could all go for a walk tomorrow,” Dean ventured. “It’s getting too hot out there now.”
Cynthia was the first to say, “We’ll have to see what’s happening,” her voice clipped as if she didn’t mean it. Lisa, still looking at Greer’s pictures, simply nodded.
Greer’s heart contracted for Dean. He wanted enthusiasm. A wild, Yeah, Dad, can’t wait . But he smiled. Maybe what he got was good enough for now.
A server made his way through the beach chairs, taking orders, and when he got to them, Dean looked at Greer. “You want a margarita?”
She was dying for a margarita. Conrad’s parting shot came to mind. No margaritas in Mexico for you . “I most certainly would love a margarita, thank you very much.”
He looked at her a moment, as if he thought there might be more to that statement. But she kept her thoughts to herself, and he ordered a pitcher for all of them.
Cynthia said, “How about some nachos too? I’m getting hungry.” She looked at her sister, and Lisa nodded.
Dean once again looked at Greer. “You want to share nachos?”
She was starting to feel guilty. “Yeah. But only if I buy. You bought the mangos.”
He smiled and told the server, “Two orders of nachos,” and gave the man his room number.
Greer grabbed his arm. “Wait. I want to pay.”
But Dean let the man walk away. “This is my day. Nachos and mangos and margaritas are on me.” He looked at his daughters. “Right, girls?”
As if they were one voice, they said in unison, “Thanks, Dad.”
He leaned close to Greer. “Tomorrow, I’ll let you pay. Deal?”
She was just happy there would be a tomorrow.
The nachos and margaritas arrived just as a team of shorts-clad young people were setting up on the beach.
Nana called out, “What are they doing out there?”
Dean heard Bernice answer casually, “It looks like parasailing.”
Nana’s big ears perked up. “Parasailing? Is that where you they drag you around behind a speedboat in a parachute?”
Bernice grunted, “Uh-huh,” returning to her book.
Sure enough, the young workers, wearing identical outfits of navy T-shirt and white shorts, laid out colorful chutes on the beach while a speedboat circled in the water.
Dean held up his margarita. “Cheers,” and the girls leaned in to toast with him. When Greer tapped her glass to his, he said, “To a fantastic morning, an incredible walk, and most especially a fabulous dip in the ocean.” He let his eyes say what his mouth couldn’t. That kissing her out there in the water with the salt and the sun on her lips had made him want to tear her swimsuit off. To feel her everywhere, touch her everywhere.
If the answering look in her eyes meant anything, she wholeheartedly agreed.
The nachos were delicious, no fake pump cheese on the top, but melted cheddar, Monterey Jack, and Pepper Jack. He relished Greer’s delight, half moan, half groan, as if he’d actually touched her out there in the ocean.
“These are the best,” she murmured, eyes closed.
The girls must have felt the same as they’d powered halfway through their plate.
A team of two adventure tour employees, a young man and woman around his daughters’ ages, made their way through the lounge chairs, selling parasail rides, snorkeling trips, zip lining, and other tours.
Jutting his chin at his daughters, he asked, “You want to go parasailing?”
The two looked at each other. And Lisa said, “What do you think?”
Cynthia pursed her lips. “I’m not feeling it today. But you can go.”
Lisa shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Dean looked at Greer. “What about you?”
“Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe not.”
“Afraid?” he challenged with a smile.
She laughed. “The Aztec waterslide and the white water rapids in the lazy river are more my speed.”
That made him smile. And it made him want to take her between his legs and zip down the slide together. Or clasp hands on the lazy river when it turned into white-water rapids.
But Cynthia challenged him. “What about you, Dad?”
“The waterslide and lazy river are more my speed too.” Especially if he did it all with Greer.
Beneath the umbrellas in the next set of lounge chairs, Bernice and Ralph were turning down the parasailing. But his mother raised both hands in the air. “I want to do it.”
Bernice’s sharp retort rang out, “Absolutely not, Mother ,” in a tone she’d used years ago with her own kids when they’d misbehaved horribly at a holiday dinner.
But his mother was nothing if not persistent. “It’s my birthday week and I want to do it.”
Ralph was the voice of reason. “It is your birthday, Nana, but don’t you think ninety is a little too old to be risking your bones on parasailing?”
Nana looked at the two young people in their crisp uniforms. “Will I land heavily and break my hip?”
Their eyes as wide as dinner plates, the two young people stared at her. The boy stuttered. The girl stammered. Then she said in lightly accented English, “We make very sure people land as lightly as possible.” She blinked twice. “But things can happen.”
“What’s the oldest person you’ve ever had on a parachute?” Nana wanted to know.
The boy once again stuttered as the girl said, “We had a couple in their eighties.”
Bernice waved frantically, trying to shush her. Dean wanted to clap a hand over the girl’s mouth.
But Nana was undaunted. “Aha. I’m in my eighties for three more days. So I’m going parasailing.” Each word seemed like a separate command.
Dean had to step in. “Nana.” He decided not to use the dreaded Mother . “This isn’t a good idea.”
Sylvia, who’d been speechless until that moment, said, “Do you really think this is prudent, Nana?”
Fabiola stomped over to stand by their mother’s chair. “Be serious. You know when old people break a hip, it’s the start of their downward spiral.”
Nana replied succinctly, “Yes. But I’m not old. I’ve heard the downward spiral starts when a person begins saying they can’t do this, that, or the other. Then all they do is sit in front of the TV, watching game shows and soap operas day in and day out. And then they die.” She looked at her children, each one in turn. “That is not me. So I’m going parasailing. If I break my hip, you can say I told you so.”
Dean felt his stomach turn. Because when his mother made up her mind, there was no stopping her. But he had to try. “We’ll tie you down if we have to.”
She looked up at him, her baby boy, as she loved to tease him. “Tying me down won’t be enough. You’ll have to drug me if you don’t want me to do this.” She glanced at Bernice. “Don’t you have some sleeping pills in your room? You better give them to Dean.”
Bernice nodded and retrieved her card key, handing it to Dean.
Nana swept her hand across all of them. “Go ahead and get the sleeping pills. And then I can tell the tabloids you drugged your mother so she couldn’t do the things she wanted to do in the last hurrah of her life. They’ll call it elder abuse and make a miniseries and show it on TV.”
God, she was laying it on thick. But that was Nana. The ultimate drama queen. He would have laughed if she didn’t scare him so badly.
Cynthia and Lisa stood on the fringes. “Nana. Are you really sure about this? Or are you only doing it because everybody says you shouldn’t?”
His mother took off her heart-shaped sunglasses, laid them in her lap, and focused first on her granddaughters, then her children. “You wouldn’t let me go zip-lining in Cancún. You wouldn’t let me go horseback riding in the ocean when we were down in the Caribbean. And I bowed to your greater wisdom. But before I die, I want to do one last thing that makes me feel young. And I’m willing to take the risk.”
She surveyed her brood, and Dean felt something move inside him. They were so careful of her. No one wanted her to fall, to break a hip or a leg or an arm, or worse, get a concussion.
But maybe all that caring was stifling.
Greer slipped her hand into his, clasping his fingers. He looked down at her and thought she nodded, tipping her head. And he felt… something. A wrenching of his heart. For his mother. For getting old. For losing the person you used to be.
He turned to the two somewhat terrified young people. “I know you can’t guarantee anything. But I want you to promise you’ll treat my mother as if she were your own.”
The young woman laid her hand over her heart. “I will take personal responsibility. As if she were my very own great-grandmama.”
And his mother smiled. It was one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Juanita. And what is your name, madam?”
“You can call me Nana like all my children and grandchildren do.” Then she raised both fists in the air. “Sign me up, Juanita.”
While Juanita took down his mother’s information, Bernice’s harsh whisper abraded his ears. “This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. You should have let me get my sleeping pills and we could have drugged her.” She dug her fingernails into his arm.
But Greer held tightly to his hand. As if she believed in him.
“If anything happens to her,” Bernice went on with the tirade, “I’ll blame you.”
Dean would blame himself too. “But after everything goes great, and she comes back saying I’m the favorite child, I’ll remind you that I was the one who said she could do it.”
Bernice bopped him on the arm. “You were always the favorite child anyway.” Then she laughed, so hard she had to lean over, hands on her knees.
And Dean turned to his mother. “Promise me this is the last time you’ll ever ask to do something like this. Because I will definitely have to drug you the next time.”
She raised her arms until he could bend down to hug her. “I can’t do anything like this when I’m ninety. So of course it’s the last time.”
Then he bent over, too, hands on his knees, and laughed as hysterically as Bernice.