Stuck in Paradise with You

Chapter 22

22

CARRIE

He’s just going to leave? No goodnight, no goodbye?

I can feel my eyes stinging but I’m pinning my shoulders back. Joe is my client. Luke is my ghost.

He’s haunting me now like he did in a past life. Nothing has changed. He hasn’t changed.

Why did I tell him the truth? Why did I let those words tumble out of me?

I can’t unsay them, how it felt for him to leave me dressed in lingerie I’d picked out especially for his birthday, lying on the bed in our hotel, waiting for the man I was insanely, incomprehensibly in love with to come to me.

But I’m not fighting tears because of a memory. I’m willing myself to be strong, stoic, because he’s done it again. Just sloped off into the night. Gone.

In seven years’ time, he might even throw at me that he wished we could have stayed in touch, so that we could be… friends? Friends!

I only have myself to blame for feeling like this. I’ve done it again. Bared myself, made myself vulnerable for him. To be left feeling hollow.

God, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

I’m so consumed by my dark thoughts that I have to ask Joe to repeat himself as he stands in my doorway and tells me, ‘The jet would have been able to land in Tortola but it wouldn’t have been able to take back off, Carrie, so it had to turn back. I’m sorry.’

Can I ask him to say it for a third time? Because maybe lucky number three will be the time it sinks in.

‘I can’t leave?’ I’m trying not to be hysterical but my brain is about to explode.

‘I’m really sorry, Carrie. I’ve pleaded with air traffic control. Or, you know, my pilot has on my behalf, but the military have taken over the airport. As of two hours ago, nothing but essential flights can land or take off.’

‘But… I… The storm isn’t even here yet.’

Joe nods. ‘If there was anything I could do, I swear to you, I would.’

As the reality sinks in, I lose my professional composure and sink onto the edge of the bed behind me.

I’m stuck here, in paradise, with a superstorm heading my way. With Luke .

Joe crosses the room to me and I sense his awkwardness as he places a hand on the top of my head. Sense it and feel it. Because this is a bizarre way to comfort someone for anyone who isn’t a clergyman.

‘What if… I go to Tortola and stay in a hotel near the airport? Maybe we can keep trying?’ I suggest, knowing this is an unlikely plan, but it would get me off this island and away from Luke.

Finally, his holiness removes his hand from my head, then in another peculiar move, bends to his hunkers in front of me. Am I acting like an eight-year-old child? Joe’s certainly making me think so.

‘If you’re worried about the hurricane, Carrie, try not to be. You’ll be safer here than in Tortola, I assure you. We have an abundance of hurricane provisions. Troy will be in the bunker with us and he’ll rustle up some great food. We have generators and appliances down there. It’s geared up to be a safe room for many eventualities.’

I exhale slowly, nodding. ‘Thank you.’

This whole mess isn’t Joe’s fault. It’s also crazy that he needs a panic room but now that he’s said it, he’s probably a significant ransom risk.

‘I’ll leave you to unpack.’ He makes to leave the room. I can’t wait to be grumpy alone, in my pajamas. ‘Oh, Troy will cook breakfast in the morning at the usual time but some of us will be heading out early to Virgin Gorda, so you might not see us.’

‘Another island?’ I ask, coming to stand.

He nods. ‘Most of the staff are from Virgin Gorda and their families live on the island. We’ll head out first thing, before the sea gets too choppy, so we can help secure their properties and bring their families here if they want to weather the storm with us, so to speak. We’ll be back as soon as we can get the job done to prepare Charithonia.’

There’s a sadness about him that I haven’t seen before. For all his eccentricity, I can see what Ella sees. Joe is a compassionate man.

Suddenly, the sound of the ocean and the light of the moon in the dark sky beyond my pod seem less beautiful and more ominous. ‘It’s going to be bad, isn’t it?’ I ask.

Joe twists his lips with, I think, a heavy heart. ‘It looks that way. I’ll leave you to it. Ask the staff if you’d like anything cooking up for supper.’

‘Thank you.’ He steps out of my pod, into the night, and I call, ‘Joe? Could I come with you tomorrow, to Virgin Gorda? I’d like to help, if I can.’

‘The more hands, the better. Troy will make a quick bite for us at dawn and we’ll set off after sunrise.’

‘Goodnight, Joe.’

‘Sweet dreams, Carrie.’

I close the door behind him and press my forehead to the wood.

The Atlantic is out to get me.

I’m starting to see this storm as a metaphor – it’s going to hit. It’s going to be a direct hit and it’s going to alter life as I know it.

There’s a dull ache in my chest, beneath my breastbone, and it definitely feels like fear. I am afraid.

I just don’t know if it’s the hurricane or my proximity to Luke that’s most terrifying.

Where does he get off messing with my head and my heart?

Turning, I press my back against the door and slide down until my butt hits the floor. On top of everything else, I now have three important calls to make and a fur baby to let down, again.