| |
––––––––
“Housekeeping.”
“Still sleeping,” I yelled to the woman outside my room, hoping I hadn’t woken Shawn up. It was an awful night’s sleep, filled with tossing and turning and worry. I’m sure Shawn was going to feel awful about what happened and be down on himself. The last thing he needed was to be robbed of sleep too. Groaning, I glanced at the clock with one eye and gasped. It was nearly noon. Departures to the beach were already underway.
“Shawn, wake up! We’ll miss the beach,” I said, rolling over. But the bed was empty. “Shawn?” I called again, wondering if he might be hurling in the bathroom.
When he didn’t answer, I pulled back the covers and checked the bathroom to make sure he hadn’t passed out. He wasn’t there. Maybe he’d gone to breakfast. Needed something to settle a sour stomach? He wouldn’t go to the beach without me, would he?
That was when I saw the note on his pillow. It was on the cruise stationery. I rushed over, picked it up, and unfolded the paper. Something fell to the floor, but I ignored it to read the words he’d written.
Jazz,
I am beyond humiliated about whatever I might have said or done last night. I’m sorry you had to see that. I need to call my sponsor if I can find a phone on the island. I’m clearly not in the right place to be a father, let alone someone in your life. So, you have my blessing to take the Plan B. I saw it on the nightstand.
I’ve left you the wedding band. Maybe one day I’ll be worthy of someone’s love and be the sort of man that would have made you proud to call your husband. I’m not there yet. I might never get there.
I’m sorry, Jazz. For all of it.
-Shawn
Looking down to see what dropped, I saw our wedding rings lying on the floor along with a small golden coin I’d never seen before. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. There was a III etched into it. It was a sobriety coin. Three years sober. All his progress was gone. I noticed there was something else on the floor, half-buried under the bed. The key to the locker he left our cell phones in before we boarded the ship. He left me.
“No.” I tossed the paper to the ground and picked up the ring. I slid mine back on and gripped his tightly in my hand. “You do not get to walk out on me. Not you. You were supposed to be the one that stayed.”
With nostrils flaring, I threw on my Day 3 clothes—a bikini and a sundress—and tossed his ring into my beach bag, which already held the essentials like sunscreen, spending cash, and trashy romance novels, and flung it over my shoulder. I was going to find this man and right this wrong if it was the last thing I did.
After making a beeline to the deboarding area, I stood on my tiptoes, looking for his flop of dark curls. All I saw, however, were large beach hats or balding scalps. He must already be on the island, which meant I was gonna have a challenging time trying to find him.
After standing in line for nearly an hour, I finally got to “walk the plank.” I knew this was part of deboarding, but it didn’t make me any happier to do it. Because the cruise liner was so massive, it couldn’t dock itself at a normal spot. They had to transfer passengers to a smaller boat, which could then dock onshore. And the way you had to get off the cruise ship and onto the transport ship was to walk across a plank. A thin strip of metal extends from the bottom of the cruise liner and into the waiting transport ship. While it had guard rails and textured flooring to prevent slipping, it was still terrifying. Mostly because the plank moved with the waves. I felt sick, looking at people doing it.
As they crossed, I observed closely to see what the best tactic might be. Some opted for a turtle shuffle, screeching in fear the whole time, some walked across as if it were no big deal, but most held on with a death grip to the rail and tried to get over as fast as humanly possible. Which was the method I used. I may have even held my breath, in case I fell in.
Once I was on the smaller boat, it was still another forty minutes before we loaded the rest of our transport and docked on the beach.
The Bahamas.
I was there. After all the years of dreaming and planning and daydreaming, the sandy beaches were moments away. And I didn’t care. The only thing I wanted at that moment, was to find Shawn.
As I was deboarding, I asked a crew member where the nearest phone might be. He pointed me toward an information booth. I thanked him and ran toward the small booth that looked more like a metal hut than an official information center.
Shawn, however, was not there.
“Excuse me,” I asked the older woman with a floral dress on. “Have you seen a man come by here to make a call? He’s about this tall,” I said, holding up a hand, “dark, curly hair, dimples, and a devilish grin that would make any woman spread their legs to him?”
Her eyes widened, and I realized what I’d said. “I mean, he’s hot. Seen anyone like that today?”
“My dear, I see lots of people. But no one who fits that description. If I had, I suspect I would have whisked him away, no?” She cackled at her own joke, slapping her hand against her thigh as she laughed.
“Valid point,” I said, which only made her laugh louder. Where could he be? “Can I ask you another question?”
The woman slowed her laughing and nodded.
“Where is the closest place to get a drink?”
She grinned. “Ah, this I can help you with. Follow the crowd, my dear. Their feet will show you the way. There is much to eat and drink on the beach.”
“Thanks.” The beach was the only logical place he could be. I doubted he’d be in the shops, and there wasn’t much to do on the island in the time we had other than shop and sunbathe.
“You be sure and send that man my way if you find him? So I can test out your description of him?” She laughed again as I gave her a light smile. Glad someone was having a fun time.
“Shawn... Where are you?” I muttered as I made my way down the streets with the crowd. The woman did seem to know what she was talking about. Most everyone was going in one direction. Very few were pausing to look at the shops. They all had the same plan I had. Sun then shop. That had been my priority before this all started. Now, it was finding my husband. No. He’s not your husband, Jasmine. But he is upset. And it was my fault. I needed to rectify my actions.
Of all of the worries that should have been in my mind: finding a new apartment, moving my stuff out of Dwayne’s house when we got back, showing my face after such a public humiliation... The one fear that drowned out the rest was that I might never see Shawn again.
