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I WANDERED OUT INTO the humid afternoon, located the outdoor bar, and ordered the largest and most vulgar item on the cocktail menu. Equipped with an umbrella-topped, fruit-festooned goblet big enough to last me for several hours, I found a just-vacated poolside table and settled in. Tiny towheaded children, lobster-red moms and dads, and corpulent, bearded bikers all frolicked in the hotel pool. The laughter and shrieks of the children and the occasional hearty expletive from the bikers punctuated the steady rumble of motorcycles on the road past the hotel. White vog, the sulfurous, eye-stinging discharge from the island’s active volcano, blurred the horizon. With all of those particulates hanging in the air, tonight’s sunset would be spectacular. At least there was that to look forward to. I sipped my drink—it was tangy, sweet, and disappointingly weak—and tried to relax.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Donnie’s work had followed him over here. The surprise was he was able to get away at all. This is what you sign up for when you go into business for yourself. You never truly get a day off. I’d told this to my students many times, but now I was experiencing it for myself. If Donnie and I ever did get married, I’d have to get used to it.
But right now I had more immediate concerns than the prospect of Travis the Accountant tagging along on our honeymoon.
Tonight was my much-anticipated dinner with Donnie, and instead of looking forward to it, I was dreading it. Sure, from Davison’s perspective, I may have come unbidden to his hotel room all perfumed and unbuttoned and holding a bottle of wine, but why did he have to assume I was there for that? I mean, I wasn’t, not with him. I was furious with myself for letting Emma trick me into this whole scheme, which now seemed desperate and sleazy. And the wine! It wasn’t just the money I’d paid for it. It was the time and care I’d spent on choosing something I knew Donnie would like. And the money.
There was no tactful way to avoid having dinner with Donnie and Davison. Ditching them and joining Emma and her crew would be unfair to Donnie. He had arranged his weekend to come out and spend time with me, after all. Also, if I had dinner with Emma, naturally she would wonder what happened with Donnie and me, and she’d grill me about it in front of everyone. So, no. I couldn’t see any way to get out of it gracefully.
I worked on my drink until it was nothing but a puddle of pale-blue slush. Then I went back up to my room to change and shower one more time. My mandarin collar cheongsam dress, black satin with red-and-gold embroidered dragons and pavilions, was hanging up in the bathroom to steam out the wrinkles.
Down by the pool, I had observed my fellow vacationers favored a more casual look. Amphibious shoes, easy-fitting cropped jeans and sherbet-colored t-shirts were the prevailing style. Something like that probably would have been more comfortable than what I’d brought. But the dragon dress, from a vintage boutique in San Francisco, was one of my favorites. And unlike some of the other clothes I’d brought over from the mainland, I could still zip it up.
Donnie had managed to secure a table out on the lanai of the hotel restaurant and was waiting with Davison by the hostess station when I arrived. The view from the outdoor tables looked like the cover of a tourist brochure. A blazing coral sun melted into the ocean, flanked by silhouetted tiki torches. The natural air pollution from the volcano rendered the sunset as brilliant and florid as the Technicolor drinks they were serving at the outdoor bar. The scalding afternoon heat gave way to pleasant warmth as the sky darkened. To the untrained eye, this might have looked like the start of a pleasant dinner.
Donnie was dressed appropriately for the occasion, in a pressed navy blue aloha shirt with a white lehua print and black trousers. Davison had thrown on a black tank top featuring an artist’s rendering of a snarling pit bull. The illustration had the effect of a black velvet painting, which I’m sure in Davison’s universe made it classy enough for dining out. Couldn’t Donnie even make him put on a proper shirt? I suppose I should have been grateful that Davison was wearing anything at all.
The young woman at the hostess station smiled at Donnie.
“What a beautiful family!” she exclaimed. I felt a little annoyed that Donnie was somehow entitled to take credit for the three of us. Why not compliment me? Not that I’d want anyone to think I was in any way responsible for Davison. The hostess now turned her attention to him:
“You look exactly like your dad!” Donnie beamed, and Davison preened. I tried not to grimace.
I ended up sitting across from the two of them as if they were interviewing me. Donnie seemed more relaxed than he had earlier this afternoon. He was probably happy to have Davison along. Come to think of it, this was probably Donnie’s unfinished business in town. Rounding up his prodigal son to come along and ruin my weekend.
Donnie suggested splitting a bottle of wine and I concurred, perhaps a little too eagerly. Davison, not yet of legal drinking age, ordered a soft drink. I fumed silently as I imagined Davison chugging my Vino Nobile straight from the bottle. Or, worse, making wine coolers out of it. The hostess left the three of us to unfurl our napkins and clank our silverware in uneasy silence. Thanks to the stiff fabric and close cut of my dress, I had no choice but to sit with my back perfectly straight and my knees together. This did not add to the comfort of the situation.
“The hotel is nice,” I remarked to Donnie. “I like that they have a fridge and a coffeemaker right in the room. You don’t even have to go outside if you don’t want to.” I hoped it didn’t sound like I was planning to stock up on provisions and barricade myself in my hotel room. Which, at the moment, was a tempting idea.
“It’s not bad,” Donnie said. “I have a view of the pool and a little bit of the ocean.”
I wondered whether he had seen me sulking out by the pool earlier this afternoon. I hoped not. I wanted Donnie to think of me as self-sufficient and unflappable.
“There was a cockroach in the bathtub when I checked in,” Donnie continued when we had placed our orders, “but the rest of the room seems fine.”
“I bet Aunty Molly’s afraid of cockroaches.” Davison was talking to his father, but staring directly at me. “I know she’s scared of scorpions. Especially big ones.”
Over Donnie’s shoulder, I glimpsed Emma and her crew seating themselves around the outdoor bar. And there was Sherry. What were they doing down here drinking when they had a race tomorrow morning? Weren’t they supposed to be having bone broth and wheat grass juice for dinner and going to bed at seven? Fortunately, their backs were to us, and Donnie and Davison’s backs were to them. Unfortunately, Emma had spotted me and was on her way over.