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Isaiah stood on the soft shoulder of the highway watching as Miss Zoë-Grace Goodluck drove away in a vehicle so small it reminded him of a clown car.
He had seen the young lady wearing dark grey slacks and a lightweight blue and white striped blouse the moment he had driven up to the scene of the accident but had dismissed her as a non-threat. His initial glance at her may have lasted only a second, but he could have picked her—or most people on the scene—out of a police identification parade if he’d needed to. Even fifteen feet away, he could tell that she was in her late twenties to early thirties, stood at just over five and a half feet tall, and weighed no more than a hundred and twenty pounds. Her golden-brown skin was a couple of shades lighter than his, her hair a deep mahogany.
He wouldn’t have minded having a longer chat with her, if only to see if she would continue to stand up to him in a way few he’d met since his arrival in Jamaica dared. But he was here to work and that was what he would do. He turned around to deal with the matter at hand. He hadn’t even noticed that the bus with the security guards had arrived at some point after he did.
Waving Andy away, Isaiah turned to oversee the packing of the suitcases into the truck that had come from Montego Bay. When he’d pulled up, he was relieved to find that the luggage had already been neatly stacked by Andy’s colleagues and was awaiting transfer to the second vehicle. There were curious onlookers from the surrounding community, but the police were doing a good job keeping them at bay. He winced when he saw that almost everyone was holding a smartphone, camera aimed at the luggage packing operation.
Despite his gruff mannerism, which he considered one of the requirements of his job, he was grateful there had only been the one vehicle involved, and that no one was seriously hurt. He hadn’t forgotten that his sister Maya had been in a motor vehicle accident a couple of years earlier and had ended up in a coma. The hospital in Miami had been more than capable of handling her case, but here in Jamaica it might have been a different story. The island’s turquoise waters and white sand beaches might be a tourist’s dream, but health care for locals was another matter completely.
He turned his mind back to the situation at hand. He could only imagine the pandering the hotel would have to do to the owners of all this luggage in order to avoid the kind of bad publicity that could threaten the viability of lesser hotels. As one of the most successful all-inclusive resorts in the Caribbean, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for Nizani to offer some upgrades and free nights. It was a pity Miss Goodluck hadn’t given him her phone number; he was sure she could have ended up with a free day pass or two, at the very least. He chuckled to himself. That was one brave Jamaican woman.
__________
After leaving Montego Bay, where she had ended up spending an hour walking around her favorite pharmacy in order to delay her return home, Zoë-Grace tried to keep her focus on the road rather than her surroundings as she made her way through the town of Lucea.
Maybe if she kept her eyes trained on the brake lights of the vehicle in front of her, she wouldn’t have to see the store where it had happened. Perhaps if she drove a little above the speed limit, the brightly colored building could be a blur in her peripheral vision instead of a beacon that drew her attention as surely as if there were a neon arrow positioned on top of the roof flashing “Focus here!”
For what seemed like the millionth time in the last year or so, she wished this particular street wasn’t one-way. Logically, she knew it was too narrow to handle the increased traffic flowing in both directions now that the highway caused more people to drive through the coastal town. Emotionally, she wished they would create some kind of bypass to help her get from Montego Bay to her home in the suburbs on the far side of Lucea without having to pass through the heart of the town.
Most days, she managed to avoid Lucea completely. If she could only have her way, she would never visit it again. Ever. There were too many reminders, too many emotions associated with that place. She could easily spend the rest of her life on the eastern side of the island, lost in the hustle and bustle of the city of Kingston, instead of living like a reluctant big fish in the small pond that was Lucea, Hanover, Jamaica, West Indies. Make that the daughter of a big fish... or two.
She sped up, anxious to leave Lucea far behind her. As she went through the motions of driving, she frantically searched her mind for something pleasant to think about. When that failed, she decided to settle for something unpleasant... anything that would divert her attention from the vivid mental images—photographs of the body lying on the floor of the store she had just passed.
As her mind flitted from one thing to another, it landed on her plans for her class tomorrow. She sighed. If anyone had told her after graduating from university that she would end up back in a classroom, she would have scoffed at them. Yet that was exactly what had happened. After relocating to this part of the island, she had taken the first job that came along. Her friend Maxwell had been granted study leave and she had been the only applicant for the temporary post of Assistant Math Lecturer at the Lucea Community College. It hadn’t surprised her that she’d had no competition; Lucea was often a place professionals migrated from, not to.
She’d always excelled at math, but she would rather spend her days surrounded by digits and decimals instead of people with personalities. At least Maxwell had been thoughtful enough to leave detailed unit plans, class activities, and course work so she could teach the content without having to do a lot of research and preparation. Examination papers were the only things she’d had to come up with on her own, and she’d worked on those during the summer. Maxwell had really been a godsend, and it was ironic that now that she was back in their hometown, he had gone to study in Kingston. She treasured his friendship above all others. She had no doubt that if he were still here, she would have managed the transition much easier.
How she missed her office at the insurance company where she had worked as an actuary—one of relatively few females in the country to occupy such a post—for two years. She couldn’t deny that she also missed the salary package and benefits, as well as the new SUV and the comfortable one-bedroom apartment just outside the country’s financial center of New Kingston. Tonight, instead of parking her maroon SUV in the apartment complex’s secure underground garage and taking the elevator up to the third floor, she’d be parking her been-around-the-block hatchback in the driveway of her childhood home and settling down for the night in the same twin bed she had occupied as a teenager. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, she thought.
As if on autopilot, she navigated her car through the narrow streets of the town until the two-story buildings were finally in her rearview mirror. The road widened slightly, and she relaxed again as she made her way to a residential development with modest two- and three-bedroom homes. She hoped her mother would be asleep, but she doubted it.
Her mother had an uncanny way of going to bed late and waking up early, and she always seemed to be everywhere in the house. If Zoë-Grace felt like making a cup of tea, her mother chose that same moment to make toast. If Zoë-Grace went out to the veranda to read, her mother would decide to sweep it. Zoë-Grace barely had any time to herself once she got home, and she had taken to spending longer hours at work just to avoid the woman. They had never really gotten along. Their personalities had been grating one against the other since Zoë-Grace entered puberty, and the fact that she had been a student at the same high school where her mother was vice principal and then principal certainly didn’t help.
It therefore didn’t surprise anyone that Zoë-Grace headed for Kingston the moment she graduated. She had already been accepted at the University of the West Indies, but even if she had nowhere specific to go and nothing specific to do, she would never have chosen to stay in Lucea. Not even for Daddy’s sake.
__________
Isaiah raised the footrest of the comfortable leather recliner in front of the television in an attempt to relax. He enjoyed his job but there were days he wondered just how many fires a man could put out and not develop blood pressure problems. It was a miracle he had managed to avoid them thus far.
After the fiasco with the overturned truck, he had returned to the hotel just in time to see a police car with flashing blue lights pulling up. What could possibly have warranted their presence? he’d wondered. He tapped his shirt pocket for his phone, but it wasn’t there. He checked the pockets of his pants. Nothing. When he pulled into a parking spot, he got out of the pickup truck and found the device lodged between the driver’s seat and the central console. Seven missed calls, all from the manager on duty. He’d only been gone for two hours.
Apparently, two hours was all it took for two guests, Justin and Carolette Hamlyn, to report that their suite had been burgled. He learned that the Canadian couple created quite a scene in the lobby, so much so that the manager was forced to offer upgrades to the three couples checking in at the time, who threatened to move to other resorts in the area. He couldn’t blame them; he wouldn’t want to stay in a place where he didn’t feel safe, either. And on this property, the buck for safety stopped with him.
He had convinced the police officers to allow him to be present when they took the guests’ report, and although the officers seemed to take everything the two visitors said at face value, he noticed some holes in their story and remained unconvinced. Despite the couple’s vocal demands, Isaiah explained the company policy of waiting until police investigations had been completed before making restitution for any items that were reported missing. It took a little while, but he and the manager on duty finally relocated the guests to the Nizani property in Montego Bay.
He’d discreetly taken a few photographs of the two complainants with his cell phone while they were talking with the police officers in the management suite. He had met the security managers for the major chains all along the north and west coasts of the island at a conference in Montego Bay soon after arriving in Jamaica. If this was some kind of scam, no doubt the Hamlyns would try this again somewhere else. The island’s police communication system might be lagging behind the first world, but the hotel chains knew their bread and butter. Despite the fact that all the chains were competing against each other, the other security managers had welcomed Isaiah into an informal network that benefited all the properties. If tourists thought there was any chance of being robbed in a particular area of the country, they avoided it, no matter what the hotel chains promised. In some cases, it was better for everyone if the properties collaborated instead of competing.
As Isaiah relaxed a little more into the plush recliner, he took a sip of the extra-large hot chocolate he had ordered in the hotel’s French-inspired café. Regardless of how challenging a day might be in Negril, he’d take this over combat any day. At least he didn’t spend his days wondering whether he was fighting somebody’s private war... whether he was going to end up dying that day... how many of his brothers- and sisters-in-arms would be going home in boxes and body bags, and when it might be his turn.
He was glad that even though his insomnia persisted, the nightmares had finally stopped. After completing months of therapy, he no longer woke up drenched in sweat, hearing weapons being fired right next to his ears. The hallucinations had stopped, too. It had been a long time since he had looked down and seen blood dripping from his hands. His friends’ blood. Blood from wounds he had tried to cover in order to stem the flow of life out of their bodies. He no longer closed his eyes and saw the face of those his country had paid him to kill.
He whispered a quick prayer for Americans still fighting across the world. He rarely prayed these days, but when he did, it was usually for them. He was no longer sure God paid attention, but Isaiah wanted to remind Him there were innocent lives at stake every day. And there were some days that the warriors didn’t even remember why they were fighting.
He opened his eyes and focused on the television. He had chosen the Weather Channel, not because he was particularly concerned about whether it was raining in Sao Paulo, Brazil, but because climatic conditions were unlikely to cause him to reflect on things he’d rather forget.
He hoped he would be able to sleep soundly tonight.
__________
“Good evening, Mother,” Zoë-Grace called out to the woman who was likely to be sitting in the small living room. Having entered the house through the side door and gone directly into the kitchen, she turned the light on and placed the bag with the food on the outdated countertop. With few Chinese takeout restaurants in Lucea, she always treated herself when she went to Montego Bay... when she could afford it.
“Did you eat already? I brought you some dinner.” She washed her hands and busied herself serving the beef chow mein onto two plates. She’d prefer to eat hers straight from the nifty takeout container, but she couldn’t risk setting her mother off. Joanna Goodluck believed all meals should be eaten at the table, with a knife and fork. She couldn’t stomach plastic utensils or disposables. They were for those with no class and, as many Jamaicans would say, ‘no home training.’
“Dinner? At this hour? One would think that if one were planning to provide dinner for someone else, then one would be home at a decent hour.”
Zoë-Grace waited for the ancient microwave oven to sound its familiar ding and then placed the second plate inside before going to serve her mother. She took a deep breath and silently prayed for patience.
As she stepped from the kitchen into the dining area, Zoë-Grace took a little bit of wicked pleasure in flipping the switch and flooding the room with light. Her mother, who had no doubt been sitting there for hours stewing over Zoë-Grace’s absence, flinched as if the light had physically assaulted her and turned her face away.
“Sorry for being late, Mother. I told you I was going to Montego Bay, and it’s barely nine o’clock.” She placed the plate of steaming food on the place mat in front of the woman, along with a stainless-steel knife and fork she had already checked for spots.
Her mother grunted as Zoë-Grace returned to the kitchen for a tray bearing her own meal and two glasses of water. She took her usual seat perpendicular to her mother at the rectangular table, said a silent blessing over her meal, and tried to pay attention as her mother criticized every bite she took of the food. She was used to it, but she hated the fact that her mother seemed to take pleasure in finding fault with everyone and everything except for herself. Anyone could be her target... at any time.
If she tasted someone’s sweet potato pudding, the texture wasn’t like the one she made. If she drank someone else’s eggnog at Christmas, it didn’t have enough nutmeg in it. Even if it were something she couldn’t actually make, like Chinese food, she would still find a way to tear it down. Tonight, there was too much water chestnut. Last time, there hadn’t been enough. Zoë-Grace couldn’t tell the difference.
She sighed. Living with her mother again was tough, but someone had to do it, and Zoë-Grace was the only one left. As far as she’d been concerned when she was growing up, her father was a saint, and no one had understood that but her.
She gently placed the fork beside her flatware. Her mother’s eyes wandered to it, and she immediately retrieved it and put it on the plate. The knife soon followed. She’d lost her appetite. Joanna hadn’t stopped complaining since the moment she had stepped through the door. Zoë-Grace glanced at her watch. It was 9:30. Late enough that she could plead tiredness and head to bed. Since her mother had apparently finished eating with almost half the food still on her plate, Zoë-Grace asked to be excused and stood.
“May I take this?” she asked, her hand hovering near her mother’s plate.
Joanna shrugged. “May as well. I don’t think I could eat any more of that. Too crunchy. Next time you should go to that place out at Ironshore. They know what they’re doing.”
Zoë-Grace didn’t bother to point out that not only would driving to Ironshore on the far side of Montego Bay and back add another forty minutes to her journey, and even more with rush-hour traffic, but the food there cost more than twice as much for portions half the size. Her budget was stretched tightly as it was. Gone were the days of ordering pricey lunch items from New Kingston delis and restaurants. Gone were the three or more nights per week having takeout with her then-boyfriend, Montel. Nowadays, Zoë-Grace had to scrimp and save for weeks before she could splurge on dinner. Dinner and a movie on the same night... well, that was almost unheard of! At least she had saved herself the cost of the movie ticket this time.
She sighed. She already knew what she would be having for lunch at the college tomorrow—beef chow mein. Taking leftovers to work had become par for the course. Based on the size of her paycheck and how depleted her accounts were, if they had one more emergency in the next few months, she would probably have to sell her car. Maybe even the house. Not that it was hers to sell, but Mother would have to be convinced if push came to shove. Zoë-Grace simply didn’t have any wiggle room left in her wallet.
She swallowed the bitterness that rose in her throat and took both plates into the kitchen. As she carefully scraped what was left into two containers—because no matter what Joanna said, she would expect leftovers tomorrow—she shook her head in dismay. She couldn’t believe her father had died and left them in such dire financial straits. He had earned good money in his work as an insurance salesman, topping sales in the island’s western region at least once every few years. That he could have spent so much of his life convincing his clients to make sound financial arrangements for their loved ones, only to die without having left enough for his own wife and daughter was more than ironic; it was depressing. Some days, Zoë-Grace felt like she could never forgive him for the position in which he had placed her, but most of the time, she was saddened by the fact that her daddy—her daddy—was gone, and she would never be Daddy’s little girl again.