Roni shifted again in her seat. She had never been able to sleep easily on a plane. She envied the people who could board, sleep, and wake upon landing. She had chosen an aisle seat, which she liked best when traveling alone. An elderly couple occupied the center and window seat; he sat in the middle. He fell asleep the minute the plane took off, and his wife quietly read a book. He would launch into a snore once in a while, wake himself briefly, and then fall back to sleep. Every time he woke, he would pat his wife’s leg, and she would in turn smile at Roni. It was far better than having some chatty passenger sitting next to her who she really did not want to talk to. She reached into her travel bag, pulled out a bottle of water, and took a sip. She looked at her Movado watch and thought about Mack. Wondered if they would ever be like them. I might have pushed too far this time. She stared at the watch’s mother-of-pearl face circled daintily with diamonds. Still over an hour to go before Miami she figured, then a layover, and another hour to Treasure Cay Island. After that, a cab and ferry ride to get her to her final destination: Green Turtle Cay.
The watch… She sighed reclining her head back into the headrest. It had been their twentieth anniversary. She and Mack were in Saint John when she saw it in the hotel gift shop. He knew she liked it, but he thought it was too much to pay for a watch. While Roni showered after a day on the beach, Mack had gone to the shop and surprised her at dinner with it. It was a romantic dinner, an open-air restaurant right on the beach, soft candlelight. Roni could picture it clearly in her mind, back when things were good and she felt like they didn’t have any worries. Funny how only a few years would put them in such a different place. It had been over two years since that terrible Monday. The day she learned that Lehman Brothers was no more. That she no longer had a job. That the derivatives she was heavily invested in were worthless, her retirement accounts with the company gone. In seventy-two hours over that fateful weekend in September, the government had decided they did not have the legal authority to rescue Lehman Brothers.
Roni had heard so many conflicting stories from various sources about what really went down, but she still felt like the whole truth would never come out. The government had rescued Bear Sterns and AIG because they were labeled too big to fail, yet had let Lehman go down. The best she could determine was that the government let Lehman die because politics made it impossible to save. In the blink of an eye, her high-level position as an investment banker, a twenty-three-year climb with the company, went poof. As much as she wanted to blame the government, it wasn’t entirely their fault. Lehman’s CEO and board had been far too risky in their behavior. In one article, she read that it was a one-to-thirty ratio, assets to debt, as if a person had a thousand dollars in assets, but was thirty thousand in debt. It was staggering, the numbers she’d heard. Something like three hundred and sixty-five billion in debt was the best guess.
The man beside her snorted again, startling her. Best not to dwell on that anymore, she thought. She had spent too much time already. Mack was sick of it, sick of hearing her run through the whys and what ifs. Tired of her obsession and guilt about losing so much of their money, sick of her complaining about not being able to find a replacement job. Genuinely tired of the whole economic recession. It had hit them where it hurt, in the wallet, and they were struggling, or so Roni felt. Relying solely on Mack’s income when Roni had been the breadwinner, pulling in three to five million a year. Mack wasn’t motivated by money; instead, he did what he loved. Mack Dugan Architecture, a small company, had its office in their high-rise apartment. He made a good living and they were still comfortable, they just didn’t have all the extra luxuries they’d had when Roni was pulling in big bucks.
New York was an expensive place to live. The multimillion-dollar second home on the Cape was gone, along with the yacht, and the luxury cars that went with it. They’d had to sell those things in order to buy down the mortgage on the apartment, so they could afford to stay. They’d dipped several times into their savings to cover unexpected expenses. It was a riches-to-rags sort of story in her mind, and Roni blamed herself. Her stress level caused her to flare up over simple things, and she and Mack had fought more than any other time in their marriage. The irony was that Mack wasn’t upset about their turn of fate, she was. They could get even smaller than they were he’d said, especially with both kids off to college. He wouldn’t mind scaling down even more than they had. He’d like a small house outside of the city, but she wanted to remain in the thick of things.
He was happy to have her home. “It’s a chance to find something you’re passionate about and then do it,” he told her. The problem is she still didn’t know what that was. Mack had encouraged her more than once to get away, clear her head, take time to get a fresh perspective on life. With their recent fight, he’d demanded it. She was on the verge of imploding their marriage, and so she agreed to do what he asked.
The two of them had been to Green Turtle Cay on their honeymoon. It was small then and, as the travel agent told her, still small. If anything could cure her, then small and quiet might do the trick. There was nothing small about New York; the hustle and bustle was constant, people always rushing to get someplace. It was why she’d pushed for the house on the Cape, to get away and relax. Mack hadn’t found it relaxing to have millions of dollars tied up in things they used only occasionally when Roni could break away. If Roni could find anything positive about losing the job, it was the fact that she did not miss the office politics and the constant pressure for more. What she did miss was the comfort of money, a lot of money.
“Ding, ding” sounded from the speaker above Roni’s head.
The flight attendant picked up the cabin phone and listened, hung it up, then picked it up again, pressing a button on the side.
“The captain tells us we are on our final descent into Miami. Please bring your seats upright to their locked position and put your tray table away. We will be through one last time to pick up any trash you may still have.”
Roni watched the woman as she made her way down the aisle, taking cups, newspapers, and trash from passengers, putting them into a white plastic garbage bag. She had blonde hair like Roni, but it was cut short in a bob. Roni wondered if she was passionate about her job. Sometimes what one was passionate about didn’t pay the bills. When the wheels touched down on the runway, the man beside her woke up and cleared his throat.
“I hope I didn’t snore too much,” he said.
“You were fine,” Roni said, smiling. “I’m jealous. I can’t seem to sleep on planes. Instead I watch the time, and I swear it makes it go slower.”
“Miami home for you?” he asked.
The plane taxied down the runway toward the terminal.
“No, New York is,” Roni answered.
“We just came from there,” the man said. “Visited our daughter and grandkids. What’s in Miami for you? Family?”
“No, it’s just a stop. I’m on my way to Green Turtle Cay in the Bahamas,” Roni said.
“Green Turtle Cay. Never heard of it, although I’ve never been to the Bahamas. Funny we’re so close and we’ve never gone. What’s in Green Turtle Cay?”
The plane came to a stop at the terminal and the seatbelt sign went off. Roni unfastened hers and let it drop. She wasn’t in a hurry as there was half a plane full of people in front of her, and she had an hour wait in the airport.
“Not a lot. It’s small, quiet. I first visited it on my honeymoon. It’s been twenty-two years, but I hear it hasn’t changed much.”
“Are you meeting your husband?” he asked.
“No, all alone this time, for a month. A month of peace and quiet. No husband, no kids.”
Once her words were out, Roni wondered how it sounded—a pending divorce, running away; he could conjure up a number of scenarios. The passengers finally started to filter out of the plane.
“Well, I hope you have a good stay,” he said.
Roni was glad he didn’t have time to dig any further.
“Rex, take this,” his wife ordered, handing him a large bag from under her seat.
He took the bag as instructed just as it was their row’s turn to move out, and Roni grabbed her bag and laptop case.
“Have a good day,” Roni said.
“You too,” Rex replied.
Roni stepped out into the aisle and followed the people in front of her out of the plane into the terminal. She walked out to the departure board and looked for her flight to Treasure Cay where “on-time” flashed on the screen. The new gate was only four down from where she was. Enough time to grab a bite and get a cocktail she thought as she walked down the terminal and found a Mexican restaurant.
“One, a booth if possible,” she said to the hostess.
“Follow me.”
Roni slid into the booth and the hostess picked up the other silverware sets, napkins wrapped around plastic utensils. It was sad, there hadn’t been real stuff since 9-11.
“I’ll take a margarita on the rocks with salt,” Roni said.
“I’ll let your waiter know,” she said and disappeared.
Roni watched the crowd: people toting luggage and miscellaneous bags, working on laptops, talking on cell phones, rushing to and from flights. It was like one of those fast-forwarded clips she’d seen on TV about Grand Central Station: rush here, rush there, the space filling full with people as the day progressed, everyone on a time schedule, working to get someplace else. It made her feel guilty for a minute. When Mack and she had fought, she’d turned his encouragement into a threat, “I’m going to go, someplace I can be appreciated for me”. He’d called bullshit on not appreciating her; he loved her, had for twenty-something years.
The last fight had been a doozy. She’d said some really hurtful things, aimed her anger at him, which wasn’t fair. Sorry was not an option this time. He told her she had to go or he would. He made her sit down and plan the trip. Mack told her if she couldn’t get her head back around, they weren’t going to make it. She thought two weeks was enough. He said a month. He told her he thought the first three weeks she needed to be alone, get back in touch with herself. After that, he suggested she invite some of her girlfriends to come. They found a two-bedroom house on a vacation rental-by-owner site, not right on the beach but close. It came with a golf cart: the normal mode of transportation on the island. Level-headed Mack, he hadn’t been mad or envious as they planned her trip; he just wanted her to feel whole again, so their relationship could start getting back on the right track.
––––––––––––
A petite, redheaded girl set Roni’s margarita in front of her, bringing her back to now.
“Can I see your ID?” she asked, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, we have to ask everyone.”
“And I thought it was because I look so young,” Roni teased as she dug into her bag.
As she searched she wondered how a wallet could get so lost. Argh. Finally locating it she pulled out her driver’s license and handed it to the girl, who took a quick look and handed it back. It was policy to ask Roni knew, but it seemed so silly when it was obvious.
“Thanks. What else can I get for you?”
“I’ll do one fish taco, no rice or beans,” she said, handing the girl the menu.
Roni tried to remember the island as she waited for her food. Small town, New Plymouth she thought it was called. Colorful houses. The island was about three miles end-to-end. Some nice beaches. She would be able to run every day, outdoors instead of at the gym. She remembered that the Bahamian people were very friendly. Of course, she would stand out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and white skin. The island people were a mix of color although the majorities were very black, black as night she remembered. Roni was also tall and thin while most Bahamian women were full-figured. It wouldn’t take long for them to talk about the white lady from New York. Roni smiled.Chapter 1
Roni shifted again in her seat. She had never been able to sleep easily on a plane. She envied the people who could board, sleep, and wake upon landing. She had chosen an aisle seat, which she liked best when traveling alone. An elderly couple occupied the center and window seat; he sat in the middle. He fell asleep the minute the plane took off, and his wife quietly read a book. He would launch into a snore once in a while, wake himself briefly, and then fall back to sleep. Every time he woke, he would pat his wife’s leg, and she would in turn smile at Roni. It was far better than having some chatty passenger sitting next to her who she really did not want to talk to. She reached into her travel bag, pulled out a bottle of water, and took a sip. She looked at her Movado watch and thought about Mack. Wondered if they would ever be like them. I might have pushed too far this time. She stared at the watch’s mother-of-pearl face circled daintily with diamonds. Still over an hour to go before Miami she figured, then a layover, and another hour to Treasure Cay Island. After that, a cab and ferry ride to get her to her final destination: Green Turtle Cay.
The watch… She sighed reclining her head back into the headrest. It had been their twentieth anniversary. She and Mack were in Saint John when she saw it in the hotel gift shop. He knew she liked it, but he thought it was too much to pay for a watch. While Roni showered after a day on the beach, Mack had gone to the shop and surprised her at dinner with it. It was a romantic dinner, an open-air restaurant right on the beach, soft candlelight. Roni could picture it clearly in her mind, back when things were good and she felt like they didn’t have any worries. Funny how only a few years would put them in such a different place. It had been over two years since that terrible Monday. The day she learned that Lehman Brothers was no more. That she no longer had a job. That the derivatives she was heavily invested in were worthless, her retirement accounts with the company gone. In seventy-two hours over that fateful weekend in September, the government had decided they did not have the legal authority to rescue Lehman Brothers.
Roni had heard so many conflicting stories from various sources about what really went down, but she still felt like the whole truth would never come out. The government had rescued Bear Sterns and AIG because they were labeled too big to fail, yet had let Lehman go down. The best she could determine was that the government let Lehman die because politics made it impossible to save. In the blink of an eye, her high-level position as an investment banker, a twenty-three-year climb with the company, went poof. As much as she wanted to blame the government, it wasn’t entirely their fault. Lehman’s CEO and board had been far too risky in their behavior. In one article, she read that it was a one-to-thirty ratio, assets to debt, as if a person had a thousand dollars in assets, but was thirty thousand in debt. It was staggering, the numbers she’d heard. Something like three hundred and sixty-five billion in debt was the best guess.
The man beside her snorted again, startling her. Best not to dwell on that anymore, she thought. She had spent too much time already. Mack was sick of it, sick of hearing her run through the whys and what ifs. Tired of her obsession and guilt about losing so much of their money, sick of her complaining about not being able to find a replacement job. Genuinely tired of the whole economic recession. It had hit them where it hurt, in the wallet, and they were struggling, or so Roni felt. Relying solely on Mack’s income when Roni had been the breadwinner, pulling in three to five million a year. Mack wasn’t motivated by money; instead, he did what he loved. Mack Dugan Architecture, a small company, had its office in their high-rise apartment. He made a good living and they were still comfortable, they just didn’t have all the extra luxuries they’d had when Roni was pulling in big bucks.
New York was an expensive place to live. The multimillion-dollar second home on the Cape was gone, along with the yacht, and the luxury cars that went with it. They’d had to sell those things in order to buy down the mortgage on the apartment, so they could afford to stay. They’d dipped several times into their savings to cover unexpected expenses. It was a riches-to-rags sort of story in her mind, and Roni blamed herself. Her stress level caused her to flare up over simple things, and she and Mack had fought more than any other time in their marriage. The irony was that Mack wasn’t upset about their turn of fate, she was. They could get even smaller than they were he’d said, especially with both kids off to college. He wouldn’t mind scaling down even more than they had. He’d like a small house outside of the city, but she wanted to remain in the thick of things.
He was happy to have her home. “It’s a chance to find something you’re passionate about and then do it,” he told her. The problem is she still didn’t know what that was. Mack had encouraged her more than once to get away, clear her head, take time to get a fresh perspective on life. With their recent fight, he’d demanded it. She was on the verge of imploding their marriage, and so she agreed to do what he asked.
The two of them had been to Green Turtle Cay on their honeymoon. It was small then and, as the travel agent told her, still small. If anything could cure her, then small and quiet might do the trick. There was nothing small about New York; the hustle and bustle was constant, people always rushing to get someplace. It was why she’d pushed for the house on the Cape, to get away and relax. Mack hadn’t found it relaxing to have millions of dollars tied up in things they used only occasionally when Roni could break away. If Roni could find anything positive about losing the job, it was the fact that she did not miss the office politics and the constant pressure for more. What she did miss was the comfort of money, a lot of money.
“Ding, ding” sounded from the speaker above Roni’s head.
The flight attendant picked up the cabin phone and listened, hung it up, then picked it up again, pressing a button on the side.
“The captain tells us we are on our final descent into Miami. Please bring your seats upright to their locked position and put your tray table away. We will be through one last time to pick up any trash you may still have.”
Roni watched the woman as she made her way down the aisle, taking cups, newspapers, and trash from passengers, putting them into a white plastic garbage bag. She had blonde hair like Roni, but it was cut short in a bob. Roni wondered if she was passionate about her job. Sometimes what one was passionate about didn’t pay the bills. When the wheels touched down on the runway, the man beside her woke up and cleared his throat.
“I hope I didn’t snore too much,” he said.
“You were fine,” Roni said, smiling. “I’m jealous. I can’t seem to sleep on planes. Instead I watch the time, and I swear it makes it go slower.”
“Miami home for you?” he asked.
The plane taxied down the runway toward the terminal.
“No, New York is,” Roni answered.
“We just came from there,” the man said. “Visited our daughter and grandkids. What’s in Miami for you? Family?”
“No, it’s just a stop. I’m on my way to Green Turtle Cay in the Bahamas,” Roni said.
“Green Turtle Cay. Never heard of it, although I’ve never been to the Bahamas. Funny we’re so close and we’ve never gone. What’s in Green Turtle Cay?”
The plane came to a stop at the terminal and the seatbelt sign went off. Roni unfastened hers and let it drop. She wasn’t in a hurry as there was half a plane full of people in front of her, and she had an hour wait in the airport.
“Not a lot. It’s small, quiet. I first visited it on my honeymoon. It’s been twenty-two years, but I hear it hasn’t changed much.”
“Are you meeting your husband?” he asked.
“No, all alone this time, for a month. A month of peace and quiet. No husband, no kids.”
Once her words were out, Roni wondered how it sounded—a pending divorce, running away; he could conjure up a number of scenarios. The passengers finally started to filter out of the plane.
“Well, I hope you have a good stay,” he said.
Roni was glad he didn’t have time to dig any further.
“Rex, take this,” his wife ordered, handing him a large bag from under her seat.
He took the bag as instructed just as it was their row’s turn to move out, and Roni grabbed her bag and laptop case.
“Have a good day,” Roni said.
“You too,” Rex replied.
Roni stepped out into the aisle and followed the people in front of her out of the plane into the terminal. She walked out to the departure board and looked for her flight to Treasure Cay where “on-time” flashed on the screen. The new gate was only four down from where she was. Enough time to grab a bite and get a cocktail she thought as she walked down the terminal and found a Mexican restaurant.
“One, a booth if possible,” she said to the hostess.
“Follow me.”
Roni slid into the booth and the hostess picked up the other silverware sets, napkins wrapped around plastic utensils. It was sad, there hadn’t been real stuff since 9-11.
“I’ll take a margarita on the rocks with salt,” Roni said.
“I’ll let your waiter know,” she said and disappeared.
Roni watched the crowd: people toting luggage and miscellaneous bags, working on laptops, talking on cell phones, rushing to and from flights. It was like one of those fast-forwarded clips she’d seen on TV about Grand Central Station: rush here, rush there, the space filling full with people as the day progressed, everyone on a time schedule, working to get someplace else. It made her feel guilty for a minute. When Mack and she had fought, she’d turned his encouragement into a threat, “I’m going to go, someplace I can be appreciated for me”. He’d called bullshit on not appreciating her; he loved her, had for twenty-something years.
The last fight had been a doozy. She’d said some really hurtful things, aimed her anger at him, which wasn’t fair. Sorry was not an option this time. He told her she had to go or he would. He made her sit down and plan the trip. Mack told her if she couldn’t get her head back around, they weren’t going to make it. She thought two weeks was enough. He said a month. He told her he thought the first three weeks she needed to be alone, get back in touch with herself. After that, he suggested she invite some of her girlfriends to come. They found a two-bedroom house on a vacation rental-by-owner site, not right on the beach but close. It came with a golf cart: the normal mode of transportation on the island. Level-headed Mack, he hadn’t been mad or envious as they planned her trip; he just wanted her to feel whole again, so their relationship could start getting back on the right track.
––––––––––––
A petite, redheaded girl set Roni’s margarita in front of her, bringing her back to now.
“Can I see your ID?” she asked, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, we have to ask everyone.”
“And I thought it was because I look so young,” Roni teased as she dug into her bag.
As she searched she wondered how a wallet could get so lost. Argh. Finally locating it she pulled out her driver’s license and handed it to the girl, who took a quick look and handed it back. It was policy to ask Roni knew, but it seemed so silly when it was obvious.
“Thanks. What else can I get for you?”
“I’ll do one fish taco, no rice or beans,” she said, handing the girl the menu.
Roni tried to remember the island as she waited for her food. Small town, New Plymouth she thought it was called. Colorful houses. The island was about three miles end-to-end. Some nice beaches. She would be able to run every day, outdoors instead of at the gym. She remembered that the Bahamian people were very friendly. Of course, she would stand out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and white skin. The island people were a mix of color although the majorities were very black, black as night she remembered. Roni was also tall and thin while most Bahamian women were full-figured. It wouldn’t take long for them to talk about the white lady from New York. Roni smiled.