Chapter 12 – Amour

MURPH SLAPPED COLE on the back to snap him back to life. “Ohhhhh shit, Cole,” Murph was shaking his head as he spoke. “I’ve seen that look before.”

Cole took a handful of peanuts from the tray on the bar and blinked a few times to get his thoughts in order. “What look?” He tossed a few peanuts in his mouth and took a sip from his drink, still trying to regain his mental footing.

“The one you just had when you locked eyes on that pretty little thing that just rolled through.”

“Yeah, she’s a cutie, that’s for sure,” he replied casually, but kept the other more intense thoughts to himself.

What he wanted to do was describe every detail of who he’d just seen and the effect she had on him, but Cole knew better than that. Murph wouldn’t have any of that talk in his present state. Cole had been around girls from all walks of life over the past months, many of them beautiful in so many different ways, but he couldn’t shake the girl in the green dress from his mind. There was something different about the way she walked, the way she had looked at him deliberately longer than expected and then walked away.

He thought for a moment of taking a walk up the steps to the lobby to find her, but he knew well enough that he was drunk and sweating and would need a better game plan to make a worthwhile impression. Still, he found himself looking back up the steps, hoping he’d catch another glimpse of her.

Murph finished off the dish of peanuts and emptied his drink. The bartender made his way over and looked at Murph for confirmation to fill it back up. Murph nodded in the affirmative and the bartender shifted his gaze to Cole. He looked at the bartender for a moment then asked plainly, “Who is the girl?”

The bartender leaned in, apparently not understanding English very well.

Cole pointed back up the steps. “The girl. The girl in the dress. Who is she?”

The bartender looked confused for a moment and still he stared at Cole.

“La chica?” Cole said it a bit louder.

Murph chimed in,“Fucking brilliant Cole, he doesn’t know English so you try Spanish in a French-speaking country?”

“Shut up Murph,” Cole said it without taking his attention away from the bartender.

“La chica?” Cole was desperate.

The bartender grinned a bit then let out a soft chuckle. “Isabella.”

Cole mouthed it to himself, Isabella, and the bartender laughed some more than spoke rapid French as he shook his finger at Cole and laughed.

“Merci.” Thanks.

It was all Cole knew of the language and the bartender nodded, walking back to a corner of the bar to mix up two more drinks. It was getting late, and the first hints of sunset painted the tops of the scattered cumulus clouds that hung over the island. Cole was tired. As the bartender brought Murph and Cole their last round, he again spoke French to Cole, who wished once more to understand what the old man was saying. After a minute, the bartender retired to a quiet corner and took a seat. No one else was moving about and the hotel seemed all but abandoned.

It was the farthest thing from Panama City, where on the other side of the Caribbean the lights and sounds were most certainly booming. Here, there was a steady breeze pushing in from the east that wafted through the open-air bar and pressed against Cole’s back. It was so quiet that he could hear the wind against the trees. Cole took a few minutes to soak it all in.

Murph finished his drink and parted ways, stumbling at times down the steps to his room. Cole did the same, down a long set to his floor, then down the same corridor to his room at the end. The whole time he thought again about turning around, but knew in his present state that he best wait until the morning. Entering his dark room, he pulled the curtains apart and slid the glass door open, stepping out onto the balcony overlooking the bay. To his left he looked out over the anchorage, with most boats entirely dark save for their anchor lights at the tops of their masts. He could hear the ripples of water slapping against their hulls and watched as they all turned slowly in rhythm with the subtle changes of the wind. The sun was setting off to the west, across the Caribbean. He thought about Panama once more, trying to keep his adventures in a positive light, but the more he fought it, the more Cole realized he’d gone too far with it all.

On the other hand, Cole felt that he could stay in a place like Martinique for a while. With his hands against the railing, he took deeper breaths and thought about Isabella. He would stay, he decided, until he had the chance to meet her. Even if she wanted nothing to do with him, he might stay longer in Martinique.

Back in his room, Cole pulled the bandage off his shoulder and looked at his newly formed scab as best he could in the mirror. It was still a bit red, but seemed to have closed up all right. With a light conscience, he turned in for the night, pulling the comforter almost over his head as he fell asleep.

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He met Murph the following morning over breakfast. After enough cups of coffee and some pastries, Murph said he would be leaving that afternoon. There was some serious work he had to do. David had mentioned some shipments coming from Venezuela, and despite his initial protest, Murph was on the hook to make a move. He made it clear Cole could come along and island hop with him, but Cole was by then committed to sticking around for a while. He thanked Murph for everything but politely declined.

“It’s the girl, isn’t it?”

Cole shook his head to say no, but Murph just laughed. “I saw it last night. You’re hooked. She’s got you whether you like it or not.”

Cole shook his head again, laughed, and replied, “No, it’s not that. I could use some down time and this place has a vibe to it that I think might be good for me.”

With that, Murph stood up and shook hands with Cole. He then wrote a number down on a napkin. “If you want to get in touch with me, call this number. Leave a message if I don’t answer. I usually check it every week or so. It’s my own number, so it’s off David’s radar, if you know what I mean.”

Cole tucked it in his pocket and again shook Murph’s hand. “Good times, Murph. Thanks for everything.”      

“Any time, bud.” With that, Murph turned and walked away.

Cole sipped on a few more cups of coffee as the morning warmed up and the breeze filled in. By noon, he was down on the beach. Cole extended his left arm and worked it back and forth, feeling for any tenderness or signs of infection. Feeling none, he smiled at his good luck and figured that some saltwater might be just what he needed. He took a long swim out into the anchorage, and took turns at each mooring ball diving down to the bottom, anywhere from 20 to 30 feet down, then resurfacing and continuing on. At the end of the field, he turned and repeated his freedives on his way in. By the time he was back at the beach, he’d been in the water close to an hour and was thoroughly exhausted.

He spread out on a lounge chair and pulled his palm leaf hat down low over his eyes for the next few hours. By late afternoon, he had an appetite and meandered his way over to the dock and bar that sat out over the water. By himself now, he wondered about Murph and felt just a bit alone as he ordered a sandwich and rum punch. There were a few couples at tables around him, but once again it still seemed to be a quiet time of year and the hotel wasn’t even half full.

Cole took his time with the sandwich and as he started on his second drink, he heard a faint hum in the distance that grew in intensity from a still unknown direction. Looking up from his drink, the others at the bar were looking around as well as the noise steadily grew. It was an airplane, of that much Cole was certain, but he couldn’t see it. And then from the east, it screamed over at almost treetop level directly above the hotel then continued on in a steep climbing turn out over the anchorage and to the west.

Cole laughed out loud and howled at the peak of the engines’ roar overhead. The bar shook just a bit and Cole felt the engines’ thump in his chest. He recognized the plane when it passed overhead. It was Murph, at his usual antics and flying like a cowboy. The other patrons had all ducked, almost under their tables and now talked wildly and pointed to the west in the direction Murph had gone. Cole tipped his drink up in Murph’s direction, finished it, and ordered another to toast his friend.

The fly-by had drawn out some of the other guests as well who now stood on the beach and looked around at the blue sky and puffs of clouds. They were too late to have seen it, but they’d all heard the rumble and roar when Murph practically clipped the top of the hotel as he passed. On the steps leading up to the main lobby, he saw a few people talking. He fixed his sight on one in particular with her back to him. He recognized the hair and felt his heart start to beat quicker. Long, dark, and curly—it had to be her. Forgetting about the drink, he excused himself from his seat and motioned to the bartender that he’d return to settle his bill.

Making his way quickly up the dock, he crossed the beach and slowed down as he got closer to the steps. He could see her face now and it was indeed Isabella, talking to some of the guests. He stayed back until she was done then walked an intercepting path to catch up with her. She noticed him as he came within a few feet. Cole smiled and did his best to say hello.

“Bonjour.”

She was almost shy and smiled herself, stopping almost directly in front of him. She spoke French and Cole had no clue what she was saying, but he hung on every word and watched them roll off of her lips. She broke into a smile halfway through a sentence and tilted her head just a bit, locking eyes with Cole.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know French at all.”

Cole felt his mouth going dry and now, even closer to her than the night before, he saw that she was indeed as beautiful as he’d thought. Her eyes were green and her skin was tanned just a shade or two darker than her natural tone. She wore a skirt down to her knees and a light cotton shirt that fit snugly against her slender waist.

“Do you speak English?” She said it slowly in a heavy French accent, and Cole was relieved that she could understand him, even if only halfway.

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry I don’t speak French.”

“No, no, it is OK. I am working on my English.”

She kept her hands crossed in front of her and Cole had to focus intently on her eyes to not spend too much time admiring her other attributes.

“Well, it’s much better than my French.”

She laughed and turned away for just a second then back to Cole. When she did, a few curls came out from where she’d tucked them behind her ear and they dangled just over her left eye. She was all at once again stunningly beautiful in a new way and Cole fought hard to keep his composure.

“So you are from America?”

Cole smiled like an idiot without saying a word, consumed entirely by the movement of her lips and her French accent. “Yes, I’m from the States. My name is Cole. How about you?”

She looked confused and asked what he meant by the “States.” He nodded and apologized again, explaining the different meaning. She held a soft smile as the two of them worked through a conversation. In any other place and time, it would have been frustrating to have a language barrier like this, but Cole loved it. He spoke slowly and chose his words carefully.

When he was done, she introduced herself, saying simply, “I am Isabella.”

She moved her hands for a second as if to suggest uncertainty about a hug or a handshake, then tucked them again back against her waist. It wasn’t much, but it gave Cole the first indication that she might like him as well.

In time, she explained that she was in Martinique for the summer on an internship with the hotel. When she didn’t know a word she wanted to say, she bit her lower lip and would use her hands in a circular motion, asking, “How do you say…?”

Cole needed no patience to help fill in the gaps, and after a few minutes, he asked what all the commotion had been about.

Isabella explained that someone had seen an airplane and thought it was going to hit the hotel, so she’d come out with the rest of the staff to see for themselves. Cole grinned and looked around to feign the same surprise that everyone else had shown. “Wow, I hope the plane is all right.”

Isabella nodded and looked back up and around the sky.

Cole thought about Murph again and laughed just a bit. Had it not been for Murph’s stunt, Cole would still be drinking on his own down on the dock. Now he stood not more than three feet from a girl that nearly took his breath away each time she looked him in the eyes. The sun reflected off her almost black hair and each time Cole finally thought he had control of himself again, she would turn or shift her stance in such a way that he was again beside himself.

“Well, I should get back to work upstairs.” She shrugged her shoulders just a bit as she said it.

Cole nodded and they both looked at each other for a bit more than a second or two before Cole broke the silence. “Where is there to eat here besides the bar?”

Isabella repeated the question out loud with her French accent and Cole couldn’t help but let out a half smile as she figured the question out.

“There are some cafes by the marina that are good.”

Cole went all in and asked, “Can I take you to one for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, they have dinner tonight.”

Isabella had misunderstood and it took Cole by a bit of a surprise. It had taken some courage to ask her once and now he had to clarify and ask again.

“No, no, I want to go to dinner with you.”

This time he pointed at her and smiled.

“With me?” She was caught off guard and looked away almost immediately. Then just as quickly she looked back at Cole with a subtle smile and nodded yes. Her smile grew as she grasped the date he had just proposed.

“Well, OK then. Great. Where can I meet you?”

Isabella thought for a moment then pointed down towards the dock from where Cole had come.

“Seven o’clock?”

She spoke slowly as if the time was more difficult for her to pronounce and Cole nodded yes. “Yes, seven o’clock is great. I will see you then.”

“OK.”

It was the most captivating pronunciation of two simple letters Cole had ever heard in his life, and he watched her lips as they moved. As she walked back up the steps, Cole leaned against a low fence behind him and tried to shake the smile from his face, but could do nothing to hide it.

He returned to the bar, finished his drink, and settled the tab, signing the bill over to his room. Walking back to the beach, he went for one more quick swim and dried himself off in the sun before returning to his room. He showered and felt the sun and rum punch spinning him into an afternoon nap. Again under the comforter, he replayed in his head the conversation and Isabella’s figure that had such an effect on him.

Waking almost two hours later, he dug through the clothes he’d brought with him for something clean. For the first time in almost a year he ironed a shirt to push out the wrinkles then hung it by the closet. His jeans were in fairly good shape, and he ironed them as well to clean them up a bit. He pulled his boots out of his bag and wiped them down with a damp washcloth. Stained dark brown, the once-white cloth had removed months’ worth of Panamanian grit from his time in the city. With a cleaning, they looked worn in, but in good shape—much the same as Cole felt. He left the hat, fearing a young French girl might be scared away by too much of a cowboy. It was a bit after six p.m. when Cole dressed himself, took one last look in the mirror, and headed down the corridor to the steps leading down to the dock and bar.

He ordered another rum punch and took his time with it, letting the glass sweat and keep his hand cool. The bar was covered from the setting sun and the late-afternoon breeze blew hard from the east, like it did every evening. Cole looked out over the bay and opened a few buttons to let the breeze hit his chest. It was warm, but a better kind of warm than what he’d felt in Panama City. It was like riding the fishing boats during his runs to the north. When the boat was so close to the water and the breeze blew uninterrupted, it was never uncomfortable, regardless of the temperature.

After 30 minutes, Cole heard his name and Isabella’s voice. She was next to him before he turned around and she smiled as if to ask if he was ready to go.

“Sorry, I lost track of time.”

He felt his heart thumping again and was frustrated and amused at the same time at his inability to keep his composure.

“No, no, it is OK. I am a little early, I think.”

She wet her lips with her tongue just slightly and it sent Cole further into a downward spiral. He couldn’t help but laugh at it.

Isabella looked at him for a second, confused, and asked, “What did I say wrong?”

Cole could only shake his head and say, “You didn’t say anything wrong. I just think that you are pretty and I want to tell you that each time I see you.”

There, I said it, he thought. It was the only way to get back his senses.

Isabella looked away with a bigger smile than he’d seen as of yet before looking back at him and leaning in just a few inches closer. “Thank you, Cole. You are very sweet.”

Cole left his drink unfinished at the bar, and with that, they walked side by side up the dock, down the beach at the water’s edge, and up an older single-lane driveway to the marina. A channel with rock jetties on each side led in from the bay and opened up into a small harbor with finger piers around three sides of it. It was more than half full of a mixture of boats. Some were larger sailboats, but a good many were sport fishers and center consoles along with a few cabin cruisers. It was a fair mix of just about everything that roamed the Caribbean, some in worse shape than others.

Some folks sat on the open decks of their boats, but most were passing the evening tucked among the half-dozen or so restaurants that jutted up against the concrete wall that formed the perimeter of the harbor. There were also small shops, most of which were closed for the evening. Even with that, there were a good many people out for an evening walk or dinner.

Cole and Isabella walked the full length of the harbor before deciding on a restaurant a block in from the marina. She wore a pair of cotton shorts and a short-sleeve shirt with a loose v-cut across her chest. Led by the waitress to a picnic table by themselves, Cole let Isabella sit first, then sat beside her. She seemed a bit surprised at first, but then smiled when he nudged himself another inch or two closer to her. The side of his knee bumped up against hers, and she pressed back against him.

They were flirting. Cole had to remind himself to remain calm. They talked about each other and the places they’d been. Cole spoke of the things he’d seen since leaving the States last fall, and Isabella wanted to know more about America. She’d been there years before, but her study of the English language had left her wanting to know more about the people who spoke it.

She ordered for them both, and promised it would be something good. The waiter returned with two small glasses of rum with a lime and some cane sugar. Isabella Called it Ti Punch, a customary drink in Martinique. She mixed hers with the lime and some sugar before motioning for Cole to do the same. He did, and the two toasted to each other. It was strong but good and the waiter followed with glasses of water.

Isabella took the greatest interest in Cole’s explanation of the various accents in the United States. He knew he sounded like a fool, but she laughed and crinkled her nose each time he did an impersonation. When he got to the southern accent, he stayed there for some time and they had a second and third round of Ti Punch. By the time dinner came, Cole was relaxed around Isabella and she seemed to also be enjoying herself.

“You have not told me why you are here, Cole.”

Cole steadied himself and looked straight into Isabella’s eyes. A lie would be easy and he knew it. The way she looked at him was too much to cast her off like he’d done with other girls. He opted to ease her into the truth, and swore to himself that he would not hide anything from her if she truly wanted to know.

“I was driving boats over in Panama, and eventually just wanted some time away from it, so I caught a ride here.”

Isabella pressed further and asked, “But why Martinique?”

Cole shrugged. “Because this is where the first plane I found was going.”

She smiled at him and said, “You live very free, Cole.”

He paused for a moment or two. His conscience weighed heavy after the past year. He was not yet free. “I’d like to think so,” he said with a sigh.

He thought about her observation. “I was in the military for a while, before any of this.”

Isabella leaned in with her head, her face expressing disbelief. “I don’t believe you,” she said playfully.

“No, it’s true. I was. I was on a ship for two years and hated every minute of it. I was completely lost with my life. When they finally let me off, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think I’d ever want to be on the water again, and certainly not spend a year bouncing around from place to place. In a way, I’m still sort of lost.”

She turned a bit more towards Cole and patted the top of his hand twice with hers before resting her hand on his. “But here you are now, Cole,” she said and smiled at him.

He smiled back at her, not wanting her to pull her hand away. It was silent between them, but not as awkward as he’d feared. She pulled her hand away to take another bite from her plate and as she looked down, he admired her again before looking up at the waiter and holding up his empty Ti Punch glass.

Isabella put her fork down and pushed her plate a few inches forward. “I think I am full.” She turned her attention back to Cole.

They talked some more about Martinique and things to do. Isabella worked five days out of the week, and at different times of the day. She named off a few of the places she’d been to since she arrived and told Cole of one beautiful spot, Le Diamant, that was off to the south. Cole wondered how anything could be better than the views he’d already seen from his hotel, but Isabella seemed certain Le Diamant was even more of a sight.

The waiter arrived with two more drinks, and Isabella and Cole both stirred theirs and tipped glasses at each other before polishing off their last for the night. Cole paid the bill with his credit card from the Coast Guard severance. He hadn’t touched it since leaving Key West. He flashed back to Panama for a moment and blinked a few times to straighten his thoughts out.

Isabella put her hand on top of his again and all the confused thoughts of Panama vanished. They meandered again around the marina, talking as they went. Cole pointed out features of the boats that he liked or didn’t like, and Isabella asked about the differences between America and the Caribbean.

At the far side of the marina, they walked past another hotel that hugged the opposite jetty leading into the harbor. Tall trees lined the water and the jetty rose up a few feet above the dirt to separate the land from the sea. Isabella stepped up on a rock and Cole instinctively reached out and took her hand for balance. She walked along a few of them, hopping across one to another. Cole walked along with her, holding her hand and admiring her charm as she stepped out from one and onto another.

Finally she stepped down and exhaled as Cole turned to face her, his left hand still holding her right. They were further back away from the hotel now, alone among the evenly spaced trees.

Isabella said, “Let’s sit for a while.” She picked two adjacent rocks and sat down, tapping the other with her palm and motioning for Cole to sit beside her. The rock was warm from the day’s sunlight, but there was just enough breeze filtering through the channel to make the air comfortable. A flashing green buoy bobbed just beyond the jetty, marking one side of the channel to sailors coming in from the bay.

Cole looked for some time out into the darkness beyond the jetty and the buoy before Isabella rested her chin on his shoulder. Bits of her hair tickled his neck, and he looked back just to his left, straining his eyes to look into hers.

“You look serious, Cole,” she said with a little smirk on her face. Her teeth were white under the moonlight. “What are you thinking about to be so serious?”

She held her chin on his shoulder and he felt her arm come up against his lower back and partly around his waist. She was almost hugging him.

“I was just thinking about the ocean.” Cole wiped any hint of seriousness off his face and shifted his attention back to Isabella. He felt her chest against his side and the onset of butterflies kicked in once again.

“Did I tell you already that you’re pretty?” Cole looked for any reaction.

“Yes, you told me. I don’t mind you telling me again.” She lifted her chin off his shoulder but kept her arm around his waist.

Cole took a deep breath and pushed the butterflies back, looking out at the blackness beyond the channel. He was happy—immensely happy—to be sitting on that rock next to Isabella. Still, he looked down at the water inches from his feet and saw the tide moving in and out from the marina. The water, stirred by the stiff easterlies blowing outside, reminded him that the Caribbean would be there waiting whenever he decided to return.

“Should we walk some more?” Cole asked, and Isabella nodded.

He helped her back up, and as she dusted off her shorts, Cole couldn’t help but notice her legs and how they led up to slender hips that she brushed with her hands. When she turned and looked at him again, he was grinning.

They walked back around the marina as the night began to wind down for locals and visitors alike. Most boats had only one light on belowdecks as they sat tied up to the wooden slips that wrapped around the harbor. One or two of the restaurants had guests still at the bar, but the waiters and waitresses were busy wiping down tables and pushing in seats.

Cole asked about the hotel and how Isabella had liked it so far. She replied that she was enjoying her time in the Caribbean compared to France. The days were sometimes long, but they went by quick enough, and on days off she was free to do as she pleased. The hotel had a smaller set of apartments next to the Bakoua where she stayed for the summer. Cole walked her along a side street until she stopped in front of a gate.

It took Cole a second to realize it was her apartment. She rolled up on the balls of her feet for a second, then back down as if to say she wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Well, I should be going, then,” Cole said, facing Isabella and looking in her eyes.

“Thank you very much for dinner, Cole.” He could tell she was sincere when she said it, with her French accentuating certain syllables.

“When is your next day off?” Cole asked, reaching out and taking her right hand with the fingers of his left.

Isabella took hold of his and replied, “Tuesday, in two days.”

Cole smiled and asked, “Can I take you to Le Diamant?”

“Yes, but how? Do you have a car?”

Cole grinned again and said,”No, but for you I’ll get one.”

“I would like that.”

As she backed away, Cole held onto her hand, and she gripped tighter. Cole read the signal and gently pulled her back in, kissing her when their faces met. He brushed the palm of his right hand up against her neck, rubbed the pad of his thumb against her earlobe, and tucked a lock of her curly hair back behind her ear. He leaned in and held his left hand against the lowest part of her back, pulling himself closer. They kissed for some time before Cole pulled away, not wanting to push too far.

Isabella seemed embarrassed by her loss of modesty, but Cole kept the palm of his right hand against her neck again and ran his fingers through her hair, then kissed her one last time.

“Thank you for tonight, Isabella. I will see you Tuesday?”

She smiled back at him. “Yes, Tuesday. Le Diamant.”

With that, she unlocked the gate and walked inside. Cole doubled back down the side street then down the same single lane that led back to the beach and the hotel. He had not felt this good in months. If he never saw Panama again, it would be too soon.

Walking up the far steps towards his corner suite, Cole unlocked the door and walked into the air-conditioned dark room. Turning on one light by the bed, he pulled back the curtains and opened the sliding glass door to let in the breeze coming off the bay. Stepping out for a moment, Cole watched the moonlight reflect off the water below in the cove. The boats in the anchorage to his left hadn’t moved since that afternoon, and they bobbed gently against their moorings, their anchor lights swaying at the tops of their masts.

Cole heard a knock at the door. Unsure as to who was out this late, he walked back across the room and opened it to see Isabella standing there.

“Bonjour.”

Isabella laughed and replied, “At night, we say Bonsoir.”

Idiot, he thought. “Well, in that case, Bonsoir. How did you know which room was mine?”

“I do work here.”

Idiot, he thought again. Cole scolded himself for even asking. He took a deep breath and stepped aside to let Isabella in.

She walked partly in past the doorway and looked at Cole, suddenly a bit unsure of herself.

Cole let the door close behind them, smiled, and wrapped both his arms around the small of her back. Picking her up, Isabella wrapped both her legs around his waist, kissing his neck. Any doubt left her mind as Cole walked over to the bed and let her down on top of the comforter. She laid there looking up at Cole, with her dark curled hair a beautifully tangled mess against the white pillows. She smiled at him when he turned out the light, and Cole laid down beside her.