An Island Encounter

Alyssa

Scrunched up on a worn-out seat on my third flight of the day, we're flying so low that I can almost see the bottom of the clear turquoise ocean below. The flight's crowded as usual with the aroma of fried chicken clogging the air from the buckets clutched by passengers as they chat with their fellow islanders. Twenty minutes of this and then it's straight in onto the runway approaching us ahead.

No customs or passports needed here--all that was taken care of on the larger island. After a quick walk through the small terminal building and luggage picked up outside, I meet the driver arranged by my friend Christa whose island home I'm renting for a few days.

A short trip to the only supermarket-sized store here and I have food for the next few days, though there's no worry about going hungry on this carb-filled island with peas and rice, conch in all its forms, and island mac n cheese available everywhere, some of which I'll pick up on the way to the house.

Night comes early in this southern clime and the sun's pretty low when I arrive at the house, exhausted, but grateful to have finally arrived after a full day's travel and I'm looking forward to nothing more than sun and warm sea water after having met the publishing deadline for my 15th romance novel. Time for a quiet break.

Dumping bags on counter and suitcase on floor, I head for the patio doors to catch a glimpse of the sun over the ocean… and then I freeze…there's a man….drying his hair with a towel… coming out of the bedroom!

Greg, one week earlier…

Frustrated with his second novel, Greg shared his angst with his friend Doug while grabbing a beer before heading home. Chicago winter was getting to him and progress on his novel was stalled.

"I need a break," he groaned, "from this job and this damn lousy weather."

"Hey, the island house is empty next week," Doug offered. "Why not book a few days off and get some sun--the local beer's good there too. You'll have the place to yourself. Great place overlooking the ocean to rejuvenate and clear your head."

Greg, earlier today

Not bad, Doug, … not too shabby at all, I think entering the house. The interior's spacious with bedrooms on either side of the living area and wide patio doors face the ocean. Maybe I can relax a bit away from the office and the wintery hell that's overtaken the city.

Doug assured me there'd be a few essentials in the fridge, but there's only one beer and remnants of bread and cheese. A quick call confirms that the caretaker hasn't had time to replenish supplies or clean the place but to expect her tomorrow.

Entering the master bedroom, I drop my clothes on the floor, change into something cooler and head outside to check the view from the craggy cliff.

Turquoise blue water turning deep blue further out as far as the eye can see with waves gently rolling in. Spotting steps leading down to the small cove on the right, I make my way down and wade into the warm waves for a quick dip.

Back in the house I head for the shower to wash off any lingering travel grunge and the salt from my swim before having that one and only beer in the fridge. The sun's already on its way down when I finish, so I make my way to the living room to catch its last rays…

What the...! Whoa …! our words fly out in unison.

"I didn't expect you 'til tomorrow," he begins, looking at me in bewilderment. "Well, you can start with the shower…it's an unholy mess of left over-products…mostly women's … and then please change the bedding. "Just put all the food away and come back tomorrow to finish cleaning up".

Alyssa

More shocked at his tirade than his actual presence in what I expected to be an empty house, I shrieked,

"Whaaat are you talking about and who are you? And what are you doing in Christa's house?"

Christa's house?! This is Doug's house and I'm renting it for a few days. Aren't you the caretaker?

"You didn't know that they still share ownership of the house even though they split? She was here last week and offered it to me for a few days. So no, I'm most definitely not the caretaker!"

Anger, confusion and annoyance etching our faces ,we're stunned for a moment, both shocked silent as we stare at each other, not knowing what to say next.

"Aah no, no--don't tell me," he groans. "This is like some insipid women's fantasy or sitcom gone all wrong! This can't be happening… "

More like an improbable beginning to one of my books, I thought--it's so contrived…but I'll keep that to myself.

"Well, it's not exactly what I expected either! So, who are you anyway and how did you get here? I didn't see a vehicle in the drive."

"I'm Greg...I work with Doug…renting a car tomorrow… "

"Ha, good luck with that! Don't you know you have to book ahead and even then there's no guarantee you'll get one with A/C or even windows that actually work?"

"Alright, alright", he sighed resignedly. "Let's call Doug and Christa and clear this up. They've obviously double-booked and we can't both stay here. One of us has to leave."

Repeated calls to Doug go to voice mail, but Christa answers right away having instructed me to call the minute I get in.

"Hey, how was the last flight? Everything ok at the house?"

"Flight was fine but a friend of Doug's who says his name is Greg is also apparently staying here."

"Oh no, let me talk to him."

"Hey Greg. What are you doing at the house? Didn't Doug tell you it was occupied?"

"Nope--just offered it to me and said it would be empty. Don't you two communicate before renting it out?"

"We've both been so busy, I guess we just forgot. Get in touch with Doug to see if any of the neighbor's houses are free this week. It's too late to do anything tonight so can you share the house till tomorrow?"

Turning to me with consternation in his eyes, he says, "Ok, so we're here for the night--it's too late for either of us to go somewhere else. I've already taken over the room on the right, so I guess you have the one on the left."

"Sure", I said, "the kids' room--just great," as I enter the room with stuffed mermaids, fish and sand stars, hanging from the ceiling…and the single beds look pretty narrow, but I'm too tired to argue.

Deciding I need food and remembering the coconut rum I'd hauled with me, I pivot back to the kitchen to find Greg peering into the emptiness of the fridge.

"Don't tell me you didn't pick up any food on your way in."

"No…well, Doug assured me that there'd be some staples here when I arrived."

"Good thing I have a double order of mac n cheese, but first I need a drink, I sighed, taking out the rum and searching for water and a glass. I guess you could do with one too."

"Yeah, thanks, that'd be great," he admitted somewhat sheepishly.

Sipping our drinks and eating the spicy mac which is like a slab of cake, we sat in silence.

Scraping up my last bit, I turned to Greg:

"So, you work with Doug at a paper in Chicago?"

"Yeah, I'm a crime investigative reporter with a weekly column. I delve into the muck of the city's underbelly to uncover corruption and the perps involved. "

So, a hard-core reporter with a column and by-line. I'm sure not mentioning my novels after his earlier rude comments.

"Must be kind of dangerous. Do you ever receive threats?"

"Well," he shrugged, "it's a job. But I'm also working on…", he stopped short and changed the subject.

So, what about you? What do you do?

"I'm… a teacher," the first thing that came to mind.

"Oh yeah, high school? college?"

Um…Kindergarten. Pretty safe since he probably knows nothing about younger kids.

And you're from…?

"A small northern town in Canada, you wouldn't have heard of it."

Not wanting to pursue the half-truth about my profession as I had actually pursued teaching before my books took off, I quickly jump in with…

"So, you obviously have a low view of romantic novels."

He shoots me a painful, jaundiced look. " Seriously, who reads that crap anyway, except for frustrated housewives with nothing going on in their lives."

Masking my annoyance with a smirk, I say nothing as I get up to rinse my plate and then head to my room.

Pulling out my laptop, I search for his bio on the newspaper site to find his full name, Gregory Ellis McWaters, yup, that's his face alright. Journalist and best-selling author. Well, well, Mr. McWaters, there's more to you than you've let on… published author of an historical novel, no less…

The next morning…

Waking up to the aroma of coffee, I dress quickly and enter the kitchen to find the counter cluttered with eggshells, open package of bacon and toast crumbs.

"Hey, what's with the mess in the kitchen?" I yell out to Greg already basking in the sun outside, cell phone in hand.

"I made breakfast…yours is in the oven," he counters…"just talking to Doug."

Oh…I didn't expect that.

"So, what did Doug say?" I ask as Greg saunters in. " Anything else available?

"Seems everything is booked solid. Look, the house is big enough so we can each have our own private spaces and just share the kitchen area. It's only a few days…think you could manage that? I came here for some quiet time, so I'll stay out of your way.

Reluctantly, I had to agree. "Since there's nothing available, I guess there's nothing else we can do…but we need rules" I insist.

"Of course …rules…from the schoolmarm…" he thinks.

"I appreciate your making me breakfast, but you need to clean up after yourself. I'm not here to clean and or live in a mess. Deal?"

Before he can answer the caretaker arrives as does the driver with my rental car.

"Ok, I'll leave you to it. I have to drive this guy back to the rental place."

With the cleaner buzzing away, Greg heads back outside to call around for car rentals, but there's nothing available. "Sun's hot already so I might as well relax and soak it in," he murmurs. "Something to read might help. There's a pile of books inside on the corner table. "

"Searching through them there's not much of interest until- what's this? Lady of the Glen, by Alyssa James. And there's her photo on the back cover! Kindergarten teacher? Well, Ms. James, was there something you neglected to mention? This oughta be interesting. I pick one up to see how her "kindergarten" mind really works. From the cover, it sure doesn't look like kid lit."

The cleaner, having finished her job, yells out that she's finished and has left something for lunch as an apology for not having been here yesterday. A few minutes later, Alyssa arrives wind-swept and glowing from her ride.

"What's all this? Where'd you get the conch fritters?" she asks, amazed at he spread on the table. "Any luck with a vehicle?"

Hiding the book under a cushion, I join her and reluctantly admit there are no vehicles available.

"So", she began, "I have a confession to make."

"Oh yeah?" wondering if she was going to divulge her real identity.

"I checked you out and found that you're not only a reporter but a published author. "

"Smart lady for a kindergarten teacher," I respond. "I do have one book out and I'm working on a second one which is why I'm here to clear my head a bit."

"And your middle name is Ellis…after the island in New York?"

"Nope, my mother's family name and her family's history is the basis of my book, but I've hit a snag and can't find the information I need after the family left England. It's like they just vanished somewhere in the 1600's. "

"With one best seller it's more of a challenge to write a second novel and my agent's getting on my case. But of course, kindergarten teachers wouldn't know anything about that kind of pressure," I added, playing devil's advocate.

"No, I'm sure they wouldn't", she mused …"I mean, I wouldn't," she adds quickly, suddenly intent on her last fritter.

"You know, there's an island next to this one, she continues, where nearly everyone is named Ellis and they've been here for hundreds of years. Might be interesting to check their library and stop by the market for you to pick up some supplies."

Heading for the car, she turns to me: "Ok now, before you get in, brush the sand off your shoes and just don't wipe your hands on anything inside."

"Yes, Ms. Kindergarten Teacher," I retort rolling my eyes. "And do we look both ways before crossing the street and hold hands, too? I live in Chicago, remember? I've got a few street smarts."

"Ok," she shrugged…but we'll be charged for cleaning and any marks left on the vehicle…and you'll have to pay for half the gas too, it's so expensive here...and FYI, you look right before crossing. I'll drive since I know the way."

Driving past scrubby vegetation; two hurricanes having demolished most of the palm trees, I'm careful to avoid hitting chickens or dogs running loose.

"Pot cakes," Alyssa announces.

"What?"

"The dogs--they're homeless and called 'pot cakes'. People feed them with whatever's caked at the bottom of their cooking pot."

"And the chickens?"

"Totally free-range, belonging to no one"

Reaching the ferry landing, we board the small open-air boat with bench seats along each side.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she sighs as we motor through the gently rolling open water. "How'd you like to have this as your commute to work every day?"

Fifteen minutes later, we’re on the island where Alyssa points out the name Ellis on several businesses while I gaze around taking in the fishing trawlers berthed along the dock while the islanders, many of them sandy-haired and blue-eyed like me, mill around going about their business.

"This island's mostly a large extended family, " Alyssa remarks, leading the way to the cart rental. "You're welcome to drive," she offers. "Just remember to keep to the left".

At a small library, we pull over and Alyssa explains our interest to Miss Margaret who gives me the once-over and asks my mother's family name.

Following a brief discussion, we leave with a handful of pamphlets and reprints from old books about the island's early settlers, learning they'd lived in a cave for a time in the mid 1600's.

"So, Ms. Teacher-turned-tour guide, how'd you find this island any way, so far from home and get to know your way around so well?" I ask as we leave.

"Been here a few a few times," she responds rather vaguely. "Let's just get to the store, so we have time to search out the cave.

"Yes ma'am," I reply, heading the golf cart down the road.

The supermarket has a display of paperbacks near the entrance, several of which are hers in full view, but I pretend not to notice.

"Umm.. let's go to the right first where the veggies and fruit are", she suggests, standing in front of the display to block it from my view.

"Of course, veggies and fruit--just what I came for," I mutter, looking around for hamburger and steak. "And where's the beer?"

Rolling her eyes, she suggests we split up to make our purchases.

"Good call, Ms. Teach", I agree.

Back outside at the golf cart, dumping our bags in the back, mine a little scant, not finding most of what I wanted, she suddenly asks, "How'd you like to go swimming…with pigs?"

"Sure-will we see them fly too?" I asked skeptically.

Can't guarantee that, but I think you might enjoy this," as she points to a shack on the shore where a canopied speedboat and guide sit waiting.

We're off out to sea and arrive shortly at a small island where pigs actually swim out to meet us.

"What is this? Some kind of weird joke?" I asks.

"Nah, they're descendants of pigs that escaped years ago from a shipwreck. They learned to survive here and obviously, to swim. Tourists come all the time to feed them--they're tame."

I can't say we actually swam --just walked around in knee-deep water while the greedy little porkers paddled around us begging for food from the bags provided by the guide. After feeding them all we had, our guide skims us back across the water to our golf cart.

"Well?" Alyssa asks enroute to the ferry.

"Yeah, kinda cool," I respond. "Wouldn't have thought of that on my own."

Back at the Jeep on the opposite shore, following Miss Margaret's directions, we drive along a dirt two-track to a clearing in front of a cavernous opening of a rocky mound.

Inside, a high rocky ceiling and sides surround a pulpit-like rock formation in the center. Our voices echo inside the vast hollow of rock as we walk around for a bit.

"Think your ancestors might have lived here, Greg? she asks, but I'm already on my way out.

Hey, the tough street-smart reporter from Chicago is afraid of a cave?" Alyssa jokes as she catches up to me. Looking at me sideways, she asks, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," I reply as I inwardly shudder.

****************************

It must have been the exertion of being in the water with the pigs and all the driving around that caused my hectic dreams, Alyssa thought as she woke up with a gasp. Plagued by memories of being tangled in deep water weeds, trying desperately to reach the surface, she just couldn't settle again.

"Might as well get up and have a warm drink," I thought as I search for tea in the kitchen. As I click on the small light above the stove, Greg walks in.

"Couldn't sleep either…or did I wake you?" I asked.

"Strange dreams," he muttered. "Shipwreck and people screaming."

"Oh boy--almost the same as mine but I was drowning."

Handing him a cup of tea, I motioned to the couch.

"You ready to tell me what really happened to you in the cave? You had such a strange look on your face. "

"It was the same as my dream...I heard people screaming because their ship was taking on water and sinking…probably just the wind in the back tunnel," he added dismissing the whole incident.

"You know these islands are in the Bermuda Triangle. Strange things happen here, and I tell him about a friend who "heard" a man's name as she was waking up after her first night here. Not knowing anyone by that name, she forgot all about it until 6 weeks later, she met 'him' and they've been happily married for several years now. Coincidence, you think, or something else?"

He shrugged in response.

On our last full day, I suggest going to a beach nearby with an interesting rocky outcropping a short distance from shore that's full of sea life. Gathering up snorkeling equipment, I add a spray bottle of vinegar and one of baby oil.

"What's all that for"? he asks pointing at the bottles.

"Vinegar in case one of us meets up with a jellyfish and oil to counter the sand fleas that can be voracious," I reply.

"Always prepared, aren't you Ms. Teach?"

"Yup, that's me." If you only knew…

Wading into the calm water at the beach and reaching the rocky island, we're immediately surrounded by fish of all colors and stripes. Then I notice Greg swimming closer to one with particularly showy fins hovering in the shelter of the rocks.

I poke him and shake my head, and we both raise our heads above water.

"Problem?" he asks.

"Lionfish--poisonous" I gasp. "Don't go anywhere near it. I'm heading closer to shore…there's a swarm of jelly fish floating this way…be careful."

Greg floated around for a while longer before wading to shore with a pained look on his face and I soon see why--long red welts on both legs.

"I see you met up with the jelly fish. Stings a bit, huh…stand still and I'll spray your legs."

"Hungry yet?" I ask and getting an affirmative reply from under his ball-cap shaded face, we pack up and stop at a restaurant before heading back to the house.

Entering, I make a quiet request to the waiter. With raised eyebrows, he asks, "Are you sure?" I nod in the affirmative. "Oh, and bring us a cold beer and coconut water, please."

Our drinks served, our waiter sets down a bowl in front of Greg.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Just another island dish I thought you might like to sample."

Taking a spoonful and chewing a bit, "Interesting," he says. "Flavorful but the meat's a bit different. What is it?"

"Sheep's tongue souse", I tell him, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Sheep's tongue what? " he exclaims.

"Souse--how is it?"

Without replying, he puts his spoon down and pushes the bowl aside.

"Well played, Ms. Schemer! Now where's the burger I really came in for!"

**********

That evening, sharing the last of the coconut rum, we sat on the patio as Greg studied the material from the library.

"Hey, I found some early island families with your last name, 'James'. Any relation"?

"I wondered how long it would take you to find that. They're all distant relatives which is why I come back here so often."

"So, the mysterious schoolmarm has a connection to the island. Could it be Ms. James, that our families were connected back then? Intriguing to think they may at least have known each other.

And here's something interesting. That group ended up in the cave because their ship hit a rocky shoal and capsized. Strange how that matches our dreams," he mused.

*************************

Arriving at the airport early the next morning, we check-in and cross the dirt road to order coffee and toast to eat at the outside tables.

"So thanks, Alyssa, he begins, placing his hand on top of mine, "for sharing the house and all the information we found. Wouldn't dreamed of looking for family here."

The roar of reverse-thrust jet engines announces the arrival of his flight, and as he gathers up his laptop, I stand to give him a quick hug good-bye.

"There's a much larger library down island where we can research more if you're interested in coming back…" I say in a rush.

"You bet, great idea, Ms. James," and his eyes light up. "Meanwhile keep in touch. I'm anxious to hear more about your teaching," he adds with a wink and then turns to leave.

Well, I might just have the beginning to my next novel, she mused as she watched him enter the terminal building.

What I didn't tell him is that the last time I was here, I heard the name "Gregory" as I was waking up. Wonder how that's going to play out?