Lady Sun: Marni MacRae Read online

  I awoke an hour later with other passengers jostling about the loading area and the ticket taker planted behind his podium at the gate entrance. I stood up and stretched, groaning under the weight of my purse, but determined to bear it for the joys of the tipsy tan to come. The other passengers about me were much fewer than had been on my flight out of Washington. Apparently, this was to be a much smaller plane as well. I wasn’t worried. Even if I had a window seat, which I hoped I did, I was sure I could hold my bladder for the flight and break my streak of lap-sitting. I had only barely sat on Bess on the way here and she had been sweet about it. She had quickly moved her knitting needles, saving me from an embarrassing impalement and steered me into the aisle with a smile and a comment about being grateful I was a girl and not a large fat man. Well, me too. Quite grateful indeed.

  I was the third person to board. My seat was at the very back, one row in front of where the stewardess would spend her flight buckled in. (I kept reminding myself to call her the flight attendant, for PC reasons, but, as I never addressed any of them as anything other than 'oh Miss' with a hand raised, I didn’t figure I would slip up and hurt anyone’s feelings.)

  As I settled in and surveyed the rest of the passenger’s boarding, I realized I was the only westerner on the plane. I racked my brain, trying to remember the ethnicity of the Maldivian islanders, but couldn’t recall. I pulled out my book and began the research. By the time our plane was taxiing for takeoff, I had learned that I was amongst Dhivehi’s. Originating mostly from Southern India or Sri Lanka.

  At another glance around I saw that there was one other couple not of the assumed Dhivehi’s ethnicity. An older couple, obviously British by their accent, most likely in their late fifties and both a bit portly. Jolly, I corrected myself, as they both laughed aloud at a shared joke. On holiday to a tropical beach. I smiled as the man reached over to pat his wife’s hand and wink at her. I love couples in love. No matter the age or the race, or the jolly size of them. Love is love, and it's always the best way to make me smile.

  My traveling companion turned out to be a woman, about my age, of the island nation I assumed. Her light brown skin and dark brown eyes, along with her long shiny black hair, probably made her quite the catch in the Maldives. She was a striking woman, who ignored me completely and settled back in her aisle seat to sleep the flight away. I had lucked out again with the window seat and wondered if my travel agent had known he set me up with the view. There was an empty seat between me and pretty Diva (as I decided to call her), so I plopped my purse into it and buckled it in like it was my child. I decided Diva had the right idea and settled back to sleep the remainder of the flight, intent on storing up all the energy I could for the best vacation ever.

  Mentally, I knocked on wood as I fell asleep and the plane took off.

  Chapter 4

  So that is my hut neighbor?

  I sat in the reception area of the travel agency that handled the rental of the huts and arrangements for the boat ride to our destination. Landing in Malé had been magnificent. Circling over the chain of atolls that comprised the Maldives nation was breathtaking. I had never seen such shades of blue or such crisp whites. Apparently every single island boasted paradise. Coconut trees, long beaches, pure and clean, with coral reefs around each atoll that provided a protective barrier from the great big wide ocean.

  My blood pressure began to rise, and my stomach tickled with butterflies. I was so excited I tamped down the threat of nausea, inwardly talking myself down at the long wait at the baggage carousel. When my luggage came into view, I grabbed up the handle and wheeled it outside. The docks floated within eyesight of the airport and I was incredibly grateful for my choice of outfits. It was muggy beyond belief. The temperature hovered around the nineties. Although I'm accustomed to high temperatures in the scorch of summer back home, my body now struggled to adjust to what my mind and spirit were reveling in. In my head, a huge party raged with dancing and drinking and loud singing going on. But outwardly I had stripped off the jacket upon landing and was looking forward to stripping off the linen pants that now clung to my clammy legs.

  I need to tan before I show my white legs. No way am I going to show any more pasty white skin than necessary until I'm a golden bronzed goddess. I only hoped that my five days here would be long enough to reach golden bronze. My luck would take me from pasty white to beet red and blistering, skipping over golden or bronze and nowhere-near-goddess coloring.

  Malé is the size of a small city/large town in America. The capital city took up an entire island of its own and now had nowhere to go or grow beyond its beaches. Every inch of sand had been used to build on. The smaller islands of the tiny nation were the calling card of the Maldives. Private, remote pieces of paradise.

  I sat in an open-air office at the water’s edge with a view of the docks that harbored little boats, big boats and sexy, streamlined yachts. And there, across the office from me, leaning against the wall, his gaze surveying the harbor, stood a very handsome, very tall man.

  He’s got to be six-foot-two, maybe six-three, I couldn’t come up to his chin. But worse than his height (I do love me a tall man) were his eyes. A striking clear blue to match the ocean beyond had glanced my way and promptly dismissed me when I entered the office. To top it off, a smile had flashed a hint of dimple when he had spoken to the lady behind the desk a moment before. I can’t resist dimples. The smile had shown straight white teeth but had hinted at sadness in his blue, blue eyes.

  Really? There's no such luck a man like this ends up vacationing in the exact spot I do. My luck ran the lines of nuns, snakes and greasy car salesmen, which was another reason being lost on an island appealed to me. When it came to men, the universe hated me. (To be fair, the nun was female, but still, a good example of my luck.) This man, though, still leaning and facing the sea, sported jeans, worn leather boots and a light blue button-up linen shirt. He should have been sweltering in that denim and dripping with sweat, but he looked casual and comfortable … if a bit haunted. As if he were a cowboy misplaced in the tropics, mourning a faithful dead horse.

  “Johnny Depp, eat your heart out.”

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  I hadn’t realized I had spoken aloud, and felt my cheeks flush. I smiled at the travel agent who stepped out from behind the desk with a look of inquiry on her face.

  “Sorry, muttering to myself.” I smiled at her and hoped she thought my blush was from the sun. We poor, pale Americans can’t handle the island heat. Cowboy didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but turned as the island native approached him.

  “Boarding will begin in twenty minutes. If you take your luggage to the dock, just there, slip number twelve,” she pointed a slim finger toward the water, “Jok will show you where to board. You will pull anchor at noon and should reach your destination around three, enough time to settle in and enjoy the sunset.”

  She flashed a smile that encompassed us both and handed each of us a sheet of paper I assumed to be a receipt. It had taken a full fifteen minutes to sign and read my way through the paperwork involved at this end of the journey. But with T’s crossed and I’s dotted I was now on my way to enjoy my savings spent.

  Accepting the sheet of paper, I confirmed it was indeed my signature on a receipt with lots of fine print, and stuffed it in my purse. I was careful not to jostle any bottles, lest there be a clinking of glass, or worse, a breakage. I wanted my beer and liquor intact. Tipsy would begin upon arrival.

  Gorgeous cowboy grabbed the handle of his small, nondescript suitcase, and I followed him down the short street toward the water. The view of the harbor was only rivaled by the rear view of the cowboy, who actually walked like he had recently dismounted. Like a stroll. His legs are at least as long as my entire body, probably a forty-inch inseam. (I ramble inappropriately in my head when I’m nervous.) I realized I might be caught looking where I shouldn’t, so instead I focused on finding slip number twelve.

  Jok turned out to be an
islander. No surprise there. Probably mid-forties, though difficult to tell. He was a little man, and standing next to the cowboy he looked like a child. His accent sounded a bit thicker than the travel agent’s at the office, but I still easily understood him. It was a lilting accent, similar to an East Indian, his sentences all ending on a higher note that made everything sound like a question.

  “Ah, you must be Lucas and Sophia.” (Question) “You are just in time. I hope that your journey was pleasant.” (Question) He flashed a smile and gave a slight bow, which I took for a greeting and thought was sweet.

  I reached out my hand to shake his small brown one and smiled in return. “Hello Jok, I’m Sophia, I'm so excited to get underway, is this the boat we are supposed to board?” I indicated the impressive looking craft in the slip he was standing in front of.

  “Oh yes, this is she.”

  (Question) -- I have to stop doing that! He beamed proudly at the small ship as if he had built it with his own hands. But he was right to beam. The slip moored a small yacht, small compared to the mightier ones anchored further out in deeper water, but it was beautiful. Clean, sleek lines and high above the water, it was much fancier than what I had expected to be touring the Maldives in. This just gets better and better. Cowboy and me on an island, cruising the seas in a yacht, Anna will never believe me. I need to take tons of pictures. I gave myself a mental note to dig out my camera once aboard and start recording proof of this dream-world I had stumbled into. Like Alice in Wonderland.

  I kept smiling and glanced at cowboy. He seemed duly impressed, but not as chatty as me. He nodded to Jok and walked toward the gangplank that led up to the ship, with his suitcase rattling along behind. I sighed dreamily, watching him go, and then took Jok’s arm in mine and followed after.

  “So, what's her name?”

  He looked proud that I should ask and rattled off a pretty sounding word my tongue would never be able to repeat, and then pointed to the bow. There, in a script that also looked East Indian to my untrained eye, was a swirl of letters to confirm that, no, I would never be able to name the boat when I got home.

  “It means Lady Sun.” he explained, seeing my confused expression.

  “Oh, that's perfect!” I exclaimed. Jok took the handle of my suitcase and wheeled it up the gangplank ahead of me. Trailing behind, I was careful not to let him hear any clinking from my over- stuffed purse. “Are we the only passengers aboard for the island retreat?”

  “Today, yes.” Jok indicated a bench along the back of the boat where we could recline during the voyage out of the harbor. “Tomorrow the remaining visitors will arrive, but if you do not travel to the dock you most likely will never meet. Each visitor is very respectful of the privacy of the others. Exploring is encouraged, but rarely will one hut dweller invade another’s piece of the island.”

  I noticed that he addressed us in a polite way and realized it was his way of reading the informal rules of our stay without insulting us as if we were children. How smooth, I should remember that technique for teaching my family and neighbors to respect the boundaries of my tanning spots.

  I smiled at Jok and glanced toward cowboy, who may or may not have been paying attention. “I will certainly respect the others’ privacy as I too wish to escape and be left alone.”

  Jok nodded, gave another slight bow and then trotted off toward the front of the Lady Sun.

  I was left alone with the tall, dark stranger who had yet to utter a single word. My alter ego considered whispering to cowboy that he could visit my side of the island if he wanted, but I realized at once it would make me sound like a floozy. I'm not a floozy. I’m a happy lady who wouldn’t mind the company of a gorgeous cowboy to rub suntan oil on my back. No floozy in that, right? I leaned back and turned my face to the sun. OK, a little floozy, but he’s a cowboy, with dimples, and so cute I could lick him. But not friendly at all. So I left him alone. Lucas -- as appeared to be his name -- could stay on his lonely side of the island, and I would drink my beer alone and rub oil on myself. So there. Oh, petulant floozy.

  My inner conversation entertained me so much that I was smiling when Jok returned to announce refreshments. “We have a light lunch for you and drinks if you wish.” He waved his hand to a cart he had wheeled onto the deck and then he disappeared again.

  I assumed he was off to inform the captain to weigh anchor, and after a moment I was proven right. Deckhands tossed ropes up from the dock and the engines purred to life. Soon we began drifting out of the harbor, out to the open sea.

  Jok popped back onto the deck and stood patiently, waiting for us to notice him. I was loading a small paper plate with fruits and cheeses, and cowboy/Lucas was strolling along the deck watching Malé disappear.

  “We have a cabin for each of you if you would like to freshen up.” Jok gestured to a narrow stairway that led down to below decks. “There is no plumbing on the island, but there will be an outdoor shower that runs from a cistern. Please, feel free to nap or change if you like. Our journey will skirt along the atolls, but we will not enter any or dock until we reach…”

  Once again, he rattled off a native word, this one I knew, it was our destination island. I had practiced saying it back in Washington, but had only felt foolish and so had given up and just called it 'castaway,' which I was sticking to now. Some of the islands had English-sounding names, but some of them might as well of been in Klingon for all the grasp my tongue could make of them.

  I followed Jok below deck to a small but opulent cabin where I promptly plopped on the bed, stretching and giggling quietly. Insane petulant floozy, I admonished my inner self. Rising, I washed my face and hands in the sink of the tiny bathroom that was not too coffin-like, then dug my camera from my purse. I would change when we arrived -- where no one could see my pasty white legs.

  I went back up on deck, toting my camera and my plate that had only a few bits of cheese left. At the buffet, I grabbed a croissant and set about to explore the fabulous ship.

  Three selfies and ten ocean shots later I found Lucas skulking about along the starboard railing. I say 'skulking' because he did not seem to be enjoying himself and he was squatting down, opening a panel along the wall below the railing. I stopped and watched, curious as to what the hell was he doing. He's on vacation, why can't he just eat some fruit, bask in the sun, and pose for a picture? OK, that one was my wishful thinking. Again, I needed proof; Anna will call me a total liar if I don’t get the man on film -- or digital card, as the case may be.

  Lucas flipped the last latch in a row of three and lowered the door of the hatch. Inside sat a very tidy packed square of rubber. It sported a bright yellow color with black writing that didn’t have a lick of English, but I was no dunce. It was an emergency raft. The far end of the compartment held a stack of life vests and the other end a large metal box with its clasps securely shut. Lucas closed the hatch, secured it and rose to his feet. As he turned, he noticed me standing there. I merely raised an eyebrow in question, and he had the decency to look abashed.

  “Just curious.” He nodded to the compartment. “Always good to know where to run to if we sink.”

  “Oh, so you’re an optimist. Frankly, I am just relieved you speak. The whole tall-dark-and-handsome-silent-type is fun for the first five minutes, but then gets a little unnerving.” I grinned to prove I was just teasing, but he gave me a strange look and turned and strode the other way. I rolled my eyes and trotted after him. “Hey, wait, Lucas!”

  He paused and turned to face me. Damn those eyes are piercing, and I had been right -- standing next to him I barely met his chin. I took a breath and gave him my very best friendly face. “Look, I wasn’t trying to be mean, I just meant it would be nice to have someone to talk to for the boat trip, and you seem … well, unhappy.” He didn’t respond, but he didn’t walk away either. I held out a hand. “I’m Sophia.”

  He paused and then seemed to relax minutely. He reached out a hand that swallowed my own. I felt rough, warm skin with callo
uses as he firmly shook my hand then released it. Yep, cowboy. I warded off the tingles his touch had given me and smiled. Genuinely.

  “See, now we aren’t strangers.” I had to crane my neck to look up at his handsome face and tried my best to portray mature-non-floozy. “I promise not to invade your side of the island, but we have a couple hours. I propose we drink that champagne at the buffet and enjoy the trip.” Keeping my smile in place, I shrugged to ease the tension and give him an out if he really did want me to leave him alone.

  He was silent long enough, I had to wonder if he was slow, but finally he sighed and smiled back, the dimples melting me immediately. “Yeah, sure. I could use a drink and you’re maybe not crazy, just…” he paused. “Exuberant.” He turned away again and headed back toward the benches at the rear of the boat.

  Exuberant? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Still standing at the railing, I took assessment of myself from Lucas’s point of view. I looked like I had money, I know I've been accused of that. Country girl or not I, had the bone structure and the posture and I take pride in my wardrobe so I could pass for money. I am chatty; that I will admit to. I like people and I love to learn about them, about everything really. While in college I had made a great student. I wasn't a party animal like my friends, for although I love a good time, learning was the priority. I'm a curious cat and tend to ask a lot of questions. So yeah, I'm chatty. And a little friendlier than the average citizen and yes, I am excited, I am on the best freaking vacation ever! So I realized at that moment; Lucas was right. I am exuberant. But whether he meant it as an insult or not, I would take it for what it was. The truth.