The Best of Us (10 page)

Ryan was a bit of a disappointment. His broad shoulders hid a multitude of sins in clothes, but without his shirt, he looked soft and flabby, as if he hadn’t worked out in years. Dwight, on the other hand, had definitely improved since college. He was
still too thin, but at least he had some definition in his arms and stomach. But Gio was a revelation: the guy was ripped. With his black hair slicked back from the water and his blue trunks riding low on his slim hips, he was by far the best looking of the bunch.

As for the women, Pauline was predictably trim—maybe verging on too thin—and Allie was sleekly fit, with muscular calves and not an ounce of flab, but she was wearing a sensible one-piece instead of a cute bikini. Couldn’t she get Ryan to run with her? Savannah wondered. She would, if he were her husband. Tina, though, was the biggest surprise: She’d probably put on fifteen or twenty pounds since college. Bearing all those kids really wreaked havoc on the figure; you could see her stomach muscles had long ago given up the effort to hold things in check, even though Tina had tied a little sarong around her waist to hide it.

Savannah stretched her back, feeling pleased that she’d been working out more rigorously than ever. At thirty-five, she was fitter than she’d been in her early twenties, and her newly upgraded tits were as perky as a teenager’s.

“Is this spot tender, too?” the massage therapist asked again, and Savannah realized the therapist was working on her left arm, the one the asshole had gripped last night in the parking lot. There were little bruises shaped like fingertips around her biceps, which she’d tried to cover with makeup.

“It’s fine,” Savannah said. “But do you mind moving on to the other arm?”

The therapist obeyed without a word. She probably thought Savannah was in an abusive relationship.

“Oh, yeah, that’s great,” Gio said, and Savannah looked over at him. His masseuse was rubbing his calves, and she suddenly wondered if that was the kind of sound he made during sex. Lucky, lucky Tina.

Almost as if she’d read Savannah’s mind, Tina carried over her towel and spread it out next to Gio a moment later.

“I brought you a Red Stripe beer, honey,” she said, digging the bottom of the can into the sand by his hand.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Come for a swim with me after this?” she asked. “The water’s so warm!”

“Definitely, babe.” Gio’s hand reached out for Tina’s.

Unexpected tears stung Savannah’s eyes. She blinked, hard, and cleared her throat. The therapist finished working on Savannah’s arm and moved to her legs. “What’s the plan for tonight?” Savannah asked.

“Pauline said something about dinner at the house,” Tina said. “Apparently she’s chartered a sailboat for tomorrow morning to take anyone who wants to go snorkeling.”

A chartered sailboat . . . now that sounded promising. Savannah knew she’d have to tell Allie and Tina about the separation soon, and they’d want to know all the details. She’d seen the surprise that had come into Allie’s eyes when she learned Gary wasn’t coming, and she was certain Tina had swallowed a question. She probably didn’t want to put Savannah on the spot in front of the whole group, but the moment they were alone, she’d bring it up. Savannah couldn’t blame her; she would, too, if their situations were reversed. Even if she tried to keep things light, she’d probably give away the existence of The Nurse, and the fact that Gary had moved out months ago.

It would be easier for everyone if Savannah had the distraction of a handsome young sailboat captain, so she could prove that she’d moved on. That she barely ever thought about Gary anymore.

*   *   *

“Come in with me,” Dwight said, reaching a wet hand out of the shower to grab Pauline. “It would be fun to make a baby in Jamaica.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, slipping free from his grasp as she fumbled for an excuse. “I need to check to make sure the chef has dinner under control.”

Besides, she’d just spent half an hour coaxing her hair into simple waves that tumbled over her shoulders.
Men,
she thought. They had no idea how much work went into making something look effortless. Take dinner tonight—she knew that Allie was the lone vegetarian in the group, which complicated things. She could hardly serve spareribs to everyone else and leave Allie picking at the side dishes. Luckily, Allie ate seafood, which meant Pauline had instructed the cook to make fresh-caught snapper with saffron rice for the main course.

“How about I bring back two glasses of wine for us to enjoy while you get ready?” Pauline suggested.

“That’s not much of a consolation prize, but I guess I’ll take it,” he said as he closed the glass door.

Pauline fastened her earrings—real diamonds that had replaced her fake pair soon after she and Dwight got married—and studied herself in the mirror. She needed another shot of Botox, she realized. The faint lines between her eyebrows were beginning to show again. And should she get just the slightest injection of Restylane in her lips? They were on the thin side, and this would only become more apparent as Pauline grew older. Better to make a preventive strike now.

She’d book both appointments after they returned from Jamaica. She might as well spend a full day at the spa—she’d need it. Everyone else viewed this week as the ultimate relaxing getaway, but not Pauline. She was constantly monitoring things, making sure to hand sunscreen to Ryan when his nose began to turn pink, offering a bottle of water to Savannah after
she’d tossed back her third cocktail on the beach, and double-checking to ensure the snorkeling trip was still booked for the following morning.

The only way this vacation would be a roaring success was if she remained vigilant.

She smoothed the skirt of her hot pink slip dress and stepped into her simple silver sandals, then left the suite and walked downstairs, inhaling the smells of sizzling garlic and roasting vegetables.

“Everything looks wonderful, Chef,” she said as she surveyed the half dozen copper pans steaming up the kitchen. “We’ll start with a soup?”

“Lobster bisque,” he confirmed. He was a middle-aged man, slightly plump, wearing a white jacket over black trousers and a tall, poufy hat. The hat was a good sign, as was the extra weight, Pauline decided. Who trusted a skinny chef?

“I make it with just a splash of cream and sherry, and chunks of the lobster I selected at the market this morning,” the chef continued.

He reached for a tasting spoon and offered her a bit. She rolled her eyes in a show of delight. She was sure most people would consider it delicious, but the fishy taste revolted her.

“Perfection. Just to double-check, there’s no shrimp in it, is there?”

“No,” he said.

“Good. I know I mentioned it, but one of our guests is allergic.”

“Yes, madam.” The chef turned to stir a pot while she opened the double-wide refrigerator, noting a dozen bottles of white wine were already chilling on the bottom shelf.

“Are you planning to serve a different wine with each course?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. “And a Madeira with dessert.”

“Which is?”

“Warm chocolate puddle cakes with raspberries and blood-orange sorbet.”

“Wonderful.” Pauline smiled as she uncorked a bottle of Pinot Grigio and filled two goblets. She’d approved the menu a week ago, and it was good to know the chef wasn’t straying from it.

She’d booked a waiter from a nearby resort to serve their dinners, with the exception of the clambake, which would be more casual. She wanted to make sure glasses stayed full and plates were cleared at the right time between courses, and she wasn’t sure the maid was experienced enough to gauge the rhythms of a fine dinner. It wasn’t just that things needed to be perfect for Dwight’s birthday; she wanted everyone to be blown away. To praise Dwight—to
admire
him for providing all of this. And, okay, to admire her as well, and to recognize that Dwight, the man who could’ve had almost anyone, had picked a wonderful wife. Even if she hadn’t become pregnant yet.

“Is the waiter here yet?” Pauline asked the chef as she glanced at her watch and noted the time: seven-fifty.

“He’s on his way,” the chef said, and she nodded her approval.

“Ooh, something smells good!” Savannah came into the kitchen, her hair still wet from the shower. Her feet were bare, and she wore a coral-colored sundress that, against all reason, worked with her hair. Pauline looked down at her own dress. It was similar to Savannah’s, but contained about twice as much material.

“We’ll eat at eight-thirty,” Pauline said. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Savannah said. “Oh, are you pouring drinks?”

Pauline handed Savannah the wineglass she’d intended for herself and reached for another one.

“Mmm.” Savannah took a sip. “I feel like we’ve been here a week already.”

“Jamaica is magical that way,” Pauline said, as the chef sliced
a few pieces of cheese and placed them on a white china plate along with crackers and three fat red strawberries.

“A little nibble, for the starving lady,” he said, putting the plate next to Savannah.

“You must be a mind reader!” she squealed. “This is just what I needed. I think I’ll take this and go sit outside by the pool for a bit.”

Pauline smiled. She didn’t want to be rude and walk away from Savannah, but she’d promised Dwight. By the time she returned to their suite, he’d already put on a dark blue T-shirt and white shorts. He was standing next to the bed, typing away on his BlackBerry.

“Room service,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said. He tucked his BlackBerry in his pocket and took a sip from the glass she handed him. “It’s good.”

“It’s a 2008 Chassagne-Montrachet. One of your favorites,” she reminded him.

“Are the others still getting ready?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said, her mind sliding past the image of Savannah sitting alone by the pool. “Shall we finish these on the balcony?”

He agreed, and they sat together for fifteen minutes while she chatted easily, telling him about the snorkeling trip the next morning, and letting him know about the meal the chef was preparing. A quick late-afternoon shower had left the air clean and sweet, and the wine felt deliciously crisp on her tongue.

“Everyone’s having fun, aren’t they?” Dwight asked, and Pauline tamped down on the irritation that suddenly swelled inside her. Why
wouldn’t
they be? she wanted to ask. She was working her behind off to make sure of it.

But she just reached for his hand. “Everyone is having an amazing time,” she said. “And it’s just going to get better and better.”

He smiled then and finished his wine. “Shall we go to dinner?”

*   *   *

“The first course,” the waiter announced as he placed a white china bowl in front of Tina, “is a lobster bisque.”

“Oh, my gosh, I haven’t had lobster in forever!” she practically shouted. She knew she sounded like a rube—they were in such an elegant setting—but she didn’t care. This had been one of the best days in her entire life, and she didn’t feel like pretending to be someone she wasn’t. She’d been massaged on the beach, then she and Gio had swum together. Tina had always loved open water, had relished how sensual and languid she felt as she glided into its heavy, silent depths. But ever since she’d had kids, her relationship with water had shifted, because now it represented danger: She had to scan the neighborhood pool constantly to see the heads of her children, since she was pretty sure the teenage lifeguards were dozing behind their sunglasses. And the beach? Forget it; she couldn’t relax for a second.

Today, though, she’d felt like a mermaid as she dove and splashed and kicked. She’d squealed in surprise as Gio caught her by the waist and pulled her underwater for a long kiss. Then she and Gio had come back to the beach and collapsed onto lounge chairs and the massage therapist had offered her a mani-pedi, which she’d desperately needed. She’d fallen asleep somewhere between the base and second coat of bright pink polish. When she’d woken up, she’d had a dry mouth and a headache, but there was a fully stocked medicine cabinet in their suite, and two Advils had chased away the throbbing in her temples.

She and Gio had showered together—they’d had sex, too, which was surprisingly comfortable thanks to the bench built
into the shower—and then Tina had taken her time with her makeup.

Now here she was, with a pink- and violet-streaked sunset visible from her seat, Bob Marley’s infectious voice on the sound system, and crystal goblets glowing like fireflies on the table. Bliss.

“Oh, no!” Tina said suddenly, putting down her spoon with a clank. Everyone turned to look at her. “I forgot to call the children to say good night! I promised I would!”

Gio threw back his head and laughed. “Man, give her a day away from the kids, and she forgets all about them.”

“They’re probably putting your photo on a milk carton, Tina,” Savannah cracked.

Tina glared at Savannah and punched Gio in the arm. “Stop it!”

This wasn’t the slightest bit funny. She’d only thought about her kids in tiny glimpses today. Guilt flooded her. What kind of a mother was she?

“Do you want to go call them now?” Allie asked quietly. “If it would make you feel better . . .”

Tina glanced at her watch and shook her head. “They probably just fell asleep, and the phone might wake them again . . . Your mom would’ve called if they were upset, right? If they’d wanted to talk to me?”

“Of course she would’ve,” Allie said.

“Did I tell you I bought
Marmaduke
for them to watch tonight?” Ryan said.

“You did? My kids go crazy for any show with dogs in it!” Tina said.

“Yeah, I figured, since the last time I was at your house they tried to put a leash on me and make me bark,” Ryan said. “I thought it would make their first night away easier.” He topped off her wineglass, even though it was half-f. Tina smiled at
him, recognizing it as a gesture of support, and the tension in her stomach uncoiled.

“Wow, Ryan, I thought that was just a little trick you did for Allie when you two were alone,” Savannah said, but Tina didn’t join in the laughter.