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Kelli’s eyes found me again and I pushed a tear away with my finger in an attempt to mask it as she mouthed “thank you.”
The other couple, who Kelli told me was her best friend and husband, stood on a separate porch and rapidly spoke while they pointed to the lone mountain nestled across their lawn, made of deep blue water.
“That’s Hans Lolich,” I pointed out, “And it’s for sale. Thirty-five million and it’s yours.”
The couples roamed the house taking in their rented oasis and kept their eyes glued past the cliffside back patio that stretched the length of the large two-story villa. It took me several minutes to get their attention, but I had to admit I loved watching them run around like children who just arrived at their first carnival.
“Okay, guys listen up.” For the next few minutes, I showed them around the house and explained as much as I could get through to them, when their thoughts were on their first drink and a dive in their private pool.
Once I had them settled, and we’d said our goodbyes, I made my way out the front door and left the keys on the mahogany table next to it.
“Hey!” I turned to see Kelli close the front door behind her, her hands clasped on the knob. “I know you rented this house to me for under the normal weekly rate.” I saw her audibly swallow and had to fight emotion to keep my tears from coming. She needed this trip. I’d heard it in her voice when she made the reservation, the defeat, the need to be excited about something, anything. It was rare that I spoke to a client for more than a few minutes, but Kelli and I spoke for the better part of an hour when she called. After my talk with her, I spent a day or two trying to imagine what it was like having poison shoved into my veins while I fought for my life and counted on others to try to save it.
Living in St Thomas, away from the life I knew and being disconnected, actually helped me become more in tune with those around me. I haven’t always been a person’s person. In fact, the New Yorker in me had grown immune to brushing shoulders with millions of other people, indifferent to the presence of other wandering souls. I was completely apathetic and I was positive the old Koti Vaughn might have shied away from the hug Kelli gave me earlier. My hope was I had evolved from that narcissistic New Yorker.
Even if my involvement with her elation was small, the smile on her face was my reward.
Saluting me, Kelli squinted from the bright sun as she spoke. “Thank you, Koti.”
“You deserve to be happy.”
She laughed and gripped her arms. “You know, I was just thinking that the other day. I looked in the mirror at the woman who used to run a 5k in twenty minutes and asked myself—what if there comes a time when I only have twenty minutes left. The answer was so simple.”
“And what was it?”
“Be simple and do whatever the hell it is you have to do to make yourself happy.”
“I think you’re right.” Except I knew she was, I’d been living as a simpleton for months.
She gave me a knowing grin. “And I’m not the only one who deserves it. New York lost a gem. Thank you again.” I may have overshared a little when she called. It was cheaper than therapy and more rewarding when we shared the common bond that reality, sometimes sucked.
But sometimes reality shifted the clouds and let in a light so bright, it was impossible to ignore.
My island was that light for me, and I had a feeling it could be hers too.
She winked at me before she slipped into the light blue, double-wide doors.
On the drive home, I meditated on her words. I’d been so nervous about the prospect of having feelings for Ian, I’d nearly lost sight of the fact that our newly rekindled friendship was a gift. The truth was, being with Ian made me happy. And I would enjoy it for as long as we had.
I CLIMBED MY PORCH STEPS and paused when I heard the first few keys of the piano sound. The baby grand that sat in the living room hadn’t been touched in years, well, not by the fingers of an experienced pianist. My dad used to play when I was a little girl, often entertaining our friends in the penthouse. Opting to see if any more music would come, I stood waiting at the front door. My jaw dropped when a melody began to fill the air. I couldn’t put my finger on the song, but it sounded familiar. After a few bars, I managed to slip into the house unnoticed. Mesmerized by the sight of him, I picked Disco up before she could make a sound. He missed a key or two, but quickly recovered, his timing was that of a practiced musician. It took every bit of strength I had to remain idle as he blew me away with his talent. While watching him, my new ‘live for the moment’ confidence was being obliterated away note by note.
Don’t overthink this, Koti!
No matter how hard I tried to forget Ian Kemp once he left me, I knew no matter how much time passed, or how our relationship ended, I would never forget how I felt watching him play that piano.
Thunder sounded in the distance and rain began to hit the roof of the house and trail down the windowpane next to me while the rest of the afternoon sun faded under the cover of the clouds. With the room dimmed, I smiled at the sight of lit candles. Ian had created his own bubble.
Inwardly sighing, I sat back on the arm of my sofa and admired my view. He grimaced, once or twice and then sank into the music, his posture relaxing slightly while his chest flexed under the white T-shirt that covered him. When the last note was played, he sat back, rubbing his hands on his thighs before he looked up and spotted me. I was sure I looked insane gawking at him, but he just grinned.
“Hi. I know that was horrible.”
I shook my head. “Hi, back. That was beautiful. I know that song.”
“I played it in my last recital, it’s “Clair de Lune” by Debussy.”
“Accomplished pianist too, huh? Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Lots of things,” he said, standing before he glanced at the large wall clock past my shoulder. “You’re home early.”
