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“I do remember Dave,” she said. “In some ways he was like you.”
Trent snorted, but his gaze never left her face.
“You know—demanding, arrogant, pushy,” she teased, unable to resist baiting him.
He reached over and clasped his fingers over her wrist. “Watch it, lady,” he warned, “or you’ll find out just how pushy I can be.” She might have been frightened, but the fingers around her wrist were warm, the curve of his lips seductive.
They wandered through the small town, and Nikki never stopped looking for a camera shop. As they windowshopped, pausing to finger trinkets of silver and gold, agate and shell, she never forgot the roll of film hidden deep in her pocket.
They passed carts laden with flowers, fresh fruit, handcrafted jewelry, sweaters and kites. On the docks, fishermen sat and smoked while repairing their nets or selling their catches. Past the boardwalk, the white sand stretched in a lazy crescent surrounding the bay. Sunbathers lay on towels, soaking up rays, drinking from tall glasses. Children waded near the shore and snorkelers waded deeper into the glimmering surf.
An island paradise, Nikki thought. A perfect spot for a honeymoon. She almost believed it was true. However, one glance at Trent and her romantic fantasy crumbled. She remembered nothing of him. While staring at his rugged, handsome features, no image of being with him surfaced in her mind. Slowly she was glimpsing small, murky fragments of her memory, but never had Trent appeared in any of the tiny vignettes of her past. Why not?
Because he’s a complete stranger, that’s why!
That thought hit her like a blow, and she realized that she’d let herself get caught up in this ridiculous fantasy, that she was beginning to believe, if only a little, that he was her husband.
Even the undeveloped pictures might not prove that he wasn’t her husband.
In the early afternoon, Nikki began to tire. They stopped to rest at an outdoor café situated on the north end of the boardwalk. Trent ordered drinks when Nikki spied t
he sign, a painted board attached to a short stucco building that housed José’s camera shop, which was located less than a block from the café.
She hesitated, but told herself there was no time like the present. The waiter deposited a frosty beer on the table in front of Trent and an iced lemonade for Nikki. They didn’t talk much, just sipped their drinks slowly, watching as the tourists, young and old, moved along the street. The canister of film felt hot against her thigh, and she watched the minutes roll by, hoping for some excuse to leave him.
A loud woman in a straw hat, chasing a slim youth, caught her attention before blending into the crowd that drifted slowly along the street. The seconds ticked by. Trent was nearly finished with his beer.
Nikki was taking her time, slowly drinking her lemonade, hoping for a reason to leave the table. She watched a black man without any teeth, who was playing a guitar in a doorway on the other side of the street. A thin old dog was lying at his feet, sunning himself and moving only to lift his head and sniff the air before letting out a low growl and lying back down again.
She felt Trent’s eyes on her and took another swallow. But her throat was nearly clogged and she had trouble drinking. At a nearby table, a single man was nursing a beer, and though his back was turned, Nikki felt as if she’d seen him before…in the hotel lobby or… As if he knew she’d spied him, he paid for his drink and left, never once glancing over his shoulder.
You’re imagining things, she told herself, turning back to the guitar player who was playing the soft calypso strains of an unfamiliar song. Nikki watched the crowd and noticed a tall, thin native dressed in white. A red sash was his belt and a green parrot was perched on his shoulder.
The dog lifted his head, sniffed, and spying the bird, jumped to his feet, barking loudly. The parrot flapped its great wings and squawked, trying to escape.
Nikki flinched, knocking over her glass and Trent’s beer. Liquid and ice cubes sloshed across the table, beer foaming into lemonade as it drizzled over the edge, spilling onto her lap.
“What the devil?” Trent demanded, looking from the dog, now being dragged into the building by the toothless man, and the parrot, unable to fly away because of its leash, to Nikki.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she apologized, grabbing at her glass as it rolled toward the edge. “What a mess!”
Trent hardly blinked, just shouted to a passing waiter as Nikki dabbed at the table with a napkin. Her shorts were soaked, her blouse sprinkled with the beer and lemonade that still oozed through the cracks in the table and dripped to the brick patio.
“Señora, por favor…” A waiter with cloth in hand came to the rescue, and in the confusion, Nikki touched Trent’s sleeve. “I’d better try to rinse this in the women’s room,” she said, motioning toward her clothes. “So that they won’t stain.”
“Let’s just go back to the hotel.”
“No!” Her fingers tightened over his arm. “We’ve had such a good time, let’s not spoil it. Order another couple of drinks and I’ll try not to be so much of a klutz.” Without waiting for any further protests, she dashed into the building, ostensibly in search of a restroom.
She took the time to look back through the window and spied Trent talking with the waiter. Good. As quickly as possible, without causing a scene, she ducked through a side door and dashed along the shady side of the street to José’s. Her ankle began to throb, but she kept running. A tiny bell tinkled as she entered the shop. A young, darkskinned girl was at the register, helping another customer, a man with silver hair and a cane. Nikki waited impatiently, wishing she could push the older man aside. As he paid for his purchase, he turned, and his gaze collided with Nikki’s. For a second, Nikki felt as if she should know the man, as if she’d stepped into the bottom of a dank well. A seeping coldness crept along her skin as she stared into eyes devoid of emotion. Her heart nearly stopped. The old man forced a smile that was well-practiced but friendly. The wintry feeling she’d experienced dissipated. “Pardon me, miss,” he said in perfect English. With a tip of his straw fedora, he walked slowly out the door.
She gazed after him, but she didn’t have time to wonder who he was—probably just some old guy who was surprised by her bruised face. She yanked her roll of film from her pocket and set it near the register. With the aid of her dictionary, and in halting Spanish, she asked the girl to process the film pronto. Nervous as a cat, she kept checking her watch while the pretty salesgirl took her sweet time about filling out the paperwork. Sweat began to collect on Nikki’s palms, but eventually the salesgirl told her the film would be ready in two days. Nikki said a quick thanks and hurried out of the shop.
Breathless, she slipped back through the side door of the café and into the restroom, where, still dressed, she splashed her blouse and shorts with water before attempting to wring out all the liquid from the clumps of material she could squeeze in her fingers. She looked a mess, but couldn’t worry about the half-baked job. Forcing her breathing to slow, she returned to the table where Trent, cradling his new bottle of beer on his stomach, was waiting.
He cast a glance at her wet clothes. “Okay?”
“Mmm.” A fresh glass of lemonade was waiting on the clean table. She took a long swallow and hoped that she appeared calm, that she didn’t show any sign of pain from her ankle or look as if she’d been running.
