A Horse Named Joe

LISA

LOOMIS

A Horse Named

Joe

ALSO BY LISA LOOMIS

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Boy In A Band

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A Horse Named Joe

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Copyright © 2018 Lisa Loomis

The right of Lisa Loomis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

www.lisaloomisbooks.com

Third Edition

ISBN 978-1546857624

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To the people in my life who give me the courage to continue to write.

A Horse Named Joe

Note From The Author:

A Horse Named Joe contains Bahamian Dialect throughout the novel to stay as close to the Bahamian culture as possible. This is a fictional novel and some of the Bahamian Dialect terms may not actually reflect correct meaning, spelling or definition. I hope you enjoy the novel. Please note you can find a Bahamian Dialect Glossary at the back of book.

Chapter 1

Roni shifted again in her seat. She had never been able to sleep easily on a plane. She envied the people who could board, sleep, and wake upon landing. She had chosen an aisle seat, which she liked best when traveling alone. An elderly couple occupied the center and window seat; he sat in the middle. He fell asleep the minute the plane took off, and his wife quietly read a book. He would launch into a snore once in a while, wake himself briefly, and then fall back to sleep. Every time he woke, he would pat his wife’s leg, and she would in turn smile at Roni. It was far better than having some chatty passenger sitting next to her who she really did not want to talk to. She reached into her travel bag, pulled out a bottle of water, and took a sip. She looked at her Movado watch and thought about Mack. Wondered if they would ever be like them. I might have pushed too far this time. She stared at the watch’s mother-of-pearl face circled daintily with diamonds. Still over an hour to go before Miami she figured, then a layover, and another hour to Treasure Cay Island. After that, a cab and ferry ride to get her to her final destination: Green Turtle Cay.

The watch… She sighed reclining her head back into the headrest. It had been their twentieth anniversary. She and Mack were in Saint John when she saw it in the hotel gift shop. He knew she liked it, but he thought it was too much to pay for a watch. While Roni showered after a day on the beach, Mack had gone to the shop and surprised her at dinner with it. It was a romantic dinner, an open-air restaurant right on the beach, soft candlelight. Roni could picture it clearly in her mind, back when things were good and she felt like they didn’t have any worries. Funny how only a few years would put them in such a different place. It had been over two years since that terrible Monday. The day she learned that Lehman Brothers was no more. That she no longer had a job. That the derivatives she was heavily invested in were worthless, her retirement accounts with the company gone. In seventy-two hours over that fateful weekend in September, the government had decided they did not have the legal authority to rescue Lehman Brothers.

Roni had heard so many conflicting stories from various sources about what really went down, but she still felt like the whole truth would never come out. The government had rescued Bear Sterns and AIG because they were labeled too big to fail, yet had let Lehman go down. The best she could determine was that the government let Lehman die because politics made it impossible to save. In the blink of an eye, her high-level position as an investment banker, a twenty-three-year climb with the company, went poof. As much as she wanted to blame the government, it wasn’t entirely their fault. Lehman’s CEO and board had been far too risky in their behavior. In one article, she read that it was a one-to-thirty ratio, assets to debt, as if a person had a thousand dollars in assets, but was thirty thousand in debt. It was staggering, the numbers she’d heard. Something like three hundred and sixty-five billion in debt was the best guess.

The man beside her snorted again, startling her. Best not to dwell on that anymore, she thought. She had spent too much time already. Mack was sick of it, sick of hearing her run through the whys and what ifs. Tired of her obsession and guilt about losing so much of their money, sick of her complaining about not being able to find a replacement job. Genuinely tired of the whole economic recession. It had hit them where it hurt, in the wallet, and they were struggling, or so Roni felt. Relying solely on Mack’s income when Roni had been the breadwinner, pulling in three to five million a year. Mack wasn’t motivated by money; instead, he did what he loved. Mack Dugan Architecture, a small company, had its office in their high-rise apartment. He made a good living and they were still comfortable, they just didn’t have all the extra luxuries they’d had when Roni was pulling in big bucks.

New York was an expensive place to live. The multimillion-dollar second home on the Cape was gone, along with the yacht, and the luxury cars that went with it. They’d had to sell those things in order to buy down the mortgage on the apartment, so they could afford to stay. They’d dipped several times into their savings to cover unexpected expenses. It was a riches-to-rags sort of story in her mind, and Roni blamed herself. Her stress level caused her to flare up over simple things, and she and Mack had fought more than any other time in their marriage. The irony was that Mack wasn’t upset about their turn of fate, she was. They could get even smaller than they were he’d said, especially with both kids off to college. He wouldn’t mind scaling down even more than they had. He’d like a small house outside of the city, but she wanted to remain in the thick of things.

He was happy to have her home. It’s a chance to find something you’re passionate about and then do it, he told her. The problem is she still didn’t know what that was. Mack had encouraged her more than once to get away, clear her head, take time to get a fresh perspective on life. With their recent fight, he’d demanded it. She was on the verge of imploding their marriage, and so she agreed to do what he asked.

The two of them had been to Green Turtle Cay on their honeymoon. It was small then and, as the travel agent told her, still small. If anything could cure her, then small and quiet might do the trick. There was nothing small about New York; the hustle and bustle was constant, people always rushing to get someplace. It was why she’d pushed for the house on the Cape, to get away and relax. Mack hadn’t found it relaxing to have millions of dollars tied up in things they used only occasionally when Roni could break away. If Roni could find anything positive about losing the job, it was the fact that she did not miss the office politics and the constant pressure for more. What she did miss was the comfort of money, a lot of money.

Ding, ding sounded from the speaker above Roni’s head.

The flight attendant picked up the cabin phone and listened, hung it up, then picked it up again, pressing a button on the side.

The captain tells us we are on our final descent into Miami. Please bring your seats upright to their locked position and put your tray table away. We will be through one last time to pick up any trash you may still have.

Roni watched the woman as she made her way down the aisle, taking cups, newspapers, and trash from passengers, putting them into a white plastic garbage bag. She had blonde hair like Roni, but it was cut short in a bob. Roni wondered if she was passionate about her job. Sometimes what one was passionate about didn’t pay the bills. When the wheels touched down on the runway, the man beside her woke up and cleared his throat.

I hope I didn’t snore too much, he said.

You were fine, Roni said, smiling. I’m jealous. I can’t seem to sleep on planes. Instead I watch the time, and I swear it makes it go slower.

Miami home for you? he asked.

The plane taxied down the runway toward the terminal.

No, New York is, Roni answered.

We just came from there, the man said. Visited our daughter and grandkids. What’s in Miami for you? Family?

No, it’s just a stop. I’m on my way to Green Turtle Cay in the Bahamas, Roni said.

Green Turtle Cay. Never heard of it, although I’ve never been to the Bahamas. Funny we’re so close and we’ve never gone. What’s in Green Turtle Cay?

The plane came to a stop at the terminal and the seatbelt sign went off. Roni unfastened hers and let it drop. She wasn’t in a hurry as there was half a plane full of people in front of her, and she had an hour wait in the airport.

Not a lot. It’s small, quiet. I first visited it on my honeymoon. It’s been twenty-two years, but I hear it hasn’t changed much.

Are you meeting your husband? he asked.

No, all alone this time, for a month. A month of peace and quiet. No husband, no kids.

Once her words were out, Roni wondered how it sounded—a pending divorce, running away; he could conjure up a number of scenarios. The passengers finally started to filter out of the plane.

Well, I hope you have a good stay, he said.

Roni was glad he didn’t have time to dig any further.

Rex, take this, his wife ordered, handing him a large bag from under her seat.

He took the bag as instructed just as it was their row’s turn to move out, and Roni grabbed her bag and laptop case.

Have a good day, Roni said.

You too, Rex replied.

Roni stepped out into the aisle and followed the people in front of her out of the plane into the terminal. She walked out to the departure board and looked for her flight to Treasure Cay where on-time flashed on the screen. The new gate was only four down from where she was. Enough time to grab a bite and get a cocktail she thought as she walked down the terminal and found a Mexican restaurant.

One, a booth if possible, she said to the hostess.

Follow me.

Roni slid into the booth and the hostess picked up the other silverware sets, napkins wrapped around plastic utensils. It was sad, there hadn’t been real stuff since 9-11.

I’ll take a margarita on the rocks with salt, Roni said.

I’ll let your waiter know, she said and disappeared.

Roni watched the crowd: people toting luggage and miscellaneous bags, working on laptops, talking on cell phones, rushing to and from flights. It was like one of those fast-forwarded clips she’d seen on TV about Grand Central Station: rush here, rush there, the space filling full with people as the day progressed, everyone on a time schedule, working to get someplace else. It made her feel guilty for a minute. When Mack and she had fought, she’d turned his encouragement into a threat, I’m going to go, someplace I can be appreciated for me. He’d called bullshit on not appreciating her; he loved her, had for twenty-something years.

The last fight had been a doozy. She’d said some really hurtful things, aimed her anger at him, which wasn’t fair. Sorry was not an option this time. He told her she had to go or he would. He made her sit down and plan the trip. Mack told her if she couldn’t get her head back around, they weren’t going to make it. She thought two weeks was enough. He said a month. He told her he thought the first three weeks she needed to be alone, get back in touch with herself. After that, he suggested she invite some of her girlfriends to come. They found a two-bedroom house on a vacation rental-by-owner site, not right on the beach but close. It came with a golf cart: the normal mode of transportation on the island. Level-headed Mack, he hadn’t been mad or envious as they planned her trip; he just wanted her to feel whole again, so their relationship could start getting back on the right track.

––––––––––––

A petite, redheaded girl set Roni’s margarita in front of her, bringing her back to now.

Can I see your ID? she asked, embarrassed. I’m sorry, we have to ask everyone.

And I thought it was because I look so young, Roni teased as she dug into her bag.

As she searched she wondered how a wallet could get so lost. Argh. Finally locating it she pulled out her driver’s license and handed it to the girl, who took a quick look and handed it back. It was policy to ask Roni knew, but it seemed so silly when it was obvious.

Thanks. What else can I get for you?

I’ll do one fish taco, no rice or beans, she said, handing the girl the menu.

Roni tried to remember the island as she waited for her food. Small town, New Plymouth she thought it was called. Colorful houses. The island was about three miles end-to-end. Some nice beaches. She would be able to run every day, outdoors instead of at the gym. She remembered that the Bahamian people were very friendly. Of course, she would stand out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and white skin. The island people were a mix of color although the majorities were very black, black as night she remembered. Roni was also tall and thin while most Bahamian women were full-figured. It wouldn’t take long for them to talk about the white lady from New York. Roni smiled.Chapter 1

Roni shifted again in her seat. She had never been able to sleep easily on a plane. She envied the people who could board, sleep, and wake upon landing. She had chosen an aisle seat, which she liked best when traveling alone. An elderly couple occupied the center and window seat; he sat in the middle. He fell asleep the minute the plane took off, and his wife quietly read a book. He would launch into a snore once in a while, wake himself briefly, and then fall back to sleep. Every time he woke, he would pat his wife’s leg, and she would in turn smile at Roni. It was far better than having some chatty passenger sitting next to her who she really did not want to talk to. She reached into her travel bag, pulled out a bottle of water, and took a sip. She looked at her Movado watch and thought about Mack. Wondered if they would ever be like them. I might have pushed too far this time. She stared at the watch’s mother-of-pearl face circled daintily with diamonds. Still over an hour to go before Miami she figured, then a layover, and another hour to Treasure Cay Island. After that, a cab and ferry ride to get her to her final destination: Green Turtle Cay.

The watch… She sighed reclining her head back into the headrest. It had been their twentieth anniversary. She and Mack were in Saint John when she saw it in the hotel gift shop. He knew she liked it, but he thought it was too much to pay for a watch. While Roni showered after a day on the beach, Mack had gone to the shop and surprised her at dinner with it. It was a romantic dinner, an open-air restaurant right on the beach, soft candlelight. Roni could picture it clearly in her mind, back when things were good and she felt like they didn’t have any worries. Funny how only a few years would put them in such a different place. It had been over two years since that terrible Monday. The day she learned that Lehman Brothers was no more. That she no longer had a job. That the derivatives she was heavily invested in were worthless, her retirement accounts with the company gone. In seventy-two hours over that fateful weekend in September, the government had decided they did not have the legal authority to rescue Lehman Brothers.

Roni had heard so many conflicting stories from various sources about what really went down, but she still felt like the whole truth would never come out. The government had rescued Bear Sterns and AIG because they were labeled too big to fail, yet had let Lehman go down. The best she could determine was that the government let Lehman die because politics made it impossible to save. In the blink of an eye, her high-level position as an investment banker, a twenty-three-year climb with the company, went poof. As much as she wanted to blame the government, it wasn’t entirely their fault. Lehman’s CEO and board had been far too risky in their behavior. In one article, she read that it was a one-to-thirty ratio, assets to debt, as if a person had a thousand dollars in assets, but was thirty thousand in debt. It was staggering, the numbers she’d heard. Something like three hundred and sixty-five billion in debt was the best guess.

The man beside her snorted again, startling her. Best not to dwell on that anymore, she thought. She had spent too much time already. Mack was sick of it, sick of hearing her run through the whys and what ifs. Tired of her obsession and guilt about losing so much of their money, sick of her complaining about not being able to find a replacement job. Genuinely tired of the whole economic recession. It had hit them where it hurt, in the wallet, and they were struggling, or so Roni felt. Relying solely on Mack’s income when Roni had been the breadwinner, pulling in three to five million a year. Mack wasn’t motivated by money; instead, he did what he loved. Mack Dugan Architecture, a small company, had its office in their high-rise apartment. He made a good living and they were still comfortable, they just didn’t have all the extra luxuries they’d had when Roni was pulling in big bucks.

New York was an expensive place to live. The multimillion-dollar second home on the Cape was gone, along with the yacht, and the luxury cars that went with it. They’d had to sell those things in order to buy down the mortgage on the apartment, so they could afford to stay. They’d dipped several times into their savings to cover unexpected expenses. It was a riches-to-rags sort of story in her mind, and Roni blamed herself. Her stress level caused her to flare up over simple things, and she and Mack had fought more than any other time in their marriage. The irony was that Mack wasn’t upset about their turn of fate, she was. They could get even smaller than they were he’d said, especially with both kids off to college. He wouldn’t mind scaling down even more than they had. He’d like a small house outside of the city, but she wanted to remain in the thick of things.

He was happy to have her home. It’s a chance to find something you’re passionate about and then do it, he told her. The problem is she still didn’t know what that was. Mack had encouraged her more than once to get away, clear her head, take time to get a fresh perspective on life. With their recent fight, he’d demanded it. She was on the verge of imploding their marriage, and so she agreed to do what he asked.

The two of them had been to Green Turtle Cay on their honeymoon. It was small then and, as the travel agent told her, still small. If anything could cure her, then small and quiet might do the trick. There was nothing small about New York; the hustle and bustle was constant, people always rushing to get someplace. It was why she’d pushed for the house on the Cape, to get away and relax. Mack hadn’t found it relaxing to have millions of dollars tied up in things they used only occasionally when Roni could break away. If Roni could find anything positive about losing the job, it was the fact that she did not miss the office politics and the constant pressure for more. What she did miss was the comfort of money, a lot of money.

Ding, ding sounded from the speaker above Roni’s head.

The flight attendant picked up the cabin phone and listened, hung it up, then picked it up again, pressing a button on the side.

The captain tells us we are on our final descent into Miami. Please bring your seats upright to their locked position and put your tray table away. We will be through one last time to pick up any trash you may still have.

Roni watched the woman as she made her way down the aisle, taking cups, newspapers, and trash from passengers, putting them into a white plastic garbage bag. She had blonde hair like Roni, but it was cut short in a bob. Roni wondered if she was passionate about her job. Sometimes what one was passionate about didn’t pay the bills. When the wheels touched down on the runway, the man beside her woke up and cleared his throat.

I hope I didn’t snore too much, he said.

You were fine, Roni said, smiling. I’m jealous. I can’t seem to sleep on planes. Instead I watch the time, and I swear it makes it go slower.

Miami home for you? he asked.

The plane taxied down the runway toward the terminal.

No, New York is, Roni answered.

We just came from there, the man said. Visited our daughter and grandkids. What’s in Miami for you? Family?

No, it’s just a stop. I’m on my way to Green Turtle Cay in the Bahamas, Roni said.

Green Turtle Cay. Never heard of it, although I’ve never been to the Bahamas. Funny we’re so close and we’ve never gone. What’s in Green Turtle Cay?

The plane came to a stop at the terminal and the seatbelt sign went off. Roni unfastened hers and let it drop. She wasn’t in a hurry as there was half a plane full of people in front of her, and she had an hour wait in the airport.

Not a lot. It’s small, quiet. I first visited it on my honeymoon. It’s been twenty-two years, but I hear it hasn’t changed much.

Are you meeting your husband? he asked.

No, all alone this time, for a month. A month of peace and quiet. No husband, no kids.

Once her words were out, Roni wondered how it sounded—a pending divorce, running away; he could conjure up a number of scenarios. The passengers finally started to filter out of the plane.

Well, I hope you have a good stay, he said.

Roni was glad he didn’t have time to dig any further.

Rex, take this, his wife ordered, handing him a large bag from under her seat.

He took the bag as instructed just as it was their row’s turn to move out, and Roni grabbed her bag and laptop case.

Have a good day, Roni said.

You too, Rex replied.

Roni stepped out into the aisle and followed the people in front of her out of the plane into the terminal. She walked out to the departure board and looked for her flight to Treasure Cay where on-time flashed on the screen. The new gate was only four down from where she was. Enough time to grab a bite and get a cocktail she thought as she walked down the terminal and found a Mexican restaurant.

One, a booth if possible, she said to the hostess.

Follow me.

Roni slid into the booth and the hostess picked up the other silverware sets, napkins wrapped around plastic utensils. It was sad, there hadn’t been real stuff since 9-11.

I’ll take a margarita on the rocks with salt, Roni said.

I’ll let your waiter know, she said and disappeared.

Roni watched the crowd: people toting luggage and miscellaneous bags, working on laptops, talking on cell phones, rushing to and from flights. It was like one of those fast-forwarded clips she’d seen on TV about Grand Central Station: rush here, rush there, the space filling full with people as the day progressed, everyone on a time schedule, working to get someplace else. It made her feel guilty for a minute. When Mack and she had fought, she’d turned his encouragement into a threat, I’m going to go, someplace I can be appreciated for me. He’d called bullshit on not appreciating her; he loved her, had for twenty-something years.

The last fight had been a doozy. She’d said some really hurtful things, aimed her anger at him, which wasn’t fair. Sorry was not an option this time. He told her she had to go or he would. He made her sit down and plan the trip. Mack told her if she couldn’t get her head back around, they weren’t going to make it. She thought two weeks was enough. He said a month. He told her he thought the first three weeks she needed to be alone, get back in touch with herself. After that, he suggested she invite some of her girlfriends to come. They found a two-bedroom house on a vacation rental-by-owner site, not right on the beach but close. It came with a golf cart: the normal mode of transportation on the island. Level-headed Mack, he hadn’t been mad or envious as they planned her trip; he just wanted her to feel whole again, so their relationship could start getting back on the right track.

––––––––––––

A petite, redheaded girl set Roni’s margarita in front of her, bringing her back to now.

Can I see your ID? she asked, embarrassed. I’m sorry, we have to ask everyone.

And I thought it was because I look so young, Roni teased as she dug into her bag.

As she searched she wondered how a wallet could get so lost. Argh. Finally locating it she pulled out her driver’s license and handed it to the girl, who took a quick look and handed it back. It was policy to ask Roni knew, but it seemed so silly when it was obvious.

Thanks. What else can I get for you?

I’ll do one fish taco, no rice or beans, she said, handing the girl the menu.

Roni tried to remember the island as she waited for her food. Small town, New Plymouth she thought it was called. Colorful houses. The island was about three miles end-to-end. Some nice beaches. She would be able to run every day, outdoors instead of at the gym. She remembered that the Bahamian people were very friendly. Of course, she would stand out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and white skin. The island people were a mix of color although the majorities were very black, black as night she remembered. Roni was also tall and thin while most Bahamian women were full-figured. It wouldn’t take long for them to talk about the white lady from New York. Roni smiled.

Chapter 2

Roni stepped out of the plane, putting on her designer sunglasses. She glanced over the small, tired-looking airport before walking down the staircase onto the tarmac of Treasure Cay. It seemed even smaller than she remembered. And the humidity. It hit her like a blast from a furnace, making her feel over-dressed in her white linen suit. She’d filled out the customs form on the plane and now all the passengers waited to claim their luggage and get in line to be processed. Roni took off her jacket and folded it, laying it on top of her carry-on bag. She would put it in her suitcase when she got it. She could already feel the sweat starting on her chest and between her breasts. The silk green tank top she had on under her jacket now clung to her skin uncomfortably. It would be good to get to the house and shower, get the airplane grit off her, and get comfy in shorts. She’d brought nothing but casual stuff, no New York attire. The linen suit would be put away and stay away.

Scuse us, the woman behind her said as a small child grazed Roni’s leg.

No worries, Roni said with a smile.

Her suitcase was in the last cart to be brought from the plane. Figures. She unzipped the outer pocket, took out her flip-flops, and stuffed her jacket and Jimmy Choo shoes back into it. Pulling the handle up, she struggled into the single-file line leading into the customs area, juggling the suitcase, her carry-on, and the laptop case. As she inched forward her hand began to get sweaty and the suitcase handle slipped from her grasp falling over. As she bent to pick it up the laptop strap fell off her shoulder and she fumbled to not let it fall to the ground.

Argh, she hissed.

The man behind her caught her eye and smiled. A large sign was in the glass portion of the white door that led into the customs area: Please do not hold the door open. Have your customs form out. Once through the door, there were two agents stamping passports. An air conditioner was failing to keep up with the heat and Roni fanned herself with her passport. Slowly the line made its way down the hall, passing an open door to a bathroom. Roni was glad she had used the one on the plane, as this one was old and dirty looking. Water dripped from the sink, forming a rust-colored line from the faucet down into the bowl. The toilet seat was up and the bowl had stains similar in color to the sink. Lose bits of toilet paper were scattered around the cracked tile floor and paper towels spilled from the overflowing wastebasket.

Next, a custom agent said.

She watched as people put their suitcases on the folding tables on either side of the exit door. All the agents were large and dark, a bit menacing looking Roni thought, and very serious about their job. Not many smiles were forthcoming. An airport customs official was no doubt a position of status in the Bahamas, especially now with the recession. It wasn’t only the U.S. suffering in this economy It was global. Her job was only one in a sea of financial jobs that disappeared overnight. She watched as the agents searched some passengers luggage thoroughly, others not so much. The agent took her form from her and looked at it.

Any fruits or vegetables? he asked, his accent thick and his words clipped.

No, Roni answered.

He opened her suitcase, looked in at the clothes, moved them slightly, and zipped it up.

T’ank you, he said.

Roni moved through the exit door back into daylight. Gloria Phipps, the woman who handled the house she would be staying in, had instructed her to catch a cab from the airport to the ferry. Then take the ferry to the Green Turtle Bay Club dock, and she would be there to pick her up.

Cab, lady? the man at the curb called quickly.

Roni looked at him, her forehead wrinkling in question, not understanding what he said. She looked closely at his mouth when he repeated himself and saw he was missing his front tooth.

Cab? he asked, pointing rapidly at cars waiting.

Oh, yes, she said, relieved to understand him. Please, to the ferry for Green Turtle.

He waved his arm at a red-and-white van waiting further out in the parking lot. When it pulled up to the curb, the driver jumped out, another large dark Bahamian man with a blue baseball cap. He took her suitcase from her and put it in the back.

It twenny dollah ta da ferry, he said.

Okay, Roni said, thinking she understood it was a twenty-dollar fare.

She climbed in the cab and the driver waited outside a few minutes, but none of the other passengers mingling outside seemed to be going in her direction. The driver finally jumped in, put the van in drive, and sped away from the airport. He could be taking me anywhere. A white woman alone on this island… Mack would laugh, calling her paranoid. If she thought the New York cabbies were bad, this guy had them beat. Roni bounced around quietly in the back seat and caught the driver glance at her several times in the rear view mirror. He not only drove fast, but the roads were bad and they drove on the opposite side, making it feel wrong. She was relieved when she saw a sign reading Green Turtle Ferry. The ferry dock wasn’t very far away, certainly not a twenty-dollar fare. What a rip-off. She handed the man a twenty with no additional tip. A tall, thin Bahamian boy, with a big smile and, lots of white teeth, hurried from the ferry dock to get her suitcase.

Velcome. Dis way, he said. I Jey.

Thank you, Jay.

Jey.

Oh, I’m sorry, I misunderstood ‘Jay’, Jay with an A, Roni said uncertainly.

Jay gave her another big smile and she knew she was right about the spelling of his name. He carried her suitcase down close to where the ferry was being loaded and handed it down to the ferry captain. The water level was far below where Roni stood, and she did not see any easy way down. There was a vertical ladder leading down from the road level to the dock level where the ferry was tied. The captain took the suitcase from Jay and headed onto the boat to load it. When he stepped back off the boat, she noticed he was an older gentleman, white hair against his tan, weathered skin.

Come on down the ladder. Jay can help.

She stood, looking down at him. He had a pleasant smile and blue eyes.

Really, that ladder? she asked.

The ladder in question was the only one she saw, a shoddily put-together wooden ladder. Roni hesitantly approached the top of it. The captain nodded at her. Placing her hands on the top she turned and placed a foot on the first rung.

Watch ya step, Jay cautioned as she started down.

Jay held her arm, following her down until she got to the lower portion of the dock. The ferry captain then took her hand and helped her onto the small green-and-white boat. Roni had to duck through the doorway to get inside. The luggage was piled in the middle with the passengers sitting on wooden benches lining both sides, chatting softly. The window cut-outs were open and had rolled-up canvas tied above them, no doubt in the event of weather. Roni squeezed between the luggage and legs and found a spot next to a young couple. They looked like babies, but both had very shiny wedding rings on. Maybe on their honeymoon. Since she was one of the last passengers to arrive, she wasn’t sure if she had missed some sort of payment or instruction.

Have you paid? Roni asked the couple.

No, the young man said, when you get off, I think.

Anyone need other stops than the main dock? the ferry captain asked in a loud voice.

Pineapples, someone called.

Bay Club, another said.

Got it. Let her go, Jay.

Roni watched as Jay undid the ropes tied to the dock and threw them on board. The captain caught them pulling them in and securing them. Jay pushed the front of the boat away from the dock, the large smile never leaving his face. She felt guilty she hadn’t tipped him for helping her and resolved to take care of it at the end of the trip if he was at the dock when she went home. Roni felt the motor engage and the boat start to move. The motor was loud, drowning out any conversation. The only seat available had been between the captain and the young couple and unfortunately her back was to the front window. In order to see anything she had to look through the boat out the back. Jay stood on the dock watching the ferry leave.

Is the Bay Club, the Green Turtle Bay Club? she asked, leaning toward the captain.

Yes. Is that your stop? he asked.

Yes. I just wanted to make sure there weren’t two, Roni said.

There isn’t two of much on Green Turtle, he relied with a chuckle.

Roni was exhausted. The travel seemed to eat up the whole day between waiting in airports, flights, cab, and ferry. It took about fifteen minutes to motor to the first dock, the main dock at New Plymouth. The captain nudged the ferry in tying it up quickly. It rocked gently against the pier post as passengers got off. Even though she was tired the excitement of finally getting here fluttered in her stomach. The dock looked newer to Roni, not the dock she and Mack had gotten off at years ago. When we were young and so in love. She noticed another dock to the right of it, which was far more weathered and decrepit. She was pretty certain that was the one they had used.

The ferry swung away from the dock and Roni looked through the boat back at the town. Pink, blue, and yellow houses dotted the frontage street. There were white fences around many; a few cars and golf carts were parked on the street. It was like she remembered, sleepy, not a lot of people moving around outside. The next stop was Pineapples. The dock had an arched sign above it stating so with fat yellow pineapples painted on either side of the wording. The young couple got off, and the same routine went on with the exchange of money and luggage. Alright already, let’s get there! New people boarded the ferry, apparently headed back to Treasure Cay. Idly, she wondered about the captain, how he liked what he did, shuffling people around and around day after day. She couldn’t imagine having all these people stuffed around her all day in this heat. She shifted on the wooden bench and pulled her silk tank away from her skin again. The sweat trickled down her stomach as she observed buildings on the point.

What is Pineapples, besides a ferry stop? Roni asked.

"It’s a bar and restaurant. Lala, the lady