The Island Read online

  Truthfully, I’m relaxed.

  Honestly, I’m glad I’m here.

  I chuckle a little to myself thinking of our plans for this weekend.

  Ironically, James and I have the same things in mind.

  We always do.

  Tenley

  WHO DOESN’T LIKE SCENTED candles?

  It’s like someone saying they hate music—all types of music, and kittens…

  Who hates kittens!

  With narrowed eyes, I wait for her praise.

  Music Youth’s “Pass the Dutchie” rains down from the speakers above us.

  “So, let me guess…” Joy sniffs the candle on the left. “This one is vanilla.” Then she shoves her nose closer to the one on the right, then her face twists up. “And this one is vanilla?”

  Cocking my head to the side, I frown.

  She cracks up laughing.

  It’s the wine…

  It must be.

  God knows we’ve had far too much of it tonight.

  “Gosh, never mind.” I snatch the candles up one by one and stack them in the box which I’d placed to the side of us. As I put each one in, their powerful aromas dance by my nose—eucalyptus, vanilla, lavender, bergamot, balsam, cedar, magnolia…and I’m reminded of why I made them in the first place and how I felt at the time when I had.

  The rest of them are on their way, packed to the max in crates. I plan to give samples of everything to the hotels here around these islands in the hopes they might have some interest. I’m still quite annoyed that the shipment is late, but everything should be here before we make our way to the next island tomorrow. I need that stuff and for more reasons than just showing everyone here that my business plan is real and that it actually exists.

  Joy is still giggling.

  James and Brooks are embroiled in some deep conversation about fracking.

  And I, well, I’m just here, out of place amongst the accomplished souls who sit at this table tonight. To my right is Joy, the lawyer. Across from me are two of the world’s most innovative engineers…At least that’s what Popular Mechanics had called them a few months ago in the story which the magazine had written about them. I’m the only one here who didn’t go on to land some lucrative job after finishing university. I didn’t even balk and decide to go and work for my father which is what everyone probably thought I’d do. Honestly, I had considered it. But I knew most people already wondered way back then what would a girl like me—Tenley Amelia Noble—daughter of billionaire business magnate, Richard Cushing, do with a job. Hell, they probably even wondered why I even bothered to go to school at all! Even back then, I think I had my sights set on something a little more low-key and a lot more me, only I didn’t know what it was. After years of battling fear and the overwhelming realization that I’ll never rival a man like James—never could—I’m finally doing it…

  I’m well aware that everyone at this table thinks my line of home products and accessories—candles, linens, soaps, and room sprays—are stupid even though they haven’t said so yet.

  I decided to call it Fennel, and so far, it’s in most of the department stores on the East Coast, tucked away in its own little corner, still relatively unknown.

  Joy places a pacifying hand on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry, honey, I just can’t understand how a woman who has a master’s degree could up and leave all the opportunities that presents behind and decide to start making candles.” She takes a long sip of her wine, brown eyes pitiful, for me.

  Forcing a smile, I lower my head. “It’s more than just candles, Joy.” My confidence sinks for just a moment, knowing a woman like Joy, an accomplished lawyer who is now partner at her law firm and has been for many years, would never understand. “It’s an entire home line of natural products.”

  She makes a face—the one she always does when she doesn’t understand, as I already knew, but has decided to try to—then taps on her glass a few times. “You’ve always been so creative, Tenley.” She offers me a perfect smile. “I’ve always admired that about you.” Lifting her hand, she runs her fingers through my hair, fiddling with a strand of it. “I’ve always loved these golden strands, Tenley.” She giggles. “Like silky waves. So pretty. So you.”

  It’s exactly what Joy does…changes the subject when she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. She finds something worth pointing out about me that is good and perfect, instead of focusing on the things which she doesn’t approve of or like.

  I suppose it’s mercy…

  I’ve always loved that about the woman who has been my best friend since college days.

  We met on a typical Friday night on the bar scene in Cambridge. I was a student at MIT and Joy was enrolled at Harvard. It was a typical hangout spot—loud Nirvana blaring, far too much drinking going on. Like the wallflowers we both were then, we tucked off into a corner and started talking about global warming and our shared love of loose tea and that was it. After giggles, a bit of cheap beer and sharing spicy fries covered in cheese and gravy, I knew I had a friend for life in Joy.

  We were from two different worlds though.

  Joy is from a middle-class family, the second of three girls, and was born in New York City and raised in Queens. And I’m a born and bred Bostonian from a wealthy family. An only child. The apple of my father’s eye.

  Now, we all live in Chicago.

  We’ve been through everything together—first loves, first breakups, first cars. We even shared an apartment together at one point, staying up late nights dancing to music, drinking beer, and making plans for the future. I was even the wingwoman when she had decided to scribble red lipstick all over her ex-boyfriend’s white Corvette. I stood by her side at her father’s funeral as she sobbed to no end when he had passed away suddenly while we were both in freshman year. And I even begged my parents to pay her tuition during her last few years at law school because her mother couldn’t afford it.

  I love Joy like a sister.

  I’d do anything for her, and she for me.

  We’ve been friends longer than James and Brooks have.

  I was the maid of honor at her wedding. And I suspect I’ll be the godmother of her children, when and if she decides to have them.

  James knocks back his wine and tosses me a smile. His brown eyes are alight, and his blond hair tonight is all over the place. Still, he looks gorgeous. Like a beach boy with far too much money and ambition for his own good.

  A little laugh leaves me when I eye over the man I married.

  He kissed me on the first date, and I let him, too fascinated with a boy who was as close to being an engineering genius than anyone ever could be. He had visions for the future. He had drive. And by God, he was hot then, always running around campus sporting rock band T-shirts, shorts, and docksiders. He’s still hot now, just older, more relaxed, less stressed about life than he was back then when he was just a broke college kid who wondered if he’d ever be a success.

  We studied together then. Kissed and pawed at each other during most of those learning sessions. And though we were friends, eventually, helplessly, we had morphed into lovers.

  James has always been a visionary.

  That hasn’t changed.

  I believed in him then, as I do now.

  I just wish Richard did too.

  James is the youngest of four brothers. A Texan at heart. A fact which my father teases him endlessly about, always asking James where’s his horse whenever they do see each other, which is thankfully seldom. James was raised by a mother who held down almost three jobs after James’ father walked out on all of them when James was just a kid.

  He’s a man who loves the water and the sun and hates wearing a shirt. He works out regularly. Has nice teeth. Keeps his fingernails short and always has a tan. James isn’t terribly introspective, but he always has something interesting to say. And the very most important quality about the man I married is that he’s so very kind.

  James is a cool guy.

  A dece
nt guy.

  A man I love to no end.

  And next to him and sprawled in his chair like he doesn’t want to be here is Brooks.

  You’d think I’d know more about him, but I don’t. Honestly, I don’t even think Joy knows very much about her husband. He’s quiet, cordial, always buys James and me a nice bottle of wine for Christmas. It’s always something imported from Chile and far too expensive.

  Brooks’ dark hair is slicked back, and his blue eyes always look as though they want to say more than his mouth ever does. He’s always reading—nose buried in a newspaper or book.

  James calls Brooks The Fixer. Brooks over the years had become known as the man who solves all the problems within Bona Fide that James doesn’t want to deal with.

  My husband’s best friend is unmistakably cerebral.

  In all the years that I’ve known him, I’d say I’ve caught Brooks reading Charles Darwin’s Origin of Species numerous times. Yet, he never discusses it, ever, even with Joy, she’d told me. No one has ever understood why Brooks had decided to read the same book over and over, as if he was searching for something on the pages he hadn’t found the first time. Heck knows…And I daren’t ask him.

  I never got the impression that Brooks ever liked me very much.

  But, whatever…

  It’s no secret that everyone at this table sees me as not one of “them.”

  I wasn’t born of the working class. I didn’t struggle while growing up. I lived life on an estate bigger than some of America’s smallest towns. I was never too keen on becoming somebody. Rather, I was more than satisfied to kind of drift into some sort of void. I lacked ambition. Something which continues to drive Richard batty about me even until this day and forces him to proclaim without shame that being wealthy from birth had made me lazy.

  Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?

  Only a few phrases come to mind when people think of me, ones which I’ve been called my entire life either to my face or behind my back…

  Daddy’s girl. Rich kid. Filthy-rotten-brat.

  Didn’t help that my nickname was “Ten” while growing up which only added to the misery.

  Plus, I’m a blonde—of medium height, and the owner of a head full of thick and wild wavy hair which hits the middle of my back. And I have “funny-looking” eyes the color of aged whiskey.

  So, although it’s not the way I behave, I never manage to escape the preconceived notions about me.

  I glance over at Brooks once more…

  Yep, I can see it’s what he thinks too.

  So does James. So does Joy.

  Can we ever do anything about the life we were born into?

  The glint of the expensive Rolex on James’ wrist against the candlelight nearly blinds me when he lifts his wine glass to his lips for a second time, gives me a wink, and takes another slow sip.

  Joy squeezes my hand and I’m pulled back in her orbit, desperate to know what’s been going through her head. And probably more worried about exactly what she thinks of me.

  So much love flows between us even though Joy doesn’t fully understand me much nowadays.

  Who does?

  But, I can’t say I completely understand Joy either.

  She’s a woman who has everything—a husband who loves her, a great job, a magnificent home, more money than she could ever need. Yet, it seems like it’s never been enough. Something’s always been lacking in her world.

  Joy needs a bigger house. She needs to make more money. She needs another promotion.

  When is it ever enough?

  The rich girl asks…

  I chuckle at my own question, hating myself just a little for lacking her drive.

  Even now Joy isn’t sure whether she wants children. Said she isn’t ready.

  At the moment, it’s the only sentiment we share.

  Child-rearing isn’t in the immediate future for either of us—sad we just can’t tell our husbands that. Admittedly, I’m too flighty. Joy is too self-absorbed. And our husbands are never around. They travel constantly. We’d have to hire nannies if we don’t want to be complete disasters in our first attempts at motherhood. Joy would have to take a long sabbatical from work…

  Simply put, it’s just not fucking happening.

  It isn’t the right time.

  I’ve been saying that for the last ten years…

  Now, I’m thirty-five years old.

  So is James.

  So is Joy.

  I suppose if I don’t have children soon, I probably never will.

  And honestly, I’m not certain if that realization even bothers me.

  Besides, Fennel is my baby now.

  I drag my fingers over the silk number I’m wearing tonight—white, long, deep V-neck plunge which James seems to love evidenced by the number of nonstop glances he steals of me.

  Giggling, I snatch up my wine and take a sip.

  Joy cocks her head to the side. “You’ve had a lot of sun since you’ve been here.” She smiles. “Your hair is almost the same color as your skin now and your eyes.” Pulling me in, she pecks a kiss to my cheek no doubt staining it with the red which slicks her lips. Then she tickles my sides, forcing me to giggle.

  Such ease.

  We hug.

  The bustle of the restaurant fills my ears.

  CLINK. CLANK. CLINK.

  This expansive place with marble floors and large open archways which look out to the sea is crowded tonight with wealthy vacationers. The waiters move about and the sommeliers lift bottles of wine and champagne with elegant moves from buckets and fill empty glasses. The delectable scent of grilled fish floats over me and then the questionable fragrance of some sort of roasted meat. Silver trays are carried on the shoulders of the waiters. One gentleman who’s dressed in a dapper-looking uniform pushes around a cart, carving the meat directly off a large roasted pig. I cringe at the sight of that pig’s burnt eyes and mouth that’s gaped open, only remaining that way because of the large apple stuffed in it.

  So

  much

  meat.

  Enough around here to gift a person with instant heart disease.

  The menu I’d been given about an hour ago still rests in front of me, edged in gold and untouched because I couldn’t decide what I wanted to eat, so James ordered for me. And in some brave, defying move, I told him I’d hold on to the menu just in case I changed my mind and wanted to order something else. So, I still have it.

  Joy sits straighter and extends an arm out. “Why are you guys always talking about work?” Laughing, she snatches up the bottle of wine which rests in the middle of the table and pours more into each of our glasses, totally amiss that she’s poured red into James’ glass of white.

  Grinning, James lifts his glass and drinks it anyways. “Because it’s what we live for, Joy. Besides, we don’t complain when we have to listen to you debating the merits of case law.”

  Brooks smiles. “Don’t listen to him, Joy, I love listening to you talk about case law. I think I just love listening to you talk. I love you.”

  Joy tips her head, her dark bob swishes forward with the movement. “Now, you see. That’s more like it.” She chuckles. “Those are the words of a perfect husband.” She tips her glass in Brooks’ direction as they trade the undeniable glance of lovers.

  “Oh, stop it, you corny two.” James shakes his head, leans in, and pulls my hand in his. “Wouldn’t you say you have the perfect husband, Tenley?” He arches a brow then regards Brooks and Joy. Then his eyes are back on me once more, adoring and kind.

  “Yes.” I smile. “I would.”

  Holding my gaze, he places a kiss to the top of my hand. “It’s wonderful to be in love and I’m so lucky to have been in love with this incredible woman for as long as I have.” He presses my hand to the stubble on his cheek. “Without love, life is nothing.”

  “You’re such a fucking romantic, James.” Brooks shoves him in the shoulder.

  “You should try it sometime.” J
ames laughs.

  Brooks serves James up a pissed-off look.

  Joy chuckles.

  In the distance, two waiters are heading in our direction, each of them holding two dinner plates in their hands. The sommelier arrives at the table and opens another bottle of wine. The music cranks up.

  Joy lifts her half-empty glass.

  CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.

  We all do the same and wait for her toast.

  Clearing her throat, she looks each of us right in the eye as if she’s about to make some sort of unforgettable proclamation. “This weekend we’re going to relax, kick back, and have some fun…”

  “Hell, yeah.” James whistles.

  Brooks only blinks, then I swear I hear a sigh slip from him.

  “And no matter what happens, just know I love each of you without question.”

  CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.

  The glasses touch. The mood lifts even higher. The restaurant’s vibe seems to change. It becomes more energized. Or maybe, it’s me…

  Coldplay’s “Yellow” rains down from the speakers above us.

  The contents of the plates are announced then are placed in front of us.

  “Cheers!” The word leaves each of us right before we drink our wine.

  Everything is perfect.

  This moment is unforgettable and will be etched in my mind forever.

  Smiles. Laughter. Love.

  A reminder to never forsake friends—the ones who you hold close to your heart, because you never know when you’ll need them. And you can never let them go, because they are, in essence, a part of you. Chiseled on to your soul. Tethered to you by the invisible, powerful cord that is love.

  I lift my glass one more time. “To friendship…”

  Smiling, Brooks does the same. “Yes, absolutely, to friendship.”

  Brooks

  THIS WOMAN IS GOING to give me a coronary…

  My heart.

  She holds it.

  As it thumps away in my chest.

  It’s just after 3:00 a.m.