The week is perfect and golden, unfolding itself slowly. It feels as though they're in a dream. In fact, she's had a dream like this before. Right now everything is perfect, perfect, perfect.
They wake up late and make love, then have breakfast on their patio. They go to the beach and swim and lie in the sun, then go back up to their cottage and nap before lunch. They wake and make love again and have lunch at the restaurant on the terrace. They swim again and they have cocktails on the beach, then go back up to the cottage and shower and dress for dinner. They go into Hamilton for dinner some nights and stay at the club for others. Tonight, they are walking along the beach to Mickey's, the restaurant on Elbow Beach. They're holding hands, dipping their feet into the surf. He's cuffed his pants and he's holding his shoes in one hand; her dress is knee-length and she has her shoes in her other hand.
It's lovely, walking together on the beach, the sun setting in the distance, her hand held tight in his. God, I love him, she thinks to herself. And how surprising that is to her still, that she could love this man, that he could love her. And how complex he is, too-he's not just a two-dimensional womanizer. He's a deeply loyal, compassionate, understanding man. And he loves her.
This week has been restorative. Each time they come together it pushes the horror of what happened a little further away. She's relieved, and hopes that when they go home in two days she'll be able to keep a little bit of the peace she's found here with her.
They reach the restaurant and are seated. Mike orders champagne again-he's ordered a bottle every night. He said, the first night he did, that he wanted to celebrate. So they have.
Conversation is easy. They speak about their day, the sightseeing they plan to do tomorrow-the Crystal Caves, Gibbs Hill, and Dockyard. They have a delicious meal and the band plays and then they dance, his hand on her lower back, her hand on his shoulder, their bodies almost touching.
'I love you,' he tells her. He can so rarely say those words unprompted, even if she knows that he does, and she smiles at him.
'I love you.'
He runs his hand down her back. 'You look so beautiful tonight,' he says, looking down at her, smiling.
'And you are so handsome,' she says.
He grins. 'I can't wait to get you back to bed.'
She laughs, actually laughs. How nice it is to laugh… 'Me too. Let's finish the champagne.'
'In a minute, honey,' he says, pulling her closer. 'I love dancing with you.'
She rests her chin on his shoulder and closes her eyes.
The day passes too quickly. They have a driver and they go all over the island. They are on the go all day, from their early morning breakfast to a picnic lunch on the lawn at Gibbs Hill, to beers at the Frog & Onion in Dockyard. It's a beautiful day. They have perfect weather and by the time they go back to Coral Beach they are exhausted and sunburned.
They order room service after they take showers and then relax with the books they haven't yet opened. She nestles close to him in bed and turns the page of her collection of Anne Sexton poems. She finds Anne Sexton fascinating, especially as a psychologist and as a woman. She is a writer who touches the soul.
'What are you reading?' he asks, closing his book.
'Anne Sexton,' she tells him. 'She's a poet.'
He kisses her hair. 'Will you read me one?'
She flips back to one of her favorite poems and begins to read. The last few verses, she thinks, remind her of Bermuda.
Water so clear you could
read a book through it.
Water so buoyant you could
float on your elbow.
I lay on it as on a divan.
I lay on it just like
Matisse's Red Odalisque.
Water was my strange flower,
one must picture a woman
without a toga or a scarf
on a couch as deep as a tomb.
The walls of that grotto
were everycolor blue and
you said, "Look! Your eyes
are seacolor. Look! Your eyes
are skycolor." And my eyes
shut down as if they were
suddenly ashamed.
He's silent for a long moment after she finishes reading. 'That's beautiful,' he says at last.
'It reminds me of the water here,' she tells him.
She feels him nod. 'Yeah. Will you read me another one?'
She smiles. She can't believe he wants to hear poetry, but she's touched that he's taking an interest in her interests. She reads another one.
They wake up early in the morning and go for a swim as the sun rises. Watching the sunrise from the water is incredible and it just adds to the dreamlike quality of this trip. She can't believe it's almost over.
She doesn't want to go back to New York, though she knows she can't keep running away. She needs to go back and face what's happened. She doesn't want to-she just wants to stay here forever, live here forever, here with Mike in their little cottage by the sea. They could do this, couldn't they? They could quit their jobs and buy a tiny cottage and live here forever. They could get married and stay here, swim during the day, sail, and… and they could be happy. She would be perfectly happy running away from everything waiting for them in New York and staying here forever with Mike, forever in this dreamland, in this paradise.
But they can't. Their plane leaves at eleven and they still have to pack. Mike has already swam back to the beach and she's here in the ocean alone. And all of the sudden, for the first time since their arrival, she feels it hit her. Anger and violation and fear and pain are here again and overwhelming and for a minute she's afraid that she'll just sink into the water and drown. She doesn't want to go back. She doesn't want to go back.
Was it only last night that they were in bed together reading poetry? Look! Your eyes are seacolor. Look! Your eyes are skycolor. The water blurs suddenly and she realizes that she's crying, weeping, and she closes her eyes and leans back in the water, letting herself float, embracing the weightless feeling because she knows that this is the last time she'll feel this way for a long, long time.