§ § § -- September 10, 1994
"Monica, for crying out loud, quit hovering." Rodney Stone, frustrated and annoyed, strode across the room, limping just enough to be noticeable. "I swear, I have to tell you that so many times, I think I've started saying it in my sleep."
Monica Gold, a beautiful, slim woman with dark hair and large tea-colored eyes, came right after him. "Rodney, you know I'm only trying to keep you from being hurt."
He swung around and glared at her. "No, you're not. All you see is my limp, and something in your mind equates that with invalid. Well, I'm not an invalid. I'm a grown man, dammit, old enough to know what's risky and what's not. When are you going to quit treating me like an overgrown child and start seeing me as the man I am?"
Monica stared at him, looking hurt, and he threw his hands in the air. "I just don't get it, Monica. We shouldn't even be getting married. I made it clear to you from the outset that I don't love you. Why do you keep persisting? You're wasting our money and Mr. Roarke's time and resources. And you know I don't have that kind of cash to burn."
Monica smiled, all polished class and grace once more, and approached him again, slipping her arm through his. "Well, I do, darling. And you know perfectly well that you'll go right down the drain if we don't get married. I'm your only hope."
Rodney shook his head, more frustrated than ever, and pulled his arm away from Monica's. "I don't think you love me either, do you?"
"We always knew it was a business arrangement, but we're friends at least, and I think that's a good start," Monica said confidently. "Centuries ago, a lot of marriages were made on shakier ground than that." She stepped back and regarded him with disapproval. "Your problem is that you're too defensive. That car accident you were in that killed your sister has colored your perceptions of everyone around you. You think all they can see is your limp, and you treat them accordingly. So you're overly aggressive, and you turn everyone off. Don't you think people are a little less shallow than that?"
"You should talk," Rodney retorted. "You yourself can't see past my limp—that's why you keep trying to save me from myself. I don't need saving, Monica, and neither does the company. I'll do this myself or die in the attempt. For the last time, let's call off this whole idiotic farce and just go home."
Monica shook her head with determination. "No, darling, you need me. You just don't want to see it." She sighed and half turned away. "Not only that, I need you too," she murmured, partly to herself.
Rodney eyed her sidelong, guilt swelling up; that in itself annoyed him and he gritted his teeth. "I gotta get outta here. I need some air. And if you give even half a damn about me, Monica, you'll leave me alone for awhile. I need time by myself so I can clear my head. And frankly, I think you need to be alone so you can consider this three-ring circus you're creating here." He didn't wait for a reply but stalked out the door.
Without really thinking about it, he went off to the swimming pool, hesitating when he saw how crowded it was but then deciding it might be a good place to lose himself. It was so noisy he couldn't hear himself think, and that sounded good to him right about now. He managed to find a spot at the bar and ordered a Tom Collins, hunching into himself and staring at the bar top as if trying to find answers in the highly polished wood.
He got his drink and turned away, instantly colliding with someone. Half the drink sloshed out of the glass, splattering the other person and the concrete under their feet. "Aw, hell," Rodney muttered, "I'm really sorry…" He looked up and met the other person's gaze, then stared in disbelief. "Jenny?"
Jenny Knight bobbed her head, her face alight. "Hi, Rodney."
"Damn," Rodney breathed, astonished. "Who'd've thought…" He caught himself and grinned broadly at her. "After all these years! What're you doing on Fantasy Island?"
"It's a long story," Jenny said with a shy return grin. "Don't you think I'd bore you if I told you about it?"
"Not for a second," Rodney assured her, taking her arm and steering her along the perimeter of the pool to a table that had just opened up. "Man, Jenny, what a way to meet again—me spilling my stupid drink all over you. Sit here and let me get some napkins."
"Oh, don't bother," Jenny insisted. "It's just my bathing suit—it'll wash. Sit down and enjoy what's left of your drink." Rodney laughed and acquiesced, leaning forward to regard her with amazement.
"I just can't get over this," he said. "Quite honestly, I thought I'd never see you again." His features grew puzzled. "How come you quit writing, Jenny? Was it something I said?"
She turned stop-sign red. "No, no, it wasn't you, Rodney. It was me and my own stupidity. I was seventeen and cocky and I thought I knew everything. You remember how I was when we were here back in '79. Nothing stopped me from getting something if I wanted it badly enough. Well, unfortunately for me, I wanted Ray Branham, and as a result I played right into his hands." Rodney sat and listened closely while she explained about Ray, her marriage, his abuse, their daughter and her eventual divorce.
"So that's why," he said, settling back in his chair. "Did he abuse your daughter?"
"No, he never touched Dania, just me," Jenny said. "Just as well. It was bad enough I didn't have the guts to leave him earlier. She saw what happened, but she was too little to understand at the time. When we finally moved back to Oregon, we took my dad up on his offer to let us live with him, and he and my stepmother have been really great with her. She's a terrific kid, Rodney. You have to meet her."
"So she's not a little mouse, like she could be," Rodney said. "Well, I'm glad to hear you got out at all, Jenny. Not all abused wives do. How's the rest of the family?"
"Mom's remarried and lives in Montana," Jenny said, ticking off on her fingers. "Dad and my stepmom have been married for about ten years now, and he's the CEO of a very successful snack-food company. Brian's single, lives up in Astoria and runs a charter fishing service. Loves it. David got married this summer and he and his wife had a lavish honeymoon in Bermuda; that's partly why he isn't with us now. And Tara works in Hollywood as a makeup artist. She did Toni Karlsen's makeup in those Trouble on Wheels movies. Did you see those?"
"Yeah, those were great action movies," Rodney said, nodding in recognition. "What's the other reason David isn't with you?"
"Oh." Jenny giggled self-consciously. "Well, Tara talked me into going to a taping of The Price is Right back in June. They actually called me out of the audience, and the next thing you know I was winning prizes left and right. To make a long story short, I won this trip in the Showcase Showdown. It was for four people, and I knew I was taking Dania and Tara with me, but that left only one open slot. So I asked Brian, since David had already had a trip to a sunny tropical locale."
Rodney laughed. "That makes sense," he said.
"So how's your family doing?" Jenny asked with interest.
"Well, Mom and Dad are both fine. After Mom made peace with the woman who caused the accident that killed Wendy, she and Dad patched up their marriage, and Mom finally found the courage to give Wendy's things to charity and turn her room into a guest bedroom. Joanna got married two years ago and she's expecting a baby sometime this month. I wouldn't be surprised if I got a call this weekend. That's the only reason she isn't here for the wedding."
Jenny blinked at him. "Wedding?"
Rodney sat up straight, just then realizing what he had said. "Aw, damn…" He fell back in his chair and stared at the umbrella that shaded them, self-annoyance in his features. "I'm sorry, Jenny. I'm getting married tomorrow, to Monica Gold."
"You mean…Garrison Gold's daughter?" Jenny asked in a stunned half-whisper.
"Yeah, as in Gold Conglomerates," muttered Rodney. "We met after her father tried to buy out my company. I managed to avoid that particular hostile takeover, but Monica decided she wanted me and hasn't given up since then. Unfortunately, my company is still having financial problems, and she's convinced herself that I need her so I can bail it out. Problem is, I'm afraid she's right. Either I marry her, or Stonecyphers gets swallowed up by Gold, without so much as a burp."
"Oh my God," said Jenny, still reeling from the news that Rodney was engaged. "What does your company do, Rodney?"
"We write computer programs," Rodney told her, looking and sounding distracted. "It's a growing field, but it's competitive as hell, and it's hard to make any headway with so many other companies vying for the same customers. Monica promised that when we get married, she'll pour some substantial money into Stonecyphers and help me save about a hundred and fifty jobs."
"Oh," Jenny mumbled in a tiny voice.
Rodney came back to the moment and leaned forward across the table. "Jenny, it's purely a business arrangement. I'm not even in love with the woman!"
She stared at him. "Then you're just marrying her to save Stonecyphers?" He nodded, and she tipped her head to one side. "Rodney, I've got a huge trust fund my dad set up for me ages ago. I just had an idea. Maybe I could—"
"No!" Rodney snapped, his expression freezing over instantly, his eyes blazing with fury and pride. "I won't take your money, Jenny. I'm not some charity case. You and everybody else—the minute you see this limp, that's all it takes to assume I need help. Well, I don't—so just keep your money and stay out of my business affairs!" He shot to his feet, shoved back his chair so hard it toppled over, and stalked away, seething.
He left behind a shocked Jenny Knight, who gaped after him till his vanishing image rippled and distorted in the tears that filled her eyes. She had never cared about his limp, but it didn't appear that he believed it. What had happened to him in the last decade and a half to make him assume that everyone saw only that and nothing else?
‡ ‡ ‡
"Isn't Mom coming back for lunch?" Dania asked, popping out of the bedroom in her swimsuit. Tara looked around and grinned at her.
"I dunno, kiddo. Maybe you and I ought to go on our own. Uncle Brian's probably checking out the island marina, so I don't think we're gonna see him either."
"Uncle Brian hasn't figured out what he wants to do yet," corrected Brian, emerging from the other bedroom which he had to himself. Jenny and Dania were sleeping in the first bedroom and Tara had the pull-out sofa in the main room. "However, little sis, checking out the marina seems like the perfect thing to do. I think I'll take you up on that suggestion right now."
"Oh, come on, not yet," Dania wheedled. "I'm starving, Uncle Brian."
Brian eyed her. "You think any restaurant's gonna let you in dressed in that? If you're really that hungry, you might want to change."
"I could just wear my suit under my clothes," Dania told him, smirking.
Tara laughed. "She's too smart for you, big brother. Look, if you'd rather go to the marina, don't let us stop you. I was thinking I'd feed the nuisance here and then we could hit the amusement park." Dania lit up at these words. "I was just looking at the brochure here and it says there's one on the other side of the island."
"Why don't we just eat at the amusement park?" Dania suggested excitedly.
"You read my mind, kiddo. Well, find your sneakers and let's go. Bri, you're welcome to tag along if you want." Tara tossed the brochure onto the coffee table.
"Nah, I like the idea about the marina better. You two have fun and I'll see you later on. I'll probably catch lunch at the marina, actually. But listen…aren't you planning to wait for Jenny?"
"She's probably having a good time with Rodney Stone," Tara said. "If she hadn't found him, she'd've come back here by now, so she must've met up with him. Okay, have fun at the marina, then. Come on, Dania, hurry up."
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Dania yelled, pounding out of the bedroom. "Let's go!"
The threesome left the bungalow together and made use of a jeep that Roarke and Leslie had put at their disposal for the weekend. Tara and Dania dropped off Brian at the marina, and he watched them tool off down the coastal road that ringed the island before turning his attention to the sleek yachts, sailboats and speedboats that were docked in neat rows or dotted the ocean for several miles around the area. Whistling, he sauntered down the dock, pausing every few yards to admire this boat or that, chuckling at some of the names he saw.
In front of a sloop called Knot Paid IV, out of Hilo, he noticed the tantalizing scent of roasted meat wafting toward him from somewhere and turned around to see a young woman with glossy brown hair that tumbled around her shoulders in gentle waves, meandering in his general direction while enjoying a shish kebab. She caught sight of him at the same moment and offered a friendly smile. "Hi there! That your boat?"
Brian laughed. "I wish! I'm just a boat fiend admiring the goods. Name's Brian Knight." He stuck out a hand; she switched the food-laden stick to her left hand and shook with him.
"Lauren McCormick," she said. "I do that too—come down here now and then just to check out the boats. It never fails but there're some with funny names. My brother Adrian just sank his measly life savings into a fifteen-foot fishing boat and wants help naming it, and I've been looking for off-the-wall names."
"This one's pretty good," Brian said, indicating the Knot Paid IV, "unless his boat actually is paid for."
Lauren examined the boat name and laughed. "Haven't seen that one before." She peered at him. "You from around here?"
"No, just a visitor from Astoria, Oregon," he told her. "You?"
"Yep, born and raised." She started to nip another bite off the skewer, then caught herself. "Oh, sorry…have you had lunch?"
Brian shook his head. "Where'd you get that? It smells fantastic."
"Follow me, I'll show you," Lauren offered.
"Great." Brian studied her another moment, then added, "If you haven't got any other plans, maybe you'd be willing to keep me company. Heck, you're not done either, so there's no reason we couldn't eat together."
"No, there isn't, and no, no plans." Lauren grinned. "You've got a deal. Come on."
They sauntered back to the little food stand where Lauren had bought her shish kebab, and Brian bought two; then they sat on an iron bench overlooking the sea. "Well," said Lauren, "so what brings you to Fantasy Island?"
"My sister and the trip she won on The Price is Right," Brian said and grinned at her surprised expression. "We've been here before, but the first time, we came with our mother. Jenny's got the fantasy this time around. It was a trip for four, so she invited me and our sister Tara to come along with her and my niece. Dania's eleven."
"I see," said Lauren. "Well, so far there's just me, my brother and my sister Deborah. I normally work in an office on one of the other islands near here, but I'm taking vacation this week and next, and enjoying my first day off."
"So you count weekends too," Brian said cheerfully. "Anything to lengthen a vacation, I always say. I decided to take a little time off too—normally I run a charter fishing outfit in Astoria. Season's winding down though, so I figured now's as good a time as any to get in a little off time before I spend the next six weeks laying up boats for the winter."
"That sounds cool," Lauren remarked. "How long have you been doing it?"
"About five years," Brian said. "I'm 33, by the way—I'll be 34 next February."
"No kidding. My birthday's in February too," Lauren exclaimed. "I hit the big three-oh on the sixth."
"Mine's the 21st," he said, studying her with growing interest. "So you're into boats, then? I was thinking about renting a little one, maybe a cat or a runabout or something, and just wheeling around the ocean for the afternoon. You interested in coming along? I can always arrange for a dinner. The trip includes just about everything imaginable, so that probably means I can have the hotel chef or even Roarke's private cook whip me up a really good picnic and we can have it on the water later, when we're getting hungry."
Lauren considered the idea and began to grin, nodding slowly. "The more I think about it, the better I like it," she said. "And incidentally, Mr. Roarke's daughter, Leslie, is a friend of mine and has been for years, so I know what I'm talking about when I tell you you definitely want Mariki to put the picnic basket together."
"Sold," Brian said and finished off his second skewer. "Mmm, that hit the spot. Come on with me and we'll have a chat with Mr. Roarke."