“It was a thing,” Tilda says. “But it’s over now.”
“Over before it began,” Cash says. “Please don’t tell me you’re worried about Ayers.”
“She’s newly single,” Tilda says, shrugging. “And you’re with her every day.”
Cash takes Tilda’s face in his hands. He did have quite an intense crush on Ayers when he first got down here—he and Baker both did—but she ended up with Mick, and Cash’s feelings for her vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. He can still see she’s attractive, but all he feels for her is a brotherly fondness.
“I like you,” Cash says. He looks into Tilda’s hazel eyes. She’s so young, and yet so self-possessed and clearheaded and unspoiled despite her parents’ wealth.
“You’d better.”
“I do.”
“I feel bad about Winnie,” Tilda says. “But my parents will not be moved on the topic of a dog. I’m so sorry.” She kisses him again. “See you at four.”
What is he going to do about Winnie? What is he going to do? He feels unreasonably angry at Tilda’s parents. Winnie is such a good dog—the best of dogs. She’s more human than dog. They would realize that if they took the time to get to know her.
My parents will not be moved on the topic of a dog.
It’s their villa, they make the rules, and they aren’t bad people just because they aren’t dog people. What Cash is angry about is that he has no power. He’s at the mercy of others.
Peripatetic. Cash Googles it: “Of or relating to traveling or moving frequently; in particular, working or based in various places for short periods. Synonyms: nomadic, itinerant.”
Fortunately or unfortunately, there’s no time to ruminate on the situation with Winnie. Treasure Island has a completely full charter today since the boat has been out of commission for over a week, and the first person Cash sees is the captain, James, who does not look happy.
James is six foot six, West Indian, and though he’s only a little older than Cash, Cash thinks of him as a sir.
It’s seven thirty on the dot, so being late isn’t the issue, though there’s already a line of passengers waiting to check in, including a group of forty-something women who, Cash can tell, are ready for a good time. He thinks back to the charter when he babysat Tilda’s drunk friend Max and decides then and there that he’s not opening the bar until the snorkeling part of their trip is over.
“Hey, bruh,” James says and he shakes Cash’s hand. “Ayers isn’t coming. She called in sick.”
“Called in sick?”
“Yeah, bruh, so you’re on your own today.” James glances over at the group of women, who are making no secret of checking out James and Cash. “Good luck.”
Cash can’t believe Ayers called in sick on their first day back. She had all of last week to be sick. He wonders if maybe “sick” has something to do with her broken engagement. Maybe she’s depressed? Should Cash be worried? He’ll text her later. Right now, he has to check in twenty-seven people, record their passport information (since they’re heading to the British Virgin Islands), and collect their money. Mr. and Mrs. Bellhorn from Coral Gables would like to talk to Cash about getting a partial refund since the boat’s mechanical issues pushed this trip back five days, which was quite an inconvenience.
The phrase partial refund spreads like a virus. Everyone in line starts to repeat it because every single person—except for the group of women, who are from Wichita, Kansas—was originally scheduled to come on a different day.
Cash nearly makes a stern announcement that he isn’t the person who handles refunds and if they want to explore that possibility, they need to call the office, but then he realizes that without Ayers, he has an opportunity to shine—and by shine he means “make some serious tip money.” In an instant, his attitude changes. He’s not going to be grouchy Cash who has been left to do the paperwork and make the breakfast and wash the snorkel equipment and check the lines and make sure no one goes overboard and give the historical and ecological details of the Virgin Islands by himself. He is going to be warm, funny, solicitous, helpful Cash. He is going to go out of his way to ensure this is the best charter these twenty-seven people have ever been on.
“This is the number for the main office,” Cash says, sliding Mr. and Mrs. Bellhorn a card. “You want to ask for Whitney. I certainly hope she offers you a partial refund, though of course I can’t guarantee it. I’m very sorry about the inconvenience. I’m a planner myself and I do appreciate your patience.”
Cash smiles. The Bellhorns smile back.
Okay, then. Next!
Somehow, Cash gets it done—everyone present, documented, paid up, and on board enjoying the fruit platter and the coconut-banana bread. People are applying sunscreen. Cash puts on Kenny Chesney’s “Get Along.” The ladies from Wichita belt out, “We ain’t perfect but we try!” That’s Cash’s motto today as well. No matter that he’s flying solo, no matter that he’s been on this job only a few weeks, no matter that his father is dead and his mother broke and his dog homeless. He’s in the Caribbean; the turquoise water is smooth, and the emerald-green islands create an artistic landscape. He doesn’t want to leave St. John, ever. He needs to find someone to take Winnie, at least for a while. He needs to find a way to make his life work.
Granger has a business proposition “on the horizon” that Tilda wants Cash involved in. Yes, Tilda has been talking ambitiously about opening a business—adventure ecotourism, which would be right in Cash’s wheelhouse. Boots on the ground, sweat equity. He doesn’t have to front any money; he just has to show up. Cash wishes that on the horizon meant next week or even tomorrow.
Cash is the only crew member and James thinks the planned itinerary—a trip to
