Next door, Ellen can hear Wendy gushing: “I love it here. I need this. So badly.”
They all need it so badly. Time away—from the swampy heat and humidity of Houston, from the Astros frenzy, from the Texans hype, from the incessant demands of small children. Ellen feels light and free, like she’s lost forty-nine pounds, which is what Walter weighs. No one is asking her for juice, a snack, the bathroom, one more time down the slide, one more time watching Wreck-It Ralph, another story before bed, “Just sit here while I fall asleep, please, Mommy.” Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.
They’re free for an entire week!
“Does it feel like we’re the only people here?” Debbie asks as she settles into a chaise.
The beach is deserted.
When Woodrow, their server, brings the menus, Ellen says, “Where is everyone else?”
“You’re the only guests on this stretch,” Woodrow says. “We’re at low occupancy because of hurricane season.”
Hurricane season, Ellen thinks. Yes, that’s why these beachfront suites were so affordable. The hotel is due to close for two months the Sunday after they leave. They made it in just under the wire. Ellen lounges in her chaise, and not to toot her own horn again, but she feels like a wizard. They’ll reap the benefits of hurricane season—low prices, the place to themselves—but there isn’t a cloud in the sky.
Because of Ellen’s impeccable planning, their first three days are packed with highlights: Trunk Bay, smoked brisket and live country music at the Barefoot Cowboy, happy hours at High Tide and Woody’s, hiking to Ram Head and taking a mud bath in Salt Pond, dancing at the Beach Bar, a Kenny Chesney sighting inside the Parrot Club (although when Wendy runs in to check, she sees it’s just a guy who looks like Kenny).
And then, finally, the day they’ve been waiting for—their charter to the BVIs aboard Treasure Island. This trip has all four ladies dialed up for a couple of reasons. One is that Baker is coming with them. (They’ve seen Baker only once in their first three days; he stopped by the afternoon they arrived to make sure they’d made it safely, but he had Floyd with him, so no actual news was exchanged. Their second evening, he sent two chilled bottles of Veuve Clicquot to their rooms, probably because he felt guilty about not spending more time with them. But they get it: They’re on vacation; he’s not.) The other is that Ayers Wilson, Baker’s girlfriend, the mother of his child, is a crew member aboard Treasure Island, and so is Baker’s brother, Cash. They’re just as excited to meet Cash as they are to meet Ayers. They’ve seen Cash’s picture, but he’s never once visited Houston.
They’re supposed to be at the dock across from Mongoose Junction at seven a.m., but Wendy is late getting back from her run, Becky is on the phone with her girls, and Debbie is taking forever to get ready even though all she needs is a bathing suit, a cover-up, and sunscreen.
“Let’s go, ladies!” Ellen yells from the path behind their suites. Woodrow is waiting in the golf cart.
One by one, her friends appear. Not to toot her own horn yet again, Ellen thinks, but if it weren’t for her keeping them to a schedule, they would miss their chance to meet Ayers, which—as far as Ellen is concerned—is one of the main reasons for coming.
Ayers Wilson is a goddess. She’s one of those annoying women who glow during pregnancy and who don’t gain weight anywhere except their baby bumps.
“Look at those legs,” Debbie says. “I hate her. We all hate her, right?”
Except they can’t hate her because she is as lovely as she is beautiful. She greets them all with warm hugs—not a trace of snark or jealousy. “Such an honor to meet you, Baker talks all the time about how much he misses his Houston school wives.” Ayers lowers her voice. “He likes you better than his St. John school wives.”
“You have St. John school wives?” Ellen says to Baker.
“I’ll explain later,” Baker says.
Not only is Ayers lovely, she’s a badass. She’s the one who explains how the trip will unfold—Virgin Gorda Baths, snorkeling, Jost Van Dyke—and provides the safety regulations and a brief history of the island. There are only ten people on the boat—their party of five and a single father and his four teenagers. The father, Gary Dane, is cute in a rugged-ranch-hand kind of way; it turns out he’s in real estate in Tulsa, which means he’s best suited for Ellen, but Ellen passes him on to Debbie because she has too much urgent business to attend to at the moment. Debbie engages Gary Dane in conversation while Becky and Wendy chat up Cash. Cash is adorable, though he looks nothing like Baker; he’s a whole different species. He’s shorter than Baker, very blond, muscular. Does he work out? He’s perfect for Wendy!
Ellen busies herself watching Baker watch Ayers. He’s enchanted, that much is apparent; his eyes follow Ayers wherever she goes. She’s wearing little white shorts and a green polo that is probably a men’s medium to accommodate her belly. When they get to the Baths, Ayers explains that they’re all going to swim from the boat to the shore.
“It’s a little rough today,” Ayers says. “The weather in early September is always unsettled.” Ayers slips off her shorts and shirt to reveal a green tank suit that hugs her curves. She’s a movie star, a superhero. Although she’s eight months pregnant, she lowers herself down the ladder (thank goodness; Ellen worried for a second that she might dive in) and executes an elegant freestyle all the way to the beach. She takes the front as they tour the Baths—a series of granite boulders that have formed tunnels and chambers holding shallow baths. Some of the passageways are tight squeezes and there are steep stairs, but Ayers just glides along as
