She stepped out of the car and barely noticed the young Bahamian bellboys falling over each other trying to get to her luggage. They finally divided and conquered: one closed her door, one took her bags, and one led her to the hotel lobby. She stood in the lobby unaware of its beauty but completely aware of her aloneness. Her mother had begged to come along. Tamyra had assured her she needed a little more time away. But standing in this spectacular lobby with its modern bookcases, waterfall wall, deep black wood-grain floors and countertops, and contemporary sculptures displayed in uniformity inside bookcases, she thought of only one thing: she was all alone.
“You must be Tamyra.” A petite woman whose Southern accent stood out yet whose olive features were complemented in this tropical paradise extended a hand toward her.
Tamyra shook the woman’s hand. “Yes, I’m Tamyra. How did you . . .”
The woman was apparently already prepared for the question. “I’m Riley Sinclair, head of guest relations here, and I try to make sure I know everyone who is coming in for the week.”
Tamyra felt as if she towered over the petite brunette. “My mother called you, didn’t she?” Her hand went quickly to her hip.
Riley crinkled her nose. Obviously she was deciding whether she wanted to tell her the truth or not. “Yes, as a matter of fact she did. And I understand the ways of a Southern mother.”
Tamyra closed her eyes and shook her head.
The woman spoke before Tamyra could. “But I’m glad she did. We’ve held quite a few pageants here through the years, so consider this your second home. And I wanted you to know that I’m here to serve you any way that I can this week.”
“I don’t require much. I just needed to get away. Clear my head and all that good stuff before I start this new season of my life.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve joined us. We’ve got a lovely room ready for you, and this is an ideal place to start a new season of life for anyone. I’ll look forward to seeing you this week.”
“Listen, Riley, I know my mother can be very pushy. . . .”
Riley reached her hand up and touched Tamyra’s bare arm. It held the same warmth her own mother’s had right before she left home. “Your mother didn’t ask me to babysit you. It’s my job to make sure my guests are taken care of.”
Tamyra let the air come in and roll out in a deep and audible sigh. She wondered if her weariness was visible.
“I’d like us to have dinner together one evening if we could,” Riley offered.
“Sounds great.” Tamyra delivered the words with all the professionalism her year as a beauty queen had taught her. Whether she meant it or not.
* * *
Tamyra handed the doorman a five-dollar bill after he dropped off her last bag. She barely noticed the marbled bathroom with its white modern bowls that sat atop wooden consoles with chrome fixtures. She couldn’t have cared less about the luxury bath products that lined one of the sinks, inviting her to unwind in the bathtub or the marbled and tiled shower. She offered an unimpressed glance toward the breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean and the lighthouse that sat at the end of the peninsula of Paradise Island. The two flat-screen televisions that hung in the sunken sitting area and above the wall-length dresser across from her bed meant nothing to her.
Instead, she went straight to her carry-on and pulled out a small, padded fabric cooler. She carried it over to the hidden minibar in the console that separated the bedroom from the sitting area and opened the refrigerator door. She reached inside the bag and pulled out three bottles of medicine, each with a tag received from airport security. She had never walked through security with medicine before. Two months ago she wouldn’t have had to. Her eyes scanned the labels as she placed each inside the refrigerator. The revelation of what her life had become was announced before her in dosages. When the third bottle sat firmly on the top shelf, she closed the door.
And as it closed, her grief opened. If her concrete barrier had been expected to withstand this torrent, it wasn’t prepared. It gave way as quickly as a sandbag holding back a ruptured dam. And if anyone had been next door, they would have beaten the door down to get inside because her wails were so loud. But before any guest arrived, the grief had subsided and left her in a swollen pile on the carpet, asleep from the sheer exhaustion of her flood.
* * *
“Oh, my Lord in heaven, have mercy! I’m in the Bahamas,” Winnie Harris said to the pilot as she stopped in front of the open cockpit door.
“Yes, ma’am, you are,” he said with a wide smile stamped across his tanned face.
She shook her shoulders slightly as if a chill had coursed through her. She heard the stewardess laugh as she turned to walk the Jetway to the terminal and flung her monogrammed tote across her shoulder. The cream canvas of the tote wasn’t as cream as it once was, and her initials were fraying. But shoot, she’d lived seventy-two years and not a single thing on her body was in its original state.
Her barely five-foot, slightly round frame bounced up the corridor of the airport terminal. She hadn’t taken a trip in four years. Anywhere. Not even with the kids. Frankly, since Sam had died, she didn’t find traveling worth the effort. But her kids had driven her crazy. Gave her this trip for her Christmas present, and she’d been dreading it for the last nine months. But here it was. And so was she. Right smack-dab in the Bahamas.
Her clear blue eyes darted upward and found the arrow pointing toward baggage claim. She pointed her body in that direction. She’d traveled enough to know her way through airports. Sam had taken her all through Europe; they
