The Surge

  Martha didn't even respond. She knew how to handle him. "That's settled then. I'll have the nice lady at the reception book us tickets. And for tonight, I thought we should go downtown. Try one of the local places."

  Carl didn't answer, but she knew he had heard her. She swam to the steps and got out of the water. It was almost three o'clock.

  Chapter Four

  Paradise Island, Bahamas

  "So rude. Can you believe how rude those people were?"

  Martha snorted and threw her purse on the chair, then sat on the bed with a heavy sigh. The room smelled clean and the bed was made.

  "Come on, Martha," Carl said. "It wasn't that bad."

  "They were everywhere, Carl. Where did all those Chinese people come from all of a sudden? I didn't see a single one in the airport and now they're everywhere. Did you see how that lady almost pushed me off the boat because she was in a rush to get off on the island? I mean, who does that?"

  "I’m sure she didn't mean to push you. And we don't really know that they were Chinese. They could be from anywhere. They could be American."

  "And she didn't even say she was sorry when I yelled at her. Didn't even turn her head. So rude."

  Carl sighed. He was still in his swim shorts and a T-shirt that had wet spots from his sweating. He had gotten way too much sun and his face was almost glowing red. Martha felt her own cheeks. Her skin was sore. She would have to remember to apply some after-sun later. Right now, she felt so tired. And disappointed. What was supposed to be a wonderful day on the water, eating exotic food on a deserted island, had turned out to be an utter nightmare. They had to fight off the Chinese just to get something to eat at the buffet. It was like they had no manners, just skipping the line and grabbing food right in front of her, eating everything so she and Carl were left with just a small piece of dry chicken and rice. But that wasn't the worst part of it. They had acted like Martha and Carl weren't good enough to be there, to eat with them. The way they had looked at Martha and Carl was with disgust. Like they were better than them. One lady had even moved her children from the table when Martha and Carl sat down next to them. Carl said she didn't do it because of them, but Martha was certain she did.

  "At least the weather was nice," Carl tried while taking off his wet clothes.

  "Pah. It's the Bahamas. The weather is always nice," Martha said, sulking.

  Carl put on a new T-shirt and shorts, then sat on the bed next to her. "Don't let this ruin our vacation, Martha. People have always been rude when you travel. Remember when we went to Paris twenty years ago?"

  Martha nodded with a scoff. "Oh, yeah. That was terrible."

  "There you go. There's the smile."

  Martha chuckled. "But this was different, Carl."

  "What do you mean? How was it different?"

  "It was like they thought we weren't even worthy of being in the same place as them. Didn't you see the way they looked at us? It made me feel really bad."

  "Well…I hardly think…you're putting way too much into this, Martha. As always, you're making too big of a deal out of this. Now, I say we go and get ourselves an early dinner at the restaurant. I have my eye on that lobster and those fried little things that are so tasty."

  "Conch."

  "Yes, conch. I really liked those. And one of their beers, Kalik, is that what they call them? Or maybe I'll try that other one, the Sands, tonight. Hard choice, hard choice."

  Carl reached out his hand towards Martha. She looked into his eyes. A sadness had grown into them on the day that Joanna left and it had been in there ever since. He had not been the same since then. But over time, Martha had learned to live with it, with the sadness and sorrow gnawing inside of her and with seeing it in him as well.

  "What do you say?" he asked.

  She grabbed his hand and let him help her get up from the soft bed. "I say that sounds like just what I need right about now."

  Chapter Five

  Paradise Island, Bahamas

  She was getting a little dizzy by the time it all went wrong. Three Bahamian beers did that to her. Carl had four before the food arrived and they were having the most wonderful conversation. Carl seemed livelier than he had for years and Martha soon relaxed and forgot about the fiasco at sea the same day. Carl was right. There were rude tourists everywhere you went. It had just been so long since they had last traveled that Martha had forgotten about it. It really wasn't something you should get yourself worked up over. It really wasn't. It would just end up ruining your vacation. Like back when they had been in Paris. Three times, Martha had almost gotten into a fight. Three times. Martha was usually a very peaceful person, but it had simply been too much for her.

  The first time, she almost hit a guy at a small restaurant next to Sacre-Coeur. They had been inside the church in unbearable heat and, when they came out, Joanna didn't feel very well. They had walked to the closest restaurant, Le Ronsard, to buy some ice cream and sit down for a little while, but when they found a spot and Joanna sat down with Martha, the owner came over to them and told them to leave. The sitting area wasn't for people buying ice cream.

  "But my daughter isn't feeling well," Martha said.

  "Get out of here," the owner said, then turned his back on her without even looking at her when he said it.

  That was when she lost it. After hours of standing in line to get inside the church, between people pushing and shoving and the heat and now the worry that her daughter was about to get sick, she lost it. Now, Martha didn't know much French, but she knew a few curse words from back when they had a French exchange student at the high school, and now they came in handy. She yelled them at him, then yelled at Carl, who had already received the first ice cream.

  "We're getting out of here, now!"

  Not understanding anything, Carl handed the ice cream back to the server lady, who didn't understand anything either, while Martha yelled a few more curse words at the owner before he finally returned and started yelling at her to her face. She had to seriously restrain herself to not slap him, but Carl had pulled her away just in time.

  That was the first time.

  The second time was when they were about to go sailing on the Seine on a tour boat. A Japanese woman came running up from behind and pushed Joanna to the side so the girl slammed into the wall and hurt her head. The lady didn't even stop to say she was sorry or anything, but continued on to the beginning of the line. Oh, the scenarios that went through Martha's head of how she was going to strangle that woman if she ever ran into her on the boat.

  Luckily, she didn't.

  The worst one was in the Eiffel Tower. They had made it to the second floor by elevator and had to wait in line for the last elevator to the top. The line was long and, by the time they had been waiting for forty-five minutes and were almost at the end, an Italian family with two kids walked right up and cut in front of them, cutting in front of several hundred people, pushing their way through like they owned everything. Martha held her place and, when the guy wanted to get past her, she blocked his way and told him he had to wait patiently like the rest of them and that there were no shortcuts. As a matter of fact, he and his lovely family had to go all the way back where the line started. But the guy wouldn't have it. He pushed her aside and started to move his family up front. Martha got angry and pulled his arm, then he lifted his hand and was about to hit her. Martha ducked and, while she did, he and his family snuck past her.

  Back then, Martha had been very tired of tourists indeed, but to be completely honest, there was one thing she had been more upset about with the whole situation. And that was the fact that Carl never defended her. The Italian guy was about to hit her and Carl didn't even move or yell or do anything. That had hurt her because she realized he didn't have her back.

  Ten years later, when Joanna came home pregnant, it happened again. When Joanna told them, Carl simply got up and left the kitchen. Martha had been alone. She hadn't known what to do, so she had told Joanna to never see this boy ag
ain and that she had to get rid of the child if she wanted to stay home.

  The next day, Joanna was gone and Carl had blamed Martha ever since.

  Chapter Six

  Paradise Island, Bahamas

  They didn't notice the yelling. Not at first. Martha and Carl had both had too much to drink to realize what was going on in time. The restaurant was packed and it was karaoke night, so the music was loud and, frankly, not very good. Martha had slowly realized one thing: most Bahamians weren't very good singers. They were very eager and sweet, and the women were quite stunning, but so far, none of the singing had been very good. In fact, it was so bad it was becoming amusing.

  It wasn't until the music abruptly stopped that Martha realized something was wrong, very wrong indeed. The loud yelling, people screaming, the sound of boots stomping, even shots were fired. Someone ran down the street, screaming and crying.

  "What's going on?" Martha asked and looked around.

  And that was when she saw it. Five or six soldiers in green uniforms and tall black boots, stern looks on their faces, had entered the terrace and were yelling at them all. People were screaming, some hiding under the tables.

  "What the heck is going on?" Martha repeated and looked at Carl. He sat like a statue, his face whiter than the sand on the beach, and didn't say a word.

  One of the soldiers ran to their table and started yelling at them. Martha didn't understand a single word. She rose to her feet, feeling the anger rise in her. Backed by a few too many Kaliks, she said:

  "Now listen to me, young man. There is no need to yell. Would you be so kind as to tell me what is going on here?"

  The man yelled in what Martha only assumed had to be Chinese since she didn't understand a single word and the guy looked very Chinese. She had been wrong about these things before, since she found it very hard to tell Asians apart. How was she to know if they were from Japan or Korea or some other place?

  But, given the many Chinese people she had been with earlier in the day, it was only natural for her to assume these soldiers were Chinese as well.

  "I don't understand what you're saying. What do you want?" she asked.

  "Go to room," the man yelled.

  "Excuse me?" she asked.

  The guy lifted his gun and pointed it at her. Martha stared directly down the barrel and a hot flash rushed through her body. It was a very sobering experience.

  "Go. To. Room," the soldier repeated.

  Martha, still staring down the black hole in front of her, gulped and nodded. She reached out her arm towards Carl and found his hand.

  "Okay. Okay," she said.

  They hurried through the restaurant and, on the way, they saw a woman being beaten by two soldiers. Martha gasped and clasped her mouth when she realized it was the woman from reception, the nice lady who had taken such good care of them while they had been there and even gave them a new - and much better - room when Martha had complained about the air conditioning not working properly.

  "Hurry," Martha said and pulled Carl's hand.

  They ran to their room and, while people were screaming, she fumbled with the key. She had barely gotten it in the lock before another soldier ran to them, yelling in Chinese. Not being able to take any more, Martha screamed, "Please, don't hurt us; we're Americans. We're American citizens."

  The soldier stopped.

  "Americans? Americans?" he repeated it in a strange way, like a parrot repeating a word for the first time.

  "Yes, yes, Americans," Martha said.

  Thinking and hoping this meant they would be treated differently, that maybe this was an internal thing in the Bahamas, a coup of some sort that had nothing to do with them, Martha looked at him and nodded, repeating:

  "Yes, yes, Americans."

  The soldier smiled and Martha did too, feeling the traitorous feeling of relief, just as he lifted his rifle and knocked her out. As everything went black, all Martha could think of was conch fritters, for some strange reason.

  Part One

  Joanna

  Chapter Seven

  Ridge Manor, Florida

  Joanna Marks swung her guitar over her shoulder as the bus came to a halt. She grabbed her daughter by the hand and they walked out. The bus hissed and took off. Joanna drew in a deep breath as she spotted the water tower in the distance with the town's name, Ridge Manor on the side of it. Ellie Mae looked up at her mother. The areas around her eyes and nose were still red and swollen from crying. It had been two weeks since her dad died and the realization had not really sunk in yet. For any of them.

  "Is this it?" Ellie Mae asked and looked around.

  "Yeah. Well, I told you it isn't much. Town's that way. We have to walk for a little. You up for that?"

  The young girl nodded. "Sure."

  Joanna grabbed the suitcase and they started to walk. The heat soon engulfed them. Joanna wrinkled her nose when she recognized the smell of her hometown, of the childhood she had tried so hard to forget.

  "So, how far is it to the inn?" Ellie Mae asked.

  "Ten minutes, I'd say," Joanna lied.

  It was at least a fifteen-minute walk, maybe even twenty with Ellie's short legs, but the girl didn't need to know that. She would only start to complain and Joanna wasn't up for that right now. The grief of losing Jack still lingered deep within her. She had lost at least fifteen pounds taking care of him the past three months before the cancer finally got him.

  This was not what was supposed to happen. It wasn't how it was to end. This was not the plan, Jack.

  It had been a fast and aggressive one. It started in his lungs but by the time she had finally kicked him to the doctor because of that terrible cough, it had spread. It was everywhere. The doctors had tried their best but soon given up.

  Damn cigarettes. Damn you for smoking them, Jack.

  She didn't mean that. Of course, she didn't. She loved him and prayed he was in a better place now. A place with no pain, where he could breathe freely. She still couldn't really get rid of that look he would give her on the last days. He wouldn't let her leave his side. Terrified something would happen if she did and she wouldn't be there to say goodbye to him when he left.

  The worst part was when he wasn't able to breathe. The panic in his eyes as he fought to do such a simple task. Hooked up to the oxygen mask, he would stare at her, eyes overwhelmed with anxiety, terrified to take the next breath. And all that time, she sat beside him, holding his hand, caressing his cheek, clinging on to that little hope for a last-minute miracle.

  But it was too late.

  So many times, she had beat herself up for not demanding that he go see the doctor sooner. She tried often to recall exactly when the coughing had started but she couldn't get it right. Fact was, it had been going on for a long time. Being a smoker as he was, he coughed all the time. But at some point, it got worse, and she had ignored it, told herself it was nothing. Heck, he was only twenty-seven. Who dies at twenty-seven?

  Movie stars, rock stars. But not Jack. Not my Jack.

  Joanna looked down at her daughter and held her hand tightly in hers. She was worried about her, of course she was. In her grief, it had been hard to take proper care of her. She had been neglected for months. Not intentionally. It just happened. While Joanna took care of Jack, there was no more energy, no more room to also care for their daughter.

  That was about to change now. Everything was about to change. This was going to be a new start for them, a second chance.

  "I can't wait to see the place," Ellie Mae said as they walked down Treiman Boulevard. An elderly couple stopped to stare at them. Joanna recognized them as Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett. They had been old when Joanna was a child and seemed almost ancient now. They didn't seem to recognize her, so she just nodded politely, pulled her daughter's arm, and moved on.

  Chapter Eight

  Ridge Manor, Florida

  Wayne was sitting at his desk when they entered. He heard her voice first, then looked up as his secretary spoke to them. W
ayne corrected his uniform and got up just as the secretary peeked inside. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

  "I know. I'll be right there."

  He walked outside, put on his best smile, the best he had been able to muster since his Arlene disappeared. The young woman looked at him, hiding insecurity behind her tough exterior. She was tattooed, barely any skin left on her arms and legs that wasn't colored in some shape or form. Her eyes bore lots of make-up, black make-up, heavy eyeliner. Her hair was dyed a reddish color that made her look paler than she was. Life had not been kind to her the past ten years. She still had those freckles, though, on her nose and cheeks. The young girl standing next to her had them too and looked an awful lot like her mother did back when Wayne had known her.

  He let out a breath of air and scratched his forehead. "Joanna Pattison, as I live and breathe…"

  "It's Marks now," she said with a suspicious glare. "You the sheriff these days? Really? You?"

  He looked down at his uniform. "I guess so. Hard to imagine, huh?"

  She nodded with a chortle. "You can say that again."

  He looked at her with a sigh. "It's good to see you again, Joanna. I mean it."

  "Yeah… well…"

  "I heard about Jack," Wayne said. "I'm so sor…"

  She stopped him. "Don't."

  He looked at her, surprised. He felt a prickle of sweat forming on his brow. It was one of the hot ones today.

  "I'm just…" she continued biting her lip. "I'm not ready to…well, to be frank, I don't know if I'll ever be, but just…not now, okay?"

  He nodded, knowing and recognizing the deep grief very well. "All right. Let's go back to, it's good to see you, then. It really is, Joanna. I have thought a lot about you over the years. And who's this pretty young girl?"