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own, about the explosion that had taken his life. The island buzzed with the
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news. Cried over it. Then, since the Marryshows were townies, they organized a
mass at the cathedral in St. George s.
The second and third week, Peta kept to herself in her house in St. George s.
She ate sparingly, slept little, and spent much time on her balcony staring
down at the town and the shallow waters of the U-shaped inlet known as the
Carenage. The small bay was filled with the movement of fishing boats, small
yachts, water taxis, and the occasional ferry. Periodically, a cruise ship or
schooner anchored in the deeper waters or sailed the edge of the horizon
beyond. When she did go out to buy food or go to the bank or simply to take a
walk, she found herself annoyed that life in Grenada continued as usual.
Preparations for February s annual Independence Day celebrations were in full
swing. People loved and laughed, and fought and died, as if nothing had
changed.
And for them it hadn t. At least not much. They had lost a hero. Some of them
had lost a friend. She had lost so much more than that. Arthur had been her
best friend, her mentor, a father figure after her own father s death; her
lover. He had taught her to drive a car and fly a plane, to perform surgery,
to live with losing a patient, and to feel humble when she saved one.
By the end of the fourth week, Peta was able to pull herself together enough
to reopen her rooms and reassume the work of caring for her patients and
Arthur s at the small clinic they d shared. She asked the locum they had left
in charge to consider a permanent position something to which he readily
agreed, provided a possible partnership was in the offing and buried herself
in work.
Now, standing at the end of Quarantine Point, she watched the sunrise brighten
the rocks and the sea, and wondered if her life would ever return to a
semblance of normalcy.
She remembered the day her family s house had caught fire when she was a girl
of twelve. Her father had come back into the house and saved her, but his own
clothes had turned into wicks that burned him like a giant candle.
That s when she d first met Arthur Marryshow. He fought so hard to save her
papa, but there was nothing anyone could do except promise that he would take
care of Peta and see that no harm came to her.
What of your promise now? she thought. How can you protect me when you re
dead?
Every week since her return, she d checked in with the Manhattan precinct
which was holding Arthur s few remains while so she was told they investigated
the accident. Yesterday, they d told her the investigation was officially
closed.
Her fury knew no bounds. Arthur was gone and she d never know why or by whose
hand.
Below her, the Rasta who lived behind Bronze House tucked his dreadlocks into
his turban and strode into the Caribbean for his morning bath. He must have
felt her presence and turned to look upward and wave.
 Peta.
 Ralphie. She waved back at her old friend. He was a little older than she,
but not much. An Oxford-educated geologist and son of a former deputy prime
minister, Ralph Levine chose to live as a Rasta. He slept in a cave, ran a
rudely built hut that he called his geological museum, and carved black coral
into jewelry to sell to the tourists.
Beyond Ralphie, Peta could see the luxury of the Spice Island Hotel, and
beyond that the medical school, which occupied the choicest piece of
oceanfront property in Grenada. In another week or two the American students
would return, and she d resume teaching there. Those kids had better watch
out, she thought. This semester she would brook no unruliness from those
spoiled brats.
Holding her sandals in her hand, Peta footed it back to where the real road
came up from Morne Rouge Bay. She walked past Mahogany Run and the Grandview
Hotel, crested the ridge, and continued toward her rooms, which lay a mile or
two down the road. Along the road she passed several paw paw trees papaya, as
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the Americans called them. The fruit on the plants was still small and green,
but it reminded her that she was hungry.
She passed Tabanca on her left and thought about going there for
breakfast.Tabanca . Unrequited love. Great view and excellent coffee, but the
owner was a perpetually sullen German woman whose lover had sailed away and
never returned. She lived there alone, growling at everyone except her large
German shepherd. She was a downer, which God knew Peta didn t need in her
life. Not today.
Reaching the Flamboyant, she made a left turn into the grounds, descended the
few steps that led to the Beachside Terrace, their patio restaurant, and
breakfasted on papaya and fresh bread and honey. She sweetened her coffee with
condensed milk and drank it slowly, watching a small bird enjoy the crumbs at
the far edge of the table. The Flamboyant was named after the scarlet trees
that dotted the island. It provided its guests with a magnificent view of the
three-mile horseshoe of Grand Anse Beach, with its white sand that extended
almost half the distance from where she sat to St. George s.
This being a Monday, the manager came out to greet her and invite her to come
to his regularly scheduled rum punch party. She did not answer him but merely
shook her head, so as to discourage communication. After that, for a few
minutes, perhaps even an hour, she felt more at peace than she had since New
Year s Eve. Reluctantly, she walked the rest of the way up Camerhogne Park
Road to her rooms at the Marquis Complex, put on her shoes and lab coat, and
saw her first patient of the day.
Within minutes, she was absorbed in the work.
The telephone rang as she was leaving.
 Peta? Frik.
For one misguided moment, Peta thought Frik might have called to see how she
was doing. He soon disillusioned her. Wasting no time on pleasantries, he told
her that Terris McKendry had been severely injured in a battle to save one of
Oilstar s tankers.
 He was shot and burned. He s in bad shape.
 Where is he?
 He was medevac d here, to Mount Hope Medical Center. Unless Arthur s plane is
fueled and ready, I ll send my jet to get you and have a car waiting for you
at this end.
My plane now, Peta thought, since the reading of his will. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]