Chapter Five

Susan and Rich's fingers intertwined as they walked beneath the trees along the edge of the beach. Moonlight sparkled on the sea, garlanding each wave with a glittering necklace that dissolved into diamond dust, then disappeared.

"Dinner was wonderful," Susan said.

"It was. It's amazing what those cooks can do with only nine ingredients."

She looked up at his curly hair. "Did you really have a mohawk? When you were in London?"

"Worse," he said. "My dad wouldn't let me get one; I was too young. So I thought I'd be clever and do the next best thing. I got my hair cropped close all over, except for the strip on top. I looked like a poodle."

"I can imagine," Susan giggled. "I'm sorry."

"Are you close to your dad?" he asked.

"I was," she said. "He died young, not long after I came to Tropico. Emphysema. Poor health care contributed to his death."

"So sad," he said. They walked on for a while in silence.

"You said you'd been going to the pub for three years. Is that how long you've been on Tropico?"

"No, closer to six." He released her hand to pick up a stone and skip it out over the waves. She ached at the loss of his touch. "I came here right after getting my Master's."

"Master's... degree?" she asked incredulously.

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"No, it's not hard to believe at all. The writing in your note, your speech, you obviously have an above average intelligence," she said. "But if you have a college education, why are you a farmer?"

A cloud passed over his rugged features. He picked up and flung another rock. This one didn't skip, but hit the face of a wave and vanished. "Ask El Presidente," he said bitterly.

She didn't press, but he continued on his own. "My degree is in engineering, the same as yours. I came here hoping to work in your power plant. Presidente was more than happy to let me build it, but when it was done, he said I was 'more valuable' leading the construction crew."

Rich stopped and squatted down on the balls of his feet, looking out at the waves. Susan stood quietly behind him as he continued. "So I built houses and markets for nearly three years, including the one where I first saw you. Then when the area was built up, he fired us all and closed the construction office. I applied again to work at the power plant, but Presidente said no. He gave no reason this time. There were no other jobs for educated men, not even at the cigar factory... unless I wanted to be a soldier. Which I didn't. So I took the only job I could find. I became a farmer." He clasped his hand, brown and creased, into a fist. "That was the summer of 1980."

"That was when Presidente hired me and Sandrine," she said. Her face fell. "Oh, no, I didn't realize..."

"Don't, Susan," he said, standing and taking her by the shoulders. "I have no regrets. If Presidente hadn't hired you, I would never have met you, and we wouldn't be here now, and I wouldn't be able to..."

The sea breeze fluttered a lock of hair across her face, and he reached up to brush it away. She turned her face up to him, her emerald eyes filled with moonlight and expectation, lips parted in a wordless entreaty. As their mouths met, they melted into each others arms, clinging to each other for dear life like refugees holding onto a raft. His kiss was like his hands, strong yet gentle, intense yet yielding. She felt her heart blossom inside her like a great flower as their bodies pressed together.

After what seemed an eternity, they parted. She gazed into his eyes. "Susan," he began. "Would you like to come with me to..."

"No," she said, suddenly pushing him away and shouting over his objections. "I wouldn't! I don't know what you think I am, but I don't make it a habit of going home with any man who--"

"Stop!" he shouted. Something in his voice rooted her to the spot.

"What--" she gasped as he approached her and drew back his hand. She flinched as he swung.

There was a soft "swat" sound, and something fell onto the grass behind her. Gingerly Susan opened her eyes and looked where Rich was pointing. There on the ground lay a huge hairy spider, as big as the palm of her hand, its legs curling up underneath it.

Tarantula, she thought. I've got more chance of being bitten by a tarantula than getting married for the first time at my age.

"Tarantula," he said. "It dropped out of the tree while you were accusing me of being a cad."

"Thank you." She avoided his gaze. "And I'm sorry. It's just that... well, I was involved once with a man who I thought loved me, but really only wanted me for one thing."

"Well, that's not me," he said. "And that's not what I want."

"Then what is it?" she asked, turning to face him. "What do you want?"

"I want..." His face betrayed an internal struggle.

Say it, she thought.

"I want to get married!"

To Be Continued