Last Resort Read Online Free PDF Page B

walk along the deserted beach. The sun has nearly left the sky. Without prompting, I take her hand. Across the dark bay, a lonely red light flashes on a small, barren island. Crashing waves spray a light, salty mist on our skin. The brightest spot on the beach is the restaurant. We say nothing as we walk towards it, enjoying this moment together. Gwen is right. The crashing waves are renewing.
    The restaurant stands above the beach on a wooden deck. Thick ropes—the kind normally used to tie a ship to a pier—serve as railings on the deck. Calypso music from a band wafts into the night. Couples dance arm in arm on the deck. Most of the other guests are older than we are. Jewel bedecked women in flowing evening gowns sway in the arms of white haired husbands.
    Jonas Dunlap converses with one of the kitchen staff, but upon seeing us, he walks over. “Mr. Crane, if I may say so, Mrs. Crane looks marvelous tonight.”
    “Is a table for two available?” I ask.
    “We are preparing one at this very moment. Have you visited the bar?” he gestures to the far end of the deck where other couples congregate around a circular bar. “While you wait for your table, our bartender would be pleased to mix any drink you desire.”
    As we approach the bar, I notice the handful of people there are closer to my age group on the younger end of the spectrum. I spot Conner leaning against the bar holding court with Alexandra seated on a stool sipping another daiquiri. Off to my side through the foliage I glimpse the swimming pool. The idea of spending more time around Conner’s cheery perfection gives me an idea.
    “Hey, let’s check out the pool you saw from the plane,” I suggest, steering Gwen away from the bar.
    Water splashes along the faux rock formation into the pool. Ripples on the surface bounce undulating ribbons of light into the palm trees. Numerous people dressed in evening clothes congregate in small groups around the pool. Others lounge in bathing suits in a steaming Jacuzzi carved into the side of the rock formation.
    “C’mon in, lovely lady,” an islander half submerged in the Jacuzzi beckons to Gwen. “De hot water will do you good. Let de heat penetrate your bones.”
    Gwen is surprised the man singled her out, and holds up her hand in mild protest to his offer.
    He brushes her refusal away with a hearty laugh and flashes a gold-toothed smile. “Dese good folks with me have the right notion.”
    “He’s right,” one of the smiling guests in the Jacuzzi, an Englishman, adds. “This feels wonderful.”
    “Perhaps after dinner,” Gwen begs off.
    The islander resumes speaking with the guests in the water. The island sun has reduced his dark skin to the texture of parchment. He has the sunken cheeks and painfully sharp jawbones of a cancer victim. In a strange contrast to his cadaverous face, his body is all muscle and bone, as lean and strong as a high school athlete. Dread locks fall to his shoulders. A gold ring pierces his nostril. Another ring pierces one of his nipples and from it dangles a gold dolphin. At the request of one of the guests, the islander hops out of the steaming water and proceeds to contort his wiry body in freakish ways. Without any difficulty, he bends his legs over his shoulders, and walks on two hands in a way that reminds me instantly of a skittering crab. The small audience cheers and claps, and the islander accepts their attention with a leering grin.
    I am the only one not applauding.
    “This guy creeps me out,” I whisper to Gwen.
    “I wonder if he works here,” she replies.
    “Oh, no, he doesn’t work here,” a nearby Englishwoman interjects. “His name is Action. The resort doesn’t mind his presence because he entertains the guests.”
    “We haven’t seen you two before,” standing by the woman, a silver haired, ruddy-cheeked Englishman adds. “You must have arrived today.”
    I tell him he is correct.
    “You are going to love it here,” the woman raves. “By the