The Glow: Love, Without Restrictions

By A.D. Banyan

Louis is a resourceful artist, a solo sailor, and life in Key West was simple until he met Riki. She was the daughter of a powerful political figure from Ukraine and that complicated everything. They became fascinated with each other and their sex life was... young-adult, with imagination. When Rikis friend Berlin comes onto the pages there are no restrictions until the cover closes.

Along with Louiss emotional conflict between Riki and Berlin, there was also a third lover in his life. She was an extraterrestrial... maybe, entity, that was accidentally discovered in a salt pond, of a small island that was not on the charts. She had many powers and influence over Louis. She scared him, but he had a dangerous addiction and curiosity toward her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781490777504

A.D. Banyan

Anxious to explore the world, Alex left the United States at twenty-one. He is a yacht cabinet maker, sailor, diver, artist, and has only recently discovered that he loves to write. He learned to sail when he lived in St. Croix in the US Virgin Islands. Many of the situations in this book are actual experiences, and others are, obviously, not. It’s fiction . . . right?

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Copyright 2016 A.D. Banyan.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-7749-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-7751-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-7750-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016916164

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Contents

Chapter 1 The Salt Pond

Chapter 2 Painting My Heart Away

Chapter 3 Am I Losing My Fucking Mind?

Chapter 4 Canned Food from the Bilge

Chapter 5 Reality Check

Chapter 6 First Contact

Chapter 7 Second Contact

Chapter 8 Definitely a She!

Chapter 9 Naked and Undisturbed!

Chapter 10 Good-bye to Henry

Chapter 11 Salt Ponds Get Lonely Too

Chapter 12 A Surprise, Berlin

Chapter 13 We’re Doing a Road Trip!

Chapter 14 The Celeste

Chapter 15 Loss of the Salt Pond

Chapter 16 Book ’em, Dano!

Chapter 17 No Restrictions

Chapter 18 Coming Home

Chapter 19 The Basement

Chapter 20 Global Adjustments

Chapter 21 Confessions

Chapter 22 Ice Cream to Shaving Cream

Chapter 23 Island Hopping to the Baths

Chapter 24 Breaking in Daddy Klobendansk

Chapter 25 Shipwreck Survivor Lottie

Chapter 26 Three’s a Crowd; Four Is Better

Chapter 27 Time to Grow Up

Chapter 28 The Commitment

Chapter 29 The Wedding

Chapter 30 Alka-Seltzer Ending

About the Author

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During the time period where NASA was shut down and the private rocket men moved onto the island, the surrounding areas lost a lot of employment. I was a casualty of that period and paced the hallway of my home between my home office and the refrigerator. When I was not typing applications, I started writing books.

Sometimes an unavoidable situation puts you on a different path that you had not considered, and you find that a simpler life is far more desirable.

Alexander D. Banyan

Chapter 1

The Salt Pond

Good. You’re awake.

Yes. How much longer?

A few more hours. Has anyone else woke up yet?

No, just us. Should I wake them before we enter the atmosphere?

No, just relax and enjoy it. The glow as we pass through is brighter than our own.

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I saw the shadow of an island in the moonlight. I didn’t see trees or signs of civilization as I would have preferred, but I would gladly accept anyplace that I could drop an anchor after sailing alone for three days. I changed my course and watched carefully for signs of a reef or shoal that could ground me and make this lifeless sandbar my final home. Little did I know that this intermission I was about to take would change me forever. Here I would confuse my understanding of my world and begin to understand the needs of another.

The bottom came up slowly. I dropped the mainsail and reduced the jib. The depth indicator read fifteen feet. I rolled up the rest of the jib sail and went forward to drop the anchor. The wind pushed the boat to a complete stop and then away from the shore. The anchor dug in, and the chain tightened. I let out another fifty feet and locked it in with a rubber snubber to the bow. I sat down on the bow with a leg hanging over each side. I studied the chain and the surroundings for any sign of the anchor dragging.

After swinging on the anchor and returning to the same shore references, I went below deck. I got a blanket and a pillow and made myself a bed in the cockpit. As my head sunk into the pillow, my mind replayed the trip that I had just concluded.

How do those solo navigators do it? I asked aloud.

Lonely, exhausted, and dehydrated, I went to sleep.

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The sun burned through my eyelids, and I shielded them with the blanket. Once they slowly adjusted, I went below without even looking at the island. I crawled into the V-berth and dropped into a cool pillow. My consciousness was rapidly dismissed.

The ocean became turbulent as I floated in the darkness. A wave pounded over me and dragged me deep underwater. I stared, paralyzed, into the blackness, watching the hull of the sailboat rotating in slow motion. Looking up at the surface from below the inverted boat, a bright white light came rapidly toward me. Glowing amber faded into the distance. It passed quickly, and I realized it was the mast light, still burning. The mast dragged the sail fabric as the ocean’s boundless power shredded it.

Surely this is not real? I was tumbled over and thrown back to the surface. I pulled the string on my vest, and it inflated just like West Marine said it would. I floated on the waves now, raising ten or fifteen feet before dropping into the twenty-foot valleys and rising again up the other side. So this is how it ends.

I suddenly felt relaxed. My mind flashed photos from my memory as I smiled at the memories. They unexpectedly stopped as I coughed the salty liquid from my lungs and took a deep breath. The salt burned my eyes. Somehow I always knew I would die at sea.

I woke suddenly with my heart hammering in my chest. My feet were together and up in the point of the V-berth. My arms were spread wide, braced against the hull on each side. I looked at the clear blue sky through the hatch and realized I had been dreaming. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

By noon, the heat in the boat had increased, and sleep was no longer possible. I went back up on deck, looked at the crystal clear water, and spread my arms into the strong ocean wind that kept the Valerian pointing toward the beach. I walked to the dive platform and dove into the water. After a short swim to the anchor and back, I climbed back onto the boat. Pulling up a bucket of water, I scrubbed my hair and body with Dawn dish soap and dragged a razor across my nubby face. I climbed down the dive ladder into the water and rinsed the soap from my hair, pausing to watch the trail of bubbles go out into deeper water. I climbed into the cockpit, took off my wet shorts, and hung them on the safety rail before going below to cook some breakfast. Or was it lunch?

With a sudden jerk, the freezer bag released today’s portion of sliced ham. I poured some premixed eggs from the bottle into the pan and threw some ham in with it. I scrambled it all with a sweet pepper that I had on the counter. I sat the pan on the other burner and toasted two pieces of bread on the open flame.

Shit! I hissed as I threw one piece onto the counter after putting out the fire.

The puff of smoke trailed across the ceiling and out the companionway hatch. I continued to toast the other piece while the first one still smoked. I put the smoker on a paper plate and dumped the contents of the pan onto it. I topped it off with a shot of salt and pepper and the second slice of toast.

Brunch!

I grabbed a gallon jug of water from the cooler, took a bite of my sandwich, and returned to the cockpit. Leaning against the cabin, I surveyed the horizon. I finally started wondering where the hell I was. It looked like the rest of the planet had disappeared except my boat and this sandbar. The inflatable dinghy squeaked loudly against the side of the Valerian as I finished my food.

Okay! I’m coming! I yelled to the dinghy.

The gentle splashing of the waves made a peaceful sound against the hull. I took the water jug below and returned it to the cooler. I untied the dinghy painter rope and walked it around to the dive platform. I took the outboard motor from the safety rail bracket and attached it to the dinghy. It started on the first pull. The inflatable seemed so happy to finally get some attention after being dragged across the ocean. She was now to be set free and zoom independently.

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My island was actually a sandbar that ran north and south with an unusual bay on the north end. It was open to the windward side of the island. I turned the motor and went south down the beach to get closer to the bay. I ran the dinghy onto the beach and started walking toward it. It was farther away than it looked. The hot sand burned my bare, flat feet.

Once I finally arrived, I ran out into the water to cool my feet. The water felt like a warm bath. I walked out farther and floated on my back, enjoying the warming sensation as it massaged my sore muscles. I decided to go back to the Valerian, sail around to the east side of the island, and anchor as close as I could to the bay. I felt so refreshed that I ran across the hot sand and into the cool water near the dinghy.

Once on board, I idled around the northern shoal and motored the Valerian to the other side of the island. I looked for the entrance to the bay. It was not a bay at all, but a salt pond that didn’t have ocean access. The water depth, at what I thought was an inlet, was only a few feet deep and became exposed at low tide.

Again I dropped the anchor about two hundred feet offshore. I let out all of my chain and about one hundred feet of five-eighths-inch rope. That backed me toward the salt pond and left me with a view from the stern in about twelve feet of water. The sun was in the lower part of the sky, and I anticipated an interesting sunset with the reflection off the glassy pond.

I went below and put a can of beef stew in a pan on the stove as I got out my watercolor paints and prepared a canvas. I placed my supplies in the cockpit just before the soup smells drifted through the companionway door.

I ate hastily and rinsed my big soup cup, leaving the rinse water in it for my brushes. I took a pencil and lightly laid out the shapes and perspective of the scene before me. The sun started dropping over the horizon, throwing out gold and magenta rays across the salt pond.

I painted quickly while the night crept over the bow and darkness finally encompassed the cockpit. I put the last strokes onto the canvas and dropped my brush into the cup of brown water. I took the canvas below and looked at it in the cabin light. It was somewhat boring, even with the beautiful colors.

I placed the canvas in the V-berth for the night. It lay flat on the bed to dry with the open hatch above. The wind blew through the cabin as I cleaned out my brushes and placed the soup cup in the sink. I went on deck and pulled up the string that recovered a beer from the deeper depths. There was no TV reception this far out, so I plugged in a DVD and watched episode fifty-two of the Star Trek box set. I had traded two good paperbacks for it in a bar in the Bahamas. I lay back and thought about the intro as the music played: to seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no man has gone before!

Tomorrow I better turn on the chart plotter and find out where I am, I thought as a Klingon bird of prey uncloaked and fired on the Enterprise.

I shared a night in the back cabin with all of the finished paintings. In the morning, I crawled out of the small space I slept in and got two boiled eggs out of the cooler and a can of grape juice from the bilge. After breakfast, I sat at the galley table with a bowl of water and a small mirror. I shaved, trimmed my hair, and brushed my teeth. I dove from the back of the boat and swam to the salt pond. I walked across the shallow area and out into the warm water until I could float on my back. It felt like a masseuse in dive gear was massaging my back and legs as I floated. I drifted back into the shallow water with my head lying on the beach and dozed off.

I dreamed it was night. A woman came from the water, and she was looking at me from between my feet. She ran her hands up my legs and under my baggy swim trunks that were ballooning in the water. I kept my eyes closed as she explored the shape of my penis and kept moving her hands on it as it grew and became erect. She pulled my shorts up on one side until she had it sticking out of the water with both of her hands so gently inspecting it. One hand remained on my penis while the other rubbed my chest and even felt my face. My nerves lit up like a mild electrical shock.

I was dying to open my eyes, but I wanted to see where this dream was going. She ran her fingertip across my forehead, coming to rest on my left temple. This had always been the central point to my migraines of youth. At a spot I normally associated with pain came feelings of calmness, like a vial of morphine.

I opened my eyes to see who this person was, and no one was there. What a dream! I stood, feeling embarrassed as I looked around. There wasn’t even a ship on the ocean. Puzzled and confused, I swam back out to the Valerian and started the diesel to charge the batteries. I turned on the chart plotter to document this location. It locked onto several satellites and came up with 23°57’N, 80°17’W. And yet no name?

After zooming out, I saw I was south of Miami, north of Cuba, southwest of the Bahamas, and just across the Gulf Stream from Key West. I hit save and typed salt pond. I decided to spend the night here and leave for the Bahamas tomorrow morning. I had enough finished paintings to finance diesel fuel, food, and some more canvas.

Tonight, so the sunset would be behind me, I walked around to the far side of the salt pond. I painted my boat with its reflection in the pond with the sunset lighting it up in a subdued glow. I used oils for the more vivid colors and the implied detail I could achieve. The boat appeared to be luminescent as I remixed my palette for the surprise effect.

Finally, I took the edge of the knife and scratched in cables and the mast for the final touch. I put the supplies into the dinghy and paddled back out to the boat. I carefully spread out a towel on the mattress and leaned the painting against the side to dry. The only thing I hated about the oils was the smell it left in the boat. I knew, if I slept in the V-berth, the wind would move the paint odor to the stern.

I hoisted my last beer from the deep and popped the cap. I sat in the cockpit with my back against the cabin. I watched the amber glow and little bubbles through the bottle. I looked around at the water and once again realized I was completely alone without a single light on the ocean. According to the chart plotter, this little atoll was sitting in the middle of a very busy shipping route. So where were all the freighters? I finished my beer and fell asleep in the cockpit.

When I woke up an hour or two later, a glow was coming from the salt pond. My first thought was that someone had been dumping nuclear waste here and I’d better leave this place now.

Then I saw it sparkle, sort of like an Alka-Seltzer if one held a flashlight to the bottom of the glass. I stood up and walked to the dive platform to get a better look. The white glow developed a yellow cast and then went to black.

Woooooooo! I said aloud.

I stood there staring into the darkness. I waited for a long time, hoping it would do something else. I felt like a child at Christmas. An entity! Yeah, a being with intelligence. I stood a little longer until I felt sure that the show was over. Finally, I went below, crawled into the V-berth, and slept quite well until the morning sun hit the hatch. A gentle breeze started rocking the boat.

I put the old stainless steel percolator on the back burner and poured the last of the premixed scrambled eggs from the bottle into the hot pan. The Bailey’s dripped across the counter as I poured a shot into my cup. The wind was strong, and I almost lost the paper plate as I finished my breakfast in the cockpit.

I pulled at the anchor chain as the boat inched slowly into the wind, away from the salt pond. I raised the mainsail and not so gracefully moved further out into the deeper water. I unfurled the jib, and we were free again. I turned on the chart plotter long enough to get my bearings for the Bahamas. There, I could sell my paintings to the tourists and the leftovers to the shops.

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I motored the boat through a charter company’s mooring field and exited on the windward side. After idling upwind a safe distance, I dropped the hook and dove to make sure it was set securely in an eighteen-foot bottom. It had drug through the sand and buried itself under a large patch of sea grass. Feeling that the anchor was solid, I walked into town and registered my boat and myself into customs.

What took you so long to get here? asked a full-dressed customs officer.

I stopped at a little sandbar of an island and rested for a few days. I am sailing solo, I answered promptly.

Oh! Always keep your life vest on, and be sure you tether it to a jack line. It’s very dangerous sailing solo, he said with a serious stare.

Why did you ask? I stared at him curiously.

We find that a lot of people sailing here from Key West or Miami often move drugs or make a transfer on the way. We always watch the elapsed time and confirm your departure time with the United States. That’s how I knew how long you had been on the water. Computers and the Internet, don’t you know? Usually we don’t have any problems with sailors. We really watch the go-fast boats! He smiled. Have a good day, and welcome to the Bahamas!

I walked down the streets and watched where the tourists were shopping. I found an empty alley in the middle of the cruise ship area and committed it to memory for tomorrow.

The next morning, I hauled all of my paintings, an easel, and a folding chair ashore in the dinghy. I also threw in a few extra boat parts for those uninterested in art. I tied off the dinghy and hailed a taxi to deliver all of my product to the address I told him. He warned me that the local permit officer rode a little scooter that was very loud. If I saw him, I were to leave my area and walk around the corner.

He is too lazy to hunt for you. He’s only interested in the easy violations. I handed him a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change for the information.

I sat the easel on the sidewalk with a canvas on it that said in big letters: Original Paintings by Louis Amherst. It had a big red arrow that pointed down the alley. Once you entered, the paintings were leaned against the limestone walls on both sides. I borrowed a broom from a storeowner and swept the area I was using. I was still cleaning when someone asked the price of one of my Key West pieces.

One thirty-five. Cash! I answered.

Will ya take one twenty-five?

Well, you are my first sale of the day. Okay!

He handed me American cash and hurried on down the sidewalk. I sat down in my chair, opened a local newspaper, and took my first sip of coffee.

How much is this piece? asked an older British couple.

I can’t take less than three twenty-five for that one. It was a lot of work in oil. I held up the painting and inspected it closely.

Would you consider two seventy-five? they asked quietly.

Well, you are my first sale of the day. How about three hundred even?

That will be fine! They crammed the money in my hand and moved to the next shop.

By the end of the day, I only had two paintings left, the watercolor of the salt pond at sunset and the oil of my luminescent sailboat. I really liked the sailboat. Although it was only a ten-by-twelve, I had a price on it of $175. I had marked down the salt pond several times, ending at thirty-five dollars, and I still couldn’t sell it.

There had been no business for the past two hours so I packed up and headed back to the boat. I carried the easel, my folding chair, and the two small paintings back to the dinghy while still managing to carry a six-pack of Kalik beer without dropping a thing.

As I walked down the streets of town, I stopped behind a large tree and looked at the people sitting in an open-air restaurant. They held hands and whispered their secrets, and one man rubbed his companion’s sexy thigh under the table. I took a deep breath and continued to the dinghy. I paused for a minute as I saw my reflection in a glistening storefront window. I stared at the reflection of the twenty-two-year-old man looking back at me. He was 175 pounds and not quite six feet tall. He was a little bit thin from the lack of healthy food, but the muscles were tight from his time in the ocean. His dark brown hair was blowing across his face from the erratic ocean breeze. His Caribbean tanned skin accentuated his brown eyes.

I carefully took my finger and pushed my hair behind my ears. No paintbrush residing there today! I lived most of the time in a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops that I bought in St. Croix four years ago. The man in the glass was alone.

I emptied my pockets on the galley table and then ran the diesel to chill the cooler and charge the batteries. I counted 2,070 American dollars and whatever 187 British pounds converted into. Basically it had been a good day. I hung the painting of the incandescent Valerian on the bulkhead wall.

The next morning I went back into town and bought provisions, stocking the cabinets and the bilge. Then I moved the boat further out away from the mooring field. I dropped the hook in thirty feet of water and was still tucked into the leeward side of the rocky peninsula. I put a few beers in the cooler with two blocks of ice on the bottom. I tied the rest to a line that dropped to a cool, sandy bottom thirty feet below.

Up at sunrise, I went back into town and found several production paintings in the trash or for sale for a few dollars. Most deserved to be in the trash, but after I painted them over with gesso, I could breathe fresh art into their ending life. One even had a beautiful frame on it. I found several in a dumpster behind the Jenny & James department store and struggled to carry them all back to the dinghy. People looked at me like I was homeless, and by their definition, I supposed I was. My life was still free to be anywhere and do anything, and I hadn’t punched a time clock or paid any significant taxes in the past six years.

With today’s booty carefully stowed into the back cabin, I relaxed in front of the TV. The steak was grilling on the charcoal atop the back rail as I added some mushrooms. I cracked open the second cold Kalik and watched the local news.

I did my daily swim out to the anchor and returned to the boat’s back porch. I watched a young girl who was also swimming from a huge catamaran charter boat. She was bored as her friends all played cards and drank on their floating home. We spent time casually talking while treading water, and I invited her onto my boat to continue the conversation. Something about her attracted me. I could not take my eyes off her, and I felt she was equally curious. She wasn’t American, and she had the most hypnotic eyes.

Can I get you something to drink? I asked.

A soda would be great!

No soda! How about some sun tea? I offered.

That is fine. She smiled.

Taking a gallon jug, I poured it over chipped ice in a tall glass and handed it to her. We sat outside in the cockpit and talked. I didn’t know how old she was and didn’t want any problems from Daddy. She told me that her family was from Ukraine and they were chartering the catamaran with another family from Portugal.

The boat is really crowded, and there is no escaping the constant talking and arguing, she said. Do you have this whole boat to yourself?

Yes. But I own this boat. I paid it off years ago.

What do you do for a living?

Different things? Mostly I am a painter!

Like walls and houses?

I laughed. Hell no! Although I’ve done that too! I do paintings of things and places and sell them to the tourists.

Her body language took a major change. Can you paint me? she whispered.

I sat and looked at her from head to toe as she modestly held the beach towel over her bikini. She assumed that I didn’t think she was pretty enough, but I was trying to evaluate if I could do her justice with a paintbrush.

What’s your name? I asked.

Riki. It’s short for Friederike. Friederike Waldeburg!

Okay, Riki. Got it! Well, Riki, how old are you?

I’m eighteen years and seven months. My family is still a bit protective, but they allow me considerable leniency and trust my judgment completely. If I trust you, my entire family trusts you!

Okay, I would love to paint you. What did you have in mind?

Something very small. She held up her hands, showing me what looked like a ten-by-twelve. It would be a gift for my mother before I move out of our home and immigrate to America. I will be going to college at the University of Cincinnati to be a doctor this fall.

I’ve stayed in Cincinnati! Be sure to see the fireworks in September!

How much will it cost to do my painting? Riki asked.

You can pay me two hundred. Or let me paint you for myself after I do your mother’s, and we’ll call it an even trade?

Come to our boat tomorrow at noon and talk to my father. If it’s okay with him, I would like to trade painting for painting, she said with a big smile on her face.

She handed me her glass and walked to the dive platform. She laid her towel on the cushion and slipped back into the water without a splash. I watched her swim back to the catamaran and climb up the port side pontoon. She sat down on the top step and waved at me, acknowledging she was okay. I waved at her and went back below for the evening.

I prepared an eleven-by-fourteen canvas with gesso and checked my supply of oils. I cleaned the interior of my boat and studied how to get the interior lighting ready for a portrait. I hadn’t done many portraits, and I was a bit nervous about this one.

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I woke up late, cleaned myself up, and was en route to the catamaran to meet the Waldeburg party. Riki greeted me at the pontoon steps as she took the painter and tied off the inflatable. I followed her into the cabin where everyone, sitting in different locations, stopped their talking and focused on me.

Louis, come on in and tell me what you like to drink, said a big man behind the bar.

Louis, this is my father Markus and my mother, Zenzi Waldeburg.

I shook hands with Markus as Zenzi smiled at me. Riki took my hand and introduced everyone else as she pulled me through the procession. Not only could I not remember anyone’s name past her parents, but I couldn’t pronounce them if I did. We had returned to the bar, and her father gave me a look of anticipation as he awaited my choice of drinks. I glanced around the room and saw most of the men with a beer and the women with mixed drinks.

You don’t have a Heineken back there, do you? I asked.

Even better! he said loudly. A Sam Adams! He poured it professionally into a chilled glass and set them both on coasters.

The conversations resumed, and the tension level dropped. Markus prepared lunch on a grill in the exterior patio area. I had a few carefully worded questions directed at me and responded with honest answers that seemed to please Riki’s family. They were curious how I survived by just doing paintings.

I am expensive! I joked.

They all laughed with me.

Markus saw the smoke from the grill changing, looked at me, and pointed. Louis, give me a hand with the grill.

He walked from behind the bar, and I followed. I pulled the sliding glass doors closed and stood beside Markus as he flipped the steaks.

Come with me, Markus said.

He went up a winding stairway and headed onto the upper deck, where we sat across from each other at an exterior bar.

Riki is bored. As you just witnessed, we are all older than she is, and most of us are family or lifetime friends from the old country. We brought Riki on this charter because she will be going to college soon and we wanted her to have fun with her family before we lose her to the Americans. She is not having fun and spends most of her time reading in her cabin or swimming around the boat. I see that you two have become friends and she even visited you on your boat. He studied my response.

Guilty! We ran into each other as we swam at the end of the day, I said cautiously.

Louis, where I am going with this is … would you consider spending time with my daughter while we are in the islands. I mean, take her out, do things that young people her age enjoy doing, and maybe even take her sailing with you and possibly meet us further down our charter route.

If Riki is okay with that plan, it is fine with me. As you may have noticed, I am alone also, and Riki is a fascinating companion. I stayed alert, watching for the catch I felt coming. I stared him in the eyes and waited.

Great! Then we have a plan! Come! The steaks are ready! He rushed down the stairway and opened the grill to a burst of flames.

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So did Daddy make you show him your passport and personal information to run a credit check? asked Riki.

No. It was very unusual. I think I like your father. I’ll tell you later!

We all ate and drank and drank and drank and laughed until it was time to start cooking again. I couldn’t eat or drink anymore and excused myself to return back to my boat.

I leaned over and whispered into Riki’s ear before leaving, Come over to my boat at sunset. We need to talk. I walked cautiously toward the door.

Markus left the bar and followed me down to my dinghy. He held the painter as I started the motor and let it idle. I am pleased to have met you, Louis Amherst. He reached out to shake my hand.

When the handshake ended and the painter was released, several bills were left in my hand. I looked at Markus with a questioning look. He smiled, nodded his head, and returned to his party. As I motored back to my boat, I counted five one hundred-bills folded neatly, as if he had planned it in advance.

Just after sunset I heard a splashing in the water. I ran to the stern and saw Riki treading water about ten feet out.

Hi. Come aboard!

The water is great! Why don’t you join me?

I pulled the T-shirt over my head and climbed down the dive ladder until I was waist deep. I just fell backward into the black water and floated out to where Riki remained stationary. She grasped my hands as I approached her, and I was immersed into her grey blue eyes.

What did you want to talk about?