J.P. felt the burn. He knew the skin was crunching around her fire engine red kneecaps. All golfers have suffered that unintentional burn when a match goes to a shootout and your sunscreen is still in the locker room.
Kenny started to gather her belongings while J.P. sat quietly, contemplating his next move. He wasn’t sure if her cheeks were pink from the sun or flushed with embarrassment.
“One last thought about customer satisfaction. Mr. Cunningham is playing with the idea of supplying water toys—kayaks, paddle boards, that kind of thing—to the rental properties,” J.P. said, methodically thinking about every word and trying to sound business-like. “He ordered in a few kayaks to test durability and quality. See if they’d be safe for renters to use on their own or if they’d be a liability. We debate the same issues with gas grills and outdoor electric heaters. Anyway, I was going to check them out tomorrow. Since you seem to be a career hotel-hopper, maybe you’d want to join me and share guest feedback?”
“You want me to be a water toy product tester?” Kenny clarified. “How would that work? Are you going to send me out into the ocean on a kayak and see if I get swept out by the current? Don’t forget you’re talking to a true crime producer. This sounds like it has all the elements of a perfect murder,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I almost forgot you’re a trained skeptical overthinker.” J.P. laughed, half relieved that Kenny’s first thought didn’t jump to the invitation being interpreted as a date, though it easily could have been. Maybe some part of him wanted her to perceive it that way. “I appreciate the reminder. The next time I conjure up a murder mystery plot, my target victim will not be a jilted news producer.” J.P. laughed.
“You’re welcome.” Kenny coyly smiled.
“Don’t forget I’ve seen you swim. So, in this plotline you would be the heroine tasked with saving both of us if something were to go wrong while we’re out there.” He tipped his chin to the ocean.
“I feel like I’m being taken advantage of because of my aquatic abilities but I’ll try to look past it,” Kenny joked. “When and where should I meet you?”
“How about 10:00 a.m.? Down the beach a bit,” he said, pointing to the left with his ball launcher. “There’s a discreet, narrow walkway off the bike path between Whistling Swan and Oyster Catcher. You’ll see a small sign that says, ‘Private Access.’ Follow the sign and take that path, I’ll meet you at the end on the beach.”
“Sounds great, I’ll be there.” Kenny flashed a smile as she finished folding up her beach mat and walked towards the dunes.
“See you tomorrow, Kenny.” J.P. beamed as he walked in the opposite direction and launched the tennis ball that Cliff darted after.
Twenty-Three
No one was in the pool at Pelican Pointe when Kenny got back to the villa, and she realized she hadn’t taken a dip for the sake of relaxation since her arrival. For a split second, she debated grabbing her goggles and getting in a quick swim workout but instead decided to soak up the peace and stillness of the surroundings. It was a different kind of happy hour than the one she would be having if she was in New York at this time on a Friday night.
The direct sunlight that the pool received all day made the water feel like a warmly drawn bath, but Kenny still felt a rush of refreshment when she immersed herself under the surface. When she came up for air, she kicked her legs up, spread her arms out into aTshape, arched her back slightly, and laid her head back on the top of the water like it was resting on a pillow. Kenny loved to float. She found it freeing. As a kid, she would float for hours basking in the feeling of weightlessness and staring at the sky, mesmerized by the movement and formation of the clouds. She would be fascinated when the puffs of white took the shape of animals or letters or some other geometric object.
Thirty years later, she still relished the feeling of weightlessness, especially when she often felt weighted down from the stress she carried around on her petite shoulders. But instead of looking up and imagining stories about the shapes of the clouds, she would close her eyes and get lost in her own thoughts, which could sometimes be dangerous. The thoughts were usually self-reflective and reminiscent of the recurring dreams about where she was in her life, where she wanted to be in her life, and how she was going to get there. Today she didn’t want to wander to that place. She was happy with where she was for the moment and was trying to live by theViennalyrics that brought her to this paradise.She was giving herself permission to slow down and not race through life. At least for the next few weeks.Kenney opened her eyes just in time to see a cloud that was shaped like a butterfly blow by.
She floated a little longer and started to make her way to the pool steps when tiny droplets of water started sprinkling from the sky. The drizzles collided with the pool’s calm surface creating a perfectly choreographed water show. The circular ripples started slow, delicate and sporadic, and increased in speed, intensity, and amount as the rain crashed down harder. Kenny felt like she was watching the musical fountains at the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas, minus the music. By the time she gathered her belongings and reached the back steps of Villa #5, sections of the coastal concrete walkway were flooded, and the palm trees whipped furiously back and forth against a darkened gray sky. She got to the interior side of the sliding deck door just in time to hear an angry crack of thunder and see the outdoors illuminate from a bolt of lightning.
Wrapped in her wet towel and hair still dripping from her swift evacuation from the pool deck, Kenny stood in the glass door staring outside in amazement. The intense, brief pop-up thunderstorms that blew out as quickly as they blew in captivated her. Her appreciation for meteorology started and ended in her clothes closet every morning as she decided how she should appropriately dress based on the weather person’s predicted forecast. But these regular rain occurrences made her feel small, materialistic, and, frankly, embarrassed to realize how often she took for granted the beauty and perplexity of what was going on around her.
By the time Kenny showered and lathered aloe over her unevenly tanned and burned skin, the storm clouds had given way to a clear sky. She stepped onto the back porch and hung her beach mat over the railing. The air still smelled of rain and wet pine, and the mulch was a darker shade of brown than usual; but most surfaces had dried up and the standing water on the sidewalks had begun to absorb and recede. She noticed that the small community of vacationers was ready for Friday night. A large family with several boxes of pizza and cases of soda staked out a corner of the pool deck. Two men sipped bottles of beer as they flipped burgers and turned steaks at the grills under the pavilion. Three women who looked like they were dressed for dinner walked around the landscaping ponds holding plastic wine glasses. The pickleball courts were fully occupied and a young couple that appeared to have gotten stuck in the rainstorm rounded the corner with two of the bright orange beach cruisers.
Text from Hailey: Hooked up? (Emoji: laptop) Plz let me kno.
Kenny had been so wrapped up in being present during the day she forgot that the service company was scheduled to install the internet and cable in Villa #5. She walked back into the kitchen and found a laminated piece of paper and two television remotes, labeled Remote A and Remote B, on the counter that indicated the unit was connected.
Thank you for using Island Cable Services.
Wi-Fi Network: Pelican Pointe
Wi-Fi Password: Villa-5
Use Remote A to power television “On/Off.”
Use Remote B to change channels.
To report outages, contact Low Country Hospitality.
Kenny imagined herself the axis in a universe of information overload and incessant communication that constantly spun around her, and she was surprised by how quickly she adapted to being unplugged for a few weeks. In the beginning of her hiatus, she was nervous she would be filled with guilt and anxiety. How she imagined a soldier who had gone AWOL felt after leaving camp. She feared she would need to go through a methodical and closely monitored digital detox. But the freedom from it all over the last six days was liberating. If Hailey hadn’t asked for confirmation that all the systems were working, Kenny would have gone at least another week before reconnecting to the outside world.
She reluctantly picked up Remote A and powered on the large television that hung on the wall. The local NBC channel popped up andJeopardy!was on the screen. Kenny lovedJeopardy!and one of her favorite assignments was crisscrossing Canada to produce a documentary about Alex Trebek’s death. To people outside the news industry, filming obituaries before an ageing and ailing celebrity or notable figureactuallypassed away was perceived as morbid and offensive. To those inside the circle, the jumpstart in production was viewed as a necessary evil so networks could immediately air an entertaining and informative documentary that a nation mourning the rich or famous deceased would be longing for.
She picked up Remote B with her left hand and flipped through the channels to ensure both remotes were working. She clicked on the local ABC station that was previewing the upcoming episode of20/20.It was the story of an oil broker from Texas who “accidentally” killed his philandering son-in-law while the pair were on a big game hunting trip in Wyoming.
She was somewhat familiar with the story, but WBS passed on covering the drama noting there weren’t enough twists and turns to the hold viewer’s attention for the duration of a show. Kenny had no plans to tune in and determine if the executives’ assessment was correct. She powered down the television. Having confirmed that both remotes and the cable were working, she placed the clickers back on the counter next to the laminated instruction leaflet.
