Troubles in Paradise (Paradise #3) - Elin Hilderbrand Page 0,3
far wall. That’s right; Irene remembers being methodical about packing her suitcase and double-checking for essentials like her phone charger. Agent Vasco had looked on suspiciously, as though she thought Irene might try to slip in a stash of cocaine or blocks of hundred-dollar bills.
When Irene got to Huck’s house, they each did a shot—or two? three?—of the Flor de Caña, and Irene only barely recalls plugging her phone in before sleep. She remembers so little about the end of the night that she supposes she should be grateful she woke up on the sofa and not in Huck’s bed.
He’s a gentleman.
“I need to make a phone call,” she says. “Do you have any…aspirin?” She points to her head. “Good morning,” she adds, because she has learned the number-one rule of the Virgin Islands: “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” or “Good evening” begins every conversation.
“Two aspirin coming right up,” Huck says.
“Three,” Irene says. Four, she thinks. “Please.”
“The best reception is out on the deck,” Huck says.
Irene slips through the sliding glass door, going from the pleasant air-conditioning of Huck’s house (though she gathered last night that he turned it on only because she was there) to the mounting heat of the day. Her phone says seven o’clock, which means it’s five o’clock in Iowa City.
Five a.m. Will Lydia be awake at five a.m.? She is going through menopause and complains that now she never sleeps, so maybe. Even if she is asleep, Irene needs to wake her up. Dr. Lydia Christensen is her best friend; she claims she is there for Irene no matter what. The bonds of best-friendship get tested infrequently, especially as Irene prides herself on being self-sufficient.
Today is a different story.
“Hello?” Lydia says. She’s laughing. Irene hears the whisper of bedsheets and, in the next instant, a deep male voice. This would be Brandon the barista, Lydia’s new boyfriend. Irene doesn’t want to imagine what the two of them are doing up so early.
“Lydia, it’s Irene.” She stops herself. “Good morning.”
Lydia is there for Irene no matter what. No matter that it’s five a.m., no matter that it’s negative ten degrees with the wind chill in Iowa City, no matter that Irene interrupted pillow talk. Lydia and Brandon are going to put on their parkas and drive directly over to Church Street to see what’s what. She’ll call Irene when she gets there.
Inside, Irene accepts the three aspirin and a glass of ice water. The Flor de Caña bottle has been tucked away and in its place is a cup of coffee that Irene understands is for her. There are eggs cooking on the stove.
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I just can’t eat,” Irene says.
“The eggs are for Maia,” Huck says.
Right, Irene thinks. Maia has school. For everyone else, it’s a normal day. It’s Thursday.
“We have a charter,” Irene says.
“That we do,” Huck says. “I’m going to take it alone. I thought about passing it off to What a Catch! but it seems like now we could probably use the money. You stay home and figure out what you need to figure out and I’ll be back this afternoon to help you in any way that I can.” He gives her a tentative smile. “Maybe with fresh mahi.”
Irene bows her head. She notices his use of the pronoun we, which she finds both sweet and confusing. What he doesn’t understand is that there is no we. Irene has lost her house here and her home in Iowa City. She feels like Wile E. Coyote in the old cartoons: suspended over a canyon, running on air, and then looking down and realizing there’s nothing beneath him. Irene’s problem can’t be fixed. It can’t be made better by fresh grilled mahi for dinner. Irene’s problem is that her husband of thirty-five years, in addition to keeping a mistress and fathering a child and lying about his whereabouts, had been evading tax laws and laundering money.
“Did I ever tell you that Russ sent me flowers on New Year’s Day?” Irene asks. “Calla lilies, a beautiful bouquet. He must have arranged it with the florist ahead of time and paid extra because of the holiday. And do you know what I thought when I got them? I thought, What a lovely man Russell Steele is. I am so lucky to have him.”
“AC,” Huck says. He turns off the heat under the eggs and takes a step toward her,