Vacation in Paradise

I thought I would try what is called a summer beach read. That is a short light romance one can take to the beach to read. If only life were this simple!
                                                   *********************

“Ahh,” Carly said, “The sun, the sand, no phones, no tech whatsoever, no worries.” She took the fruity run drink from the resort waiter. “I haven’t had a vacation in years; saved two years to here,” she told him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the waiter replied. He picked up the signed bar check he had handed her first. “Enjoy.” He smiled and did a small bow before going to the next beach chair.

Carly stuck the small straw to her lips and sipped the sweet, icy beverage. She settled back in the chair and closed her eyes, her hand resting on the glass in its cup holder.

Suddenly she realized she in the shade. Opening her eyes she saw that someone had repositioned her umbrella. “What in the world?” she exclaimed, sitting up and looking around.

Her eyes caught sight of the expensive leather men’s sandals first, and then moved up to beige linen trousers billowing lightly in the breeze. She shifted her eyes upward to the green button-down tropical patterned shirt and then the most handsome tanned face she had ever seen. The man had a bright white smile with a dimple on his left cheek, smiling black eyes and short cropped black hair with a slight wave on top. She stared at him mouth agape slightly.

“Can’t have you burning that beautiful fair skin of yours; can we?” he said in a voice that reminded her of a British monarch.

Coming back to herself she replied, “I think I should decide if want to look like a lobster.”

He laughed out loud. “As you wish,” he chuckled and moved her umbrella back to its original position putting her back in the full sun’s rays. “Charles,” he called to the waiter, “Please bring her a tube of SPF 35. She would like to get some sun, but I don’t think she really wants to burn.”

“Yes, sir; straight away,” the waiter answered him. 

“Have an enjoyable afternoon, Madam,” the man said and sauntered back to the resort.

A moment later Charles returned, slightly out of breath, with the sunscreen. “Her you are. Will there be anything else?” he asked.

“Wow, that was fast,” Carly said. “Who was that?”

“Harrison Conroy, Ma’am. He is the owner. He is always checking on the guests, making sure they are in need of nothing. This place is his life.”

Carly raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.” She said. “I’ll have to thank him later,” she said, indicating the tube of sunscreen.

Charles nodded and quietly walked away.

“I didn’t order this,” Carly told the waitress in the restaurant later. 

The woman replied, “Mr. Conroy thought you might like an appletini.”

“Oh, does he do that for all the guests too?” Carly asked her.

“Oh, no Ma’am,” she replied. “He certainly sends Champagne to honeymooning guests, but not individual drinks, no. At least I’ve never seen him do it, and I’ve been here ten years.” She gave Carly a wink. “I think he fancies you,” she added in a whisper.

Carly chuckled. “I can’t imagine I made that good an impression, but thank him for me.”

After dinner Carly wandered over the resorts dance club. The music was loud and bodies moved to the beat of the music underneath a mirrored glass ball. She ordered a glass of wine and stood near a tall table watching the couples dance and groups of friends drag one another out onto the floor to dance. “I should have brought someone along too,” she sighed. She left her glass, half-finished on the table and left the club. 

Carly grabbed a cup of coffee from a beach side coffee shop and leaned over the deck railing walking the waves gently roll to shore and back out as the full moon reflected on the water further out to sea. She breathed deeply relaxing and almost dropped her coffee.

A hand reached out and steadied the cup. Carly jumped and then saw whose hand it was. She smiled. “Mr. Conroy; you saved me once again.”

He smiled. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“It’s just so beautiful and peaceful,” she said with a shrug.

“This is my favorite time of day,” he said. “Work is done and there is the beach mostly empty of people.”

Carly nodded. “It’s better shared,” she said absently, looking at a couple seated in the sand laughing with one another.

“Yes, it is,” Harrison returned. “Please call me Harrison,” he said

.

Carly nodded. “I’m Carly,” she added just in case he hadn’t already figured out her name.

“Carly, it is so nice to meet you,” he said and gently patter her hand.

For the rest of the week Carly found herself in the company of Harrison Conroy. He would suggest an outing away from the usual tourist attractions and she would go. They had dinner together and made a round at the night club.

“Are you sure you don’t do this all the time?” Carly finally asked him on their last evening together. They were walking on the beach holding hands, their shoes in their other hands.

“I haven’t had a break from work in years either. I live in Paradise and I don’t get to enjoy it. I thought I was living the ultimate vacation,” he added. “And then you said it was better shared, and I knew you were right.”

Carly smiled and kissed his cheek. “Well, I could do this everyday day, but unfortunately, reality bites and I have a flight back to Chicago early in the morning. I still have to pack.

Harrison walked Carly to her room and kissed her passionately.

“I have wanted to do that for days,” he said. “I have to work, but my driver will pick you up. You have to be there two hours early for international flights remember,” he said changing the subject.

A tear slid down Carly’s face. She didn’t dare utter what she was dying to say so she just said quietly, “Thank you. You’ve made this the most memorable vacation I have ever had, or probably ever will have again.”

Harrison smiled as he wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Good night, Carly.”

Two weeks later…

“Girl, you came back from that island glowing and happy and well rested,” Carly’s friend Monica told her. “I know Chicago is pretty rough, especially compared to St. Thomas, but you look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks Monica,” Carly told her. “I just can’t stop thinking about Harrison.”

“The resort owner! You never did tell me much about that,” she said.

Carly pulled out her cell phone and displayed a photo she had taken of Harrison Conroy.

“Oh, he is gorgeous,” Monica said. “No wonder you’re having a hard time.” She looked through the glass panel in Carly’s office wall next to the door. “Even better in person.”

“What?” Carly hit the button closing the display screen and put her phone down. She followed Monica’s gaze. “Oh, my God,” she said quietly and slowly. Her phone buzzed and it made her jump.

“Carly, there is someone out here to see you,” the receptionist said.

“I’ll be right there,” Carly replied. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her skirt as she stood.

Monica laughed. “He’s seen you without makeup, in a bathing suit no less. Don’t worry about it; just go.”

Carly blushed and smiled. She tried to look confident as she entered the outer office, but gave up the closer she got to the desk and just ran the last fifteen feet with her arms outstretched. 

Harrison caught her and kissed her. “Did you mean what you said about being able to work on the island every day?”

Carly smiled and nodded. 

“Then I need your help desperately. I can’t eat, or sleep, or think. You are all I see. I love you," he said.

Carly smiled. She turned to her co-workers who were beaming at them. “Tell the boss I quit. Sorry about the short notice. Send my stuff to my apartment, but do it quick. I won’t be there long.”

BOLO

Ken sat behind the wheel of his old Sportage tapping his fingers intermittently with wiping sweat off his forehead. He stared at his watch willing it to change. As the minutes dragged on, he finally ran a hand over his sparse hair and then lit a cheap generic cigarette. The smoke drifted from his mouth, nose, and the end of the lit tobacco. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound from his wrist watch grew louder in his ears until it was replaced by an intense ringing of the alarm bell as his friends ran from the bank. Each dove into the back seat floorboard, pulling the doors shut and removing their masks. 

“Get the hell out of here!” one shouted. “You waiting for an engraved invitation?”

Ken sped away and drove fast for two blocks. He turned a corner and slowed down to the posted speed limit.

“What are you doing knuckle head?” the man asked.

“Shut up, Clarence. If I speed past a traffic cam it will take our picture. We don’t that,” Ken added slowly.

“Yeah, Clarence,” Ralph, the other man said. “We need to be all nice and normal; just three guys out for a spin.” 

Ken closed the garage door behind the vehicle. He looked out a window on the door and scanned the neighborhood. The street was quiet.

“Ken, get in here!” Clarence yelled from inside the house.

“What?” Ken said irritated. He yanked the refrigerator open and pulled out a can of beer.

“They’ve got a BOLO on you man. How’d they get a look at you?”

“They have a drawing that sort of looks like me; no name,” Ken replied, pointing at the television as they re-ran the story on the bank robbery. “What was I supposed to do? Sit there with a mask on my head? Nothing says ‘call the cops’ like a man in a mask sitting outside a bank behind the wheel with the engine running.”

“Just lay low. We’ll dump the car,” Clarence said. “You remember where the money will be?”

“Yes. It’s going to be in locker forty at the bus station,” Ken replied.

“Your share,” Clarence corrected. “Me and Ralph will take ours and split up.”

“What?”

“It was your plan,” Ralph said. “You’re the one who is behind on your mortgage.”

“I’m also the one they have the drawing of,” Ken said. 

“Just lay low. I’ll remove the VIN tags so they won’t ID you as the owner if they find it. Wipe it down too; the whole works,” Clarence said. He tapped Ralph on the shoulder and motioned to the door with his head. 

Ken sat starring at the television as the other two left with his vehicle and the money, which had added up to only twenty grand; divided up three ways was not enough to save his home. They had used funs so it would land him fifteen years if he was caught. 

The next morning Ken carefully opened his door, barely stepping outside long enough to grab his newspaper from the porch. He closed the door and locked it. 

Unfolding the morning edition, he scanned the front page for the story on the robbery. In a paragraph subtitled Update he found that a source close to the police had told the reported a vehicle matching the description of the one involved in the robbery was found with a body murdered inside. No further information was available.

“Which one?” Ken screamed, and knocked over his coffee. He hung his head as the hot beverage ran off the table onto the floor. “The money is gone,” he wailed. He shook his head as a thought came to him: Two men went into the bank wearing masks. Someone saw him speeding away and one man was dead in the get-away car. Somebody is getting away with the money and murder.

He looked up when he heard the sirens. He nodded his head as he spoke to no one. “He left the VIN plates intact too. Had to be Clarence; he’s the only one mean enough to make sure he got pinned with the whole thing.”

Ken opened the door and sat on the porch with his hands behind his head. 

Officers, guns drawn, approached Ken, identified him and read him his rights.

“You are under arrest for felony bank robbery and the murder of Clarence Menlow,” one said.

Ken looked up wide eyed. “It was Clarence; not Ralph?’

“What do you mean? You sound surprised,” the arresting officer said.

 “I didn’t think he had it in him. Ralph didn’t even take a loaded gun into the bank,” Ken said.

“You understand you have just incriminated yourself in the bank robbery?” the officer asked.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve lost everything anyway,” Ken replied.

…In a bar in Mexico, Ralph laughed with a beautiful, black-haired young woman as he ordered two more bottles of beer. 

Hungry

“Mama, wake up!” three year-old Cindy cried as she shook her mother’s shoulder. She was asleep on the couch again. “I’m hungry.”

“What?” her mother mumbled. “There isn’t anything to eat. Go play in your room. Mama’s tired.”

Cindy wiped a tear away and went into the kitchen again and searched the empty refrigerator. She pulled a chair up to the counter and pulled open a cabinet door. The cereal box was empty. She pulled a box of what she thought might be mac and cheese going by the picture off the shelf but thought she shouldn't try to cook that. The last time she had almost started a fire and her mother yelled at her. There was nothing else; even the peanut butter jar was empty. She left it on the counter and opened another cabinet. She pulled out a plastic bowl and grabbed a spoon out of the dish rack and climbed down.

“Mama, are you getting up today?” Cindy asked her mother, trying to wake her once more. Her mother just rolled over and snored.

Cindy sighed and walked to the door. She set her bowl and spoon down on the floor so she could use both hands to open the door, retrieved the items and went outside and next door to her neighbors’ house.

Cindy knocked on the back door. When Mrs. Donnelly opened it she smiled sadly down at Cindy. “Mom asleep again, honey?” Cindy just nodded and held up her bowl. “Come on in,” she said, taking Cindy’s small hand and leading her inside.

“Thank you,” Cindy said in a voice slightly louder than a whisper.

Mrs. Donnelly set a plate of eggs and toast and glass of milk in front of Cindy. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a peanut butter sandwich yesterday sometime,” Cindy said matter-of-factly.

Mrs. Donnelly patted the child on the head. “Alice!” she called to her eldest daughter as she peeled a banana and placed it on the place next to the eggs. “Eat this too if you can hold it.”

“Wow! So much at once,” Cindy said in amazement, although she was used to Mrs. Donnelly feeding her at least three times a week.

“What is it Mom?” her daughter asked walking in to the kitchen.

“I need you stay with Cindy while I go over and talk to her mom,” she said. As her daughter nodded and sat down with Cindy, she walked out the door.

Mrs. Donnelly didn’t even bother to knock, she just went on in. She looked around and was surprised at how clean the small house actually was. She thought there would be trash and alcohol empties strewn all over, but she had to admit that Cindy was always clean when she came over. She found Cindy’s mother on the couch asleep and shook her hard to wake her up.

“What?” Tara, Cindy’s mother said drowsily. She sat up. “Cindy, stop waking me up,” she said before she realized it wasn’t Cindy standing in front of her. “Sandra? What’s up?”

“You!” She said angrily. “I don’t mind feeding a starving child; in fact, I’d rather Cindy come over to my house to eat than stay hungry, but you have got to get some food for that child or Social Services will be notified.”

Tara threw the blanket off she had pulled over herself when she crashed on the couch. She was rail thin herself and her eyes were gaunt. She stood up. “I will go get her. I didn’t know she was going over to your house to eat.”

“There’s no need. I told you, I don’t mind feeding her, but a few mornings a week is barely enough to keep her alive. It looks like you haven’t been eating much either,” she added, more calmly, now more concerned than angry. She sat down on the couch and pulled Tara with her.

“Tell me what’s going on Tara. Why is there is nothing to eat?” she asked.

Her face reddened and it spread down her neck and to her pale, rough hands. “I barely make enough to pay rent on this place and believe me, I’ve tried to find something less expensive. Short of drug-filled housing project, there isn’t anything. I clean office buildings at night and they cut my hours, so there isn't enough for a lot of food, okay! I’m lucky we have lights on still and water. That’s why they are usually off.”

“Tara, have you gone to the food pantries?” Sandra Donnelly asked her.

“Yes, I did, but they can’t give out a whole lot either. They don’t have enough to go around and it’s just the two of us. Her father hasn’t paid a cent in child support.” She pointed in a corner where an old television sat. “That thing isn’t plugged in so it doesn’t run up the electric bill and that’s the only entertainment we have. This place is so clean because the pantry has plenty of cleaning supplies, laundry soap and even bath soap. I wash her clothes in the bathtub. Maybe you’ve noticed the clothes draped over the clothesline out back.

“Yes, but I just figured you like air-dried laundry. A lot of people do.” Sandra stared out the window. “Tara, where’s your car?”

“I sold it,” she said. “I couldn’t afford gas or upkeep, much less insurance. I take the bus or walk to work.”

“Tara, get dressed. I’m taking you to Social Services. You need to sign up for some assistance. Don’t let pride stop you either. You need help before they take notice from someone other myself calling them and then they take Cindy. They’ll help you pay for childcare too, although you could have just asked if we would watch her.”

Tara looked up her a moment then slowly nodded agreement.

***

Many people think that hungry children only belong to the addicted or mentally ill who are unable to care for themselves, but the truth is that employed Americans are also unable to feed their families. Many children only receive nutritious food at school and when school is out, they either do not get adequately nutritious food or little to no food for long stretches of time.

According to the website www.nokidhungry.org 48.8 million Americans, including 16.2 million children are in what is termed ‘food insecure’ households; the largest number being in the inner city, but by no means only there. Rural areas and suburban areas – outlying areas- also suffer from hunger.

 

You can help by donating to food pantries, buying products labeled as donating proceeds of the purchase to food banks (and actually following the instructions on the package), participating in food drives such as by the Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, United States Postal Service, Salvation Army, churches, Future Farmers of America and holiday food drives at participating grocery stores. There are also many organizations that supply food banks around the country.

In a country as great as ours its citizens, and especially its children should not have to go hungry.

Some organizations:

www.feedthechildren.org

www.bread.org

www.feedingamerica.org

www.nokidhungry.org

www.fmpfoodbank.org (West Central Wisconsin, where I live)

Lilianna Rose

Jack sat at the bar staring into the mirror at the tears that refused to stop falling. He downed the glass of whiskey in his hand. A young woman sidled up to him and started flirting. Jack looked over at her and then turned back to his empty glass.

"Leave me alone," he growled.

"Humph," she replied. "What's his problem?" she asked the bartender, rolling her eyes.

"He's upset. He lost his girl last month."

"Oh, well, I can help with that honey!" She hung on Jack's shoulder. "What do you say?"

Jack clenched his fists so tight he broke his drink glass. He opened his hand slowly and stared at the blood seeping around shards of glass without making a sound.

The bartender grabbed Jack's wrist and pulled his hand into the light. He pulled the glass shards out and wrapped his hand with a towel. He pushed a cup of coffee in front of Jack. "The whiskey won't bring her back man. Sober up and take her some flowers. The shop across the street is open late."

Jack nodded and sipped the coffee for a few minutes. He stood up and threw a ten dollar bill on the bar. "Thanks Charlie," he said, barely looking up. He turned away from the woman as if she wasn't there and left the bar.

"If she's that gone; flowers won't help," she shouted after him.

"Lady, you're an idiot," Charlie told her.

She turned away from Charlie with her nose in the air and stalked out. Curiosity piqued, she watched Jack as he went into the flower shop and then exited with a bouquet of white lilies. He walked slowly down the street and around the corner. From a distance the woman shadowed Jack as he made his way several blocks away. At last she saw him walk through a brick archway attached to black wrought iron fencing. She followed him staying behind trees and shrubs until she saw where he stopped and laid down the flowers. He dropped to his knees and wept. His head raised to the shy as his hands clutched the small headstone. "Why?" he said over and over.

A half hour later he left, wiping his eyes on the towel that had been wrapped around his hand. The woman wiped her own eyes as she read the engraving. Lilianna Rose- Beloved Daughter- You joined the angels too soon. Her age was six months.

***

Every year 7,000 infants die in America from Sudden Unexplained Infant Death (SUID) and Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS), which accounts for about half the deaths. According to the Centers for Disease Control SUID is defined as deaths in infants under one year of age that is unexplained (not immediately apparent) until further investigation. While causes for unexplained death can be linked to problems of accidental death in their beds such as strangulation (drapery cords, getting caught between crib railings or railings and the mattress/ bed platform, etc.), suffocation (pillows, blankets, stuffed toys, etc.); SIDS is suspected to be related to stress, birth defects, failure to develop, or other times when babies are vulnerable (source SIDS Network). It is medical, but completely unpredictable. Babies can be healthy and still succumb to SIDSWhile research is still being done, there is still is no definitive cause or prevention and no way to predict who will be affected.

SIDS knows no social or economic boundaries.

SIDS is in no way the fault of the parents.

What you can do to try to prevent SUID:

Put you baby to sleep on their back, not their tummy. A baby can suffocate when on their tummy as they may not be able to turn their heads to get their face where they can breathe.

Keep stuffed toys, pillows, and heavy blankets and comforters away from your baby when they are sleeping so that they do not become covered by them and unable to breath.

Never let your infant sleep in the bed with other larger people (including parents). They could get smothered by the pillows or bed linens, roll onto their face into the mattress, or be rolled onto accidentally.

For more information on SIDS please visit www.sids-network.org.