Chapter 8

The sun stood high overhead, turning the ocean into molten gold. Steve drove her to the restaurant on the water — a futuristic platform floating above the azure depths. They took a table right at the edge, so close to the water she could almost reach out and touch it. Around them, dolphins lazily and gracefully circled, breaking the smooth surface of the ocean. Their wet backs glistened in the light.

Helen ate without lifting her eyes much. Every bite of the tenderest lobster, every drop of icy white wine — she lived through them like a final ritual. She chewed slowly, closing her eyes and forcing her senses to remember the taste of luxury. Knowing that tomorrow this paradise would disappear turned the lunch into a bittersweet ceremony. Every moment felt priceless, real, almost painful.

Steve leaned back in his chair and watched her.

“Tell me about your life, Hel. How things were before you ended up here?”

She took a sip of wine, feeling it gently burn her throat, and began to speak. The words came easily, mixed with the salt of the ocean and the bitterness of truth. She told him everything: how after high school she took on huge student loans, how the years in university flew by with crazy parties, cheap alcohol, and light drugs that back then felt like symbols of freedom.

Then came the tough job market. Marriage that seemed like a safe harbor.

“We did everything ‘right,’” she said with a bitter smile. “Bought an apartment on credit, got a car. Lived like everyone else until the house of cards started to fall. First they cut Andrew’s position, and he lost half his salary. Then I lost my job at the museum. And here we are — at the bottom of a debt hole with no way out.”

Her story ended in silence, broken only by the splash of waves and the distant cries of seagulls.

The bitterness of the past in her words mixed hopelessly with the bitterness of waiting for tomorrow’s flight.

Steve listened quietly, without interrupting or giving empty advice. When the food was finished, he signaled the waiter.

“Time to go back,” he said softly.

They left the restaurant and got into the golf cart. The drive to the bungalow felt too short to Helen.

She looked at the palm trees and bright spots of tropical flowers flashing by, trying to soak in the scenery before it was replaced by gray skies and the noise of the Brooklyn subway.

Back in the cool bungalow, they went to their rooms to change clothes. Helen chose her most expensive swimsuit — the one that fit like a second skin, highlighting every curve of her changed body. A few minutes later, they were already driving toward the beach.