The Lazy C

The Lazy C

A small pod of bubbles announced her immanent return and moments later the crown of her head gently broke the surface of the warm turquoise clear water. She took her first breath after nearly four minutes; then easily swam from the reef she had been diving off to the sandy shallows. Quigley removed the diving mask from her suntanned face, slipped it over her wrist and let it dangle from her arm. Peter watched from the bow of their sailboat, The Lazy C, as she smoothed back her long brown hair. Spotting him, she smiled and waved.

“What did you get?”

She held them up so he could see them. “Dinner,” she shouted.

Taking hold of the thin rope that had been tethered around her waist, she lifted the net bag to show him her catch.

“Oh yesss! Lobster! He clapped and cheered. Peter was relieved

to have her back safe and sound. As she walked up to the beach her skin glistened in the sun as the salty water drained away. He loved the way she looked at that moment, tall and tanned and young-ish and lovely. Every bit as exotic as any Bond girl, a bronze sculpture gleaming in the sun he thought, still beautiful to his eyes. Quigley had been free diving for spiny lobster that had been hiding in the coral caves and had two large beasts in the net bag she dragged behind her. Tired yet happy with her accomplishment, she shook off the tension in her shoulders and pulled her catch onto the beach. It had been a difficult but exhilarating experience.

They had anchored their boat on the west side of the island

between a point of land and an expose coral head where the water was warmer than the air and as calm as glass. It was a safe anchorage, protected from the wind and the eight-knot current. The tiny Double Breasted Cay was very near the bottom of the shallow waters of the Bahama Shelf, and just a hundred and

fifty-kilometres away was Cuba. Southeast lay the Turks and Caicos and to the east, where the breakers roared in to crash against the coral barrier, was the Atlantic Ocean. Just off the eastern shore the ocean floor dropped sixty fathoms straight down, the water was bone chillingly cold and as dark as night. Beyond that, the next stop was Africa.

“I’ll get the tender and come over and get you.”

“No, I’m tired so I’m just going to stretch out on the beach for

a while and rest.”

He was suddenly concerned. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was a good dive.”

“How was the current?”

“Strong, but I managed. Did you find anything, Pete?”

“Yeah, I got a big conch. We’re going to have a feast tonight.”

He grinned, a big white toothy grin. He was still a kid at fifty-three, a perfect, blond California beach boy right down to the cut-offs and the faded t-shirt. “You can eat the conch all by yourself Pete, I value my teeth too highly to risk injury on a snail.”

“I’ll have you know, it’s a delicacy down here.”

“Then that is where we should leave it,” she said. While he pouted, she laughed.

“You’re kidding right?”

She feigned a frown. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Well, he was nearly perfect she thought, his abs went the way of the dodo bird a while back, a long while back to be truthful, but the guy inside was the same sweet kid she married twenty-five years ago. This was their second honeymoon, a full month of sailing their little rented sailboat around the Bahamas. Even after all those years they were still best friends and lovers and, as far as she could see, nothing was going to change that.

“As a matter of fact,...” he began, but paused as her expression

hardened with addition of a raised eyebrow, “Uh,... I was just going to put it back.” He turned away and pretended to it overboard then looked back over his shoulder and shouted amiably, “You know what your problem is, Quigley?”

“No, what?”

“You’ve got no sense of humour.”

“Perhaps, but I’m pretty and I’ve got the lobster.”

“Two very good points,” he agreed.

She smiled. “I love the way we always agree on the important

things.”

He shook his head and went below to fetch a beer.

Setting the netted lobsters down in water, she anchored it in

place with her dive knife, picked up the towel she'd left earlier, moved up away from the water and spread it out on the pink sand. She took off the cold, wet t-shirt, then stretched out on her tummy and made herself comfortable. A soft breeze blew across her back and sent ripples across the bay. For a minute or two she watched as tiny sparks of sunlight danced across the surface before she

closed her eyes. Then in that quiet peacefulness that only happens on an empty beach by the sea, she entertained thoughts of nothingness. At that moment, she didn’t have a care in the world. In fact, in her thoughts of nothingness, outside of that tiny island there was no world, it was just the sand, the sea and the two of them.

Fifteen minutes slipped by before Peter whistled from the boat.

"That’s enough sun for you, my girl. Come help me make dinner. Oh, and bring the lobster with you."

She got up, replaced her damp top and as she shook the sand off

the towel and folded it, she asked, “Did you ditch the conch?”

“It is ancient history, my queen." She heard the tell-tale

splash and smiled ruefully. "How long do I have to cook the rice?”

“Why don’t we talk about dinner after we’ve had some wine.”

Peter rowed the little lifeboat in to pick her up and they

returned to The Lazy C with her catch in silence listening to the Island music that wafted up from the cabin. They sat silently on the cushioned stern bench with glasses of white wine and looked over the side to watch dozens of thin black lines gamble about haphazardly. “Barracuda?” Quigley suggested.

“That would be my guess,” said Peter. “I’m not going in there to

find out for sure though.”

“Very wise, my love.” She sat back, took a sip, and let it rest

on her tongue for a few seconds. “I like this wine,” she said.

“It’s Loveblock.”

“I hope not!”

“No, that’s the name of it, silly. It’s from New Zealand.”

“Oh, well I hope we have more of it.”

“Never fear my dear, I have thought of everything.”

"Of course you have."

Quigley showed him how to cook the rice, then he cooked the

lobster in a large pot over the barbeque. She spread a towel out on

the forward deck, and they sat down to eat.

After a while they lay back and looked up at the billions of

stars in the black sky. “Are you having a good time?” Peter asked.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m having the best time

ever, Peter, this was a wonderful idea.” Snuggling a little closer she placed her hand on his chest. “Thank you for making this happen.”

“It is truly my pleasure," he said, as he stared at the unfamiliar constellations. "I love you.”

“I love you too,” Quigley said.