Murder For Revenge

Kyle wouldn’t be able to comment. There was still half a box left like he’d said.

After that she dozed right off, facing the sky on a seat cushion with a beach towel pulled over her. She was looking at the Pleiades, Kyle’s favourite constellation, imagining Rodney’s lips on her neck.

In the morning Regina awoke full of lightness and energy. She knew they’d be spending a lazy day exploring in the dinghy and snorkeling the shallows where she wouldn’t have to concentrate. Her mind could go to the warm space she had created with Rodney. It didn’t matter that she knew nothing about him, that he could be a married man or a paid gigolo.

When Kyle noted her feet were not in the right spot in the dinghy, and when she was too slow getting the anchor up, and later when she pi

That evening she climbed to the point of the V-berth and took Kyle’s penis into her mouth.

“Move a little toward starboard,” Kyle said. That meant he wanted her to lie with her breasts on his right thigh. She pushed herself against him without stopping the movement of her head. She didn’t think about what she was doing. It was just her usual routine, in a boat in the middle of nowhere with a husband who had all the answers and all the questions. She felt his stiffness tighten and knew he was coming. She automatically added her hand on his “tiller” and slipped her mouth off in the last second before she pumped him out. Then she held tight until he relaxed. It was how he had trained her. She grabbed a handful of Kleenex and swabbed his deck, as he liked to say.

“Umm. Thanks. Your turn tomorrow,” Kyle said. In a couple seconds the snoring started.

Regina got up to throw away the tissues and lit one of the kerosene lamps in the galley. Kyle wouldn’t want her draining the battery by turning on a light, even though the wind generator and solar panels always provided plenty of power. Conserve, conserve. Nothing is ever enough when you can’t get more.

She sat naked on a bunk in the soft glow and closed her eyes against the burn of the kerosene fumes. She landed herself right into Rodney’s household. It was a small concrete block place on the rocky beach of West End, with no giant TV screen, no pool or Jacuzzi, no dock for a Pearson, maybe a dog or even a child ru

It was ridiculous. What would she do in West End? There certainly wasn’t any work, even if Rodney was free and interested in her. She couldn’t give up her secretary position at the community college. Rodney was only a fantasy, but she could enjoy the feeling.

She opened the locker where Kyle kept his nail clippers and unzipped the leather pouch. Up on deck she hurled the clippers as far as she could and heard a plunk as they hit the water and sank to the sandy turtle-grass bottom. They would corrode, no matter how sturdy the metal. For some reason it gave her pleasure.

The next day she woke up happy again. Kyle’s complaints couldn’t spoil her mood. Together they motored to shore in the dinghy and bought fresh conch from some Bahamians, who had brought hundreds in their power boat to clean them at the deserted dock. Regina looked at the brown arms and long, dark hair on the man who handed her the conchs. Each time she reached for a slippery, rubbery handful of mollusk, she felt the warmth of his hand.

She took her Joy bath that day in the dinghy, whipping her hair into froth with a few drops of the yellow liquid, then smearing a white sheen over her body. She was now an even brown from the last two days of having no necessity for clothes. She smoothed her slippery breasts and thought how beautiful she was.

Kyle didn’t notice the missing clippers. That night she dumped a pair of his Sperry boat shoes with socks. He had two pairs anyway. The last night at Carter she filled a medium trash bag with his visor, Swiss Army knife, the last bottle of gin, his shaving lotion, favourite Jockey shorts, and a Tupperware container with hanks of lines, all neatly looped, that Kyle had been saving up for years. The sound of the package hitting the water gave Regina a peace she’d never known before. She didn’t feel guilty. She was tidying up-less to make a mess. A place for everything and everything in its place. Kyle didn’t need any of that stuff.

He had set the alarm for six, before first light, so they could make it to their next destination, Green Turtle Cay. There they would dock to fill up on fuel and water and socialise with other sailing couples.

Kyle complained he couldn’t find his shaving lotion.

“I don’t know, honey,” Regina said. “Maybe you set the bottle on deck and it got knocked over.”

“You know I always put everything back in its place.” He looked for his other pair of boat shoes that morning also. Regina watched him search and wonder at himself. He put on his damp shoes.

It was a cloudy, gusty day, winds reaching over twenty-five knots, according to Kyle’s calculations. He put three reefs in the main and hooked up the storm jib that was hardly bigger than a hanky. They were on a run like before, only faster. It was an exhilarating ride. Regina watched the clouds blow away in front of them as they flew. Kyle was quiet for once, maybe enjoying himself. Suddenly the sun came out full and hot on their backs and faces.

“Regina, get my visor from the locker above the chart table.”

She went down and started rummaging, knowing it was gone. She noticed she was whistling as she stepped back on deck.

“I can’t find it, honey. Did you put it back last time?”

“Yes, I certainly did. I don’t understand it.” He paused to think.

“Yes, dear.”

“Regina, I’m going to give you the tiller for thirty seconds while I look. You just aren’t seeing it.” He put his finger under her chin to bring her head up. “Remember what we learned the last time-about handling the tiller on a run?”

She nodded and smiled. “I know exactly what to do,” she said.

Kyle stepped down the companionway and she swung the tiller hard to port, bracing herself. The boom slammed across with a crack like lightning. She thought the whole mast was going to topple, but it held.

She heard the roar of Kyle’s obscenity from below. She looked down and saw him flopped across the settee. His eyes were glazed and his face was comic with anger. She wondered if he’d hit his head.

“You jibed!” he yelled. “You fucking jibed again!”

Regina smiled. A lunatic grin strained at her cheeks. She held the tiller alee, then brought it back amidships, and trimmed the sheets for a broad reach.

“What are you doing?” Kyle screamed. “Trying for a knockdown?”

“I was thinking I might, but I hate to get everything wet. Remember the time you did it?”

Kyle’s eyes widened and he started to choke.

“Regina, get me those pills. Please. The Dilantin-on the shelf by the binoculars. I can’t get up.”

Regina put her hands on her hips. “Please, you said? You’ve fallen and you can’t get up?”

Regina trimmed the sails and tied the tiller so the Spring Fling would hove to. She reached the shelf inside the cabin without leaving the cockpit. “Here they are, sweetheart,” she said. “What should I do now? See, Kyle, I’m asking-like you always tell me to do.”

She heard a gurgle. He was lying flat on his back staring through the hatch at her.

She held up the pills. The bottle flipped from her hand and flew portside. She couldn’t distinguish a splash, with the wind and slapping waves, but they were gone. “Oops. The pills are with your aftershave and your dry shoes.”