Yvette raised her hand indicating Sandy stop
talking. “You have not even unpacked yet. You are not going anywhere. That…how
you say...Pipsqueak knows better than
to go against me.” She was poised and confident. Sandy believed her conviction
was based in fact.
Yvette stood up and stepped carefully
around the sticky floor tiles. “Return to your bed. Skip your first shift.
Please leave the room at eight though, to provide the maids some extra time for
this mess.” She paused and stroked Sandy’s hair before she left. “I am sorry I did
not warn you of him Solange.” She let herself out, closing the door gently
behind her.
The first traces of dawn cast a purple tint
to the space between her terrace curtains. Sandy opened them and the sliding
door they covered, and listened to the ocean’s rhythmic background roar. She didn’t
feel sleepy enough to go back to bed, deciding instead to unpack and begin to make
some semblance of her new home. Bundling up the sweat pants and condom to get
them out of her sight was a priority.
When the clock radio came on, she let it
be, listening to the happy sounds of steel drums and joyful voices. Sandy
paused in the midst of her work to stand on the terrace and take in the sunrise,
the likes of which she had never seen before. The slow-climbing orb sprayed an array
of reds and oranges in countless hues on the underbelly of storm clouds. They
periodically let loose a brief shower of large droplets, always preceded by a swell
of tropical breeze. The sun caressed her face, touched by an occasional
windblown drop of rain. She closed her eyes and took in the scent of the rain washed
wind and flora. She wondered if Don had any idea where she was. She wondered if
he even cared.
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