Saint, who was wearing only a shirt and his cut-off pants, dropped down on the sand and leaned back on his elbows. “Do you cast me as Adam?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Jules said, turning to stare down at him. “I didn’t corrupt you.”
“I don’t think you could corrupt anyone, even if you tried your damnedest.”
“I looked at you, very closely, Michael.”
He knew immediately what she was talking about. He said, “Yes, I know. Am I the only man you’ve ever seen with no clothes, Jules?”
She shook her head, a quick, dismissing gesture, and said, “You’re beautiful.”
“That’s a novel thing to say about a man, particularly a huge hairy beast like me. But I thank you.”
Jules looked away from him, out over the water. “You changed, even while I was watching you.”
Deep waters, he thought, shifting his weight a bit. “A man,” he said very carefully, “is very simple in terms of function. When he wants a woman, he becomes larger.”
“Yes,” she said, “you did.” She suddenly turned her large emerald eyes to his face. “Did you want me?”
“I think I just hoisted myself on that evil petard,” he said, striving for some humor. “What I should have said is that sometimes a man’s body reacts even when he doesn’t want it to. Sometimes a man can find himself very embarrassed, and for no reason at all.”
In the darkening evening light, he couldn’t make out the expression on her face, but he knew she’d stiffened.
“Jules,” he said quietly, “do you want me to make love to you?”
“You mean kiss me and touch me and stick—”
“Yes, all of that.”
“I . . . I don’t know.” She sighed, hugging her arms around her knees. “I guess I speak so openly to you because I know you won’t do anything to hurt me. Like John Bleecher.”
“No, I would never hurt you.”
“When I woke up this morning, I thought for just a moment that Jameson Wilkes had me again. And sometimes when I close my eyes, I can see John, and I feel that awful fear. Of all of it, I guess it’s the feeling of absolute helplessness, that because I’m a woman and not as strong, a man can do whatever he pleases to me. I hate that. It’s not . . . right.”
“No, it isn’t. But not many men are like that, Jules. Most men admire and respect women, just as I do. Shall I tell you what I would like?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“I would like for you to trust me enough to tell me what happened to you during your time with Wilkes.”
He saw the frisson of distaste and fear contort her face, barely heard her whispered “No, oh, please no.” He made a vow to himself in that moment that he wouldn’t touch her until he could be certain she wouldn’t be disgusted by him, and afraid. He rose to his feet and dusted the sand off his clothes. “I think I’ll go for a walk. Jules, if ever you do want to talk about it, I’ll be around to listen.”
“All right,” she said in a small, thin voice. She watched him stride down the beach. She almost called him back. But she didn’t. Slowly she lowered her face and sobbed softly against her hands. If she told him, she knew he would hate her. He wouldn’t denounce her as her father had done, oh no. He would remain polite to her, and very kind. But she would disgust him, and she didn’t think she could bear to see the distaste for her in his eyes.
The next morning, Saint watched Jules speak to Kanola’s husband, a tall, sleek man who worked at the Government Market selling fresh meat. His name was Kuhio, and it was soon obvious to Saint that he blamed Jules for his wife’s death. They were speaking Hawaiian, but Saint could make out a few of Kuhio’s words: hoomanakii, ino, hookumakaia. And Jules saying over and over the word minamina, minamina. Something about her regret, her sorrow.
But Kuhio kept repeating that she was vain, wicked, sinful, a mistress of betrayal.
Finally Saint stepped between them, bowed to Kuhio, and took his wife’s limp hand. “Come,” he said.
“He told me that he wouldn’t let me near his children after what I’d done.”
“He’s grieving, that’s all. It is convenient for him to have you to blame.”
She raised wide, strained eyes to his face. “He told me that I was more wicked than my father had said on Sunday.”
“Stop it, Jules! . . . Oh, damn!”