The Sea Grape Tree by Gillian Royes Page B

now officially Simone Island. She’d met his calls in a cool yet friendly way and even called back once.
    He’d been looking for another excuse to call her and had now found one. If the island were to be a campsite, he was going to say, they’d need her advice about outfitting it properly. It had then dawned on him that, although a canoe had been enough to transport her supplies, it would be way different for a slew of people. Fifty guests plus staff living and working on the island would need a lot more water than a few bottles a week. They’d need running water, and lights and power.
    By the time Caines appeared later that evening in another tourist shirt, Shad and Eric were a grim duo. They watched him bouncing in, greeting the few customers as if he were already an owner, introducing himself, charisma flowing out of his pores.
    â€œHad a good day?” Eric inquired, motioning for him to sit down.
    â€œGreat!” Caines said, and pulled out a chair.
    â€œAnything to eat?” Shad asked with a strained smile. “We have some nice stew peas and rice tonight.”
    â€œMiss Mac took care of me, thanks. But I’ll have a rum and ginger.”
    Eric asked about his day and Caines mentioned he’d started running on the beach, the first time he’d run in a couple of years.
    â€œI’m feeling like a new man,” he added. He looked boyish, wiggling his shoulders, excited by his discovery. “You feel like a youth when you running, you know. It takes years off your life. Ever tried it?”
    â€œNo, I’m not a runner.”
    â€œIt’s a great run, that beach. How long is it?”
    â€œAbout a mile.”
    â€œTwo miles altogether. I’m going to do it every day. All the stress just goes away, man. Being on the beach does something—takes me back, you know?”
    â€œWatch out for the jellyfish. Sometimes they wash up and sting you when you least expect it.”
    â€œI’ll be careful, don’t worry.” Caines dropped the smile. Small lines appeared around his mouth, making him look older. “I’ve decided to rent a car, because I need to know the area, Port Antonio and the other towns, you know. I’m going to start driving around every day.”
    â€œDon’t forget that we have to see Delgado, the contractor, tomorrow.”
    â€œI won’t forget, and I want to meet Horace Mac.”
    â€œMacKenzie, Horace MacKenzie,” Eric said, glancing at Shad, who was twisting off the ginger ale cap, his forehead in a rare frown.
    â€œI’m liking the idea of a campsite more and more. Leasing the island could be cash money at the start, don’t you think? Setting the hotel up, running it, advertising, all the expenses in the first couple years is going to mean more money going out than coming in until we get our guest numbers up. And we’ll have to hire a marketing agent—”
    â€œI used an agency in Miami for the old inn. I don’t know if they’re still in business—”
    â€œAnd with all the initial outlay, we’re going to need the cash from that campsite,” Caines said, rubbing his palms together. “We need to talk details and terms, and start getting something down in writing with Horace Mac.”
    There was nothing of the ingenue in the investor that Eric had expected. He’d assumed before meeting him that an African American with a few small properties in Queens and the Bronx would be green around the ears. Danny was anything but green. Amiable and easygoing, he deceived at first, but there was a hard core to him when it came to business.
    â€œShad,” Eric called. “When you’re coming, bring some of those mints in the green wrappers, will you?” The ones that settled his stomach. He turned to Caines. “Do you want peanuts or anything?”
    Eric’s discomfort with the idea of a new hotel only increased listening to Caines, now sounding