A short story wherein a philandering husband becomes embroiled in an outlandish island tale…
by: Arvilla Fee
Miriam looked sideways at her husband from behind her sunglasses. He stood at the helm of their yacht like a swaggery pirate; all he needed was a peg leg and an eye patch. Leave it to Patrick to look the part, she thought, him in navy shorts, a red polo, and brown boat shoes. Miriam shifted her eyes the other way, across the deck, and noticed she wasn’t the only one eyeing Patrick Davenport. Three other women, girlfriends of some of Patrick’s swanky friends, were looking at him, whispering and giggling conspiratorially. Miriam disregarded them; she was used to other women ogling Patrick, and she was fully aware Patrick had indulged, on more than one occasion, in brief affairs. Her own friends wondered why she stayed — why she didn’t just divorce him, take her half of his wealthy estate, and make a life for herself. But Miriam honestly didn’t mind. Patrick was away on business most of the time, and she loved her house, her gardens, and the life she’d been afforded. Besides, their grown children still visited often and had their rooms to come home to.
“Do you want another martini, Darling?”
Miriam looked up at Patrick, his figure silhouetted against the sun. “Sure, why not?”
Patrick then went over to the other ladies, who all cooed with delight when he asked them for their drink orders. Their men were all hanging over the rails, smoking cigars and talking golf. Braggadocios idiots, the lot of them! Miriam would have liked to invite her own friends, but Patrick was quite a snob when it came to class, and Miriam’s friends were more salt of the earth types — shop owners, landscapers, and the like. Patrick would tolerate them, if necessary, but rather liked his own breed, high-tech entrepreneurs, corporate CEOs, and land developers. The only reason he’d ever noticed Miriam at all was because she was the sole daughter of a prestigious attorney.
Bringing back her drink (after he’d brought back drinks for the other ladies) Miriam was surprised when Patrick turned up the music on the stereo then pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. She was usually just the token wife on these little yacht outings, not a conversation partner. She pulled her sunglasses up on top of her head, her long blond hair framing her petite face and looked at him inquisitively.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Patrick said, keeping his voice low. “I’d like to take a little holiday next week. I’ve been working hard and need a break. Not for long — maybe a week, two at the most.”
Miriam snorted. “Really? What kind of break, Patrick? To where?”
Patrick shrugged, as if he hadn’t thought about it. “Mmm, maybe Belize. Somewhere beachy.”
“Romantic getaway?” Miriam said.
Patrick shrugged again. “Nah. Just relaxing.” He got up and stretched then went to talk to the “guys,” as he called his buddies.
Miriam slid her glasses back over her eyes, avoiding the curious glances of the long-legged goddesses sitting just feet away. She wasn’t stupid. Patrick’s “breaks” were open code. He didn’t try to be discrete anymore.
The following week, Patrick placed a perfunctory kiss on Miriam’s forehead and flew to Belize. He made obligatory phone calls a couple of times that week, telling Miriam he was feeling great, and it was just the break he’d needed. She visualized a tall woman with breasts the size of coconuts clinging to his arm as he talked to her and kept their conversations brief.
A few days after Patrick’s last call, Miriam got a call from the Belize police. “You are Mrs. Davenport? Wife of Patrick Davenport?”
Miriam’s stomach clenched. What trouble had Patrick gotten himself into this time? Drunk and disorderly? Banging the wife of an island jet setter? She told the caller yes, took a breath, and waited.
The policeman continued, “Mr. Davenport was seen by boaters just off the coast this morning. He was talking to a beautiful young woman on a jetty of rocks, maybe 3 kilometers from shore. They said they probably wouldn’t have noticed except a small boat was broken into pieces near the rocks, and the woman sitting with him seemed to have a…” he paused as if groping for words, “have a, well, a fish tail.”
“A fish tail?” Miriam inquired. “You must be joking.”
“No, ma’am. That’s what witnesses reported. And when they got closer to the rocks to look, the woman suddenly grabbed Mr. Davenport around his waist and vanished with him into the water.”
Miriam rubbed her forehead. This was the most ridiculous story she’d ever heard. Leave it to Patrick to be the center of some outlandish island tale.
“Are you still there, ma’am?” the officer asked.
“Yes,” Miriam said irritably. “It’s just I don’t think Patrick would have been pulled into the ocean by a woman with a (she almost couldn’t say it) tail! That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes. Seems so,” the officer said, sniffing. “But Mr. Davenport has not been seen since. His clothing is still in his room, along with his other belongings. There was also a…” he paused again, “a woman’s long green sequin dress in his room.”
Miriam nodded, even though she knew the officer couldn’t see her. “So, it’s simple,” she said with resignation. “He’s with another woman.”
“Well, er, I couldn’t say,” the officer said. “Shall I call you again after we investigate?”
Miriam said sure. She didn’t worry. Patrick had gone off with numerous women. What was one more?
But he didn’t return. Not the following week or the week after. Even years later, long after Miriam had held a memorial service for Patrick, the “mermaid kidnapping” of Mr. Davenport remained woven into the local fabric of Belize, and no one, with tail or otherwise, was ever seen on those rocks again.
Arvilla Fee lives in Dayton, Ohio, teaches English for Clark State College, and is the managing editor for the San Antonio Review. She has published poetry, photography, and short stories in numerous presses, including Calliope, North of Oxford, Rat’s Ass Review, Mudlark, and many others. Her poetry books, The Human Side and This is Life, are available on Amazon. Arvilla loves writing, photography and traveling, and she never leaves home without a snack and water (just in case of an apocalypse). For Arvilla, writing produces the greatest joy when it connects us to each other. To learn more about her work, you can visit her website: https://soulpoetry7.com/.
