[[[-IF4-P9.TXT-]]] ---------------- Island Fever 4: Paradise Written by: JeremyDCP@hotmail.com M/F, F/F and a whole lot more ---------------- Chapter 09: "Memorialize" ------------------------------------------- -*- Wednesday, June 3, 2015 -*- Looking at her now, one would never guess that Trish was a mere eight days removed from having attended her father's funeral. Trish was vacationing here on the island with all of us, of course, but at this precise moment in time the 32-year-old Canadian princess was putting her body through its standard routine of exercise and fitness in the home gymnasium. If she was ever feeling down or depressed, or simply not in the best of moods, Trish could always find her personal sanctuary - her safe haven - doing exercise. She had been a fitness enthusiast since her high school years, and was once employed as an instructor and personal trainer at a health club in her old hometown until two years ago. Only coming to the island and meeting us tore her away from that job. Still, Trish was determined as ever to keep her chiseled, yet feminine physique, and maintain her healthy lifestyle with proper nutrition and exercise. She generally did some version of a workout every single day without fail, but really hit the gym _hard_ four days each week for hours at a time. Today just happened to be one of those days. Seated on a nearby bench and idly watching (i.e. admiring) her, I was fascinated as Trish stood in the middle of the fitness room - in her element, mind you - holding a long dumbbell at her waist, with two huge, massive round weights attached to either end of it. Then, the process repeated itself again. Trish bent at the waist, thrusting her hips outward and flexing her knees, until the upper half of her body was at a 90 degree angle. Every muscle within her body strained, some of them rippling before my very eyes, as the heavy weights she held were now positioned around her shins. An instant later, Trish stood up erect and straight again - the dumbbell aligned at her waistline now. And once more, the process repeated itself. "Now what is that called... what you are doing?" "This is called the Romanian Deadlift," Trish informed me. "How much weight are you lifting?" "115 pounds right now. I'm doing a set of 12." "Isn't that... kind of a LOT, for a woman to lift?" Trish glanced at me intently. "I'm not your typical woman when it comes to exercise, Jeremy. You should know that." Indeed, Trish was a very unique woman; a highly special and amazing, one-of-a-kind woman whom I truly considered to be a gift from Mount Olympus. Perhaps one day, she would return there and be worshiped as the mythic, all-powerful goddess that everyone in our family perceived her to be. Trish was a petite, brown-eyed pack of brunette dynamite and, whether she was working out or not, could oftentimes be found wearing her tight-fitting training gear. Today she had on a black sleeveless top, its clingy fabric exhibiting the bulge of her large, generous breasts quite nicely. Little blue shorts, made of lycra, hugged her hips and buttocks as if it was a second skin. I was certain that Trish did not have any panties on today, either. I could easily make out the outline of her sexy, little pouch underneath the shorts. Tanned and chiseled, sculpted legs eventually gave a way to a pair of blue sneakers that not only matched Trish's shorts, but put the perfect capper on her outfit as a whole. I watched Trish do the _Romanian Deadlift_ five more times in succession, until she returned the cumbersome weight bar to its appropriate rack. She took a healthy chug of her bottled sports drink, then went over to the small sink and got a cold washcloth. Trish took a deep breath and dabbed her face and forehead with it, sighing contently. "How have you been faring since we made our return to the island?" was my question for her. "Feeling any better?" Trish glanced away from me for a moment, but soon her eyes drifted my way and she frowned. "No, not really." "Anything I can do for you, sweetheart, just let me know," I told her. "You know I'll do anything for you. It's just... I know the pain is there for you, and it is burning me up inside that there is nothing I can do to make it go away. But if there is anything else..." "I know you mean well, Jeremy, and I appreciate it," Trish assured me. "I am doing a little better each day, I think, but we are talking _inches_, not great leaps and bounds. I still find it difficult to believe that my father is dead. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him physically. He was still young and in good shape... there was no way I could have been prepared for his death, maybe soften its blow a bit. I know when my uncle died, it was from cancer, and everyone in the family knew it was coming. It did not make things easier, but we all took peace in the fact that he was no longer suffering and in a much better place." "With my dad," Trish continued, "he died in a car accident coming home from work. The accident was not even his fault." She took another deep breath, her eyes closed for several seconds and becoming watery. "It isn't fair." "I'm sorry, honey," I told her. What else could I say to Trish? There was certainly nothing I could do. When a couple proclaims "I do", they promise to love and comfort each other for better and for worse. How often, though, do the vows specify exactly what they are supposed to do - especially during the rough patches? How does a husband console a wife who lost her father, with whom she was very close? How does a wife, on the other hand, comfort a husband who is aching from the loss of his best friend? I stood up and walked over to Trish, then simply embraced her. "I don't know what to say, but I want you to know that I care about you, and I love you," were my heartfelt words for her. "I will always be here for you no matter what." "I'm glad we came to the island as a family, Jeremy," Trish informed me. "I'm very glad, and happy. Everyone seems to be happy; it has been nearly 18 months since all of us were here. For Scarlett, who heard so much about this place, this is her first visit and she finally gets to see it. You're going out, Jeremy, and doing things with the girls nearly every single day. Amy has recovered from her hospital visit, and seems to be doing fine physically now. I... I'm happy we are here again." "Me personally, though?" she added. "I'm not feeling it. I love the island and have so many wonderful memories here. This is the place where I met and fell in love with Lindsay. I met and fell in love with you, Jeremy, and all of the other girls." Trish pointed toward an empty weight bench in the corner. "I remember sitting RIGHT THERE the day Lindsay said she wanted to stay and live with us permanently, and build a relationship with me, as Kristanna mediated a discussion between me and her. I remember Lindsay apologizing over and over again for anything she had done wrong, and how she wanted to make it up to me. I love you, Lindsay told me time and time again, and I want us to be together." Trish motioned toward the weight bench again. "I was sitting RIGHT THERE while my greatest fantasy - Lindsay opening her heart and soul to me, offering me her love - became a reality." "Yet, I don't feel it now," Trish mewed. "The memories I have here have been shoved to the background. I am glad we are vacationing here and everyone seems happy and jovial, but all I can think about is my dad, and how much I miss him. I am not feeling the good vibes that everyone else is here." "Would you prefer that we pack up, and go home early?" Trish made a fist and, suddenly upset, lightly punched me in the shoulder. "No, Jeremy! I don't want that at all!" When Trish turned and walked away from me, I hung my head low and sighed in total exasperation. I did not have a clue what I could possibly do to make things better for her. I figured that Trish did not want to be the reason why our vacation was cut short, so perhaps that was why she got mad. Then, I thought of Lindsay. Lindsay lost her own father to a surprise heart attack two-and-a-half years ago, yet there was still not a day that went by that Lindsay did not grieve in one form or another. I hate to say it, but everyone in our family was used to seeing Lindsay have moments - maybe even fleeting seconds - of pain and heartache on a daily basis as it pertained to the memory of her father. Had we become so accustomed to it as a family that it was just second nature to us by now? Was Lindsay calling out for someone in vain just to talk and vent to, even after all this time? A year from now? Two-and-a-half years from now? Would Trish still grieve and mourn the loss of her father the same way Lindsay does now? I am not referring to vivid memories and simple wishes that a loved one who was forever gone could magically re-appear again as if the loss never happened in the first place. Everyone has those thoughts on a routine basis. Rather, I was referring to the outpouring of emotion that I witnessed from Lindsay at some point every single day. Lindsay mentioned her father _every single day_ in some form or another, and oftentimes became emotional. Whether it was a single tear, a hard swallow in her throat, a simple glance away or even the occasional hard cry, I saw it daily from her. Perhaps my next step in trying to help Trish deal with the pain and anguish that she was experiencing was to actually take a step back, and talk to Lindsay. Perhaps through Lindsay, I could come up with a way to ultimately help Trish. As I now watched Trish run along the treadmill on the opposite side of the room from me, I felt this may be my only opportunity to do so. I did not want exercise and fitness to be Trish's own personal safe haven; her sanctuary, per se. I wanted it to be in my arms. * * * The sun spilled into the Pacific Ocean on this glorious evening, turning the water a thousand shades of gold and pink, tinged with violet, topped with twilight. The sound of the seaside waves crashing onto the beach, with birds chirping and fluttering about overhead, had oftentimes in the past lulled me into a peaceful, tranquil reverie that I did not want to escape. But not tonight. On a sunny day, there may not be no more beautiful place on the planet than the northern shore of the island. It is fairly special on a rainy day, as well, when waterfalls almost magically appear on verdant mountains. Once the showers stop, colorful rainbows soar over tall, majestic trees, taro patches and a long, curving beach. The palm-fringed, gold-sand beach is bordered by black lava fingers, which makes it ideal for both swimming and snorkeling in the crystal-clear water. As I walked barefoot over the sand of the north beach here on the tropical island that I once called home for 16 years, I barely noticed nature's kaleidoscope of images and sounds. Why? What was latched onto my arm was much more intoxicating. "I don't know how, but somehow I forgot just how truly mesmerizing this island of yours is," Lindsay commented, as she leisurely tugged on my elbow. "I'm so happy, Jeremy, that we all agreed to come back here for a vacation. It has been 18 months since we were here last." "This island brings back a lot of good memories for me," were my words. "This is where we fell in love, Lindsay." There was no question that Lindsay was an adorable, little blonde sex nugget with the small-breasted, tight-bodied look of a girl still in her teens. Her face exuded an innocent charm that simply could not be denied. Standing 5-foot-3 and weighing a mere 95 pounds, my 20-year-old wife was dressed in a white playsuit with a sheer overlay as we casually strolled the picture-perfect coastline, her enviable figure clearly outlined with a sash cinching the fabric beneath her humble breasts to accentuate her slender waistline. Lindsay's good looks and spunky, do-anything nature obviously endeared her to me like no one ever had before. "Look here, Jeremy." A set of dazzling, angel-white teeth gleamed as Lindsay blew gently on her carmine-red fingernails. "Scarlett did my nails for me earlier. I love how they look!" She held her hand out for several seconds and even wiggled her slender, delicate fingers, admiring her long, glitzy nails. A smile appeared on my face as Lindsay leaned over and pecked my cheek with a simple kiss. How incredibly lucky of a man was I to have Lindsay in my life? What did I do to deserve such a wonderful fate? Then, of course, there were all the other women that shared in our relationship together as well. I truly was the luckiest man alive... "Would you like to go back up to the mansion, and join the other girls?" was my question for her. Lindsay hesitated for a brief moment, but then grinned and shook her head in response. "No, not yet. I'm having too much fun down here on the beach with you." To accentuate her point, she nudged the side of her face upon my shoulder and sighed theatrically. Indeed, this was _the_ life. "Oh my God, Jeremy, you missed it earlier!" Lindsay mused, suddenly gushing. "It was SO cute. I was relaxing out back poolside with Krissy and Pamela about three hours ago, and Kaden was playing with his toy trains beside us. Piper was there, too. Pamela was reading a book and, out of the blue, Kaden goes over to Pamela and starts tugging at her leg. She picks him up, then he reaches for the book and starts turning the pages for her!" A new smile flashed across my face as I envisioned the scene happening within my mind's eye. "I never saw Kaden do anything like that before." "We need to get you pregnant," I simply told her. "Yeah," Lindsay agreed, her face quickly changing a bright shade of red. "Yeah, we do. YOU do." "Baby, I'm worried about Trish," I finally told her, having delayed the topic during our beach stroll as long as I could. Regardless, it was the only reason why I asked Lindsay to go for a private walk with me tonight. I wanted to talk to her. "I'm worried about Trish and her overall well-being." Lindsay was frowning now, a sudden change in her demeanor. "You mean because of her dad? Well Jeremy, that is something Trish is going to have to deal with for a long time to come. Trish will finally start to feel better, but then here comes her dad's birthday, or Christmas, and she will take a massive step back in the grieving process. Trust me, I know." I stopped walking and placed a hand upon Lindsay's tender shoulder. "How long did it take you?" Lindsay glanced away from me for a brief moment, her mouth twitching with remorse. "I'm never going to get over losing my dad. It has been two-and-a-half years since he died. Every day, I wake up and I wish I could see him, talk to him. Every day, I feel sad and depressed inside that my dad is no longer with us. He was only 46 when he died." She frowned yet again. "Was in good shape, you know, but he had a blood pressure problem. Never took his daily medicine for it like the doctor for years tried to get him to do. If my dad took his medicine like he should have, he would still be alive." "I'm sorry, honey," I said, slipping my arms around her and embracing her with all the love and compassion I could muster. Lindsay sniffed her nose and eventually pulled away from me, her eyes glistening with moisture. "I wish he was still alive and there for you, your mom and your sisters." "I'll never forget the day he died," Lindsay mewed. "November 4, 2012... I had just saw him that morning. We were laughing and joking before I headed off to school. In the afternoon, when my sister and I got off of the bus and walked in the door, we found Dad laying on the sofa. Alison went over to rouse him, but there was nothing there. He would not wake up. Then, she noticed his eyes were open, but there was... it was the blankest stare. He was gone." "I called Mom... she was at work. I was frantic; I did not know what else to do. Alison was screaming and crying in the background. Mom told me to call 9-1-1 immediately, and she was coming home. It took like eight or nine minutes for the paramedics to get there. I always thought they should have been there a lot sooner. They tended to Dad, did a couple of things to try and revive him, but he was... gone. He was dead. There was nothing they could do. They told us that, me and Alison. They said they were calling the coroner and he should be there soon, but then just up and left. The paramedics left me, 17 at the time, and my 16-year-old sister alone with our father dead on the sofa. They just walked out the door and drove away..." "I would have raised all sort of problems with the city if I was there and knew you back then," I told Lindsay. I had heard that particular story from her probably a hundred times by now, but each instance it never failed to get me incredibly angry. I would invariably ball my fists - like now - and tremble. "I would have been calling for those paramedics' jobs. How could they possibly leave two teen-age girls in a situation like that? They should have stayed and did whatever they could to offer you and your sister help." "It was the cruelest thing anyone has ever done to me," Lindsay quaked. "I never understood it. I did hear those paramedics got into trouble. My uncle saw to it." I brought Lindsay into my arms once again, but this time actually pulled her down into a seated position with me upon the sand. She rustled about for a bit, but seemed to find the most comfortable position atop my lap. Lindsay settled there and hooked an arm around my neck for support. I held and rocked her gently, lovingly, kissing her forehead for added emphasis and caring. "Tell me a story about your dad," I requested. "Tell me something you have never told me before." "Why?" "Because I want to hear it," I simply answered. "C'mon, honey. Just think of something... anything. I know how much you enjoy talking about your father and sharing memories of him. I want you to tell me something about him." Lindsay seemed lost in thought for a good 30 seconds, but eventually nodded her head and focused her eyes upon me. "I remember when I was little - maybe five, six years old - my mom and dad would take me and all three of my sisters to the big park near Harrison, Miami Whitewater Forest, nearly every week in the summertime to hang out and pick blackberries. Dad LOVED blackberry pie, and Mom fixed the best in the world." "I remember Miami Whitewater Forest all too well," I told her, having spent the early portion of my life in and around the Cincinnati area just like her. "A beautiful park." "Dad would pay each of us - me and my sisters - for however many blackberries we picked," Lindsay grinned. "Being so very young and little, I remember that a quarter was a big deal to us back then. We could get a lot of candy from the gum-ball machine with a quarter! I remember it was always so hot and muggy, the weather, but I always looked forward to those trips to the park. We would spend the entire day there almost." "As time went on, those trips each year became less and less," Lindsay explained. "I think Mom did not like going to the park and having to pick berries each week, so I guess eventually she would just buy them at the grocery store instead. My sisters were kind of neutral on the park, but I never grew tired of it. Neither did Dad. Eventually, Dad and I went to the park by ourselves almost every Sunday after church when the weather was nice and stay there for several hours. That kept happening until he died." "I remember Christmas Day, 2012. Dad had been dead for what, seven weeks? It was a pretty miserable Christmas at our house, and no one had a good time. We were all still reeling from the fact that he was gone. I needed to get out for awhile. I really, really did." "I hopped into my car and drove to - of all places - the park. I remember it being cold and blustery that day, and windy, but I did not care. The park was closed, but I did not care about that, either. I parked my car alongside the road and started walking around, remembering all the times I was there in the past with Dad, and how much fun we had." "Then I looked off into the distance, and I saw the two big trees on the edge of the forest that was Dad's landmark for our blackberry-picking patch. It had been years since I had even remembered picking blackberries there as a kid. Between those two trees was an old, abandoned gravel road that was roped off, and it went about a mile or so up a steep hill until you got to the top, where there was this big, beautiful field, and a water tower. I decided that I was going to hop the rope, and go up the hill." Lindsay forged a smile as she kept going, "I remember walking up it. It seemed a lot longer than what I remembered from when I was little. But I thought back to all those times when our entire family was there, and together. I began to get really emotional, and cry. Then, all of a sudden, I started talking to my dad. Out loud. I was glancing up at the sky - to the high Heavens - but I was talking to Dad like he was right next to me." "What did you say to him?" I asked, massaging her neck with a gentle hand. She shrugged her shoulders and responded, "I don't quite remember everything, honestly. I told him I loved him, I missed him. I asked him if he remembered our family hiking up this long path 12, 13 years earlier. I told him, even though I never got to say it while he was alive, how much I looked forward to coming here to the park with him each and every week as I got older and grew up. He would let me feed the ducks, we would go on hikes, bike rides, have picnics... rent a paddle boat and go out on the lake for hours on end." "I told Dad that I was going up this hill for him, and him only. When I got to the top, I actually laid down in a patch of snow and cried for at least a half-hour. I just kept talking to him. I would not stop. I even remember yelling at him because he refused to take his medicine, and that was a major contributing factor to his heart attack." "All of a sudden, that hill - where I have never seen anyone else in all the times I've been there - was OUR hill. It belonged to me and my dad. I'm not quite sure how many people even know it exists, because it is in such an off-beat area of the park. I promised my dad that day that whenever I went to the park in the future, I was going to hike up that hill just for him. I stayed there for until it got so cold that I had to walk back down and get into the warmth of my car." "How many times have you been back to it?" "Several times," she nodded. "The last time, I actually went with Trish when we visited there in July 2013. I told her the story. Trish and I spent the whole day picking blackberries, then we took them home to Mom for dinner." I smiled at her. "There is no doubt in my mind, honey, that your father is so proud of you right now. I like to kid around with you, be foolish and frisky with you, but you are such an outstanding young woman... a truly wonderful human being. You're everything anyone could ever ask for." "My dad is proud of me, and he is also happy with the life I have now," she chirped. "He told me so!" "Oh? How is that?" "Whenever I talk to my dad - especially like, say, if I go visit his grave site back in Ohio - I get into discussions with him," she mused. "I know it may sound silly, but when I talk and say something to him, I oftentimes hear his voice in my head responding to me." I brought her even closer with my arm as Lindsay added, "Maybe I'm crazy, I don't know, but I like to think that it is his spirit communicating with me." "Many people go to the cemetery and have conversations with deceased loved ones," I assured her. "You're not crazy at all." I smiled at her yet again. "What does your father say to you, honey?" "Dad likes you!" she chirped, her expression now vibrant and happy. "Dad likes you a lot, Jeremy. He did not approve of you at first, but I talked to him one day at the cemetery for a real long time, and told him all about you. This was just after I committed to you and our family. I told him everything you did for me and my mom, and my sisters... how much you helped all of us. I explained to him just how nice and sweet of a guy you are. I told him about Trish and all the other girls, too, and how happy I was. He asked me if I was really, truly happy, and if this life was what I really wanted. I told him yes. I told him I wanted to marry Trish and marry you, and marry the others too. Ever since that day, Dad has had nothing but nice things to say about you, Jeremy. He keeps a close eye on you, too!" I stifled a laugh. "That may or may not be a good thing." "Dad also thinks Trish is a hottie!" Lindsay bristled. "I took her to the cemetery one day so she could meet and talk with him too." Lindsay extended her lower lip, and gave an extreme, yet playful pout. "Dad has his eyes set on my wife!" I chuckled at Lindsay. She was a spirited, little spitfire who could make me laugh at the drop of a dime. Lindsay was so very precious to me, and so unique. "Do me a favor, honey?" "What's that?" "Next time we are in Ohio, I want to hike up that hill with you at the park," I told her. "We can pick blackberries if they are in season. I also want you to introduce me to your father. I'm a little disappointed you haven't already." "I didn't know how you would react at the time," Lindsay frowned in response. "I was fearful you may think I was dumb or silly, Jeremy, that I talk to my dad like that." "Nothing you could ever do, sweetheart, would be dumb or silly to me," I promised her. "You should know that." "I do now," she squeaked. Hmmmmm, interesting. One way Lindsay found peace with the fact that her father was no longer alive, it seemed, was that she had open and honest discussions with him where, in her mind's eye, he would respond to her. Apparently, the things he said were not always favorable (not liking me at first, for example), which probably made it all the more _real_ to Lindsay. Having these conversations with her father was very therapeutic for Lindsay, obviously, and made her happy. Still, I needed to come up with something for Trish. Was there anything I could do to break her out of these doldrums? It was tearing me up inside that she was in so much pain. * * * When Lindsay and I made our return to the mansion, it was just in time for dinner. Our family chef, Amy, received help from Devon and Pamela tonight in preparing macadamia crusted sea bass with mango cream sauce and coconut chicken as the two main courses. Although a seafood lover to the highest degree, I actually opted for the chicken. It was delicious; the chicken was first skillet-fried, then baked in the oven with a mixture of chopped onions, red and green bell peppers, roasted garlic, coconut milk and yellow pepper flakes. There were grilled chicken sliders and lemon cheese balls for appetizers, as well as pineapple vinaigrette salad. For dessert, there was Devon's specialty - hummingbird cake. As I sat at the dinner table and took in all of the happy chatter, I eventually began to focus on my fiancee, Scarlett. She was holding Piper, my six month old daughter with Pamela, in one arm as she enjoyed her sea bass dish. I had never seen Scarlett quite so lively and energized as she had been this entire week. Scarlett was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, having an absolute blast on the island. This was her first time here, obviously, and she was in love with the place. Back home in Norway, work had been especially tough and challenging for Scarlett the past month or so. Although she insisted on maintaining and keeping her job as a registered nurse at the university hospital, the long hours and added overtime had really been getting to her lately. Scarlett needed a break in the worst way possible, and this little vacation to the island was the perfect elixir for her. My only regret? We could not stay here longer. Scarlett had to go back to work on Monday (today was Wednesday), which meant that we were returning to Norway on Saturday. It would have been awesome if we had another week or two to stay on the island and simply indulge ourselves even more. Alas, we would simply have to make the most out of the next two days. <<<- End of Chapter 09 ->>> ==---- -- -- -- - --- -- -- - - --- -- -- --- - -- - - - - --- -- ----== "Island Fever 4: Paradise" (c) 2015 JeremyDCP - JeremyDCP@hotmail.com Feedback is always appreciated!