We wanted to go back to our private paradise.
We wanted to give it all up for what we’d found there.
But we didn’t have the courage to say it aloud. Didn’t have the balls to admit we were willing to give up plumbing and electricity—not brave enough to say that wealth and social standing wasn’t worth as much as the quality of life we’d created.
If we continued this way, we would spend the rest of our days wishing we’d been strong enough to admit what we truly needed.
I wouldn't let that happen.
I wouldn’t live another day without having what I absolutely desired. I wouldn’t let my daughter scream herself to sleep because she couldn’t see the stars through the smog, or paddle in the temperate sea to tickle fish with her tiny fingers.
I won’t do it.
Dragging Estelle to a stop, I placed both hands on her shoulders. “I have something to say. Something wild and stupid and crazy and so bloody right I can’t not say it.”
Her eyes widened; goosebumps broke out where I held her. “What is it?”
I looked back at our daughter. She raised her head, waving with a piece of driftwood rather than the bright plastic spade we’d bought her. She hated the slimy feeling of manmade toys, preferring the carved starfish I’d done last week on the balcony.
“I think we should go back.”
“What do you mean? Go back?” Her eyes narrowed. “You want to be stranded again? With no help. You want to cut us off completely?”
“I said crazy. Not ludicrous.”
“Then what?”
“I have an idea.”
“Well, share it before I pass out from waiting.”
I smirked. “The money from your singing...how willing are you to spend some of it?”
Her head tilted. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...if I asked you to trust me as your husband, would you?”
Without hesitation, she nodded. “Of course, I would.”
“Okay, I have an idea.”
“What?”
“Trust me?”
“You won’t tell me?”
“Just trust me. Give me a few days. Then I’ll tell you.”
It was a lot to ask, but Estelle gave me those few days.
I made it worth her while.
.............................
“I’m not asking if it’s the correct business decision. I’m asking if it’s possible?” I clutched my cell-phone as the Fijian national on the Board of Government Assets and Sales mumbled something unintelligible.
I’d pulled every dirty trick I could to get this conversation. But it also helped that we were minor celebrities in Fiji after finally agreeing to do a small article about our life on the island.
Our glowing praise and gratefulness of such a country had gone down well with the tourism bureau and earned us a call from the Fiji president himself, expressing welcome to his great nation anytime we wanted.
Well, I wanted.
Very much.
But I didn’t want a temporary vacation.
I wanted residency.
I wanted an island.
“So...is it possible?” I prompted again.
“It—it is possible. I have to ask what sort of monetary compensation it would require.”
“Ask away. I’ll hold.”
“You want me to ask, right now?”
“Yes. This very moment.”
“Uh...okay. Hold please.” Annoying music filtered into my ear.
Pacing the balcony off our tiny apartment, I tapped my fingers against my thigh. Estelle had popped down to the beach with Coco to find shells for a sea-inspired chandelier.
Coco had spent the morning pouting and crying for the salty waves. She refused to play on the smooth surfaces of ceramic tile, preferring the roughness of nature and inconvenient reach of microscopic sand.
Come on. Come on.
I wanted this phone call finished before Estelle caught me.
I wanted this to be sorted before I told her.
Before I informed my family of what our future could be.
Finally, the hold music changed, followed by a short cough. “Mr. Oak?”
I slammed to a halt. “Yes.”
“This is Mr. Taito from the Board of Investments for Overseas Buyers. I have to say, your request is rather unusual.”
“Why? How is it unusual?”
“Well, normally a purchase inquiry is for land with more opportunity than the one you mentioned, larger, closer to other tourist islands. We are aware of your situation from the past few years and are willing to take that in to account. However, I must inform you we do not recommend—”
“That’s the one I want. Deal or no deal.”
“I see.” A short pause followed by a gruff, “As for your other terms. Am I correct in assuming you would pay for everything you mentioned? That you would expect the Fijian government to have no involvement or investment whatsoever? You also understand that if you were successful in your request that every infrastructure would be forfeit after the deal ended?”
My heart raced.
Will they go for it?
I couldn’t tell by his voice. He could be taunting me, preparing to tell me the ultimate crushing blow or he could deliver the best bloody news of my life.
“Yes, I understand. I was the one who made the clauses and conditions. I’ve given you the sweetest part of the deal. All I ask for is the land.”
“Give me another moment, Mr. Oak.”
Music replaced the conversation and I growled, resuming my pacing. A giggle sounded below as Estelle helped Coco over the wooden balustrade blocking off our apartment’s car park from the road to the beach.