who, only a few days ago, was so reluctant to go on vacation.
Mark was beginning to wonder who'd actually played whom. Still, he couldn't get too upset. Steve was enjoying the relaxation he needed, and that was all that mattered. Mark would find ways to occupy himself.
It wasn't that Mark was blind to the enchantments of Kauai. He appreciated the smooth sand with its almost sugarlike consistency and the astonishingly clear azure sea. He marveled at the tropical plants, the jagged mountain peaks, and the quaint plantation architecture. He breathed in the moist, clean air and admired the bright blue skies.
He did all that during the drive from Lihue airport and his first hour at the resort.
It was great, wonderful, terrific.
Now what?
He didn't feel like bodysurfing and getting tossed by the waves. He didn't see the interest in snorkeling, paddling around to look at fish he could see in the aquarium at his dentist's office. He didn't want to drive around sightseeing; he spent way too much time in his car at home. And just thinking about horseback riding made his back ache.
Mark supposed he could keep on treating the minor medical needs of the hotel guests for the next week, but that wouldn't keep him sharp. His mind was craving a challenge beyond applying Band-Aids, doing crosswords, or finishing a John Grisham novel.
Maybe he'd call Jesse Travis, the ER resident and his young apprentice of sorts, and have him FedEx the stack of medical journals in his office that he'd been meaning to get to for so long.
The beach curved along a small bay with sprawling resorts on either end and lavish private homes in between. The houses were tucked back behind low fences and ringed by palm trees and bougainvillea.
Most of the homes were raised on stilts a few feet above the ground to avoid flooding and to allow rising surf to pass under them. But the height would offer them little protection if another hurricane, like the one that ravaged the island in 1992, pounded the shore. Amid the row of homes, the cement ruins of a three-story condo complex still stood wrapped in vines, as if to warn the home owners they were on borrowed time.
Mark noticed that there were fewer sunbathers on this stretch of sand, and they seemed to be mostly locals. Few tourists appeared willing to venture beyond the range of a waitress with a drink menu. The sunbathers shared the beach with three monk seals who lazed undisturbed on the dry sand, as blasé as seasoned movie stars to the dozens of cameras and camcorders trained on them at any given moment.
One of the seals rolled over and huffed as Mark passed at a respectful distance. Mark huffed back, but the seal was unimpressed.
Mark turned to look at the sea, enjoying an ocean view unobstructed by clouds, fog, or a brown layer of smog. He could see a swimmer beyond the waves, cutting a smooth, confident course along the shore. The man was moving at a precise, even clip when he suddenly faltered, let out a cry of pain and surprise, splashed about, and then swam toward shore, clearly in distress.
Something was very wrong, but Mark had no idea what it could be.
Mark waded into the surf to meet the man, who he could see was in his forties, deeply tanned, and well-muscled, with flecks of gray in his close-clipped hair.
The man staggered out of the water, dragging one leg behind him, clutching himself and wincing in pain.
Mark rushed to his side and helped him to the beach. "I'm a doctor. What happened?"
"Swam into a school of jellyfish," the man hissed between clenched teeth. "It felt like swimming into a beehive."
Mark could imagine how easy it would be to swim in amid the transparent creatures and not realize it until they were stinging you with their poison tentacles.
"How did you hurt your leg?" Mark asked, leading the man back toward the Kiahuna Poipu Shores resort.
"Playing football in college," the man said. "One tackle and I was finished as a quarterback."
"Have you ever had an extreme or
Mark was beginning to wonder who'd actually played whom. Still, he couldn't get too upset. Steve was enjoying the relaxation he needed, and that was all that mattered. Mark would find ways to occupy himself.
It wasn't that Mark was blind to the enchantments of Kauai. He appreciated the smooth sand with its almost sugarlike consistency and the astonishingly clear azure sea. He marveled at the tropical plants, the jagged mountain peaks, and the quaint plantation architecture. He breathed in the moist, clean air and admired the bright blue skies.
He did all that during the drive from Lihue airport and his first hour at the resort.
It was great, wonderful, terrific.
Now what?
He didn't feel like bodysurfing and getting tossed by the waves. He didn't see the interest in snorkeling, paddling around to look at fish he could see in the aquarium at his dentist's office. He didn't want to drive around sightseeing; he spent way too much time in his car at home. And just thinking about horseback riding made his back ache.
Mark supposed he could keep on treating the minor medical needs of the hotel guests for the next week, but that wouldn't keep him sharp. His mind was craving a challenge beyond applying Band-Aids, doing crosswords, or finishing a John Grisham novel.
Maybe he'd call Jesse Travis, the ER resident and his young apprentice of sorts, and have him FedEx the stack of medical journals in his office that he'd been meaning to get to for so long.
The beach curved along a small bay with sprawling resorts on either end and lavish private homes in between. The houses were tucked back behind low fences and ringed by palm trees and bougainvillea.
Most of the homes were raised on stilts a few feet above the ground to avoid flooding and to allow rising surf to pass under them. But the height would offer them little protection if another hurricane, like the one that ravaged the island in 1992, pounded the shore. Amid the row of homes, the cement ruins of a three-story condo complex still stood wrapped in vines, as if to warn the home owners they were on borrowed time.
Mark noticed that there were fewer sunbathers on this stretch of sand, and they seemed to be mostly locals. Few tourists appeared willing to venture beyond the range of a waitress with a drink menu. The sunbathers shared the beach with three monk seals who lazed undisturbed on the dry sand, as blasé as seasoned movie stars to the dozens of cameras and camcorders trained on them at any given moment.
One of the seals rolled over and huffed as Mark passed at a respectful distance. Mark huffed back, but the seal was unimpressed.
Mark turned to look at the sea, enjoying an ocean view unobstructed by clouds, fog, or a brown layer of smog. He could see a swimmer beyond the waves, cutting a smooth, confident course along the shore. The man was moving at a precise, even clip when he suddenly faltered, let out a cry of pain and surprise, splashed about, and then swam toward shore, clearly in distress.
Something was very wrong, but Mark had no idea what it could be.
Mark waded into the surf to meet the man, who he could see was in his forties, deeply tanned, and well-muscled, with flecks of gray in his close-clipped hair.
The man staggered out of the water, dragging one leg behind him, clutching himself and wincing in pain.
Mark rushed to his side and helped him to the beach. "I'm a doctor. What happened?"
"Swam into a school of jellyfish," the man hissed between clenched teeth. "It felt like swimming into a beehive."
Mark could imagine how easy it would be to swim in amid the transparent creatures and not realize it until they were stinging you with their poison tentacles.
"How did you hurt your leg?" Mark asked, leading the man back toward the Kiahuna Poipu Shores resort.
"Playing football in college," the man said. "One tackle and I was finished as a quarterback."
"Have you ever had an extreme or
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