Losing Paradise - and More

Richard Davis:

On September 6, 2017 Hurricane Irma swept through the Caribbean island of St. Martin and destroyed our little slice of heaven on Earth. I'm not comparing our loss of a great vacation spot to the tragic devastation to the lives, homes and livelihoods of the wonderful people who inhabit the island; there is no comparison. But, both Jayne (my wife) and I (Richard) mourned the loss of our special paradise; until...

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I met Jayne while serving on the USNS Comfort, one of the Navy's Mercy class hospital ships, just after the 2010 Haitian earthquake. The Comfort was in the Caribbean assisting in the relief effort, I was a Lieutenant JG with two months remaining of a six-year hitch; ready to receive my honorable discharge and rejoin the civilian world. Things were looking up; my time as an officer in charge of a crew of Machinist Mates would give me plenty of options for a decent civilian career.

Jayne was a recent college grad with a nursing degree, a civilian volunteer on the ship assisting with post-op recovery. We met when my crew was fixing a problem in her ward. I was instantly taken by her beauty: five-eight, slim athletic build (she played women's soccer in high school and college), long blonde hair, blue eyes and the prettiest smile I'd seen in years. I did my best to chat her up without being obnoxious or getting in the way of her duties.

There are strict rules regarding fraternization on the ship; but we did have a chance to have a few meals together over the next few weeks. I spent enough time with Jayne to want to know her better. She must have felt the same because she gave me her parents' address and her cell number; we made plans to get together after my discharge.

Within a week of my discharge I was knocking on the door of her parents' Philadelphia suburban home. Jayne's parents, Paul and Rose, greeted me with welcoming smiles. The four of us had a nice, homemade dinner; Rose is an excellent cook; Paul is an Air Force vet who served in the sixties, we put aside inter-service rivalries and became instant friends. Paul even gave me a lead on a job in Phily; a lead that turned into an offer, which turned into a career.

I must admit my sexual relationship with Jayne progressed at a much slower pace than I would have liked. Rose and Paul were old school Catholics and with Jayne living at home, there were limited opportunities to consummate our growing love for each other. Jayne wasn't a virgin; she had two long-term boyfriends in college. It took four months before Jayne and I finally ended up in my bed.

It was pretty vanilla; but wonderful. Jayne's previous boyfriends must have been unimaginative in bed. She seemed shocked at some of the things we did over that first weekend, even though, like I said, it was pretty vanilla.

Jayne and I married ten months after I moved to Pennsylvania. We both had great jobs and agreed we'd wait a few years before starting our family. We used those years to build a nice nest egg for a new home and allow Jayne to become a full time mom when our babies started arriving. We also used the years to enjoy each other's company; emotionally and sexually. Our honeymoon was spent near the Caribbean island of St. Martin. I was able to rent a thirty-five foot sailboat out of Marigot, the capital of French St. Martin. We sailed around the island and to both Anguilla and St. Barts.

Jayne surprised me by spending most of the time between harbors sunbathing au naturel on the deck of the boat. "Seems kind of silly to wear clothes when no one can see us, doesn't it?" A surprising attitude toward nudity given Jayne's usual conservative attitude toward sex.

The third night on the boat was maybe the most magical night of my life. Jayne and I finished a delicious meal of red snapper accompanied by a wonderful bottle of Burgundy Chardonnay. We placed a blanket on the deck and looked out at a million stars. Two shooting stars streaked across the sky. We made love and when we finished, fell asleep in each other's arms; the only two people in the world that night.

Two days later we sailed into the cove off Orient Bay. We swam onto shore and Jayne was stunned to find us on the nude beach of Orient Bay. "Rick; everybody is naked!"

Jayne was wearing her skimpiest bikini and was still overdressed. I decided to shock Jayne and pulled my swim trunks off.

"Rick - what are you doing?"

"When in Rome."

"Well, not me!"

We walked along the beach in front of the naturist resort, Jayne in her bikini, me in my birthday suit. By the time we made it back to the resort's restaurant, Papagayo, Jayne had dispensed with her top, but kept her bottoms on. It was a unique experience.

I swam out to the boat and grabbed our towels, sunscreen and money. We hired two chairs on the beach and a bucket of beers. Jayne kept her bottoms on, "Some parts are for my husband's eyes only!" was her only comment on the subject. It was a beautiful day. People have the idea that there's wild and crazy sex on nude beaches, I've seen the porno pictures, too; but that's not what it's like on Orient. Outward sexual conduct is strictly forbidden and there aren't roving bands on horny men trying to pick up women. It was far more relaxing than I anticipated.

We swam back to the boat after a couple hours and vowed to return someday.

A day in the sunshine people watching and seeing my beautiful wife topless did increase my libido; Jayne and I spent the evening on the boat making love. We anchored off the pier on Pinel Island before setting sail back to Marigot and flying home.

In the six years between the honeymoon and Hurricane Irma, Jayne and I returned to the island nine times. We either rented a sailboat or stayed in a condo on Orient Beach, never at the naturist resort; but we did sunbathe on the beach at Club Orient from time to time. Jayne never changed her mind regarding total nudity; but her bikini bottoms shrank considerably, sometimes as small as a thong with the treasure remaining hidden.

We were even booked for our tenth visit when disaster struck. The pictures we found on the Internet of the destruction reminded us of what we saw after the Haitian disaster. Words cannot describe the damage.

It was one month after Irma; Jayne was working at a clinic in town when she heard about an opportunity to assist in the re-development of a health clinic near Marigot with the same not-for-profit charitable organization she volunteered for in Haiti. Jane nearly attacked me as I walked through the front door of our apartment.

"Rick; can you believe it? They need help on St. Martin! They're asking for trained medical professionals to get the new clinic in Marigot up and running. I already talked to my supervisor; he said he'd approve my leave of absence."

"Wait a minute, Jayne. How long of a commitment is this?"

"Three to five months."

"And you didn't think we should talk about this first?"

"Of course we would; it just never occurred to me you wouldn't approve. I haven't signed anything or made any commitment. I'm sorry if I jumped the gun a little; I just got so excited when I received the email today."

"What about our plans to start our family? You stopped taking the pill last month."

"Can we postpone it for a few months? Only a few months, I promise. We'll be careful until I get back; condoms until then. Please?"

It took over an hour before I finally agreed with Jayne; this was bigger than the both of us; people we knew and loved needed her help.

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"It shows you, sooner or later you must answer for every good deed." The bandit Calvera/The Magnificent Seven

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I took a few days of vacation to accompany Jayne down to St. Martin and help her settle in. We landed at SXM on Thursday and rented a car. Although we had a condo for the weekend, our first stop was at the charity's offices, the second stop at the apartment where Jayne would be staying. We met Jayne's roommate, Alison Parker. We took her out to dinner and the more I talked to Alison, the more I liked her. She seemed to be a responsible, happily married, thirty-something. My anxiety level was cut in half by the time we dropped Alison off at the apartment and headed to Orient Bay to check into our room.

Friday morning Jayne and I went down to the beach to go for a run. As we jogged down the beach, a man was jogging toward us. We all exchanged smiles and small waves; nothing out of the order, just a courtesy exchanged between fitness freaks.

Jayne and I reached the end of the bay and turned around. Half way back we approached the same jogger. This time he stopped.

"Bon jour."

To my surprise, Jayne pulled up. "Bon jour."

The man put his hand out to me. "Are you Americans?"

I returned his hand shake. "How did you guess?"

"Just a wild guess; the clothes, the friendliness when I said hello earlier, the accent. My name is Jean-Paul."

"I'm Richard; this is my wife, Jayne."

Jean-Paul held out his hand to her. "My pleasure. It's wonderful to meet new people; the beach is so deserted since Irma, especially this time of year."

Jean-Paul's eyes lingered a little too long on Jayne; but it was hard to blame him since she looked spectacular in her jog bra and running shorts. When Jean-Paul asked how we planned to spend our day, it pissed me off when Jayne announced our intention to visit the nude beach.

Of course, he showed up that afternoon. He moved a lounge to the other side of Jayne from me. He made certain she was looking when he dropped his pants. The son-of-a-bitch was hung. He made a special exhibit out of spreading sunscreen on himself and especially 'down there'. He spent the next hour telling us his life story, I did my best to stay awake.

Turns out he was a French national living in St. Martin to help with the reconstruction of the school and other public buildings that were damaged. The local civil engineers were overwhelmed by the extent of the necessary projects and his Paris firm sent him down to assist the locals. When asked about family; he claimed to be a bachelor. "No wife, no kids."

I bought the first round and when I returned from the beer hut, Jean-Paul was lying on his stomach looking up at me with a smirk on his face.

A half-hour later, Jean-Paul offered to buy the second round and left. While he was gone, I did my best to engage Jayne in a conversation that didn't have anything to do with our interloper. Just as I asked Jayne about dinner, Jean-Paul walked back with our beers.

Jayne turned to Jean-Paul, "We were just discussing dinner. Are there any places you recommend? Our favorite restaurant has closed since Irma."

"Let me take you to my new favorite spot in Marigot. It will be my treat."

I couldn't mask my irritation; but Jayne replied before I declined his offer. "That's very nice of you. Can we pick you up on our way?"

And that's how we ended up spending our Friday evening with the Frenchman.

Dinner was good; but I could have done without Jean-Paul's condescending manner. Like many Frenchmen; he seemed to have a certain dislike of Americans, especially our military. More than once he made a snide comment about the poor decisions made by the U.S. I bit my tongue before agreeing with him; I wanted to say we especially made a bad decision when we and the Brits kicked the Nazi's out of France. But I held my tongue because he could use my words to gain sympathy from Jayne. Not my first rodeo.

Jayne was having a good night being the center of attention. I probably should have been more concerned by her flirtatious manner; but this is Jayne we're talking about. This is the woman who spent her entire life doing the right thing, being the good daughter and wife.

We took turns dancing with Jayne, every so often I caught Jean-Paul trying to rub against Jayne, whenever it happened, I cut in. That really pissed him off. When I finally told Jayne it was time to leave, he tried to bait me with a snide comment. I would have left him there; but he walked out with us and I ended up taking him home. When I stopped in front of his apartment, he tried to bait me again by kissing Jayne. I'm certain she thought it was supposed to be one of those 'kiss on the cheek' things; but he kissed her lips, taking Jayne by surprise. I was happy to see she didn't return the kiss.

We made love that night; but we were using those damn condoms. I missed the feeling of her.

I decided to avoid the asshole for the rest of the weekend. I dropped a few hints that I didn't like the guy, thought he was rude and disrespectful. Jayne didn't argue and I thought I made my point. When it was time to catch my plane, I did my best to tell Jayne I loved her and to be safe.

We talked on the phone almost every night during the first week. She called me Saturday afternoon to say the staff were spending the evening out having dinner and promising to call me Sunday. When we finally connected Sunday evening, Jayne seemed distant. She claimed she was just tired from the long week, having worked the first six days.

Over the following two weeks the calls were shorter and less frequent. By the end of the third week I became concerned and made plans to fly down the following weekend. We had a nice long conversation Thursday. I told Jayne my plans to come down the following Friday and stay until Sunday. What I didn't tell her was my flight home was actually Tuesday, her birthday was Monday and I wanted to surprise her.

Jayne met me at the airport with a kiss and a hug. She told me I was in for a treat; she had reserved a bungalow in Phillipsburg. She claimed she was tired of hanging out on the French side and wanted a change of scenery. It seemed odd, but I was determined to use this weekend to reconnect with my wife; and me whining about her plans wouldn't start the weekend on the right foot.

The first hint of trouble was when Jayne got naked that night. The lights were low; but I couldn't see any tan lines. We made love that night, with condoms of course, and it was too dark to know for certain. I did a sneaky thing, I stayed awake until she fell asleep and used the flashlight on my phone. Damn, no sign of any line, not even a thong line.

The next morning the weekend started to go downhill. When I asked Jayne about the lack of any tan lines she became defensive and made up some story about being able to tan in private on their deck, adding, "Don't you trust me?"

I was starting not to; but kept it to myself. It's hard to know the right approach in this situation. In hindsight, I should have grabbed Jayne and brought her home; if she had cheated, maybe I could forgive her and we could work it out with counseling; some couples can get over their husband's or wife's infidelity. But it takes two people working to save a marriage and at this point; I would have been working solo.

We went through the motions Saturday and Sunday until I faked my departure from the island Sunday afternoon. My original intention was to surprise Jayne on Monday morning at her apartment and spend as much of the day with her as her work schedule would allow. At the very least, I assumed we'd have breakfast and dinner together. Now, after such a crappy weekend, I re-evaluated my plans.

We kissed good-bye at the hotel; Jayne supposedly to return to her apartment in Marigot, me supposedly to go to the airport. It's a testament to the depth our relationship had fallen that Jayne didn't argue when I suggested she needn't accompany me to say good-bye at the airport. She must have been in a hurry because she didn't notice I asked my cab to turn around at the first round-about and follow her cab.

She went straight to the apartment we had picked up Jean-Paul that first night over a month ago. She didn't even knock on the door, just walked right in. I paid my driver and thought about what I should do. It only took two minutes to decide to confront them; still hoping I wasn't too late. I was about to knock on the door when I heard the words that crushed all semblance of hope. They wouldn't have heard my knock, what with all the banging against the door and Jayne's shouts.

I left and rode back to the airport, I was too late to catch Sunday's flight home, but was able to change my Tuesday ticket to Monday. I checked into a room and got drunk. I don't think I slept more than two hours.

I can't tell you why; but for some reason I got out of bed early Monday morning. I bought a bouquet of flowers and took a cab to Jayne's apartment. I gave twenty dollars to a young man to carry the flowers and the card I bought earlier to her door. When he knocked, I watched from across the street. Alison answered the door, took the card, disappeared into the apartment, then handed the card back to the young man. He walked back to me with the flowers and the card.

"The lady says your wife doesn't live there any longer; wrote the new address on the card. Sorry." He handed me the card and I saw Jean-Paul's address printed on it.

"Want to make another twenty? We can walk down a quarter mile and deliver it there."

"Sure."

We walked without saying a word. I think the young man was embarrassed for me; the married cuckold. He knocked on Jean-Paul's door, I stayed across the street in the park; but I saw the young man hand the card and flowers through the open doorway. When the young man came back, he only said, "Don't think she's yours anymore, sorry man. Neither one of them even bothered to put anything on before he answered the door."

I gave him the twenty and before we could walk away, the apartment door opened, Jean-Paul walked out, still naked, and tossed the flowers over the railing.

I flew home that afternoon and started the unraveling of our married lives. Following the advice of a divorce attorney, I documented our account balances, separated the funds and set up my own accounts while removing my name from our joint credit card and checking account. My goal was to have everything set up before informing Jayne we were through.

If Jayne noticed the lack of any love or warmth during the subsequent, infrequent telephone calls; she didn't say anything until the third week. For some reason Jayne decided to come home; she wouldn't tell me why on the phone.

"Richard, you don't sound too excited to have me home. What's wrong?"

"Jayne, you've been gone for almost eight weeks now. The separation has been more difficult than I imagined it would be. You'll see, everything will change when you walk off that plane. Let's just wait until Saturday and we'll talk then."

Jayne didn't sound happy with my lack of concern; could she be that delusional?

I had no plans to meet Jayne's flight home. I had no desire to ever look at her again, hear her excuses, or to ask her why. (Besides, what if her reasons 'why' fuck with your head?) My heart was stone and I still had one more tough task. I drove to Rose and Paul's home Friday evening. They greeted me like their son as they always had. "Richard, what a pleasant surprise. We didn't expect to see you until Sunday. We're looking forward to seeing Jayne and having Sunday dinner together."

"Rose, Paul; I'm so sorry to tell you this. Jayne has a lover in St. Martin. As far as I can tell, she's been seeing him almost the entire time she's been gone."

"That can't be! Not our Jayne, there has to be some mistake."

"No mistake; I confirmed it the last time I went down there. She moved out of her apartment and is living with a Frenchman she met there."

Rose started to cry, Paul looked like he was going to explode. "I still don't believe it, there's some mistake."

"Well, you can ask her when she flies in tomorrow. You'll have to meet her flight, I'm finished with her. This envelop contains the divorce papers, she can have her attorney contact mine, his card is inside. If she insists, I can have her formally served, but I don't see why that's necessary. Everything we own is split down the middle. The lease on our apartment terminates in six weeks and the rent is prepaid. That will give her time to renew or remove her possessions."