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I grab a distressed wooden frame and study the couple in the photo. The man glances away from the camera with a laugh wrinkling the corners of his eyes, while the woman stares ahead with the same unfiltered joy on her lips. They must be somewhere on the island given the tropical background and their beach attire.
“Your parents?” I guess.
“Yup. That’s them in Tauntuma about five years ago.” She grins fondly. “Look at those goofy outfits.”
Most days, I’m able to keep the past buried. Keeping myself busy with working out and researching non-stop helps. But in instances like these, a sense of loss blooms until I’m forced to remember I have no mom with funny quirks to tell people about.
I have no family. I have no one.
Replacing the frame, I peruse various trinkets and knick-knacks littering the shelves. They’re accompanied by a hoard of books with titles ranging from ‘Embracing the Female Orgasm’ to ‘How to Organize Your Life’ and everything in between.
“She’s got good taste,” I say, reaching for the one about orgasms. “Might have to crack this one open later.”
How long has it been since I’ve allowed myself the simple pleasure of getting off?
Penelope’s laugh is warm and inviting, lighting up the room. “No, no. I’ve got a good friend who can hook you up with something spicier than this.”
My ears burn at the thought.
“Hey,” she says, placing the book back on the shelf and clasping her hands together. “Since I’m here, why don’t I take you into town and give you a tour? I bet you could get some amazing shots for your blog, too.”
Alice would probably advise me to tell this woman to eff off, but something about her attracts the dark and pathetically lonesome parts of my soul.
“I know we don’t exactly know each other, but since you’re staying for a while, you may as well get familiar with the area.”
She waltzes into the kitchen, perfectly comfortable in her mother’s space, and lowers a mug from the cabinet. After helping herself to a generous amount of coffee from the pot I brewed earlier, she cocks a brow at me.
“Oh, actually,” I stammer. “I really should finish the blog entry I’m working on.”
First rule in journalism: Trust no one.
I can’t afford for anyone to find out what I’m really doing in Topica Bay, but her offer is too tempting. I’ve always wanted to explore and travel, but my fear of the water holds me back from venturing too far.
Her head tips sideways, mouth popping open to question me further, but I’ve already talked myself into it. Alice did say it was a paid vacation, after all. Might as well embrace it.
“Actually, I’d love a tour.”
“You would?” She beams like a kid on Christmas morning. “I mean, yes! Of course.”
After downing the rest of her coffee, she sets the mug in the sink and snags a pen out of a jar beside the fridge. “Here’s my number in case you ever need me.”
Jango meanders toward her gingerly when she calls for him. “We’ll give you a bit to get ready. I’ll pick you up at ten?”
I walk over and swipe my camera off the table. “I’ll be here.”
Half an hour later, I’m riding shotgun, windows down, and Jango at my side in an old work truck. Hot drool slips down my arm, and I swipe at the spot, narrowing my gaze at him.
Penelope pauses singing long enough to give an apologetic shrug. “He gets sad when I leave him behind.”
I can’t help but grin at their matching puppy dog pouts, and when we roll into a parking lot across from an elementary school, I’m shocked to find what I assumed would be a barren, country town teeming with life and color.
“Is that… a goatwearing a top hat?”
Penelope shifts the truck into park. “Oh. That’s Jingles, the mayor.”
“Augustine’s mayor is a goat?” I watch the creature mindlessly nibble the edge of a picnic table.
In the middle of unclipping Jango’s leash, Penelope blinks at me. “Oh my god,” she snorts, cackling as she rolls the windows up.
