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Becky calls while I’m still consumed by my manic scribbles. I’m fleshing out the side characters and trying to figure out the murder victim, but the couple meant to fall in love while solving the crime is noticeably absent. I can’t see the shape of them or their love story.
“Hey,” I say.
“Oh, that’s your focused voice.”
I chuckle. “I said one word.”
“Yes, and it was a very focused one. Is this a bad time?”
“No, of course, not. I’m on vacation. I haveoceansof time.”
“Well, I’ve seen that guidebook of yours, and I don’t know ifoceans of timeis exactly the right description. You’re packing a lot into these two weeks.”
“I’ll have you know, I’ve taken it very easy these first days.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. And I’ve even spoken to another guest here, at the hotel.”
Becky draws in a mock gasp. “Spoken? Oh my. Was it in an elevator? And was it about the weather?”
“No, and no, you smart-ass. I ended up sharing a table with him the other night.”
As expected, the conversation devolves shortly after in a flurry of details. I look over my shoulder to make sure there’s no tall, dark-haired, scowling man to overhear me, but he’s nowhere in sight. The people around me have all cleared out, too.
I realize why ten minutes later.
The sea had been disturbed before, but it’s positively choppy now. There’s not a single swimmer in sight. Above me, the clouds are heavy and moving fast, blocking out the sun and blue sky.
I gather my things and tuck my phone between my ear and shoulder. “How are you feeling? Feet still sore?”
“That’s the least of my problems now. Sore feet, the fiercest of heartburns, aching back, and I have SPD, which basically means my pelvis is ripping itself apart. And I’ve not even gotten to the giving birth part, yet.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Oh, it is. I highly recommend it. Patrick is so jealous that he can’t do it, too.”
I chuckle. “You’re almost at the end of it. I wish I could make it better, but—”
“But I did this to myself,” she says miserably, with the dry tinge of humor I love so much. “Well, Patrick helped, but I knew what I was getting myself into.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to complain.”
“Thank you. You’ve had to listen to a lot of it.”
I sigh. “Well, you heard a lot about Caleb and Cindy.”
“Hey, I was angry about that, too. Still am. Darn, I have to go. Well, if I can get off this couch.”
I smile. She always cheers me up. “Talk to you later.”
“Already looking forward to it,” she says. “Enjoy turning real people into fake people.”
That makes me laugh. “You make me sound like a psycho.”
“Aren’t all writers?” she asks, and the line goes dead. I’m still smiling when I trudge up the white sand to the pool area.
Maybe we are. Maybe I can test it out here, in this new place, with enough space to be anyone I’d like for the rest of these two weeks. An entirely new version of myself that could never have existed back in Pinecrest, Washington.
