A Love Story in Two Realities-A Work in Progress

A Love Story in Two Realities

Jack
He could smell the honeysuckle from the vine that was tangled up the fence outside the open window. The fan in the corner hummed softly as it rotated back and forth, blowing cool air into the already cool room. Lying on his back he thought about how different this life was from the one he thought he would be living. Shifting slightly, he rolled his shoulder out from under her head and watched as she settled back into sleep.
He traced a finger through her curls and thought of the hours it would take her to straighten them out if she decided to care about such a thing. He slid his hand across the handmade quilt she had worked so hard on, wanting only to understand and therefore preserve an art not even her grandmother had practiced. He thought back to his days of starkly hip linens and ‘Dear God, don’t sit on the sofa’ Swedish furniture.
No, this definitely wasn’t the life he had pictured for himself, but maybe that was the point. Maybe the only way to really know home is to be shocked by it. He gently slid off the bed to make coffee when a strange noise stopped him. The buzz started softly, barely audible, but was rapidly getting louder. He went to the window, but saw nothing to explain the noise. Inhaling deeply, he couldn’t detect any smoke. Behind him, she stirred and lifted herself to rest on her elbows.
“Jack, turn it off,” she said sleepily.
Confused, he looked at the bare table beside the bed. They never used an alarm clock.
“Jesus, Jack turn the damn thing off.”
He snapped awake and groggily hit the button on the clock resting on the expensive bedside table. He threw off the thin silk blanket and swung his feet off the bed. As he stood he looked tentatively over his shoulder at the woman lying in his bed. Perfectly straight blond hair, the kind it took hours to manage.
“Hmm…are you making coffee?”
He shook his head, trying to clear the memory of contentedness and told her that yes, he would make the coffee.
And then he went into his bathroom to wash his face. He would begin his day- go to work, go to the gym, meet Nikki for drinks. He would live in this life that was everything he always thought it would be.
But then his day would end. He would go back to bed and he would once again feel free. He would know happiness, even if it was only a dream.




Eva

Eva sat sipping her coffee trying to figure out why she never felt rested when she woke up anymore. She knew that she had been dreaming lately, but she couldn’t remember any details. She only knew that for the last few weeks she had woken up at the same time, even though she didn’t own an alarm clock, and she had felt lost. It took her at least an hour to wake up and feel like herself.
She looked at the garden around her and tried to make herself concentrate. The peppers were ready to be picked, the roses needed to be pruned and there were caterpillars on the tomatoes again. She could easily spend the entire day out here.
Eva sighed and got up from the weathered Adirondack chair. She stopped to pluck a caterpillar from one of the tomato vines before heading to the shed. She knew that she was supposed to kill them, but she could never make herself do it. Instead, she kept a small burlap sack in the potting shed and she would pop them in it for 2 or 3 days. When the bag was too wriggly for her she would take it out to the woods and release them. She was sure that she kept catching and deporting the same ones, and then just waiting for them to make their way back. But it was a battle she could live with.
Once the caterpillar was stashed away, she called to her old terrier Sal and went into her office to make herself work. She never used to have to force herself into this room. There was a time when she could spend twenty hours a day in here. Sleep was just something that got in her way. But now, sleep was all she really wanted to do. It was the only reason she wanted to work out in the garden, she knew the combination of manual labor and the sun would put her right to sleep.
Eva shook her head and sat down at her computer. She opened her manuscript and set to editing. She knew it would be pointless to try and write something new today. She hadn’t been able to write anything new in weeks. So instead she dutifully set to work on the changes her editor had requested. Delete scene here, shorten dialogue here, expand description here. On and on she worked until the sun had moved low enough in the sky to shine through the window behind her and make her screen dull and hard to read.
It was time to think about food. She needed to take Sal back outside and let her run for awhile. She still needed to prune those roses and harvest the peppers. There were plenty of chores to be done before she could go to bed in good conscience.
It hadn’t escaped her that this detached floating through her days was a new and disturbing trend. She couldn’t remember the last time she had called anyone, and it had been at least two weeks since she had been to town. She couldn’t decide what to cook for dinner because she really wasn’t hungry, even though she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Something was wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.




Paradise

The moon transformed the garden into a scene from Shakespeare. The faint starlight and the distant lights from the house glinted off the mirror shards and sea glass that Eva had hidden among the flowers turning what should have been darkness into a sparkling haven.
Dinner consisted of pasta, cooked with the days crop of vegetables and a large bottle of red wine. As he sat there, eating his dinner he thought about how utterly unlikely all of this was.
"This is like something out of a book. One of those travel memoirs about the tired business man who moves to the South of France and buys a vineyard, or the heartbroken writer who runs off to Italy and does...well, she does exactly what we're going right now," he said as he watched her clip roses. "Sit down and eat. I swear I think it would kill you to sit still."
She ignored him and continued to clip at the fragrant buds. She didn’t want him to see how flustered he still made her. It amazed her that he didn’t notice how her hands shook as she focused on the thorny stems.
"I'm pretty sure it shouldn't be this light out here. It's all a little too perfect, don't you think?"
Eva nodded but didn’t say anything. She laid the basket of roses at her feet and took a bite of food. She wanted him to be quiet. His rambling was just reminding them both that they didn’t know each other well enough to be here. But he was right. It did feel perfect, and that didn’t really make sense. Not that she knew what she should have expected.
Abashed suddenly by her silence, he said, "Not that I don't think it should be perfect. I guess this is just so different from anything I've ever known. Well not ever...I kind of feel the way I did when I was a kid and we would go on vacation. We used to go to this lake. I have no idea where it was. But I remember it was always so quiet and there was absolutely nothing that you had to do. I hated it," he laughed. "But now I can see why my parents loved it so much."
She briefly considered teasing him about his new fondness for boredom, but decided not to. "I can't even imagine living in the city anymore. I put in my dues, and now I like my silence. You like it too, when you’re quiet enough to hear it."
"And to think I thought you were sweet," he said.
"I am sweet. And just to prove it I think we should honor your memory of that lake and go for a swim."
"Yes, Ma'am..."




Home

"This could have been where they filmed all of those old monster movies," Jack said as he contemplated stepping into the deep, dark water of the sink hole.
She nodded and said, "Actually, a lot of those movies were filmed about ten miles from here. But don't worry; they had to bring their own monsters."
Monsters, but not the alligators Jack thought nervously. "I really thought that when you suggested a swim, you meant in the pool..."
Jack knew she was waiting for him. She was waiting to see if he would take the next step and move into the warm black of the water. He had a nagging feeling that this was a test somehow. The problem was that he couldn't seem to make his feet move.
He loved the idea of floating in the water, but he was terrified of the way in. There were reeds and lilies all along the water's edge and all he could think of was what might be lurking beneath them. The night's quiet was full of noise and he couldn't help but wonder what sorts of creatures might be out there, hiding in the dark.
He glanced back at her. She had settled into the roots of a massive tree and was simply watching him, her face an impassive mask.
"I'm not sure it's fair that I have to go first. I am the one who's new at this," he said.
She stood, approached him and took his hand. Then she silently guided him away from the water's edge.
"Why are we leaving? I would have done it...eventually."
"Jack, this is my home. You can't follow me to a place where I already am. You have to find your way alone," she whispered.
He looked longingly back at the water and tried to make himself stop. He wanted to run straight into it, snakes and alligators be damned. But instead he held onto her hand and let her lead him back out of the woods. He followed her back through the garden and into the cool safety of her bedroom.
Neither of them spoke as they prepared for bed. They each knew it was pointless. They would lie down together, but they would not wake up that way. He had a terrible feeling that she would not even remember him in the morning. He placed his hands along the bead board walls and tried to plant his feet into the cypress floors. He wanted to force the house to let him belong. He wanted to have breakfast with her in the garden. He wanted to have lunch with her by that damned tree.
He wasn't sure if she was being so quiet out of sorrow or disappointment. He watched her, trying to memorize every inch of her, until she slid into the bed.
"Jack?"
"Yes?"
"Remember what I said about the monsters."
"What?"
That wasn’t even close to what he had been expecting her to say.
"Just remember it."



Research

Jack was late. Again.
"You're late," his boss pointed out. "And I'm tired of it. That is why I'm putting you on a human interest piece. I need it to be something with some history...something that'll take a lot of research. I don't care about the specifics; just make sure it's good. You have two weeks. Now get out."
Jack knew better than to argue. And he certainly wasn't going to point out this assignment, while meant to be a punishment, was exactly what he was looking for. He slumped back to his desk in his best imitation of annoyance and began to gather the few things he would need for a research piece.
Jack arrived at the library at quarter to ten. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he knew there was a story he was supposed to write. He just needed to find it. He ordered all of the microfiche from the 1930s and began to scour it for interesting pieces of Florida History.
He was beginning to get seasick when a young man from the local university came in and asked him if he could have the film that Jack had already looked at.
"Sure, I've gone through 1930 to 1937. I should be done with the rest in about an hour," Jack said as he handed the guy the stack of films.
"Thanks, but I only need 1934 and 1936, so this is perfect."
"Glad I could help. I don't know what the hell I'm looking for anyway," Jack said. "I’m Jack Griffiths by the way. What happened in '34 and '36?"
"David McCormick. I'm doing a paper on the long term effects that movies filmed on location here in Florida have had on the location they were filmed. The old Tarzan movies were filmed in North Florida, the second one was '34 and the third movie was in '36," the student said as he loaded the first reel of film. "I'm trying to see how big a deal the movies were when they were first filmed compared to the lingering tourist interest."
Jack nodded and tried to mask the wheels that were frantically turning in his head. "How is that coming along?" he asked.
David shrugged and said, "Not nearly as explosively as I'd hoped. There were a lot of movies filmed in the state, and most of them were shot in sleepy little places that are too out of the way to have large tourist draws. Most of my data is kind of useless, but the paper is due on Monday. I'll bluff it out somehow."
"You sound like me as a student. Do you mind if I glance at your research? I'll give you a nod in my article if I use it..."



Explanations

“You do realize that you haven’t called me in a month?”
Eva looked up at her best friend and tried to think. A month? It can’t have been a month.
“A month. I will accept two excuses for this: 1. You have been finishing the book, and it’s about to be published and make you millions of dollars and disgustingly famous and you are planning on taking me with you. Or B. You have a man,” Allie offered.
Eva didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what she could say. “1 or B, huh? Okay, how about we go with P. I’m just slack?”
Allie gave her a disgusted look and dropped her purse onto the table. She threw a cursory glance around, taking in the massive stack of mail and layer of dust. “Seriously, what’s up?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m depressed. It’s nothing, just a funk. What’s going on with you?”
Allie shrugged and started telling Eva all about the horrors of her week while clearing the mess off the table. By the time she finished washing the dishes she had quit her job three times, murdered a few people and divorced her husband. Eva just listened to her in amazement.
“To hell with my depression, I don’t know how you keep going. Your life is officially hell,” Eva joked.
“Yeah, it’s terrible. You should totally finish the book so we can run off and be celebutantes together…I so long to wear sunglasses that cover half my face and carry a little dog wherever I go. Hey, what do you think they do when the dog needs to shit in the middle of Barneys?” Allie asked.
“I’m pretty sure the clerks get stuck with problem. The paparazzi are missing out on one hell of a photo op with that though,” Eva said. “You do realize that authors don’t get to act like that right? That life is just for people who don’t know how to read. Besides, Mark would totally make fun of you if you wore sunglasses like that.”
Eva sat back and watched as Allie moved on to dusting. She knew that protesting would be useless. Allie could no more sit still than drop her annoyance over Eva’s lack of communication.
“Two plates, two wineglasses…so it’s a man,” Allie said.
“Actually, its two days worth of dirty dishes,” Eva countered.
“Nope. Same food on the plates, same wine in the glasses.”
“Leftovers.”
Allie turned and glared at her. Eva could see the wheels grinding. She knew that her friend wanted to scream at her. And she didn’t blame her. She would be mad at Allie too, if she disappeared into herself for a whole month and then refused to talk about it. But what was she supposed to say, “Well, Allie, I had dinner with an imaginary man.”
Ridiculous.


Alone

Jack woke up without the sound of his alarm clock. Groggy and confused, he swung his feet off the bed and sat up. He had that empty feeling that comes with the knowledge that something just out of the reach of your memory is missing. He could smell the remnants of steam from a hot shower and hear the hair dryer.
“Do it, Jack…” he muttered.
He pulled on a pair of mostly clean jeans from the chair in the corner and began packing a bag. By the time the bathroom door opened he had packed everything he cared about.
“What’s going on?” Nikki asked nervously.
He looked at her, taking in the perfection, and then said, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. You don’t love me, so don’t look at me like that. You can have the apartment, hell you can have everything.”
The conflict on her face was almost comical. He knew he was right. She didn’t love him. But she did love their life…and he was mostly leaving her that. She looked almost happy, but she would never admit that.
“What am I supposed to tell people?” she asked.
Jack laughed. “Tell them whatever the hell you want. Tell them I died…or tell them the truth. Tell them I disappeared.”
And then Jack walked away. He walked out of his perfect apartment. He walked away from his perfect girlfriend. He walked away from the perfect life that he had always thought he wanted.
He got in his car and headed towards the interstate. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, but instead of thinking about it he would just go to work. And he had a stack of research that pointed north. So for now, Jack would go north.



A Day in the Park

Eva was lying in her bed with her eyes squeezed shut trying to will herself back to sleep. The constant bounce/whine combo that Sal was doing told her it wasn’t going to happen. Sliding her hand under the covers she waited for the next bounce. When it came she rolled over and flung the blankets over onto her excited dog. A yelp and some frantic shuffling satisfied her and she rolled off the other side of the bed to go open the back door.
Sal’s head popped out of her tangle of blankets just as she was walking out of the bedroom. “Come on brat. Let’s go outside.”
The magic words spoken, Sal flew out the back door happily and Eva shuffled into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She felt odd, as if she had overslept. But the clock said it was barely 7 so there was no reason for her anxiety.
With the cup of coffee steaming into her face she stood at the window and watched as Sal ran circles through the wet grass. It was going to be a beautiful day. The sky was the color of infinite possibility and Eva decided to take advantage of it.
She showered quickly and pulled on her favorite pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Leaving her hair loose and wet she grabbed her park bag and Sal’s leash and left the house. Sal knew exactly what that big blue bag meant and she ran to the gate expectantly.
“I know, it’s been too long, hasn’t it?” Eva coaxed as she let Sal out the gate and into the jeep. Eva drove the ten minutes over to the Spring and parked her car in the farthest space in the empty lot.
She let herself trust in ritual as she opened the door to let Sal free. She held her breath until it became obvious that Sal was going to be good this time and not bound off into the brush, as she was sometimes prone to do.
“Good Girl. Very good…now let’s go to our spot.”
Sal led her as she headed to a lonely picnic table shaded by two large Live Oaks. It was well away from the water and usually secluded which made it perfect. Eva could write in relative quiet, and Sal could play without Eva having to worry about the alligators.
They settled in and before Eva knew it, it was afternoon and the sunbathers were arriving. She looked down at her notebook and realized that she had been writing non-stop. A completely new story was forming and she had absolutely no idea where it had come from.
“Look at me, Sal. I have a novel to finish and I’m sitting here writing…a love story. How could you let that happen?” she asked her sleepy dog. “You’re worthless, puppy, absolutely worthless. How about we go home? Okay, want to go home?”
Sal bounced up as if she truly were a puppy and headed back towards the car. “Sal, wait. Wait!” Eva called as she hurriedly shoved things back into her bag.
She chased Sal all the way to the car, where the old dog was sitting contentedly waiting for her.
“Damn dog,” Eva muttered as she opened the door and helped Sal up into the seat. She threw her bag into the back as she climbed up into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. She was still cursing under her breath as she pulled out and left the park, her notebook still sitting on the picnic table.



Discovery

The only drive north that Jack knew was one of concrete and tedium. This trip was different. He had no maps, no directions, and only a vague idea of his destination. All he knew for sure was that he was not interested in taking the usual routes. He would avoid the interstates. He would not pay a single toll.
If he was going to embark on an unknown mission, he may as well do it right. He had no deadlines and no real agenda except to drive. This was an opportunity for him to see a Florida that was more than just pastel condos and sky rise hotels. He was going to take the long way and meet people who talked about things other than the size of their yachts.
The first place that Jack thought about for his journey through Old Florida was Lake Okeechobee. The largest lake in Florida, and the fourth largest in the United States, the Big Lake is massive when you are standing on its shore.
Jack wasn’t sure if it was this scale, or maybe the fact that there wasn’t a single other person near him, but as he stood on that shore and looked out at the vast dark water he felt completely empty. Hollowed out, but happy about it.
He stayed at the lake for less than an hour. He could now say that he had seen it and it was wonderful. He wanted to be able to say that about other things. He stopped at the Lake Okeechobee Bait and Tackle on the northern side of the Lake and bought a Florida map and a yellow highlighter to mark his path.
It didn’t take much study for him to decide to head east to the mouth of the St. Johns River in Vero Beach. He had read an article in National Geographic a few years earlier about the small towns that dot the St. Johns. He couldn’t remember much of it but there was a quote about how to get anywhere in Florida that he had never forgotten, “Wherever a live oak stretches its branches over the road, that is the route to take.”
At the time, that had seemed like the most luxurious thing Jack had ever heard. Now, he was going to make it his mantra.

Normalcy

Eva was vaguely aware that the phone was ringing. But only in the sense that was there was something in the near vicinity that was annoying and needed to stop. She glanced at the clock on her computer and sighed. It was 11AM. She had been writing for fourteen hours.
Her legs protested as she unfolded them from beneath her and stood. She stretched her hands high, straightening out her creaking back and then dropped at the waist until she was touching the floor in her own completely uneducated version of yoga. Once she felt like she could walk without limping she straightened up and went into the kitchen to see if she had any messages.
She had eight.
Five of them were from her editor, and three were from Allie. The last message threatened her with a visit from the local sheriff if she didn’t return Allie’s calls.
Eva dialed her editor’s office.
“Tell me you have pages for me,” Alex greeted.
“Did you even know it was me when you answered?” Eva asked.
Alex grunted into the phone. Eva could hear him shuffling through papers and could only imagine what his desk looked like. “I knew it was one of my writer’s who owed me pages. You all owe me pages. I have kids to feed, you know? Do you want them to starve?” Eva would get defensive, but Alex had delivered this dialogue many times before.
“Luckily for those imaginary kids I do, in fact, have pages for you. I’ve finished the edits you sent me last month and completed another six chapters.” Eva smiled into the phone. It was always nice to be able to tell him that she had in fact been productive, instead of having to come up with increasingly creative excuses. She had claimed power failures so many times this past summer the publishing house had sent her a generator.
“You are the belle of my ball,” Alex said. “How close to the ending are we? Wait…why am I not seeing your email?”
Eva sat at her desk and began the process of sending him the attachment. “It’s on the way to you right now. I’ve gotten a little sidetracked by this idea that won’t get out of my head, but I think I can still be done with the first draft in the next few weeks. I’ve already laid out the ending chapters I just need to spend some time with them. The word count is getting a little high, I know, but I’m sure it’s nothing your magic can’t fix.” Eva hit the send button.
“That’s good, that’s very good. Especially if by first draft you really mean fifth, like you usually do. Listen, send me your next chapters as you lay them down. I love receiving in bulk but we can get this out a lot sooner if you’ll let me work with you, instead of after you. And send me what you have on this new idea. Maybe I can get you some money.”
Eva paused. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to share the story that was rapidly writing itself in her head. She hadn’t even gone back to the spring to look for the notebook that held the beginning. Something about it was bothering her far more than anything she had ever worked on before.
“I’ll send you the chapters as I finish them,” she said.
“Hmm…I believe this might be a first. Eva Black withholding a story. All right then, we’ll talk about it more when you write The End. I’ll talk to you next week?” he asked.
“Next week. Bye Alex.
“Bye Belle.
Eva hung up the phone and laughed. And then she picked it back up and dialed Allie.
“You are getting to be so annoying. I mean, you call me at all hours of the day. Always just wanting to talk talk talk. I mean, I do have things to do,” Allie greeted.
“What’s wrong with a simple hello? I swear, it’s like no one appreciates the simple niceties anymore,” Eva responded.
“Ah, the simple niceties. Like answering your telephone when it rings? Or going out to dinner when your friend invites you?” teased Allie.
Eva grinned, “Actually, dinner sounds very nice. We can celebrate the sheer amount of work I got done last night while ignoring my friend’s phone calls. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I was thinking we could try Fresco.”
Why would Allie sound nervous? Allie was never nervous. Eva felt her eyes narrow and her shoulders tense. “What are you up to?”
Allie sighed. “I just think you should dress up, preferably in that blue dress, and come to dinner with us.”
“At the nicest restaurant in town? Where neither of us has ever been? Who exactly is us?” Eva challenged.
“Us is me and Mark, obviously. And this friend of Mark’s from the firm, that is a really cool guy and who I might or might not have told all about you. And shown your picture to.”
“Allie! You know I can’t do blind dates. I feel sick just thinking about it,” Eva exclaimed. “Why would you do that?”
There was a long pause, much longer than was normal. Eva knew that Allie was biting the inside of her lip and trying to force herself not to start yelling.
“I did it because you need me to,” Allie said very slowly and deliberately. “You are seriously, seriously in need of a little bit of normalcy in your life. And whether you want to admit it or not, normalcy is going to dinner with your best friends and a really cute lawyer. Normalcy is dating.”
As pathetic as it was, Eva could feel herself about to cry. “I don’t know how to do that, Allie. I’ll come across as a freak.”
“No you won’t. I will be there to keep conversation flowing. It doesn’t have to be anything, Evie, just dinner with friends. That’s all he’s expecting, I swear. Yes, I told him about you…and yes, he seemed genuinely interested. Fascinated actually. But it’s still just dinner with friends.”
Eva wiped the tear off her face and knew that Allie was right. She was seriously becoming a hermit and it was pathetic. She walked into her closet and pulled out her blue dress. It was wrinkled from her extremely lax attitude towards hanging her clothes. “Okay. I’ll wear the blue dress. But I’m coming to your place to get ready and ride to the restaurant.”
“Deal,” Allie said, her grin visible through the phone.

The First 3 Chapters of The Fate of Three

Prologue

Bimini, Florida is the perfect town. It is very small, and yet it offers everything a person needs. There is a local university and a respectable art museum ensuring a rich variety of cultural activities. For the sports enthusiast, the north Florida terrain boasts every outdoor activity from rock-climbing to snorkeling.
Most importantly there is a healthy economy supported mostly by tourism but self sufficient enough to withstand the hard times. The town’s main center is Bay Street, which offers the shopper a superb view of both the bay, and the pristine beaches and quaint cottages of Rock Island. The historic storefronts along the Bay date back to the town’s founding in the early 1800’s.
Sitting on 2.3 miles of a mostly undeveloped stretch along the Florida Panhandles Gulf coast; it is isolated by a massive forest to the East, and salt marshes to the West, Bimini manages to offer all of the necessary luxuries without having the normal trappings of American commerce. There is no Wal-Mart and there is no mall. If you need the Gap, it’s located in an early nineteenth century warehouse on Pine Street.
The town is well known for its beaches and quaint shops. But it is famous for its many mysteries.
St. Andrews Cathedral is one of the most studied churches in the United States. The twin spires are gothic, but they are made out of concrete and seashells. The façade is a heavy, pink marble and is reminiscent of a Spanish fort. The bell tower is made entirely of stained glass.
Every day at sunset the square fills with people and the streets are lined with tour buses. It begins with the towers, which in the day appear white, but as the sun’s light fades it bursts into rainbows reflecting off the oyster shell inlay. During the day, the tower and the windows of the church are dull and gloomy. The glass is too dark to be able to clearly see the designs and the windows are positioned oddly around the building. It isn’t until the sun sets that the reason for this is understood. Clear glass slots in the roof allow the light to pour into the church and when the sun is positioned correctly, the light then reflects out of the odd windows. The light that filters through that glass projects some of the richest colors ever seen onto the square below. The patterns can then be seen in all of their glorious detail. Artists from all over the world have come to witness this. No one has ever duplicated the deepness of the color in that glass.
The strange architecture of the building is made more frustrating by the fact that the family of Neil Cloche, the man who designed the church, have refused to disclose any of his papers or designs for the building. On the night he died, his wife told the town’s mayor that his secrets would die with him. There is no public record of any member of the family ever speaking to the press regarding the matter.




1
Plum

An irritated Plum Black slipped through the crowd gathering in Cloche Square. She was going to lose him in all these damn tourists. She jumped onto the stone ledge of Blackwater Fountain and peered out across the sea of people. The sea was parting back towards Frond Street, and she could see a mop of dark brown hair gliding through the rift.
Plum lowered her head and watched feet as she forced her way through the crowd. Once she hit the street, the people had thinned out and she could see. But her prey was gone. She plopped herself down on the corner and spent the next few minutes cursing the invention of skateboards.
Out of insults, she paused to consider her options. She could continue on to Rock Island Park and stake out the bridge to catch him when he crossed, or she could cut her losses and beg for food at Datarah. Her desire to win was battling with her desire to eat when she noticed a shadow skulking down the alley beside her.
She decided to replace her lost adventure with a new one and investigate.
A small growl was coming from behind the trashcans at the end of the alley. She crouched down low and moved slowly towards the wall directly across from them.
Trying hard to focus on the sound of the animal, she suddenly had the unpleasant realization that she could also clearly smell him. And he definitely hadn’t had a bath in a long time. Her nose crinkled up as she slid into the open garage beside the animal’s hiding place.
He was right beside her and she had just enough time to wonder if she should be afraid when she was hit square in the chest by about forty pounds of fur. The force knocked her back and made her crack her head on the stone alley. She was about to scream when she realized she wasn’t actually being attacked. She was being licked.
He was big, and he was dirty. He was shedding on her, and he definitely smelled really bad. But Plum looked at his face and knew that he was, quite possibly, the best dog in the world. She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “Alright then, you win. And now I’m all worn out and hungry. And ugh, you have ruined my new T-shirt. I guess we’d better go straight to Neda’s, I don’t think Patience will appreciate it if I bring you into Datarah smelling like that.”
He jumped up and began running in circles around her.
Plum laughed and marveled at how smart dogs always know when they’ve got something good.



Father John Michael Brown had led St. Andrews Cathedral’s parishioners for forty-two years. He had retired at the age of eighty-two and was now living in one of three small houses behind the church. His replacement was Father Michael John Brass. Michael John was a local boy who entered the seminary at seventeen and returned to observe and train with Father John Michael.
He was soft spoken, polite, and extremely devoted to the church. He was also desperately good looking and only twenty-four years old, which made his appointment a bit of a controversy.
Once Father Michael John had settled in and given a few sermons, the controversy died down. He offered a more modern view on the doctrine that was well received with the parishioners. Church attendance went up 20% in his first year.
Father Michael John soon became one of the most influential men in town. He was respected and well liked by almost everyone. Everyone except, of course, his predecessor Father John Michael, who had taken the success of the younger priest quite personally.



“Ms. Black, you look like an accident victim. Does your aunt know that you have that mutt?” Old Father John Michael said from a bench under the live oaks.
“Of course, what she doesn’t yet know is my excuse for being late,” Plum looked her old enemy in the eye and said, “I’m already going to be in trouble, Father, so you really shouldn’t bother yourself.”
“Honestly, girl, its no bother.”
The retired Priest glared at Plum’s back as she continued on her way through the square. With her spiky ponytail, stained t-shirt, ripped pink skirt and tattered old tennis shoes she looked like anything but a heroine. He sighed and muttered softly about a generation of hooligans.
Plum stopped when she got to the end of the square and turned away from the church. She looked down at the dog and said, “That, my friend, is the meanest man in all of Florida.”
They mounted the steps to the house and could see Neda through the window. She was hanging a painting over the mantelpiece. Plum groaned when she saw that it was a detailed study of waves hitting a shell-lined beach.
Her aunt could have been the poster girl for Southern charm. She had a beautiful face that had accepted age well. Her hair was cut in a sophisticated bob but she had left it natural and the gray had blended in with her light brown quite well. Neda was a woman who wore her intelligence and compassion openly.
Plum pushed open the door and walked into the house but the dog just stood there. She tried to pull him in but he wouldn’t budge. He kept looking from her to the open door and back to her. She finally gave in and called out to her aunt, “Neda, will you come here for a second?”
“You are late, and I am busy. Now shut that door and come here and tell me if this is straight.”
“I can’t, I need your help. And I wouldn’t if I could. I don’t care if it’s straight, I’d like it better if it were crooked,” she was leaning backwards trying to pull the dog into the house and he still wasn’t any closer. “You can say it’s my own artistic interpretation of the painting. Ms. Perfect’s perfect paintings don’t fit in the real world, they’re askew,” she was now trying to pull him by his neck, but he was backing up and actually pulling her with him.
“Well, who is this?” Neda was standing in the hall surveying the scene with her hands on her hips and a barely concealed smile on her face.
Plum turned and looked at her aunt and said, “I don’t know actually. We haven’t done proper introductions.”
“How very rude of you. Maybe he’s a gentleman, and you’ve offended him,” Neda knelt down and patted the dog on the head, “Hello, my name is Neda. I’m going to get you some food.”
She stood up and whispered to Plum, “I think he wants a name.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know what he wants to be named? All I know about him is that he likes to skulk down dark alleyways and eat out of trashcans like some kind of criminal dog. I know, what about Bandit?”
The dog cocked its head and then growled.
“Okay, so no cliché names for you,” she said.
“Oh, I have an idea,” the dog watched as she dug through her backpack and flipped through the pages of a book. Satisfied, she put the book back in her bag and walked over to the dog, “Okay, my name is Plum. And I’m sure that you already have a name but since I don’t know what that is and you’re clearly sensitive about it, we’re just going to have to be creative. Feel free to growl at me again.”
Neda slipped back into the doorway and watched as Plum got down on her knees and hugged the dog.
“I was thinking that you acted like a wild animal today, and also like a warrior. You beat me at our game; you caught me before I could catch you. And I’m reading this book which is really good and it has a guy in it who’s like you I think,” Plum seemed nervous as she looked the dog straight in the eyes, “ I name you Bigwig.”
Grrr.
“Hazel?”
Grrr…
Suddenly Neda started laughing, “I don’t think he wants to be named after a rabbit.”
“Oh come on, this is ridiculous. What about Fiver?”
The Dog didn’t growl.
“He didn’t growl,” Plum said.
“Fiver? Come inside.”
Once again Plum felt her head hit the ground as she was bowled over by flying fur.
Neda howled with laughter as Plum tried to get the excited dog to stop licking her, “Fiver it is then.”
The two women went into the kitchen to finish dinner as the dog investigated it’s new home.
Neda’s great-great-great-great grandfather, Robert Black, built the house in 1827 and it had been in the family ever since.
The main floor consisted of a sitting room, a sunroom, a dining room, the kitchen and a small bathroom. The second floor had three bedrooms and a large bathroom. The top floor had originally been an attic, but Neda had finished it off as one large open room. There were several bay windows that let in light and air vents that could be opened to let out heat. This space had been Neda’s office but now it was Plum’s bedroom.
The walls slanted inwards to form the slopes of the roofs, so Plum painted them to look like a mountain range. She painted sky in between the peaks and eventually even added a few mountain goats and skiers. Plum liked her room; it made her feel like she was on vacation. Visiting somewhere cool.
It made it easier to pretend this wasn’t her home.



Neda sat at the dining room table and watched Plum eat her predictable dinner of grilled cheese sandwich and pickles. Fiver was patiently lying at her feet waiting for her to ‘accidentally’ drop him a few scraps. He had already eaten the half of a rib roast that was leftover from the night before.
“I suppose you would like Fiver to stay here permanently?”
Plum looked up from her sandwich surprised, “Of course not. This isn’t his home. First thing in the morning we’re going to find him a family.” She tore off a large chunk of her sandwich and dropped it into Fiver’s open mouth. “I think he wants to live in a neighborhood. Maybe off Meske Nene, I like those houses.”
Neda thought back on the other stray animals that Plum had ‘found’ homes for and laughed, “Just don’t get in any trouble. And take your time, he’s fine here until you find him a good home.”
“I always find good homes, anyway I’ve never had any complaints.”
“No complaints? I see you have conveniently forgotten about Mrs. Hanks and oh yes, what about Mr. Tompkins? No complaints indeed.”
“Those are people. I don’t care about people. And anyway, they were only complaining because I judged them unworthy.”
Neda bit back a smile, “Well, I suppose that is true. It’s getting late, and I have more work to do.” She gathered up a stack of papers and her reading glasses and said, “Goodnight sweetheart, and goodnight Fiver. Oh, and Plum, I hope you don’t think that you’re getting out of the dishes tonight.”
Plum let out a ridiculously dramatic sigh and got up to clear the mess she had made. She looked down at Fiver as she ran hot water into the sink and said, “I don’t know what you’re smiling at. When I finish the dishes, I’m moving on to you. You, my friend, stink.”



It was ninety degrees by 8 o’clock in the morning. The Florida sun loomed so large in the sky that everything beneath it cowered in the meager shade. The National Weather Service had predicted that this would be a mild summer; it then promptly turned into one of the hottest on record.
Tourists are amazed by the old fashioned quaintness of the town. Women carry umbrellas to shade their children in the park. Local stores set up outside tables with free water for customers. The fire department has their antique trucks parked on every major street offering tips on how to avoid sunstroke. Everywhere you go there are crowds of people. They were all having a blast baking under the hot Florida sun.
Plum wiped the sweat from her eyes and slid down the brick wall to a sitting position. She looked at Fiver and said, “Look at all those morons. Don’t they know its a hundred degrees out here? We’re all going to melt.”
She pushed herself tighter against the wall to try and create her own shade without having to go into the packed park. Fiver was lying beside her with his tongue hanging out of his mouth pathetically. “I don’t think we can find you a family today, Fiver. It’s so hot, I can’t think.” She pulled a bottle of water from her backpack and poured half of what was left of it over her head. She poured the other half into Fiver’s mouth. “Okay, let’s go see if we can find Pete. If anyone can think of something to do on a day this hot, it’s him.”
The two stood up and made their way out of the back alley as a tour group was just passing on Through Street.
“…and this is the original home of Neil Cloche. The modest architecture belies the brilliance of the man who built it…It is said that passageways run behind the walls leading to secret rooms…”
Plum shook her head and continued down the street. She was only three blocks from Bay Street, but the heat made it feel like three miles. By the time she was standing in front of Datarah Bakery, she was drenched in sweat and out of breath. She tied Fiver’s leash to the bike rack and went in for water and information.
The door opened to a welcome blast of cold air and the dull jingle of the clay bells that rang her presence. The shop was crowded with people who had been looking for a brief escape from the heat and ended up so enchanted by the décor that they had stayed for lunch. Unlike most of the town’s tourist traps, this was a place Plum could understand being enchanted with.
The Dataio family owned the shop, and their daughter, Patience, currently ran it. The Dataios could trace their heritage back to the first Taino speakers in Florida. They were terribly proud of this lineage, and it showed in their shop. Datarah had started out as a small bakery when Patience’s great grandfather had opened it in 1923. The generations that followed had seen it as a restaurant, a coffee shop and a specialty brewery.
Today the shop is a bakery that serves lunch and brews its own beer. They also have coffee, if you so desire. Patience had also added on a small gift shop in the front of the store. She sold local art and literature. The interior of Datarah is deep red clay. The tables are all rough-hewn wood, made locally in 1956 when the area surrounding the salt bogs was cleared for development. All of the tapestries and linens were hand woven by generations of Dataio women.
The smell of baking bread combined with the warm colors and textures of Datarah to make it a welcoming place. The history and personality of its owners make it unique. Patience Dataio is tall and regal. She looks more like a Caribbean princess than a twenty-five year old history major struggling with a family tradition.
Today, Patience was struggling with hungry tourists.
“Plum, cocuyo, please take these plates to the table with all of the screaming red heads,” she said as Plum approached the counter. She took note of Plum’s reluctant look and said, “I won’t tell you where he is unless you help me, girlie. Please, I’m desperate…”
Plum made a face at her, but took the plates and weaved her way over to a table by the window. It was entirely populated with sour faced red heads. She divided the plates of sweets between them and headed back over to the counter. She was interrupted by a shrill voice before she got halfway across the room.
“This tastes funny. What is this? I definitely did not order this.” One of the older red heads was screeching from her table. “Where is that rude waitress?”
Plum smiled to herself and turned to go back to the table. “What exactly did you order?”
“I ordered the agi…agana bread. It is supposed to be sweet. This is not sweet,” complained the tourist.
“Ajianna bread. It is a specialty of the house, an ancient secret recipe. And it is not supposed to be sweet. It has a subtle pineapple flavor, but it isn’t sweet. Did someone tell you that it was? Or did you just assume that since you were in a bakery, we would serve you something the equivalent of wonder bread with syrup on it?”
The red head’s face turned roughly the same shade as her hair and her voice got very shrill, “I have never in my entire life…”
“Been given an honest response to your ridiculous complaints?” offered Plum.
“Been treated in such a disrespectful manner. I have come here to pay your exorbitant prices because I heard that this was a very unique place. No one bothered to tell me that I could expect to deal with rude insolent waitresses…”
“I’m not a waitress.”
“…What?”
“I’m not a waitress. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to go grab you a Caconiata bun. I believe you will find it much more to your liking.” With that Plum walked away, leaving the indignant woman staring at her back with wide eyes.
Plum bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud until she noticed Fiver straining against his leash to get into the shop. She ducked behind the counter and filled a large ceramic bowl with water. She added a few ice cubes for good measure before slipping out of the shop to give it to Fiver.
Content that he wasn’t going to die of heat stroke, she slipped back into the shop to get the customer her sweet bun.
“Here you are. I hope you like this better, and I brought you a small to go box so you could take the Ajianna with you. I suspect that you will find it is fantastic when you aren’t expecting it to be something it isn’t.”
The tourist looked slightly abashed as she accepted the offering, “Thank you. I’m sorry that I over reacted, let’s just blame it on this heat.”
Plum nodded to the lady and went to collect her information from Patience, who was looking slightly less frazzled.
“I cannot believe you said all of that to that lady. Remind me never to hire you.”
“It just goes to show you that the customer is not always right, and sometimes they need to be told. Anyway, I hate stupid tourists.” She gave Patience a wicked grin as she filled her water bottle with lemonade and packed herself two slices of Anana bread. “Now, the location please?”
“You are an insufferable little brat, but I love you. He’s across the street,” she winked at Plum’s glare, “he probably saw you come in here.”
Plum glared and said she was taking her provisions as payment and slid out of the shop just as another large group of tourists was entering. She scanned the park as she untied Fiver from the bike rack.


The tourists mostly come during the summer. That is when the sunset is best at the church, but the town also offers close access to Rock Island Beach. Technically, Rock Island is a private beach. But several of the hotels in town have made deals with the residents of the island so that their guests can enjoy the beach as well. This of course makes the beach public during the summer months, because everyone else just lies and claims permission. No one on the island complains, they all make a lot of money off the tourists.
Rock Island is .6 miles off the coast, directly across from Bimini’s historic waterfront. A suspension bridge spans across the bay allowing both cars and pedestrians to cross. The town of Rock Island opens up every summer when the most centrally located houses offer their living rooms as souvenir shops and delis. The beach is stunning all the way around the island.
Rock Island is home to some of the whitest beaches and calmest seas on the Gulf coast. It is also home to thousands of birds. There are four main varieties of birds listed that inhabit the island during the summer months:
Manx Shearwater or Puffinus Puffinus- Small, it’s distinguished by a fancy flight.
Magnificent Frigatebird or Fregata Magnificens- Large and Black, a beauty with a scissor like tail.
Lesser black-backed gull or Larus Fuscus-recognizable by its yellow fleshy legs.
Sandwich Tern or Sterna Sandricensus- distinguished by it’s irritating calls.
-The Big Book of Bimini
A grassroots political campaign was started by a local environmental coalition to list the island as a sanctuary. The concern was valid. The only things on Rock Island that are not beautiful are the dead birds that often line the road. The campaign went nowhere. Like most grassroots efforts, it had a good heart. Unfortunately, the heart can rarely compete with enterprise.
The birds are part of the charm of Rock Island. They are listed in the guidebooks as just another reason to visit, and spend money in beautiful, sunny Bimini, Florida.
Rock Island Park is the entrance to the pedestrian walk on the bridge. A steep, stone staircase brings you up to the walk, which spans the southern side of the bridge, just below where the cars drive. It takes a little courage to walk across the first time, but once you do it is an exhilarating trip. The cars driving above you make the wind seem fierce, and the birds make sport of diving down close before swooping back up again.
At the top of the bridge’s arch, there is a small lookout that juts out from the main walk. From here you can see everything that is going on down in the park below, and much of Bay Street. At the moment, a dark haired boy was standing at the look out, skateboard in hand; staring intently at a small figure making it’s way across the park. As the figure came closer to the bridge, the boy began to laugh. Loudly. The figure paused and then stared up at the lookout and made a rude gesture with her hand. The boy laughed again, this time softly and to himself, and began the trip back to the park.



Plum watched as Pete weaved in and out of the pedestrians on the bridge. She sat down on a stone bench and waited.
“This is Pete, Fiver. He’s evil and you don’t like him. Growl.”
Fiver promptly jumped up and licked Pete’s face.
“Very well trained.” He gave her an amused look before saying, “I went to your house this morning but your aunt said you left early. I told her I was supposed to meet you there…”
“You weren’t supposed to meet me…”
“…So, she let me wait for you in your room. I waited for like half an hour,” Pete paused to let what he had said sink in before continuing, “You have a lot of books. You should let me borrow some.”
Plum stared at him. He was in her room. Alone. For half an hour. She could feel her face turning red so she knelt down to pet Fiver. As calmly as she could she asked, “What else did you look at?”
“Your c.d.’s, your clothes, your pictures, your art, the huge pile of dirty clothes on your floor…” he couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across his face. He knew she was embarrassed. Girls were so much fun.
“You had no right. I am so mad at you right now. I am going to kill my aunt.” She looked at his grinning face and hit him. “I am so mad at you right now.”
“OW.” He was rubbing his arm. “Nice hit. All right, be mad at me as we walk over to the fountain. It’s almost lunch, and I want to talk to Lewis.”
She nodded in agreement, but all she could think of was that he had been in her room. How messy was it when she left? Did she leave out her journal? Plum’s cheeks turned red when she thought of Pete sitting on her bed reading her journal.
“I am going to kill Neda,” she muttered under her breath.
“Kill her later, first, let’s go see Lewis.”




2
Benvy

Her world was two-dimensional. Thick lines of blue paint built the structure, while spidery lines in various colors created the meticulous details of her prison. Sometimes she was alone on a shadowy beach. Other times she was drowning while a crowd of happy people looked on. Her world was paint on canvas, and she could not escape it.



Benvy Murphy always started her day shaking. Her nights were spent in solitude and fear, and by morning she would be shaking and covered in a thin veil of cold sweat. If she could, Benvy Murphy would never sleep at all.
This morning was no different; she awoke with a violent start and had to wipe the sweat from her brow. She sat up in her makeshift bed and looked around her.
A slat of wood covered her head, while two thinner slices were on either side of her, held up by thin metal poles. She could see thick woods on her left and a clear green space on her right. The air felt cool, but she knew the heat would set in soon.
Benvy listened for any sounds, and then slipped out from under the picnic table and made her way to the public restrooms on the other side of the green space. She hoisted her bag onto the counter and began to sift through it looking for her toothbrush and toothpaste.
She stared at her face as she brushed her teeth. She didn’t think she looked like a sixteen-year-old girl. She had dark circles and puffy bags under her weary, pale gray eyes that she was pretty sure weren’t normal. About a month ago she had gotten bored and decided to cut her hair. She styled it into a short bob, with ends so choppy they looked like they would cut her if she shook her head too hard.
She smiled as she remembered the look on her mother’s face.
She did wish that she were normal. She wished that she could live her life caring only for parties and boys. But she knew that was impossible. She would never be able to fit in with those girls, so why should she waste her time trying.
Benvy sighed and changed into a cleaner t-shirt. Her jeans were filthy, but she hadn’t remembered to grab another pair. She’d have to stop and buy some if she ever made it out of these woods and found a city.
The picnic area didn’t have any vending machines and Benvy was hungry. She took one last look in the mirror before walking out into the forest.



She was supposed to be following the coast. That was the plan. She would walk down the eastern seaboard all the way to the very tip of Florida, and then she would stow away on a boat and go live on an island. She wasn’t sure, but Benvy thought that $4052.26 would probably go pretty far on an island.
She hadn’t taken into account that the coastline isn’t straight. It had taken forever just to get out of New York, and then she kept coming to places where there was no beach to walk down. Eventually, she found an interstate and followed it South. She had to be careful not to let anyone see her. She didn’t want a ride, and she didn’t want any help. The road ended up confusing her though and she finally left it again. She pointed herself back east and just started walking. That was how she had ended up in the state forest.
She had no idea how far inland she was. Her feet hurt and she was hungry. Luckily, water wasn’t a problem. She had her canteen and the woods were full of small creeks. She knew that the water could make her sick, but so far she had been lucky. Benvy Murphy should have been ready to ask for help. She should have been ready to go home. But Benvy was not a normal teenage girl. And she was not willing to accept defeat and go back home.
She didn’t know how long she had been gone. Her father was in Hong Kong on a business trip and she knew that no one would miss her until he got back. Her mother certainly wouldn’t care. In the beginning, she had tried to keep track of how many days she had before he would be back and they would start looking for her. Once that day came she just stopped counting. It didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Benvy tried not to think about home after that day. She didn’t want to think about her father worrying, wondering what had happened to her. She preferred to tell herself that no one cared about her. It didn’t matter where she went because she was alone in the world. If Benvy couldn’t fit into the normal world, she shouldn’t have to live by its rules.
She would make her own rules. She would find her own home.
She had only spent one night in the woods, but it had felt like weeks. She hadn’t realized how comforting the sound of cars could be. Finally, she came to a place where the trees were thinning out, and she could smell the salt in the air. She took a deep breath and continued east until she began to hear the delicious sound of traffic mingled with the waves crashing on the shore. Various food smells combined with the sea air to form a delicious aroma that could mean only one thing, a town.
Silently Benvy cheered. It had been almost two days since she had last eaten, and she was so hungry she felt like she could pass out. She crossed the road that ran beside the forest and paused to survey her options. It was a boardwalk that had all of the traditional fast food places. Her hunger was screaming for the golden arches, but instead she aimed herself at a small white building that looked slightly out of place surrounded by all of the neon that eclipsed it. The simple blue and white sign hanging in front of the building said:

Old-fashioned
Decidedly Not Fast
Food.
Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner.

It reminded her of women with beehive hairdos and cigarette stained voices. Even though she was starving, she was willing to hold out for the promise of an attitude like that.



Colin Murphy’s trip had been extended to include a week in London. He had not
been happy about it, and when he finally got back to New York, he was tired and mean. Mean is not a word that is typically used to describe Colin Murphy.
He was a lucky man. Born into a wealthy family, he was tall, dark and handsome with the kind of intense features that make a man memorable. He had a stunningly beautiful wife, and a lovely daughter. His dream of owning a newspaper had come true at 24, and by 30 had blossomed into a media empire.
He left the airport and stopped by his office to check in with his secretary and drop off a stack of files from his meetings in London. He intended to sneak in, and then leave immediately without talking to anyone except Margo, his secretary of twelve years. When he entered the building however, he found a madhouse.
“Oh my god, Mr. Murphy. Thank god you are back, sir,” said a young woman in a pale gray business suit. He did not recognize her. “They are already in your office, sir.”
He looked at the frazzled young woman and decided that asking questions would get him nowhere. He just walked away from her without a word and headed up to his office. His frown deepened. It didn’t look like he was going to be able to get home anytime soon.
The lights on the elevator slowly lit up as he passed each floor on his way to the top. His office took up the entire thirty-second floor. He hated it. It was ostentatious and unnecessary, but his wife had insisted that it added an air of importance and mystery. His point was that he owned the whole company and didn’t care if anyone found him mysterious or not. But as usual, his wife had won the argument.
The elevator doors finally opened onto a single man sitting in the chair opposite Margo’s desk. “Margo, what the hell is going on downstairs?”
The woman looked up at him from over a pair of very large spectacles, “I’ve been trying to contact you all day, Colin. Why do you have that phone if you aren’t going to turn it on?”
“Margo, I’m tired. I’m irritated. Now, what the hell is going on?”
“You need to sit down,” she said, a simple statement that is never followed by anything good. “This is Ronald Hauser. He is an agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“FBI? Why is an FBI agent in my office?”
Agent Ronald Hauser stood up and said, “Because we were contacted sixteen hours ago by an anonymous tip that your daughter had been kidnapped. Please, Mr.
Murphy, sit down.”
“At 10:00p.m. Eastern Time the FBI switchboard received an anonymous call that said Benvy Murphy, daughter of Colin and Nuala Murphy had been kidnapped,”
Colin was having a very hard time focusing on what Agent Ronald Hauser was telling him.
“It is procedure to investigate every tip so we immediately attempted to contact the parents. A Nuala Murphy, your wife, refused to speak with our agents who came to the door. We were told that Colin Murphy, that would be you, was out of town on business.” Agent Hauser spoke as if he were reading from notes, “You should understand, sir, that it is not uncommon for parents to try and keep the authorities out of these matters. It is a common misconception that if you just pay a quick ransom, your child will be safer.”
“Margo, I don’t understand any of this. Did you talk to Nuala?”
“She refused to see me sir.”
“Well, didn’t you go to the house? You know how she is, she never takes anything seriously,” Colin was mostly talking to himself at this point. “She must not have understood. Are you sure that Benvy isn’t just hiding out at a friend’s house?”
He knew the answer to that question before he asked it. His daughter didn’t have any friends. She was too smart and too quiet to have an easy social life.
“Agent Hauser, I need to go home and speak to my wife. If it’s only been a day, Benvy may just be upset with her mother and hiding.”
“Seventeen days.”
“What?” Colin could feel his blood turn to ice.
“Your daughter has not been seen for seventeen days. We spoke to your housekeeper and the girl’s tutor. She has not been in your house in seventeen days,” Agent Hauser was looking Colin in the eye, but he was no longer talking like he was reading a cue card.
Colin had been gone for eighteen days. Head hung, he again asked to be allowed to go home and speak with his wife. This time the agent did not object.



The house was silent. Silently immaculate, silently beautiful, silently cold.
As always the house was dark, save for the lights on the upper level. Colin Murphy stood at the foot of the staircase preparing himself for the conversation he was about to have. Her assistant had said that she was out of bed for the first time in three days and she was expecting him. Colin Murphy sighed as he mounted the stairs and made his way to his wife’s room.
“You certainly took your time coming home.”
“It was necessary, Nuala, you know that,” he didn’t look at his wife but he knew that she was in her reading chair, probably wearing the same nightgown she had had on the last time he saw her. “Why wouldn’t you talk to the FBI?”
“Because they had no right to bother me. That child was not kidnapped.”
“I’m glad to see you did at least notice she was gone. Mrs. Mark has admitted to calling the FBI, she wanted someone to look for Benvy. Apparently all of her favorite things are gone so we are assuming that she ran off on her own. Seventeen days on her own, Nuala…”
Nuala got up from her chair, walked over to her husband and brushed her hand across his chest, “Your suit is wrinkled. I wish you would pay more attention to your appearance. You’re such a handsome man when you try.”
She had lifted her hand to trace the contours of his face but he grabbed her wrist. “Our daughter is missing. She is somewhere out there all by herself,” his voice broke as he looked into the calm, pale eyes of his wife, “Please tell me that you care,”
“Not particularly, but of course I noticed, she snuck into my room while I was sleeping and stole from me. I will not have that, Colin. I need my privacy.” She walked back over to her chair and picked up her book, “If it takes her leaving to get some quiet around here, then I am perfectly happy to let her stay gone until she learns to behave like I expect her to.”
“I don’t even know what to say to that, Nuala. I don’t even want to look at you. I can’t handle you right now,” Colin looked at her and tried to remember why he loved her. “I’m going to find our daughter. And she will be back here, in her home. So you enjoy your privacy, and your quiet, while it lasts.”
“You’re angry. You think I’m being cold,” she turned back to him and said. “The problem, my darling, isn’t that Benvy is gone,” her green eyes shone up at him, enhanced by the lamplight, “but that she was never really here to begin with.”
He walked away from the stranger he called his wife and shut the door behind him. He went into his own room and began to pack a bag. A plump woman in her early fifties came in and helped him. “If Mrs. Murphy bothers to ask, tell her that I’m staying at the office until we find Benvy.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have meals sent to you, sir. Is there anything in particular that you would like?”
“Don’t bother with anything fancy, Evelyn, simple sandwiches or soups will be fine,” he replied as he zipped his suitcase and walked out of the room. “ Evelyn,” he paused and took a picture of Benvy off the foyer wall, “could you send coffee ice cream?”
“Of course sir, I’ll send extra, just in case.”
The drive back to the office was long and tedious. It was rush hour in New York so everyone and their mothers were out on the roads. Colin sat in the back of a limo, face in his hands, and thought about his daughter.
He could still remember exactly how she had looked after they brought her home the first time she ran away. She had been five years old. She was gone for 21 hours until an off duty policeman had found her watching the ships from a warehouse dock.
The man said she was perfectly happy until he told her she was going home, and then she began to cry and wouldn’t stop. She begged him to take her to her daddy at work instead of home to her mother. So, a very humble looking policeman walked her into the marble offices of Murphy Media and refused to leave her with anyone but her daddy.
“Hi, daddy. Am I in trouble?”
She was filthy, and she had lost a shoe somewhere along her adventure but she was whole. She was alive, and trying very hard to hold in a smile, just in case she was in trouble. “No baby, you aren’t. But we were very scared, you can’t run away like that, okay?”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” She allowed herself to be picked up and then introduced the man who brought her back, “Daddy, this is a police man. He’s my friend. He told me you would give me ice cream.”
Finally smiling he shook the other man’s hand and thanked him, “Yes, I think we all deserve a little ice cream. Officer Jacobs would you care to stay and have some, any flavor you would like?”
“No, sir, I have to be going,” said Officer Jacobs, “You be a good girl, Benvy, okay?”
“Yes sir, I will. Daddy, can I have any flavor I want?”
“Thank you again, if you ever need anything,” Colin said to the retreating Mr. Jacobs before turning back to Benvy, “Now, what flavor of ice cream do you want? Bubblegum? Strawberry? I know, vanilla with sprinkles.”
“No, Daddy, I want coffee flavor. That’s my favorite.”
“Coffee? That’s funny. That’s my favorite ice cream flavor too.” He looked down at his daughter and wondered how he could protect such a bright little girl, “You know that I love you, don’t you? Your mother and I love you very much, and we missed you.”
“I know that you love me daddy. Can we have our ice cream now?”
And at that moment he knew that he couldn’t protect her. He knew that she already knew how her mother felt, knew that her mother didn’t want her. At that moment, he hated Nuala more than anything in the world. How could he love a woman who was this horrible? What kind of woman could refuse to love her own child? He suddenly knew that the only thing he could do to shield her was to make sure she knew that he would always be there.
The limo pulled up outside his building. His driver opened the car door and silently waited. Colin couldn’t remember ever being as tired as he was at that moment. When he got to his office, he saw that his dinner was waiting for him. Alone in his office, Colin Murphy held a bowl of coffee ice cream and cried.



A large tin bell rang out it’s welcome as she entered the room. Long lines of fluorescent lights gave the place a slightly dingy feel but it was a pleasant environment just the same.
A woman with large graying hair was sitting on a stool behind the counter. There were two cooks talking animatedly in front of a large grill.
The only other customers in the restaurant were an elderly man with a huge slice of pie, and a pretty young woman who was reading with a cup of coffee in the corner booth. Neither of them looked at Benvy as she walked up to the counter and said, “Do you have a bathroom?”
“Sure do honey. Back corner. Want to order something first?”
Benvy looked back over her shoulder and said, “No thanks, I’ll have to wait.”
The bathroom was small and unisex. It wasn’t dirty, but it would probably never be referred to as clean either. Benvy smiled to herself. She thought that the people in the restaurant, and the old and dingy bathroom were just perfect for a place that advertised itself as Old Fashioned and Slow.
After about ten minutes of scrubbing her arms and face in the sink, Benvy emerged from the bathroom looking vaguely like a drowned rat. The waitress seemed surprised to see her, “Good lord, I thought you had left us. You didn’t make a mess in there did you?”
“No ma’am, its just water. Can you tell me what’s good here?”
The waitress slid off her stool and motioned Benvy into a booth by the door, “There’s not much that isn’t good, darling. But I personally like the cheeseburgers. Big as your head.”
Grinning, Benvy said, “That sounds perfect.”
“Fries?”
“Do you have macaroni and cheese?”
“I think we can whip some up for you. How about a drink? I’m sure you want a soda, but I’m gonna recommend milk anyway.”
“Make it chocolate, and it’s a deal.”
The waitress looked down at Benvy and gave her a hard look. She bit her lip and said, “Chocolate it is then.”
“Thank you.”
The waitress walked away and Benvy realized that she hadn’t been wearing a nametag. She shrugged and pulled a small jar of blue paint out of her bag. She was still digging for her paintbrush when the waitress brought her milk to the table.
“Why don’t you wear a name tag?” she said as she gave up her search.
“Because you don’t,” replied the woman as she strolled back over to her stool.
“Good answer,” Benvy said to herself as she shifted her attention back to her missing paintbrush.
Three jars of blue paint, two shirts, two pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear, one pair of shorts which had turned out to be pretty useless, one notebook, her canteen, and one stuffed rabbit.
She zipped her bag back up and opened up the outside pocket. It contained her toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, deodorant, a small bar of soap, and the small woven change purse that Evelyn had given her two Christmases ago and that now contained all of her money.
No paintbrush. She closed her eyes and tried to see the last time she had used it.
The park. She had been painting the underside of the picnic table because she was afraid. By the time she had relaxed enough to fall asleep alone in the middle of a national forest she had covered almost the entire thing with blue waves. When she awoke the next morning she had packed up her stuff and gone to the rest area.
Benvy gritted her teeth as she realized that she had packed up and left the paintbrush sitting on the picnic bench.
She bit her lip and reached out for her chocolate milk. She had drunk half of it in one swig before she realized that something about it tasted wrong. She lifted her eyes to the glass and choked back a laugh. The milk in the glass was plain. Plain, old fashioned, vitamin rich, wholesome milk.
“I thought it might be best if we saved the chocolate for dessert,” said the waitress, “I’ll get you some more. Your burger will be ready in a few minutes.”
“My name is Benvy.”
The woman turned back to the booth and grinned, “Mine’s Ginger. See, no name tags necessary.”
“Isn’t it customary to introduce yourself when you take a customers order?” Benvy asked.
“Yes, but it’s a bad custom. I introduce myself to a customer who isn’t listening and doesn’t care. I can’t make this a personal experience for you, honey, you have to care first,” Ginger winked and walked over to the other booth to refill the reader’s coffee.
“Ginger, can I borrow a pen?” Benvy called out to her back, “A blue one.”
Ginger said something to the reader and then went over to the counter. She put the coffeepot down and picked up a pen, “One blue pen. And one question,” Ginger said as she slid into the booth across from Benvy, “How long have you been on your own?”
“Not very long. I don’t really know exactly,” Benvy deliberately made a show out of rifling through her bag so she wouldn’t have to look into Ginger’s sincerely concerned eyes.
“It’s not my job to push you, honey. But it seems to me that you could use a little advice.” Ginger was interrupted by the bell that rang out Benvy’s dinner, “And a lot of food, so I’m going to let you eat while I decide what I might want a stranger to say to my little girl if she were on her own.”
Benvy looked at Ginger’s back and wondered how it would feel to be her daughter. To have a real mother, the kind who has sincere eyes and gives advice.
Ginger hadn’t lied. The cheeseburger was huge. Big, fat and juicy. It had all of the fixings you could imagine and a gigantic pickle on the side. The macaroni was homemade and it looked like they had served her the entire pot. It was definitely a meal worth a wait.
After she had taken her last bite of macaroni, she looked up to find Ginger once again sitting across from her. She had brought a large bowl of ice cream and a slice of pie. “Pick one darling.”
“One? How about a little of both? And can I have some coffee?”
Ginger laughed a loud, bright laugh and pushed both the bowl and the plate over to Benvy before getting up to grab the pot of coffee. She filled a cup for Benvy and then walked back to the reader to check her cup. After she had capped off the other cup, both women got up and walked over to Benvy’s booth.
“Ganging up on me now?” Benvy said as she carefully poured her coffee over her ice cream.
“Child, what in the world are you doing?”
“She’s making coffee ice cream,” said the reader. “It’s my favorite too.”
“This is Ari, every day for the last three months she has been coming in here to drink ten pots of coffee and pretend to read this book,” Ginger said as she brushed the hair out of Ari’s face and took the book out of her hands.
“Well, your coffee is very good. And I’m sure that she’s not pretending, that is a very good book,” Benvy replied as she alternated between bites of pie and spoonfuls of ice cream.
“Bull. She is pretending. Every day for three months and she is still on the same book. No offense,” Ginger said as she turned to Ari, “but I watch you. You come in here because you have nowhere else to go, not to read that book.”
“I pay for my coffee,” Ari said sadly as she picked up her tattered copy of the Richard Adams novel, “I didn’t think you cared how long I stayed.”
“I don’t. But I would like for Benvy to look at you and then go back home. Alone is no place for a young girl to be,” Ginger said somewhat irritably.
“Okay, wait. I really do appreciate the gesture. You are obviously a very nice woman, and I’m really flattered that you care but alone with a good book is all I would be if I weren’t here anyway,” Benvy said as she pulled out her wallet, “We don’t all have mothers who would care if strangers gave their lost kids advice. How much do I owe you?”
“As much as that makes me want to cry, I know it’s true. And it’ll be $7.60.”
Ginger let Benvy pay and leave without trying to convince her anymore. She did hand her a rather large paper bag as she left and said, “Consider this for my peace of mind. Take care of yourself, darling.”
“Thank you Ginger, I will. It was nice to meet you, Ari.”
Benvy stepped out into the rapidly fading sunlight and started walking towards the beach.



Ahead of her, Benvy could see a small pavilion on the beach. She headed toward it. A picnic table worked well for her last night, she may as well try it again. Maybe this pavilion would even have vending machines. She had the food Ginger had packed for her, but nothing to drink. She had also forgotten to buy a new pair of jeans. The pavilion turned out to have neither the picnic table nor the vending machines. Benvy sighed and looked around at the beach.
“Excuse me, Benvy?”
Benvy swung around at the timid voice that called her by name. She saw the reader from the restaurant, Ari, standing there holding her book. “Hi, Ari right? Look I know it isn’t normal, but please don’t start in on me. I’m fine. I’m exactly where I want to be.
“I’m sure that you are. And I honestly don’t judge that, I just…” Ari’s eyes averted to the book in her hand, “ I wondered if maybe you wanted company? Just for tonight.”
“For my sake or for yours?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not. I was just trying to decide whether to sleep here or to try hiding in the dunes,” Benvy motioned to the thick scrub that lined the beach.
“Scrub. The police will take you in if they find you sleeping in the pavilion,” Ari picked up Benvy’s bag and handed it to her, “Come on, it’ll be completely dark soon.”
The two girls walked into the dunes, and picked a place near a streetlight to make their pallet. Neither of them spoke until the sun had completely set and the last of the people on the beach had packed up and gone in for the night. Ari was reading her book when Benvy finally said, “Was Ginger right when she said you didn’t have anywhere to go?”
“No, I have a home,” she put her book down and looked at Benvy, “I just don’t like being there.”
Benvy nodded, “Yeah, me too. I’m tired of it though, I’m going to make my own home,” she turned back to her waves and said, “I’m going to the islands.”
“What islands?”
“The ones that are very far away,” Benvy replied, “Why Watership Down?”
“It was my sister’s. She died last year. She only made it half way through.”
Benvy looked at Ari and didn’t reply. It felt wrong to pretend to know what to say.
“Are you hungry? I have the food Ginger packed.”
Ari looked at Benvy gratefully and said, “Starved.”
The two each took a cheeseburger and a bag of chips and sat back to eat. Once they had each had their fill, they lay on their backs and stared up at the stars. The ground was hard, and the scrub was prickly, but both girls were content.
Benvy didn’t look at Ari when she said, “I dream. You have to ignore me.”
Ari sat up and looked earnestly at Benvy, “We all dream.”
“Are yours scary?” Benvy asked quietly.
“Mostly. Sometimes I can’t remember them. I like mornings like that because I can make up my dreams. I can make them what I think they should be, you know?”
Benvy sat up and reached for her bag, “I do that too, I write them in my notebook. It’s not because I don’t remember though, I always remember. It makes me feel normal to write out nice dreams.”
“Read me one.”
“Okay, but you have to tell me one of yours too, okay?”
“Okay.”
Benvy flipped through her notebook until she found the page she was looking for, “This one is my favorite,” she said and then she began to read:

Burning sand envelops my feet as I trudge across the fiery land. The three peaks have been visible for almost an hour, and yet I seem no closer. Just as I feel that I will melt into a puddle and disappear into the inferno beneath me, I look up at the great guardian’s feet. He threatens me; he glares at me. I am warned of the many curses that haunt this place. Humbled, I continue my trek down the long walkway beside the great beasts laid out body. Stricken, I go to pay my respects to the great pharaohs of a golden age.

“Foreign Places, huh? That’s funny, my story is of a far away place too, but I don’t want the adventure,” Ari said, “I want love. I want happiness. I want to find a place where friendly natives offer me shelter and stories. A place where smiles abound, and no one is ever hungry. The walkways would be lined with vines, so I could pluck grapes as I walked down them. The air would smell like oranges, and the sun would always be shining. That is what I would dream if I could.”
Benvy stared at her feet and said, “I think we should get some sleep. Do you want my extra shirts as a pillow?”
She pulled Peter out of her bag to lay her own head upon.
“No thanks, I’ll use my sweater. I don’t want to get your clothes dirty,” Ari looked at Peter and then cautiously said, “You sleep with a stuffed rabbit?”
Benvy looked at her; “He belonged to my friend.”
Ari nodded and then lay back to sleep.
“Ari?”
“Yeah?”
“I think your dream sounds really nice.”


It was always the same. She was walking down a beautiful beach when suddenly
the landscape changes. It becomes unreal. Thick ridges of solid color trap her so that she cannot leave the scene. She spends all of her nights battling with the canvas; trying to free herself from her prison. Some nights were worse than others.
Some nights she had long stretches of beach to wander. Others she was trapped in a single wave. It was always the same sickening feeling of claustrophobia and powerlessness.



The next morning Benvy woke up to find Ari gone.
She had copied her dream into Benvy’s notebook, with a small note:

I really wanted to ask you what your rabbit’s name was.
But I was afraid.
I think I’d rather just leave with my own assumptions.
Be careful, Benvy.
Ari

The battered old copy of Watership Down was lying on top of Benvy’s bag.




3
Lilly

It felt wrong to begrudge such a beautiful day. Giant cumulous clouds drifted lazily through the deep blue, and the sun was shining bright. Too bright.
Lilly Prine was sitting in the park squinting out at the bay. The idea had been to capture the light reflecting off the water, but the light was so bright that no matter how she tilted her easel she could not get rid of the glare.
Irritated she finally gave in and let herself fall backwards onto the grass. She lay there wondering if she should give up and move on, or wait and hope the detail on the water was still as good after the sun shifted. She closed her eyes and waited. The sun felt warm on her face and a slight breeze ruffled her hair.
When Lilly opened her eyes the sky was blue. The most perfect, serene blue she had ever seen. Not a cloud remained in the sky and she was briefly confused that the sun was lower in the east than it had been when she first lay down. Her confusion grew as she realized that a soft quilt, patterned like the sea, had replaced the grass she was lying on.
Though she knew that something was wrong, she had a strong feeling of safety and contentment. It felt as though she had found her place in the world, her perfect little heaven. A place where she could escape all of her troubles.
Lilly sat up and surveyed her surroundings. She was lying on a quilt in the middle of a garden. There was a baby sleeping contentedly beside her. A woman was humming to herself and hanging clothes on a line. A young couple was sitting at a small, white iron garden table a few feet from her.
She called out to them, “Excuse me…” she realized that she had no idea what she should say. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who you people are. Who is this baby?
No one seemed to hear her.
She called out again, “Hello?”
Nothing. None of them even looked at her.
“Who are you? Talk to me.” She rolled over onto her back and tried not to cry.
“It smells like rain,” said the lady at the clothesline. She looked up at the clear sky, “that’s strange.” A concerned look crossed her face before she went back to her laundry.
Lilly felt so helpless, she wanted to scream.
The baby began to cry. The woman at the table stood and walked over to the quilt where Lilly lay. She began to softly sing a familiar song to calm the child.
Everybody’s got a laughing place
A laughing place to go
Take a frown, turn it upside down
And you’ll find yours we know…
Honey and rainbows on our way...
We’re visiting a laughing place
As she sang, a wind picked up and the sky began to darken.
“There, there love. Hush, mama will be back soon,” said the woman in a lovely voice that made Lilly feel as if she was supposed to know her, “This storm is certainly moving in fast. We’d better get inside.”
The group began to gather up the freshly hung laundry, “Looks like you’ll actually have to use your dryer Neda. I know how that kills you,” said the young man who now held the quilt Lilly had originally been lying on.
Lilly looked at the woman in surprise, “Neda?”
“I don’t see why you’re smirking young man, they are your sheets,” the older woman walked over to the gate and asked, “Lyle, can you see the boats coming in? This weather is beginning to look dangerous. It’s bound to be worse on the bay.”
“No, but they should have plenty of time, Sam knows his way around a boat. The wind is picking up, but the storm will take its time. Besides, it’s just a summer storm. It isn’t as if it’s a hurricane.”
A single drop of rain hit Lilly’s forehead just as the group disappeared into the house.



“You know, one day I’m going to let you sleep out here all night. Although, I’m sure that rain would wake you up pretty quick.”
Lilly opened her eyes to see Jim Beachum towering above her, grinning. She sat up, brushed the long strands of blond hair from her face, and looked out at the black clouds that were now gathering over the sea.
“I don’t know how you get anything done as much as you sleep,” he said as he knelt down and swept his hands across her cheeks, pulling her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck.
“I was resting my eyes, thank you,” she said trying not to look too disappointed as she gazed out at the sea.
“Lilly, I watched you fall asleep over an hour ago, and now you’re all upset because you’ve lost your light. It’s written all over your face,” he said as he helped her to gather her paints and brushes back into the case.
She looked over at him as he struggled with the folding legs on her easel. He had bought her that easel for her last birthday. She still felt a little uneasy about accepting such an expensive gift. She knew that Jim liked her, but wasn’t sure how deep her feelings were for him. And that made her feel like she was taking advantage of him.
Jim is the grandson of Myra Beachum, a widow who had inherited most of the town of Meath, Maine. Jim is her only relative that she actually likes, making him her assumed heir.
Meath is a small fishing village. A small fishing village that supplies more fish than any other town on the East Coast. Their secret is simple. Everyone here fishes. And they aren’t picky. They catch crab, lobster, swordfish…if it swims in their waters and is edible; the people of Meath catch it.
Before the Beachums came, the town had been self-sufficient. People ate what they pulled from the sea and sold what was left. The waters off that particular strip are rough but plentiful.
The packing plant opened first. It allowed the town to ship their catch inland. The Beachums used the money from the plant to purchase a fleet of boats. They then hired crews to man them and paid them salary so that all of the fish coming in belonged to them. Suddenly, people had real jobs, and the real problems and poverty that came with them. It wasn’t long before the Beachums were buying up real estate and building the marina.
Lilly lived with her father in a small house a few blocks off the bay. Her mother died in a boating accident when Lilly was six months old.
Her father, Samuel, was a fisherman. He worked hard his whole life and still never managed to have enough money to buy his own home or boat. Myra Beachum owned both. Samuel Prine hated her, but he liked Jim. A fisherman at heart, Jim was the son he’s always dreamed of.
The friendship between the two men in her life did not make Lilly happy. She knew that her father secretly hoped she would fall in love with Jim and they would marry. And that idea scared her to death.
She didn’t want to live in this town for the rest of her life. She wanted to go to art school, and live a spectacularly glamorous life in some far away place. She was seventeen; she didn’t want to deal with anything that even vaguely resembled reality.
Lilly’s thoughts dwelled on Paris in the snow, cab rides through London, and pool parties in Los Angeles. She saw herself as a brilliant painter, spectacularly rich and free to live her life as she wanted.
She saw herself living a life where love wasn’t accompanied by the smell of fish.

******************************************************************

Lilly had been painting the sea for as long as she could remember. Her paintings were always beautiful and serene. She had gotten very good over the years at capturing the small details that make the seascape so captivating.
The foam from the waves as they break on the shore. The ways the seaweed can cling to the rocks and make the water look emerald green. The tiny veins of a crab’s trail left on a solitary beach. These were the things that Lilly spent her time trying to capture. This was what made her paintings so lovely.
But Lilly had a secret. She hated the ocean. She hated it with a passion that she could never describe. She didn’t study the details to make her scenes more perfect. To her, the foam on the waves was violent. The seaweed was trapped and dying under the water. A crab’s prints on the smooth sand just emphasized its solitude.
She had never been able to explain to herself why she still painted the sea. No one else ever understood. They thought her pictures were pretty. Her paintings hung in every major building in town. She had one in town hall, one at the Courthouse, and one in the library. Three of her best paintings and not a single one of them was seen as anything other than lovely.
Lovely Lilly and her lovely paintings will lead a lovely life. She will marry Jim Beachum and live in the house on the bluff and spend the rest of her life painting the lovely sea.



Lilly was sitting in Myra Beachum’s kitchen listening to the woman talk about obligations. Obligations to the community, obligations to society, and obligations to oneself. Of course, Lilly knew that what Myra Beachum was really talking about was obligation to her.
Myra Beachum liked Lilly. Although she would never admit it, she admired the girl’s restless spirit.
She had sized Lilly up long before Jim had taken an interest in her. Lilly is spectacularly pretty. She has the sort of impossible good looks that make her almost unbelievable.
But as beautiful as she is, her real power lay in her disposition. Sheltered by people who cared for her, she had never had to learn to deal with true disappointment. Lilly was not spoiled, but she was certainly accustomed to getting her own way. She gave off the impression of honesty and loyalty simply because it was all she had ever really known.
This was a quality that Myra Beachum thought deserved to be cultivated. She did not want the girl to marry her grandson, but she did want to help her. This was why she had asked Lilly to come and see her. She had a proposition for her.
“Lilly, what I mean is that I think you are talented; too talented for this town. It is one thing to have your paintings hang in the Meath public library,” she said, watching Lilly closely to see her reaction, “and quite another to have it hanging in a New York gallery.”
“What are you saying?” Lilly asked softly.
“I want you to do a painting for me. A view of the town as I see it,” Myra said, “and if I like it…I will consider sponsoring you.”
“Sponsoring?”
“Yes. I would be something like a benefactor. We both know that your father could never afford to send you to art school,” Lilly’s head snapped up and she had to bite back her anger at Beachum’s taunt, “…you are probably talented enough to earn a scholarship, but most of those only pay tuition. There are many expenses involved in going away to school. I would be prepared to cover those as well.”
“All of this for a painting?”
“A very good painting,” Myra said with a small smile.
Lilly kept her face blank as she looked at the old woman and said, “I’ll think about it.”
The old woman’s smile faltered a notch as she replied, “Don’t think too long, my offer comes with a deadline.”



Lilly smelled them before she saw them. The two men had been out since before dawn and both looked and smelled terrible.
If Lilly accepted the offer, Mrs. Beachum was going to have a party for the people of the town to come and see the painting when it was completed. She wanted to hold the party on October 20th. It would be the first time Beachum House was ever open to the town. Lilly knew that Mrs. Beachum had ulterior motives, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have to like the woman. This was her chance to get out, and she really wanted to take it.
She just didn’t know how to tell all of this to her father.
Jim came in wet from the outdoor shower and sat in one of the kitchen chairs. The house was small, so the room was tiny and that made it impossible for her to ignore him.
“What did my grandmother want to talk to you about?” he asked just as Samuel walked into the room.
“You saw Myra Beachum today? Jim, no offense son, but Lilly, I’ve told you to stay away from that old cow. Now what did she want?”
Jim looked at Samuel with a mixture of irritation and amusement. “I’m a little old to try pretending that she’s a sweet old lady, Samuel, but that old cow is still my grandmother.” Jim really wasn’t angry; he just felt he should defend her a little. He understood Samuel’s feelings. Samuel had offered Myra a good price on his house and boat and she had still refused to sell them to him. Jim loved his grandmother, but he also loved the Prines and he didn’t like that she seemed to enjoy the power she held over them.
Lilly watched her father struggle to hold his tongue and decided not to fuss at him for his bluntness. “She wants me to do a painting for her,” she said in her most nonchalant voice.
“No,” said Samuel.
Lilly looked from her father’s face to the floor. Myra Beachum had humiliated him, and now she was doing it again by implying that he couldn’t provide for Lilly’s future. She knew that she could never tell him that. It was better to let him think it was just about the commission on the painting and keep the rest to herself.
She started to say that but was silenced by the look on Jim’s face. She suddenly saw Myra Beachum’s ulterior motive. She was sending her away. She was sending her away because she was afraid that the town gossip was true. She was afraid that her grandson would marry a poor local girl. And the look on Jim’s face told her that he was thinking the same thing.
He looked up at her and asked, “Just a painting?” He stared hard at her face and said, “It seems funny that she never mentioned it to me.”
Lilly felt trapped. She wanted out of this town. But she knew how much she would hurt them if she took this deal. She raised her hands to her temples and sighed.
That’s it then. They know there’s something more. And I’ll never be able to admit to them that I want this.
I’m stuck.
Samuel watched his daughter. He knew that Beachum had tried to buy her. He knew that Lilly was tempted to let her. But he was her father, and he also knew that in the end she would make the right choice. She always did. She was like her mother in that way.
“Well, I suppose it can’t really do any harm. If it’s what you want, then do it, take her money and let it be.”
Lilly was surprised at how calm her father sounded. She knew he had to be angry, probably hurt as well. She didn’t want to push it, so she turned back to the stove to finish dinner.
“I don’t…” started Jim, but he was silenced by Samuel’s hand on his shoulder. He reluctantly got up and followed as the older man walked out of the house and took up residence in a chair on the porch.
Lilly let out a small sigh of relief when she heard the door bang shut behind them.
Alone, she could think. She felt like she should write down the pros and cons of the deal, but she already knew that the cons were too big. No opportunity was worth the pain that she would cause her father and Jim. Was it?
What she needed was advice, real advice from someone who could see the whole picture clearly and without bias.
She needed to talk to Neda.