Hurricanes in Paradise, Denise Hildreth [ebook reader with internet browser .TXT] 📗

She pulled the blanket up underneath her arms.

“The kids won’t believe it when I tell them. But I’m not calling them one time while I’m here,” she announced, sounding like a kid herself. “I’m letting them stew and worry about me.”

She rubbed the pillow again and sighed heavily.

“I know it’s not nice. But they were so demanding about this trip and I just didn’t want to take it.”

She rolled over on her back.

“Yes, I can say that I’m glad I came. I had a really nice day. And tomorrow I hear they think I’m swimming with dolphins. Though there’s no way that’s happening.”

She rolled back over and patted the pillow again.

“Now, don’t you laugh at me. I mean it, Sam. I’m not swimming with any dolphins. They don’t need Blubber taking over the dolphin tank.”

She chuckled softly, then leaned over and pressed her lips against the soft fabric of the pillow cover. The pillow dipped at her movement.

“I love you, Sam. I love you.”

She laid her head on the pillow that would serve as Sam’s chest for the remainder of the evening. Just like the pillow at home had served as his chest for the last three years. The same tears that tried to make their way down her face each evening as she told him she loved him tried once more. And once more they were refused their journey.

* * *

Tamyra stood on the balcony of her suite. The wind whipped across her exposed body. The white tank top and pink sleeping shorts didn’t cover much. She looked out across the ocean. The ocean she had paid no attention to all day long. Tonight it looked like royalty because the full moon hung over it like a crown of light. The moon cast its reflection across the white tips of the waves and followed them all the way to the shore, where they finally collapsed in a crescendo. To her, however, little seemed extraordinary anymore, even majestic oceans at midnight. And crowns were nothing more than a symbol of needed affirmation, restricted diets, and wasted years.

She ran her hands along the still-warm iron of the railing. Her long arms stretched out as far as they could until her cheek pressed against it. Her ears were dull to the crashing of the surf, the wind pushing through the leaves of the palm trees, and even the soft music that the evening housekeeper had started when she turned on the bedside clock radio. The warmth of the railing seemed to warm her entire body. The evening had been nice, she thought, as her mind replayed some of the conversation. She had said more than she intended. But Riley made her feel comfortable. Laine was very interesting. And Winnie was infectious.

Infectious. The word created a surge from her gut. Before she knew it, she was leaning over the toilet, dinner relieving her of its calories and wasting a hundred dollars’ worth of medicine. When her body had expelled the evening’s contents, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and then stood in front of the mirror. Another surge made its way up through her soul. But this one was different. This time she simply leaned over the sink and let the tears make their way down the drain. Which was fitting because that’s where she officially saw her life headed.

* * *

Laine had taken her time coming back to the room. The colors and sounds of The Cove moved through the open-air corridors with the fluidity of a symphony. The vivid blues that had wrapped their way through the halls that afternoon flowed into rich reds and magentas. A breeze from the ocean blended beautifully with the rhythmic music that played softly and the color that seemed to dance across the large columns that surrounded her.

She reached her room and slipped on her black silk pajama pants and black tank top. Pulling a wine cooler from the refrigerator, she unscrewed the lid and sat down on the sofa, grabbed the remote control and clicked on the television. She pounded her thumb mindlessly until it landed on the Lifetime network. A movie based on one of her books—Mitchell’s favorite book—was just starting. She pointed the remote and clicked the TV off as if scolding a disobedient child.

She scrambled for her iPhone and studied it again. There was still no message from Mitchell, nor had there been the ten other times she had checked. There were ten voice mail messages alright. But they were all from her assistant, whom she was deliberately ignoring.

Mitchell didn’t call much anymore anyway. But now she knew that he would never call her again. And it was driving her crazy. She controlled everything in her world. Her calendar on her iPhone was color-coded. Her schedule was planned down to her bathroom breaks. Her breakfast had been the same every day for the last ten years. She was a woman in complete control. And yet for the last year and a half, she’d had no control over anything, and she didn’t know how long it was going to take until someone discovered how out of control she really was.

But Mitchell knew. He knew everything about her. That’s why he had acted the way he had through their divorce, because he did know her. Mitchell’s knowing her had never been the problem. The problem now was that she didn’t feel as if she even knew herself. And she wasn’t sure anything more frightening existed. She looked down at the wine cooler now perspiring in her hand. She mentally calculated how many drinks she had had today. Five. Was she out of control with that too? She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long swig.

“I did that because I wanted to,” she announced