Chapter 3
Pulling a few more sweaty strands of hair off my neck, I slip on a white sundress from my suitcase and walk into the kitchen, unable to tear my eyes away from that view out back.
“Here, let me put you on FaceTime so you can see this place, Abby. The view off the back deck might make that shared wall worth it after all.” I hold the phone out in front of me and hit the FaceTime button. “This is it! My home for the next eight weeks.”
Abby’s face appears on my phone screen. She’s sitting in her office chair, even though it’s Saturday. Probably with the shades drawn and the door locked, so she can sneak in a personal phone call during work. The biggest law firms in New York take your life in exchange for the legendary paychecks and bonuses they hand out to their associates on day one. Even though Abby’s probably loaded by now, she’s never actually out of the office long enough to enjoy the money she’s traded some of the best years of her life for. Always promising she’ll relax after partner follows her name on the firm’s stuffy website.
Just seeing her face makes me feel a tinge of homesickness. My best friend is gorgeous, even with her thick-rimmed glasses and jet-black hair tied up in a messy bun. The tip of a ballpoint pen is sticking out the top of her thick mass of hair, making her look like a sexy librarian, though she’s probably on the tail end of a six-day work bender.
The window shades look dark behind her.
“Oh God, Abby, I forgot about the time change. How late are you working tonight?”
“Is it dark out?” She turns, then rolls her eyes as she spins the chair back around. “I don’t even notice anymore. Brett’s been riding my ass on this new Chatterton case. I might die of old age by the time I finish the discovery phase.”
I fight the urge to tell her to get out of there — to go home to sleep in her own bed, and not that horrible in-office futon that I know is tucked just out of sight. It’s the weekend. She deserves a break. But we’ve had that conversation before. Many times, actually. She’s married to that job.
“But” — she perks up — “it’s not dark where you are! Show me! I can practically smell the ocean wafting through this phone screen.”
I press another button to flip the camera view around, then start walking through the main room first. I hold the phone out in front of me so I can see what she sees along with her reaction. It’s the next best thing to having her here.
Abby begins narrating out loud, like she’s on HGTV’s House Hunters .
“Nice kitchen. Oh, I like the countertops. Live-edge butcher block is so Hawaii , right? What do you think of that plant though?”
I crinkle my nose at the spidery vines growing along the wall from the kitchen into the living room.
“That might have to go if you’re not a fan,” she continues. “Unless you end up killing it first.”
I scoff playfully. She knows me well.
Keeping the phone held out in front of me, I walk along the edge of the couch toward the windows that lead out to the deck.
“That sofa looks comfy,” she points out. “I may need to sleep on it once I murder Brett and flee New York.”
I laugh. “You’re welcome to join me anytime.”
We make it to the wall of windows, and I hold her out in front of me as we both fall silent.
Panoramic views of the sea always make me tear up a little. It’s like seeing an old friend after being away for a long time. Too long this time. Even before my failed proposal to Rex, he had to beg me to take any vacation time. I was always too focused on working my way up at the station, never feeling like there was enough time to get away. But standing here, I’m reminded of just how big the world is — whether I’m there to witness the outer edges of it or not.
Abby looks happily transported as she takes in the swaying palms and lazy waves. I watch her shoulders uncurl from up around her ears, and her eyes slowly soften. Two months alone without her is going to be the longest I’ve ever been away from my friends or family.
“I like the yellow patio set,” Abby finally says, breaking her trance. I almost like watching her reaction more than the view. “Oh, and that umbrella with the little fringe thingy across the bottom. So vintage.”
“Let’s go down to the beach.” I swing her to the right so I can grab the handle of the sliding glass door.
“Olivia! Wait!” She suddenly sounds panicked.
I jump back instinctively before opening it, my head on a swivel. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t see?”
I flip the camera view around so we’re face-to-face again. Her mouth is open, eyes wide, like she’s just seen a ghost.