Sweetpea: Kissing is highly underrated. Characters in movies go from first base to home plate in one giant leap. Doesn’t anyone value the kiss anymore?
Harbormaster: I do. ;-)
“So . . .” Arielle bombarded Sabrina the moment she stepped from her room the next morning. “Tell all. How was your date?”
Sabrina rubbed her temples and headed to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “I don’t want to talk about it.” It was bad enough that it kept her awake until all hours of the night. The quiet ride back on the boat. The tense ride home in the car. The awkward goodbye. Her mind had whirled like a hurricane all night.
Arielle followed her to the kitchen. “What do you mean you don’t want to talk about it?”
“I mean I don’t want to talk about it.” Sabrina rinsed the pot and added water to the tank. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re fit and healthy again. You go out with him tonight.” Even as she said it, a stab of jealousy pierced her.
Thank goodness it was her day off. She didn’t think she could face Tucker so soon after—
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to.” It was Arielle he wanted to see. She’d only been a substitute last night. Maybe he’d been lonely and desperate or something. Maybe he wasn’t the man she thought he was. The Tucker she knew would never have made out with one woman while in love with another.
Maybe he was like Jared after all. Maybe all men were.
She set the filter in the basket and plugged in the coffeemaker, shoving the bracelet up her arm when it got in her way. So much for the tangible reminder of heartbreak. She’d blocked everything sensible from her head the night before. Her head pounded now. She needed caffeine. She needed peace. She needed a new life.
“Did he say something?” Arielle asked.
Sabrina turned toward the living room.
Arielle took her arm. “He thinks I’m sick. This is your chance with him.”
“I don’t want a chance with him. He’s all yours.” Sabrina jerked away.
“Sabrina!”
“I’m taking a shower.” Sabrina closed the conversation with the slam of the bathroom door, but not before she heard Arielle’s growl of frustration.
Renny was potting a plant in the front yard when Sabrina was leaving for the post office. Her shadow fell over Renny’s form like a dark cloak as she approached.
“Morning,” Renny said. Her bare knees dug into the soil and her calloused heels were propped in the air.
The yard had become a profusion of color over the past several weeks. Sabrina wondered where Renny was going to fit the flowering plant once it was potted.
“Gan Eden’s filling up fast,” she said. “Are you stuck on your story? Do you want to brainstorm more?”
Renny scooped dirt from the bag into the terra-cotta pot. “No, I don’t think so.” She brushed her hair from her face with the back of her hand.
“I had some ideas the other day that might work.”
Renny put down the scoop and sat back on her haunches. “Listen, I decided to give up writing.”
Had the woman lost her marbles? “What?” Of all the zany ideas Renny had, this was the craziest of all.
“Don’t worry, I want you to stay in the apartment, and I won’t charge you rent. I love having you here; you’re good company. More than that. You’re like a daughter to me, really. But I’m done with writing. I’m going back to what I know. Gardening.”
“You know how to write. You’re extremely proficient.”
“Not proficient enough.”
“I’ve told you, it’s just a matter of time!” The thought of all that talent wasted made Sabrina ill. “Someone is going to want Danger, just wait and see.”
Renny retrieved the shovel and started scooping. “No, no, I don’t think so. I’m tired of trying. I’ll never be good enough.”
“You’re good enough now. You’ll probably get the call any day.”
“No, I won’t.”
How could the woman be so stubborn? “I guarantee it.”
Renny laughed, not the pleasant kind. “I don’t think so, amita.”
There was something Renny wasn’t telling her. “What’s going on, Renny?” Something wasn’t right. Why would Renny quit when she was still waiting to hear from several publishers? Unless she’d gotten the rejections . . .
“Did you—have you heard from the publishers?” Surely not. Sabrina couldn’t imagine anyone saying no to Danger.
“No, I haven’t.” Renny patted the dirt with her bare hands, packing it tightly around the gnarled stem.
“Well, see then? There’s still—”
“I didn’t send them.” Renny pulled her soiled hands back and grabbed another scoop of dirt.
“Are you still unsatisfied with the characterization? Do you want to work on it some more?”
Renny stood suddenly, rubbing the soil from her hands. She studied Sabrina as if trying to make a decision. Finally she said, “Come here.”
She walked toward the porch, and Sabrina followed onto the brick stoop. They entered the foyer and walked past the airy living room into the dining room, which overlooked the ocean. Renny bent in front of the cherry hutch and pulled out a fat drawer. It settled in place with a squawk.
Renny stood upright. “There they are.”
Sabrina looked into the drawer, filled to the brim with stacks of paper. “Your manuscripts?”
“All nine of them.”
Renny’s words from earlier soaked in. “I didn’t send them.”
That’s not what she meant . . . that she hadn’t sent them, any of them, to publishers. Was it?
“I never sent them.” Renny crossed her arms over the toucan on her Hawaiian shirt. “I didn’t mean to lie, but I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?” All those years of writing, locked in a drawer? All the work Renny had done, all the work Sabrina had done, wasted? She didn’t understand.
Renny went to the sink, turned on the faucet, and pumped some soap. “I was waiting until my writing was good enough. I was going to go back and fix the earlier ones.” She shook her head.
Sabrina looked at the drawer of manuscripts. The earlier ones were weak in spots. Pacing problems, weak writing, stale characters. The last three, though . . . she’d wondered why some publisher hadn’t snapped them up. Now she knew. Renny had never sent them.
“Why did you do it, then? Why spend all those hours—all those hours, Renny!—writing and brainstorming and researching? Why do all that work and just . . . stick it in a drawer?”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand.” Her words wobbled. All those hours she’d spent researching locations and killing methods and police procedure. All those hours reading and editing. She’d been paid for her work, but it felt empty. All for nothing. Where was the faith Renny clung to?
“What about God and his will that you talk about?” Sabrina asked. “How can he do his will when you won’t do your part? Send them to your agent now. At least the last three.”
Renny dried her hands. “I can’t.”
Sabrina reached into the drawer. “Then I will.” It was a small matter to write a cover letter and stick them in the mail.
“Stop it!” Renny grabbed her arm. “Leave them be. It’s not your place.”
Sabrina straightened. Renny was right. It was her work. Her decision. She had to know one thing. “Did you ever intend to send them?”
Renny closed the drawer, and it creaked under its load. “I was going to send them when they were good enough.”
Sabrina opened her mouth to say they already were, then shut it again. She’d already said it, many times over. One more time wouldn’t make Renny believe it.