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.
Harbormaster: Remember in sixth grade when we just had to ask a friend if so-and-so liked us? Life was much simpler then, huh?
Arielle was waiting for Tucker when he arrived at the Even Keel Cafe. He navigated the maze of tables and joined her in the corner against the rear wall. The scent of seafood and grilled steak tempted his taste buds, reminding him he’d skipped lunch.
Arielle had left a voice mail on his cell, asking to meet after work. She looked up as he approached, her wide smile absent.
“Hi.” He slipped into the chair across from her.
“You got my message, obviously.”
“I tried to call you back. Got the machine.” He’d expected Sabrina would answer. Had half hoped she would. Maybe she had caller ID.
Before he could grab the menu, Arielle leaned forward, intent. “What did you do?”
“What? Nothing.”
“You didn’t tell her you knew?”
“No.” He wondered why she thought that. Sabrina had been so quiet all the way home, despite his efforts to initiate conversation. “What did she say?”
“She didn’t say anything. And I mean nothing. She’s been quiet as a mouse all day.”
Was she angry he’d kissed her? He’d hoped Arielle might be able to enlighten him. He’d almost sent Sabrina a message that morning. But he could hardly mention the kiss when he wasn’t supposed to know Sabrina was Sweetpea.
“What did you do?”Arielle was giving him the look she probably used on her preschoolers. Her arms were crossed now.
He shifted on the chair. He could say nothing. What was another secret between friends? Then again, what did it matter if he told her?
“I—uh. I might have kissed her.”
Her eyes widened. “You
might
have kissed her?”
Was that such a bad thing? A man kissing the woman he loved? He had nothing to be ashamed of. Then why did he feel so rotten?
“Well, she kissed me back,” he said in a small voice.
“But that’s a good thing,” Arielle said.
“You would think.” It had sure felt good. It felt good every time he relived it too. Right up until the moment she pushed him away and demanded he take her home.
“Huh,” Arielle said.
The server came and took their orders. The restaurant was noisy, the clatter of scraping utensils and the loud hum of too many conversations. It was giving Tucker a headache.
“So, what happened after the kiss, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“She pushed me away and asked me to take her home.”
Arielle frowned. “That’s it?”
He decided to skip the part about his heart beating madly. “That’s it.”
Arielle sipped her tea. “Huh,” she said again when she set down her glass.
That’s all he got?
Huh
? Weren’t women supposed to have insight into each other’s souls? They were cousins; she had to know something.
“She thinks you’re cheating on her,” Arielle said.
“What?”
Arielle took a white bottle from her cavernous bag, unscrewed the lid and dumped green powder into her water. It turned cloudy.
“You’re supposed to be in love with Sweetpea, who you’re supposed to think is me, and yet you went out with her and put the moves on her.” She stirred the water and took a sip.
The stuff looked like algae water. Tucker grimaced.
And steak makes her ill?
“She thinks you’re cheating on her,” Arielle said.
“You mean on Sweetpea?”
“Who is supposed to be me.”
Tucker rubbed the back of his neck. For crying out loud.
“She feels betrayed.”
“By her own self?”
“Think about it. You’re not supposed to know she’s Sweetpea, so what’s she supposed to think when you’re in love with Sweetpea, yet kiss her?”
So complicated. When had life gotten so complicated? What sense did Arielle’s speculation make? How could he cheat on Sabrina with Sabrina? Though, in a wacky sort of way, it made sense when you figured Sabrina didn’t know he knew. He rubbed his eyes.
“I have a tincture for headaches if you want to try it.”
He looked at the disgusting green water. “If it’s anything like that, I’ll stick to Tylenol, thank you.”
She shrugged, capped the white bottle, and tossed it into the cavity of her bag.
“So what now?” he asked. “What am I supposed to do?” Arielle was her cousin. Surely she had some insight, some idea about how to make Sabrina crack.
“You connected online, and that’s comfortable for Sabrina. That’s your only real connection at this point. I suggest you go back to that.”
“I want a real relationship with her.”
Arielle gulped down the green stuff, gave a tiny shudder, then followed up with a sip of tea. “You just work on the relationship where she’s comfortable.” She smiled furtively. “And leave the rest to me.”
Sweetpea: Have you ever told anyone about our letters?
Harbormaster: Just my sister.
Sabrina heard the ding of a message hitting her inbox and realized she’d forgotten to reduce the volume before turning in. She wasn’t sleeping anyway. She crawled out from under the covers and crept into the living room. Arielle, a shadowed lump on the couch, breathed a soft snore.
Sabrina slid into the chair and moved the mouse, awakening the computer. It was Tucker.
Are you awake? he’d written
.
Like she could sleep after fretting over Tucker and Arielle all night. Her cousin had returned with a mysterious grin that left Sabrina with an empty ache.
Yes.
Sabrina had wanted to ask Arielle how their date went. But each time the words had caught in her throat. What if she didn’t want to know? A new message arrived with a ding. Sabrina muted the volume, then opened the message.
Wanna chat awhile?
Yes, she typed.
What was Tucker thinking about right now? Was he remembering his night with Arielle? Was he thinking about how beautiful she was in her gauzy white shirt and fitted jeans? Another message arrived.
Are you going to answer all my questions with a yes?
She smiled.
Yes.
It had been a while since they’d chatted on email. She missed it. She missed him. Her thoughts turned to the kiss they’d shared on the boat the night before. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips on hers.
You have got to stop this! It’s getting you nowhere.
She opened her eyes to a new message.
In that case, I’ll have to come up with something more consequential to ask.
Her stomach fluttered. What would he want if he could ask anything, knowing her answer would be yes?
She placed her hands over the keyboard.
I’ll ask the questions here. .. If you had one wish, anything you wanted, what would it be? Something for yourself—not world peace.
She sent the message and leaned back, ready for a wait. Instead, an email popped right back.
You first.
She smiled. No fair. She wrote the first thing that came to mind.
To be beautiful.
She sent the message, then wished she could reach into cyberspace and retrieve it. He would say she was beautiful because he thought she was Arielle. And Sabrina didn’t want to hear him rave about Arielle’s beauty.
She opened his reply with trepidation.
You have a lasting beauty, soul-deep. The kind that won’t fade with age. Save your wish for something you need.
Sabrina reread his answer. Not what she’d expected. He hadn’t raved about Arielle’s beautiful smile or her gorgeous hair. His words warmed her.
She poised her fingers over the keys.
Your turn.
She speculated about what he’d say. More time to enjoy life? A family of his own? She realized she didn’t know what Tucker wanted most, and that surprised her after all the hours, all the letters. How had they not discussed this before?
His message arrived, and she opened it eagerly.
I want to know you more.
What could he mean? They did know each other well. And he was now seeing her in person, or so he thought. She wanted to ask, but reconsidered.
Maybe you’d be disappointed.