Beach House No. 9
“8 and watched the flames lick the Pres-to-Log she’d put a match to before checking on the boys. It wasn’t cold, really; she was dressed warmly enough in a pair of yoga pants and matching top with long sleeves and a collar that she’d zipped to a point above her cleavage. But she’d decided the fire would be nice company for the night. Rebecca was sleeping over at a friend’s, and her sons had slipped into dreamland not long after dark. An inflatable canvas raft had occupied Duncan and Oliver all a...fternoon. Riding the small waves near the shoreline had so worn them out that they’d almost been asleep before Russ.
She propped her bare feet on the coffee table, bumping the framed photo of the kids that she’d brought from home. With the four either asleep or absent, it was time to think of herself. It was time to decide what she wanted to do with her life.
A knock on the front door startled her. Griffin or Jane, she supposed, needing to borrow a cup of sugar or something similar.MoreLess
She propped her bare feet on the coffee table, bumping the framed photo of the kids that she’d brought from home. With the four either asleep or absent, it was time to think of herself. It was time to decide what she wanted to do with her life.
A knock on the front door startled her. Griffin or Jane, she supposed, needing to borrow a cup of sugar or something similar.MoreLess
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