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said.”
    “The owner of the yacht is sitting at the
bar. His name is Lyndon Fulbright.” The busboy canted his head at a
smartly dressed man in his fifties.
    Ruthie pursed her lips impishly. “Is there a
Mrs. Fulbright?”
    “Haven’t seen one.”
    Penny Sue smoothed the front of her dress
and grinned. “Well, well, Lyndon. Things are surely looking
up.”

Chapter 4

    I woke up early the next day with the
stark realization it was time to get on with my life. For the last
eighteen months I’d been busy getting divorced. I was finally
free—now what? I couldn’t live off my paltry settlement forever.
I’d have to work; heck, I wanted to work. Then there was the issue
of where to go when the house sold.
    The kids were on their own. Zack, Jr. was in
Vail trying to decide what to do with a degree in philosophy. Ann
would graduate in December and already had an internship lined up
at the American Embassy in London. I doubted that either would want
to come back to Atlanta to live; at least, no time soon. The
divorce had taken its toll on them, too. They’d come home less and
less over the last year, the tension of having Zack in the house
being more than they could bear.
    I rolled over and looked at the clock radio.
Six o’clock. Ruthie was sound asleep in the next twin bed, lying on
her back, mouth open, snoring softly. I snatched my robe from the
foot of the bed and crept out of the room. I put on a pot of coffee
and drew the drapes in the living room. Instead of a sunrise, I was
greeted by a thick mist. Fitting. The fog matched my mood.
    I poured a cup of coffee and headed to the
deck. The mist was cool and wet on my face with a faint fishy
smell. Though I couldn’t see the ocean, I heard it lapping gently.
Low tide, the perfect time to look for shells. And, surely, no one
had beaten me to it in this fog.
    I hitched the belt on my robe tighter and
started for the beach. My plans for the future could wait another
hour or two.
    I was happy to see that the turtle mound at
the end of the boardwalk had been moved. Relocating nests from
traffic areas was a key function of the Turtle Patrols. Evidently,
they had come through the night before, saving not only the
turtles, but Ruthie and me from extreme mental anguish. Penny Sue
had groused about her torn sarong all through dinner. I made a
mental note to compliment the patrol on their fine work the next
time I saw them.
    The fog was so dense, I was standing in the
water before I saw it. I stopped ankle deep and turned slowly. I
couldn’t see a thing. I looked to where I thought the horizon
should be, hoping to spy a glimmer of sunrise. Nothing. I took a
long pull of my coffee. I didn’t have a chance of finding a shell
in this pea soup unless I happened to step on it.
    Well, there was always tomorrow.
    I turned around and headed back the way I
came. But, the wet, turbid haze had become so thick I kept losing
sight of my tracks in the sand. I stopped, a wave of panic welling
in my chest. I couldn’t see anything. For all I knew, I was walking
north, parallel to the shore, in which case I could go a long
way—in my bathrobe, no less.
    I dropped to one knee, frantically looking
for footprints and my way home. Thankfully, I found some close by.
I followed the tracks, bent double to keep the depressions in view.
A moist draft on my bare derrière told me vital parts were
protruding from the short bathrobe. I tugged at the back of the
robe, however, the cotton sleep set had not been designed for
contorted movement. Or, maybe it had. I’d gotten it on sale at
Victoria’s Secret, my only thought at the time being the great
price. It had never occurred to me I might be getting less than I bargained for.
    I hadn’t gone very far when the beach began
to incline, which told me I was approaching the dunes and
salvation. By following the dune line, I reasoned, I’d eventually
get to a crosswalk and was confident I would recognize the rickety
bridge to our unit. Simple. Success