remark.
“No more than you, I’m sure,” she rejects.
I shake my head. “When I’m working on a new play, I can’t read anything else. If I get sucked in by someone else’s creative creation, it makes me second guess my own writing.”
“That’s too bad,” she remarks. “I don’t know what I’d do without my books. Reading is the great equalizer. I can be or go anywhere in my mind. Don’t get me wrong—I love my life—Amelia, the bar, this town, but sometimes it’s nice to have an escape like I get reading a book.” She stops herself. “And, I’ve gotten carried away.”
“I like it,” I say with an encouraging smile. “Not too many people call themselves readers anymore. I’ve got some novelist friends, and they’re always lamenting to me their loss of readership. As long as people don’t stop going to plays though, I should be fine.”
“I should read one of your plays.”
“Oh, God. No.” I shake my head hard. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too embarrassing. Nerve-wracking. Something.” My features scrunch together. “I actually considered writing under a penname so no one would know it was me.”
“That’s ridiculous. You should be incredibly proud of yourself, Abby. Not everyone can do what you do.”
“It’s one thing to have strangers read your work, but quite another to have people you actually know look over it.”
“I guess that makes sense. Not a lot of sense,” she quantifies with a smirk, “but just enough.”
It’s in the early hours of the morning by the time the last of the customers have left the bar. It’s also the second night in a row that I’ve stayed until close, and I walk Charlotte to her car again as I’ve done before.
“Thanks for keeping me company today,” I say.
“Thanks for the dance,” she returns. She leans against the driver side door of her Jeep. “I feel pretty honored to have witnessed that once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. It was like seeing a comet or a solar eclipse.”
I can’t help the grin that’s stuck to my face. “Think I could bump into you and Amelia at the library again tomorrow?”
“It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow,” she says, “But don’t quote me on that; I’m still just a bartender.”
“So does that mean I’ll see you at the beach?” I ask.
“If you can find us.”
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, I wake up to find the sun high in the sky. It’s a cloudless, sunny day, which means no library for Charlotte and Amelia. Even though Grand Marais is situated along the shoreline of Lake Superior, hardly anyone swims downtown except for the tourists. Instead, locals pack up their vehicles and go west on County Highway 61 to find isolated patches where the rocky shoreline has been crushed into smaller pebbles. Along Minnesota’s northern shores, beaches don’t have sand; they have rocks.
I park my car on the side of the road behind Charlotte’s Jeep. Sitting in an empty cup holder in the center consol, the screen on my silenced cell phone illuminates indicating I’ve got a new text message. It’s only Emily asking where I am, but the glow of the phone is a reminder that I haven’t really spoken to Kambria since the Fourth of July. And even then, it wasn’t much of a conversation.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that last night was the first night I didn’t try to call Kambria. This thing, this time I’m spending with Charlotte is unlike me. I’ve never been unfaithful, despite my bad habit of casually crushing on women who aren’t my significant other.
I call Claire, the only person I know who’ll actually answer their phone at this hour.
“Do you know if Kambria’s been by my apartment lately?” I ask when she says hello. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of her, but she’s not returning any of my calls or texts.”
“I’ve been by to
“No more than you, I’m sure,” she rejects.
I shake my head. “When I’m working on a new play, I can’t read anything else. If I get sucked in by someone else’s creative creation, it makes me second guess my own writing.”
“That’s too bad,” she remarks. “I don’t know what I’d do without my books. Reading is the great equalizer. I can be or go anywhere in my mind. Don’t get me wrong—I love my life—Amelia, the bar, this town, but sometimes it’s nice to have an escape like I get reading a book.” She stops herself. “And, I’ve gotten carried away.”
“I like it,” I say with an encouraging smile. “Not too many people call themselves readers anymore. I’ve got some novelist friends, and they’re always lamenting to me their loss of readership. As long as people don’t stop going to plays though, I should be fine.”
“I should read one of your plays.”
“Oh, God. No.” I shake my head hard. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too embarrassing. Nerve-wracking. Something.” My features scrunch together. “I actually considered writing under a penname so no one would know it was me.”
“That’s ridiculous. You should be incredibly proud of yourself, Abby. Not everyone can do what you do.”
“It’s one thing to have strangers read your work, but quite another to have people you actually know look over it.”
“I guess that makes sense. Not a lot of sense,” she quantifies with a smirk, “but just enough.”
It’s in the early hours of the morning by the time the last of the customers have left the bar. It’s also the second night in a row that I’ve stayed until close, and I walk Charlotte to her car again as I’ve done before.
“Thanks for keeping me company today,” I say.
“Thanks for the dance,” she returns. She leans against the driver side door of her Jeep. “I feel pretty honored to have witnessed that once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. It was like seeing a comet or a solar eclipse.”
I can’t help the grin that’s stuck to my face. “Think I could bump into you and Amelia at the library again tomorrow?”
“It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow,” she says, “But don’t quote me on that; I’m still just a bartender.”
“So does that mean I’ll see you at the beach?” I ask.
“If you can find us.”
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, I wake up to find the sun high in the sky. It’s a cloudless, sunny day, which means no library for Charlotte and Amelia. Even though Grand Marais is situated along the shoreline of Lake Superior, hardly anyone swims downtown except for the tourists. Instead, locals pack up their vehicles and go west on County Highway 61 to find isolated patches where the rocky shoreline has been crushed into smaller pebbles. Along Minnesota’s northern shores, beaches don’t have sand; they have rocks.
I park my car on the side of the road behind Charlotte’s Jeep. Sitting in an empty cup holder in the center consol, the screen on my silenced cell phone illuminates indicating I’ve got a new text message. It’s only Emily asking where I am, but the glow of the phone is a reminder that I haven’t really spoken to Kambria since the Fourth of July. And even then, it wasn’t much of a conversation.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that last night was the first night I didn’t try to call Kambria. This thing, this time I’m spending with Charlotte is unlike me. I’ve never been unfaithful, despite my bad habit of casually crushing on women who aren’t my significant other.
I call Claire, the only person I know who’ll actually answer their phone at this hour.
“Do you know if Kambria’s been by my apartment lately?” I ask when she says hello. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of her, but she’s not returning any of my calls or texts.”
“I’ve been by to
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