Chapter 8

I didn’t see Perry for a few days, although from the boathouse, I heard banging and an occasional expletive. He did like he said he would and had the phone working again. I found a note taped to the back door with the new phone number written on it. Wade came every day like clockwork around lunchtime, which became a routine of laughter. He talked of all the big record-breaking fish that got away and of pirate ships sunken with chests filled with gold, silver and gems. Wade had the rare talent of story telling, weaving tales with his vivid imagination, and our time together was the highlight of my day.

With the notoriety of my books, I tried to keep a low profile on the island. When I ventured out, it was usually to a small mart close to the pier. It wasn’t stocked with many exotic foods, but it did have a find selection of vegetables and fruit. But most importantly it carried the Charlotte newspaper. I made sure to get the Sunday addition. Keeping up with book reviews was very important to me.

Books! I had taken time away from writing, but knew that my muse must return or I would be checking out customers at the local grocery store. I decided to make myself write something daily, even if it was just a sentence or a phrase. Once the right opening line appeared, I would soon be enmeshed in a story and wouldn’t stop until the words “the End” were reached.

One morning not long after the day Perry rescued me, as I was sitting on the deck looking out at the ocean, waiting for the Goddess of Words to breathe down on me, my cell phone rang. I didn’t want to answer it, but knew I should. I hadn’t been in contact with anyone since I left Charlotte.

“Hello?” I whispered into the phone.

“Darling, how are your fingers?” It was Gene Michaels, my editor.

“My fingers? They’re fine, why?” I asked puzzled.

“I thought they were broken, because you haven’t called me, since you left the city and you swore that you would call, as soon as you were settled in.”

“Oh, I forgot,” I said sheepishly, because I really had.

There was a lull in the conversation, a pregnant pause, as Gene waited for me to say something. I found I had nothing to say and the thought unnerved me.

“Well? How are you? Did you make it there in one piece? Are you resting, like Dr. Wilton asked? Why haven’t you called anyone? We’ve been worried sick? Are you writing?” And so the flood of questions began.

“Gene…”I tried to interrupt. “Gene…I’m…Gene.” Then at the top of my lungs, I shouted, “Gene will you shut up for a moment!”

My voice carried on the wind, disturbing sea gulls and causing Perry to emerge from the boathouse. I felt my face flame, as he shielded his eyes to look up at me on the balcony.

“Look Gene, I can’ talk right now. I’m fine and I promise I’ll call you tomorrow. Now isn’t good a good time to talk.” Perry was coming my way, taking the steps two at a time.

“You can’t run for long, Kerrie. Don’t you realize that? At least give David a call. He’s driving me barmy with his continuous phone calls, demanding to know where you are.”

I felt my heart freeze. In a frosty voice that I couldn’t control, I replied, “I’m fine. When I feel stronger, I’ll call David, but for now he is not to know where I am. Is that clear?”

Gene sighed heavily. “As you wish, darling. Call me tomorrow morning. I need to talk with you about some publishing issues. Nothing pressing, but they do need taking care of.”

“I promise I’ll call. Bye for now.” I clicked off the phone, as Perry reached the deck.

“Is there a problem?” He asked, while his huckleberry blue eyes tried to see inside my head.

“Nothing’s wrong. My editor sometimes doesn’t listen and I have to shout to get through his selective hearing problem.”

“You’re a writer? Wade said you were a career woman, but didn’t elaborate.”

I tensed, as I realized a wrong comment would send out red flags. I didn’t feel up to explaining who I was and why I was on the island hiding.

“Yes, I’m a freelance writer, and have the opportunity to submit stories, articles and essays to many publications.”

He seemed satisfied with the statement, but I felt his probing look as he watched my face. “You are a mystery woman, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, as he pointed to my lap top computer. “I see that you’re working, so I’ll let you return to it. Sorry to bother you. You’re usually quiet as a mouse in here.” Perry fought back a smile, “But I see there’s a tiger lurking inside.”

Before I could reply, he was gone.