Beach Thriller(40)
“Like the book you have to write,” said Jade, drinking the milk without prodding.
“Yes, exactly. I have to focus. Writing is an extremely disciplined profession.”
Jade set her elbows on the table and leaned over her plate, a hungry look in her eyes. “Can you teach me your process? I’d love to learn.”
Holly didn’t hesitate. “Step one: Come up with a good idea. You do know why people finish books, don’t you?”
“To find out what happens,” Jade said, as if the answer were obvious.
“They read because they care about the characters,” Holly explained. “Not all readers will connect with your characters the same way. That’s why writing a book that everyone loves is impossible. But you, as the author, have to love the people you create on the page. You have to care about what happens to them. If you can do that for yourself, others will come along for the ride—and enjoy it.”
“But not everyone,” Jade said.
“You can’t please the world, Jade.” Holly set her knife and fork down on her plate. “Speaking of pleasing people, how did it go at the Carmichaels’?” She couldn’t hide the trepidation in her voice.
Jade slid another bite of food into her mouth, chewing with care. “They seem pretty normal to me,” she said. “It should be an easy job and good money.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Holly said, though Jade’s words didn’t exactly sound convincing. “But let me know if you run into problems. I’m concerned about you up there in that big house, with that family … which reminds me, don’t you think you should call your aunt Alice? She’s probably very worried about you.”
Jade’s face fell flat. “She doesn’t care what happens to me. She isn’t rooting for my character in her story.”
“Touché.” Holly gave her a tender smile. “But please, let her know you’re alive, will you?”
“I can’t get into it tonight. I’ll deal with it tomorrow, okay?”
Holly wasn’t going to argue. “Give her my number if she wants to talk. You don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to. You can stay here—at least I’ll know you’re safe. But she should know that, too.”
Holly couldn’t believe her own words. Had she just invited Jade to live with her for an undetermined period of time?
Jade’s relieved expression said it was an offer she was more than happy to accept.
Tom Walker appeared to be right about one thing: Once you feed them, they don’t want to leave.
Beach Thriller
iii
It was a picture-perfect beach day—low humidity, temperatures in the mid-seventies, and a gentle ocean breeze wafting over the sunbathers. Bright sunshine warmed Anna and Holly as they lounged on beach blankets. They covered themselves in tanning lotion, the fresh coconut scent filling the air. Waves crashed rhythmically on the shoreline, lulling the sisters into a peaceful, dreamlike state.
Anna stretched her legs long, burying her toes in the dry sand. They had the whole day to themselves. Thank God. The embarrassment of the catering catastrophe wasn’t a fresh wound, but for Anna, the shame still lingered. She hoped it would disappear completely when the cut on her palm finally healed. Meanwhile, all Holly could do was offer words of support.
“Nobody cares,” she repeatedly assured her sister. “Those people aren’t thinking about us. We’re nothing to them.”
That much was true. Anna hadn’t known any of them beforehand, including Conrad—whom she couldn’t get out of her head—and it seemed doubtful they’d ever cross paths again. But as soon as the thought entered her mind, Anna noticed none other than the dark-haired Adonis she’d been obsessing over strolling up to their spot at the beach.
“Hey, you two,” Conrad said cheerfully. He wore red trunks and an unbuttoned shirt revealing his taut, tanned torso. “Fancy running into you two here.”
Holly looked about, confused. “Where? The beach?” She laughed. “I’m sure you’ve run into us plenty of times and never noticed.”
But Conrad was noticing now. He couldn’t avert his eyes from Anna, who was nervously playing with her auburn locks.
“Have you summered here for a long time?” he asked.
“Only our entire lives,” Holly said, grabbing a book from her beach bag, implying she had better things to do than have this conversation. “But I suppose we travel in very different circles.”
Conrad cleared his throat. “I missed a couple of summers in Beauport. There was boarding school, then college—after a gap year in Europe … Guess I’m out of the summer scene. My loss.”
Anna gawked at him, wondering if he had a clue how privileged he sounded, but he prattled on. Nope, no clue.
“I apologize again. That was quite a night.” Finally he appeared a little chastened. “Anna, I hope you’re feeling all right—no lingering injuries?”
She shook her head, recoiling not only at the memory of her embarrassing fall, but also Baxter Ward’s octopus arms. Conrad continued: “Look, can I buy you both ice cream? Help make it up to you?”
Holly started to speak, but Anna cut her off. “Sure, but make mine a hot fudge sundae, extra whipped cream.” She popped up from her beach towel, grabbing her oversize tee and pulling on her short shorts. She couldn’t help herself. Conrad may be pretentious and self-involved, but he was also alluring. Besides, it’s only ice cream, she told herself. What could go wrong?