“He was a police officer,” I continue. “A man broke into our house one night a little over two years ago and he ended up shooting both of us. Jake didn’t survive. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t either.”
“Oh, sweet girl. Sweet, sweet, girl. Shush. Don’t you say things like that. I know you feel that way now, but you won’t always feel that way. I’m sure of it.” Dawn hurriedly rounds the small table and pulls me to my feet, wrapping me up in the first hug that I’ve actually completely dissolved into rather than pushed away. “Don’t you give up. Not just yet,” she coos sweetly into my ear.
I wrap my arms around this woman who I now admire for so many more reasons other than her charming motel. Tears pool and stream freely down my face. I do nothing to quell them like I normally would. A tiny bit of me feels like I’ve been set free by my admission and hearing Dawn’s own painful story. For now, in Dawn’s presence, the weight of my reality seems to be shared between the two of us and it’s a relief.
“Thank you, Dawn. For everything,” I whisper into her ear.
She nods against my shoulder then releases me from her embrace.
***
Dawn was right. She does make a mean omelet. I ask her secret and she knights me with her spatula then gives up the details.
“Freshest eggs you can get your hands on, sweet cream salted butter, and heavy whippin’ cream,” she explains. “Long as you have those three, you could dice up a boot to toss in and it would taste like just this side of heaven.” She smiles wide and winks as she slides the buttery goodness onto my plate.
We eat and chat about food, and tourists, things to do on the island and more food. I hate leaving her to get ready for my day with Zander, but I’m running out of time. Before I even knew it, I had been sitting at her table for nearly three hours talking. I thank Dawn again for everything and hurry back to my room, feeling both anxious and excited.
I scamper to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes as I go. I flip on the tap and wait impatiently for the water to warm up. Slipping beneath the stream, I grab the soap and lather myself head to toe, using the entire little shampoo bottle that was sitting on the edge of the tub. I make a mental note to find a store sometime today to buy some shampoo and conditioner for the rest of my stay. I have to use a load of the stuff every time I shower just to clean my long hair. I’d ask Dawn for more but I’d need about twenty of those tiny bottles.
By the time I dry off and drag a brush through my wet hair, it’s half past eleven.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself, hurrying to my suitcase to dig out the rest of my clothes. My options are limited. I hadn’t packed for more than a couple days. I may need to find clothes today too. Rummaging through what I packed, I pull out a pair of denim capri pants and pair them will a navy blue cotton tank top with pinpoint-sized white flowers on it. It’s simple and practical for whatever Zander has planned today. I wiggle my toes down into navy blue flats with little blue sparkles across the top.
Standing in front of the mirror and attempting to comb out my long hair is quite the task. It’s wet and tangled, making the process a major pain in my ass. I plug in the little blow dryer tucked in the corner and get to work on drying the mass of long hair. I should really just cut it short. That would solve the problem altogether.
Once I’ve done battle with my hair, combing it straight so that it will hang down my back, I’m on to makeup. My appearance is rather plain to begin with, so I’ve been good friends with makeup for a long time. My chocolate eyes look a hell of a lot better when they’re rimmed with shadow, liner and mascara. Now, that’s not to say that I do myself up like some street walker, but I’ve always made sure to do myself the favor of getting presentable when it’s necessary, which, according to my mother, is any time you leave your front door. Southern belle charm at its finest.