The rest of 13--Michael's reaction

I'm posting this first thing so you don't have to wait any longer. Sorry to leave you on the edge of a cliff. Your groans and protests tell me a lot about the effectiveness of the scene, though. Thanks for being such patient guinea pigs. Well, I guess you aren't all that patient, but thanks for being guinea pigs.

Before I put you out of your misery, I have some news and a big favor to ask. I've learned that Sing me to Sleep AND Unbroken Connection are both eligible for the Whitney Award. The Whitneys are like the Academy Awards for LDS authors and their books. Only members of the Whitney academy vote on who gets the final award, but anyone over twelve-years-old who doesn't have a financial stake in the book, can nominate it. A committee chooses the finalists and the academy of LDS publishing professionals--authors, booksellers, publishers, bloggers, etc., vote on the award. If you are an LDS author or bloggers, you might want to join the academy. (See http://whitneyawards.com/wordpress/whitney-academy/

To nominate either Sing me to Sleep or Unbroken Connection or BOTH, all you have to do is follow this link to the nominating form, fill in your name, email address (they won't spam you or anything) and then in the description box put your city and state and the following information:

Sing me to Sleep
Angela Morrison
Penguin/Razorbill
March 2010

AND/OR (use a separate form for each nomination)

Unbroken Connection (Taken by Storm, Book #2)
Angela Morrison
Independent (CreateSpace)
August 2010

THANK YOU!! I appreciate your help. And now, drum roll, here's Michael's dive log.

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

Dive Buddy:           

Date:  05/28

Dive #:

Location: Grand Cayman

Dive Site:

Weather Condition:

Water Condition:

Depth:  

Visibility: 

Water Temp: 

Bottom Time:  

Comments:

           

            I avoid the apartment. Avoid Alex. Avoid Leesie. Avoid everything. There’s enough work to hide in—to bury my resolve to take her home, my doubts, my desire. The passion that flares every time I look at her.

            I can tell she thinks I’m punishing her, but it’s me that needs punishment. Every day that passes makes the new dawn harder to face.

            “We can’t get married.” I try to imagine myself tell her that. “I’m not a Mormon. Marry Jaron. He loves you—even thinking you’re sleeping with me, he loves you.” But I can’t say it.

            “I’m taking you home.”

            I can’t say that, either.

            I dial her dad—hang up when it rings. Six days in a row. On the seventh day, I give up.

            I will marry her.

            I won’t take her home.

            I’ll quit this job, and we’ll get out of this stupid apartment—away from Alex and that look she gives me like I’m the world’s worst criminal.

            She’s looking at me like that right now from across the boat. I hustle when we dock, get up to the apartment before everybody. “Babe!” No answer. “Leesie—let’s get out of here. We need to talk.”

            A sheen of black silk bathed in sunlight catches my eye. The skirts I bought Leesie. The pretty scarves. A shell necklace I thought would look cool with her fringed up leather jacket are crumpled on the floor.

            I stare at the mess—confused. “Leese?”

            No answer.

            I look for my keys. They’re gone.

            Freak. What would this look like to her?

            I scoop the gifts into my arms, grab Alex’s car keys and head out.

            “Where are you going?” Alex blocks my way halfway down the stairs.

            “She’s gone. I’m taking your car.” I push past her stunned face, get in her car, dump my burden on the car seat, and squeal out of the parking lot.

            Airport.

            Nope.

            Our first hotel.

            The rehab place.

            The beach where she first floated on seawater.

            Nope, nope, nope.

            She could be anywhere.

            I keep pushing west, and north, driving all around the island. Check beaches. Keep driving, driving.

            Freak. Why don’t we have stupid cell phones that work here? After I find her, we’ll get phones. Tonight. No. Better yet, when I find her, I won’t ever let her out of my sight again.

            When I find her? How am I supposed to do that? Go back to the apartment and wait? No. Not yet. I can’t sit and wait. Push on.

It’s dark when I get up north to Rum Point where we had dinner with the guys and those sleazy chicks. The place is empty. Cruise ship sheep gone home for the night.

            Except there’s a girl at a table, slumped over—wearing my old black baseball hat with “Eagle Ray Dive Club” embroidered across the front.

            “Leesie,” I yell and run over to her. “Thank, God.”

I sit down next to her. She doesn’t move. There’s a pill bottle clasped in her fingers. “Babe.” I shake her, pry the bottle from her hand. “Wake up.”

Freak.

The bottle is empty.

“Leese, babe, did you take these?”

One eye opens. She sees me. Turns her face the other direction.

“How long ago? You need to vomit. I’m calling Sugar.” I grab her arm.

She jerks away like my touch is poison. “I flushed them down the toilet. I can’t even kill myself. I was lying here hoping a hurricane would stop by. Instead I get you.”

“Leese. Leese. Listen to me.”

“No.” She stands up and wanders away—to the beach, to the water.

I run after her. “Leese. Listen.”

“No!”