The rest of Chapter 20 and Chapter 21 beginnings

Thanks for your feedback on yesterday's post. I'm glad you all felt it was pivotal. Leesie's poem to finish off Chapter 20 ended up being kind of short, and I needed to keep writing so you get a double dose tonight. Michael's dive log starts off Chapter 21.

Happy weekend! See you on Monday.

CHAPTER TWENTY (cont.)

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

POEM # ??, A BARGAIN

I want to steal the keys,

the car, and run,

but Michael makes me go with him.

I sit in the back of the makeshift

dive classroom, with my head

buried in my arms, resting

on the folding table and listen

to pens scratch and Michael’s voice

teach dive physics—one atmosphere,

two atmospheres, three atmospheres,

four.

I’m angry—want to hate him,

but his voice feeds my weakness,

my wanting, my love, my desire.

I dream his body, his hands on mine.

No retreat.

Only surrender.

It’s a relief to cool

down in the pool

after lunch, swim laps

with his students,

help them and win

a smile from Michael.

A smile that says,

I love you,

I want you—

just do this one thing.

I shake my head.

No, Michael, no.

No.

No.

No.

No.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

Dive Buddy: Leesie           

Date:  06/17

Dive #:

Location: Grand Cayman

Dive Site:

Weather Condition:

Water Condition:

Depth:  

Visibility: 

Water Temp: 

Bottom Time:  

Comments:

            After a long afternoon of back-to-back pool sessions, I hustle Leesie back up to the apartment. “We need to hurry.” The president guy’s wife said we could see him at seven. It’s almost six. She said the church is close to the grocery store heading out of Georgetown—about forty-five minutes drive. Funny. I must have driven by it a hundred times and not noticed.

            “You can’t make me go.” Leesie stomps across the apartment into her and Alex’s room and slams the door.

            I’m on her heels. “Please, babe,” I croon into the door. I try the knob—not locked. I push open the door. What the heck. Gabriel’s always in their. Why not me?

            She’s sitting, scowling on her bed. “You can’t make me tell him anything.”

            “If you won’t”—I close the door behind me so the entire apartment full of tired dive guides won’t hear all our personal business—“I will. I need help.”

            “Divine intervention?”

            “Whatever it takes.”

            “I don’t want to talk to a stranger.”

            I sit next to her on the bed. “What you and I want”—I put my hand on her knee—“is massively irrelevant.”

            “You still want—?” She glances down at the bed.

            “That’s what I’ve always wanted. You know that. I don’t believe any of this stuff.”

            “But—”  

            “But you do. So it’s important. More important  than what I want.”

            She rests her head on my shoulder. “This is useless. Believe me. He’ll just shake his head and show me the door.”

            “I don’t think so.” I put my arm around her. “I’ve got a feeling—”

            She sits up, ducks my arm. “That’s rich. You’re getting revelation these days?”

            I hate that tone in her voice and the look she gives me. I look down, find her hand, grasp it in mine. “It’s just something in my gut that says we need to do this. Please, get ready.”

            “What do I get if I go? It’s going to be so humiliating.”

            I press her hand. “You’re wrong.”

            “Want to bet?” She makes a sound half-way between a snort and a laugh.

            “Sure.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “If it will get you in the shower.”

            She kisses me. “You could get me in the shower.”

            “Freak, you’re wicked.”

            “You love it.” Her lips are on mine again.  

            I want to lie down with her in that bed and forget all about that guy at the church, but I disentangle myself and stand up. “What’s the bet?”

            She runs her hands over the sheets. “If I’m right, we come back her and lock Alex and Gabriel out of the room.” She wrinkles up her nose. “No. Not here. If I’m right, we find a dark, lonely beach.”

            “And if I’m right?”

            “We’ll get married tomorrow.”

            I take her hand and pull her to her feet. “If I’m right—getting married?” I start to lose it and have to turn away from her. “You might not want to anymore.”

            She hugs me from behind. “Nothing can ever make me not want to marry you.”

            I turn around and clutch both of her hands in both of mine. “We both know that’s not true.”

            “You’re going to risk us”—light plays on my diamond on her finger, mesmerizing us both—“for a stupid feeling in your gut?”

            “Here’s the bet.” I kiss her one more time. “If I’m right tonight, babe, you gotta call your parents.”

Chapter 20 - The Scene

Every novel I write seems to have a big, pivotal scene that haunts me for weeks, months--even years. It comes floating into my brain and I scribble it over and over and over again. I don't even know how many times I wrote this scene. It ended so many different ways. I rewrote it again today--without even looking back at my early attempts. They didn't fit anymore. But those early drafts got me all the way here and to this version of CAYMAN SUMMER's big scene.

I always wonder if these scenes that were so important to me in developing the novel feel as important to the readers. Does this seem pivotal? Or has every step been pivotal? Writing a novel this way feels kind of episodic, but when I go back and revise I need to look at overall story arc and make sure the intensity grows. This book has been uber intense from the first chapter. I don't know if I can or want to change that. But I need to try to build from there. Slacking off for a few chapters of relative calm helps achieve that. I'm tempted to stop and spend the next several weeks revising, but I'm as driven as you all are to get the first draft of the novel down on paper, so I won't leave you hanging here. More tomorrow. I promise.

CHAPTER TWENTY

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

Dive Buddy: Leesie           

Date:  06/17

Dive #:

Location: Grand Cayman

Dive Site:

Weather Condition:

Water Condition:

Depth:  

Visibility: 

Water Temp: 

Bottom Time:  

Comments:

            I’m lying on my cot in the living room trying not to wake up. I dozed again after everyone left for the 8 AM dive. I’m teaching at ten. Get to sleep in.

            The scent and sizzle of bacon Leesie’s frying up in the kitchen seems worth opening my eyes for.

            “Hey, sleepyhead.” She’s upbeat this morning. “You want some of this?”

            I sit up, rub sleep gunk out of my eye corners. “You know I do.”

            “Get over here and earn it then.”

            I stumble through the chaos of all the guys beds and crap to the kitchenette where she’s working in front of the stove. She’s wearing bikini bottoms and a tiny tank top. “You’re looking good this morning.” I hope she didn’t wear that in front of the rest of the guys.

            She tosses me a glance over her shoulder and sees that I can’t take my eyes of her butt. She giggles. “You’re a mess.”

            “Are you going to feed me like this every morning after we’re married?” I rest my hands on her hip bones and kiss her neck.

            She tilts her head to one side, and I keep moving my lips along her neck and shoulder.

            “Naw—I’ll put you on tofu—don’t want you getting fat.”

            My hands drift to her stomach. “You’re in no danger of that.” I close my eyes—caress her skin—enjoy the subtle changes I discover. “You taste good, too.” I chew on her neck some more.

            “That’s the bacon.”

            Banter. That’s all I get from her the past couple days. She won’t be serious—won’t accept the news we got from Stan for what’s worth—won’t call her parents—won’t let me. She’s still the guiltiest person in the universe. Won’t let it go. Blames herself even more now. I’m not sure what to try next.

            Freak. I sucked too long on her neck. I rub the ugly red spot. “Sorry, babe.” I kiss it.

            She reaches back and strokes my cheek. “I’m a marked woman now.”

            “I didn’t mean to.”

            She turns a piece of bacon over with a fork. “Mean the next one or you don’t get breakfast.”

            “Babe!”

            She holds a crispy piece of bacon up and wafts it close to my nose. “Get to work.”

            I catch her mood. What will it hurt? “Okay. Okay.” I rub her bare shoulders and plant a kiss in the middle of her back. “Where do you want it?”

            She tips her head the other way and points to the spot where her neck and shoulder meet. “Let’s see how long you can hold your breath.”

            I laugh, hug her from behind, and start my free dive breathing cycles.

            “Stop stalling.”

             I blow air out all over her neck.

            She wriggles with pleasure.

            I inhale, inhale, pack it and then slowly, gently I place my lips back on her skin.

            She melts into me.

            My hands go back to her supple stomach. She feels so good. My lips suck harder and harder on her soft skin. She reaches up with one hand and combs her fingers through my hair, turns off the stove top and pushes the frying pan off the heat with the other.

            She’s got both hands in my hair now—won’t let me stop sucking on her neck. Not like I want to. I close my eyes. Immerse in the moment. My hands stroke her stomach with more and more intensity, drift to her ribs, higher—

            Freak.

            I touched her.

            I dart away from her and stare at my hands. “I’m sorry, babe. Forgive me. I’m sorry.”

            She slumps over the stove. “Did I gross you out that much?”

            “What? Stop it. That’s stupid. I just made you sin.”

            She turns around. “Come back.” She laughs. “Let’s sin some more.”

            “Be serious. What do we do now?”

            “Whatever you want.”

            “I mean to fix it.”

            “Don’t bother. Nothing can fix me.”

            “I’m calling your dad.” I head for my cell phone, but she gets there first.

            She backs away, clutching the cell phone to her chest. “You’re so not calling my dad.”

            I close my eyes—can’t look at her another second, or I’ll be all over her—try hard to think. What do we do? There’s something important I can’t quite remember. The red face of the president guy from her church back home—Jaron’s dad, no less—forms in my brain. I remember how angry I was when she told me she talked to him after our break him—told him about that night after the dance down by the pig barn when I marked up her stomach like I just stained her neck. “How about we call your president guy, then?”

            “Jaron’s dad? I’m not confessing to him.”

            My eyes open. I step towards her with my hand out for the phone. “But this wasn’t just making out or giving you a hickey. I crossed the line. Major sin—that’s what you used to call it.”

            “It doesn’t matter any more. Why don’t you believe me?” She puts the phone behind her back.

            “Because I’m still listening to the old Leesie.”

            “Don’t—she lost.”

            “Let’s find her. Please. Can Jaron’s dad help?”

            She scowls. “I don’t live there anymore. He’s not my branch president.”

            “Is there one here?”

            “No.”

            I pick up my laptop, flip it open, type, “Mormons in Grand Cayman” in the Google box. Yes. “Look, babe.”

            She won’t.

            There’s a picture of a small, gray boxy church with an unmistakable Mormon steeple. And a phone number.

            I snag Leesie’s phone out of her room. Dial. Get somebody’s wife.

            But she says he’ll be at the church tonight.

Second half of Chapter 19

Today's post is dedicated to Myrrhaya who spent her birthday waiting for it. Happy Birthday!

I'm sorry I'm late. I strained my back yesterday and couldn't move much today. Or think. But rest and Ibuprofen have done wonders, so here's today's post and then I'll return to lying flat on my back. I also struggled with how to write this scene. I know I promised you a Michael dive log, but this had to be from Leesie. And the next scene must, must, must be from Michael, so we've got another poem today. You'll notice I don't follow a strict rotation, giving everyone equal time. I try to share it out, but I'm the first one to jump on fellow authors for POV cop out--moving to another character's POV or skipping the scene altogether if it's too emotionally difficult--so I'm hyper about doing it myself. This needed to be from Leesie.

Tomorrow I promise a long, long dive log from Michael.

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

POEM # ??, ICE

Michael’s on the balcony,

checking email before

he has to head out.

I fiddle with French toast,

pout, not going with,

the boat’s full.

We’re out of eggs now,

bread, butter and bacon.

A walk to the store.

An hour on the beach

to work my tan

and Alex’s free weights.

“Leese, there’s news.”

His voice finds me,

draws me to him.

“From who?”

He closes up his laptop.

“Stan the Man.”

His wizardly lawyer—

mine now, too.

Fright grips me

like all of the sudden

I grip Michael’s arm.

My stomach turns upside

down and a cold chill

in my veins makes

all my healed hurts

pulse together with pain.

“What?” Is all I can mumble.

Manslaughter? Vehicular homicide?

Reckless endangerment?

Will there be a trial or will

I just go to prison?

Michael trades me for the computer

on his lap, barricades

me in his arms. I take cover

in his the soft cotton T-shirt

hiding his chest.

He strokes my head. “Good news.”

“Do the police want me back?”

“No.”

“Stan can deal with the trial

without my presence?”

“What trial?”

“Just tell me the charges.”

“Driving too fast for conditions.

He already paid the fine.”

I close my eyes tight and my hands

ball up with bits of his shirt caught in them.

“You’re lying. Tell me the truth.”

He kisses the scars on the back of my left hand.

“There was ice on the road.”

I sit up and concentrate on his deep gray eyes.

“Ice?”

He presses his face alongside mine.

“The police say that’s why you crashed.”

“Ice?” I pull away from his tenderness.

My face knits into confusion.

“We were fighting—

like I told you—an awful fight—the worst.

I lost control. That’s why

we crashed. It’s my fault.

I killed him.

Not the ice.”

His hands cup my face.

“I believe you, babe. I do.

But there was ice

on the highway, too.”

My eyes blink and I shiver.

“All hail—the Ice Queen cometh.”

Bitterness drips from my lips.

“Hush, babe. Don’t.”

He presses my head back down

to his chest. Holds me tight.

“Let’s call your dad tonight.

It’s time to mend more than

broken bones.”

“No.” I curl close to him,

trying to steal the warmth

from his body.

“Think about it.”

“No.”

He cradles me, kisses me,

leaves me gripped

tight in a fetal prison

on the chaise lounge

contemplating the possibilities

of ice.

Leesie and Kim Chat to open Chapter 19

It's so beautiful in AZ today. Sunny and 75 F. Perfect. Makes it hard to settle down inside and write. I need to find me a good writing spot outside, so I can enjoy it all!

It took me most of the day, but I finally did get this written. It's a Kim and Leesie chat--mostly drooling. But it does advance the timeline. The next scene is from Michael and we get an important new revelation. Watch for that tomorrow.

CHAPTER 19

LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 06/12 9:18 PM

Kimbo69 says:  Where have you been?

Leesie327 says:  Diving every day.

Kimbo69 says: Doesn’t it scare you?

Leesie327 says:  Not anymore. I love it. I love it. I love it.

Kimbo69 says:  You love it?

Leesie327 says:  I’m totally certified now and I love it.

Kimbo69 says: Are you sure you didn’t mean certifiable?

Leesie327 says: I love it.

Kimbo69 says: What’s the appeal?

Leesie327 says: Michael in a wetsuit.

Kimbo69 says: Doesn’t impress me. I’m into skin myself.

Leesie327 says: Work with me, my friend. I’m doing the best with what he’ll give me. I especially love it in between dives when he peels his wetsuit half-off and lets it hang around his waist.

Kimbo69 says: Hmmm…the best of both worlds.

Leesie327 says: Sigh.

Kimbo69 says:  You go diving every day just to see him in a wetsuit? That sounds like too much work. Doesn’t he walk around the apartment in boxers—a swimsuit at least?

Leesie327 says:  Rarely shirtless.

Kimbo69 says:  Too much temptation?

Leesie327 says:  The rest of the guys do.

Kimbo69 says:  Massive skin alert. Can I come visit?

Leesie327 says:  It makes me nervous.

Kimbo69 says:  Overheated.

Leesie327 says: Maybe that’s it. Gabriel’s the worst.

Kimbo69 says: I thought they were all hot.

Leesie327 says: He’s the only Speedo king.

Kimbo69 says: Pictures, girl. I need pictures.

Leesie327 says: Mark wouldn’t care?

Kimbo69 says: You should see what he looks at. No, you shouldn’t. It’s gross.

Leesie327 says: Well….my new phone does have a camera.

Kimbo69 says: Yes! Promise?

Leesie327 says: It shouldn’t be hard. He’s always in our room.

Kimbo69 says:  Lucky Alex.

Leesie327 says:  When they want to be alone, Alex shuts the door, and Michael and I get out of the apartment.

Kimbo69 says: Michael’s a prude?

Leesie327 says: He doesn’t want me around their influence. But Gabriel barges in every morning to wake Alex up. I’ve got zero privacy.

Kimbo69 says:  Privacy is highly over-rated. You’ll get used to not having it.

Leesie327 says: I can’t say anything to Alex. She’s so happy. And Gabriel’s too romantic for words. Yesterday, he brought her breakfast in bed and called her “mi cielo.”

Kimbo69 says: What does that mean?

Leesie327 says: That’s what Alex said. And he murmured in that sexy accent of his, “There is no English for this. It means you are my heaven. Being with you is like being in heaven.”

Kimbo69 says: You should write that down.

Leesie327 says: I just did.

Kimbo69 says: How did Alex react to that?

Leesie327 says: I had to leave the room quickly.

Kimbo69 says: What about Seth and Dani?

Leesie327 says: Don’t see them much. They have to work all the time. And when they get off, they go into town to drink.

Kimbo69 says: I thought he drank because she left him.

Leesie327 says: Me, too. Now they hit the bars because she’s back.

Kimbo69 says:  Maybe he just drinks.

Leesie327 says: You’re so perceptive.

Kimbo69 says: What’s your plan—now that you’re no longer handicapped.

Leesie327 says: Keep diving.

Kimbo69 says: That’s it?

Leesie327 says: That’s about all I can handle. Dive with Michael. Every day.

Kimbo69 says: You can’t do that forever.

Leesie327 says: I can try.

103? Who-hoo! Hope you love the rest of Chapter 18

Whoa. Look at that! We broke a hundred over the weekend. Thanks, everybody for spreading the word. Thanks for all the comments, too. Keep them coming. Remember, every one means another entry in the big giveaway at the end of the book.

I got some more good news. Thanks to all of you, UNBROKEN CONNECTION and SING ME TO SLEEP both received enough nominations to become official Whitney Award Nominees. Now it's up to the judges to decide if they are good enough to be finalists. I'll let you know if I get good news.

Thanks for all the comments over the weekend. I'm glad you liked that last scene in Michael's POV. I just felt it worked better that way.

So, here, to brighten up your Monday is a mesmerizing (well, I intend it to be mesmerizing someday) diving scene. Losing my editor and having Razorbill reject Michael and Leesie's continued journey was painful, but here is a silver lining. I don't have to fight with anyone every time I want to include a diving scene. My editor--probably for the best--made me cut most of the gazillion dive scenes I wrote for TAKEN BY STORM. I had to fight for the scenes we left in and heavily revise them to make them more relevant.

I've learned not to overload the story with them, but here and there, I think they can be wonderfully romantic. So here's my cure for Monday Moodiness. Enjoy.

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

POEM # ??,

Water closes over my head.

My pulse rate triples.

Michael, his face inches

from mine as we sink

together, motions slow,

take it slow, slow, slow.

I swallow, and my ears pop

like we practiced yesterday

in the pool, swallow again.

No pinching my nose and blowing

like I learned with him back

in SLC in that pretty hotel pool—

he’s worried about pressure

on my weakened nose.

To avoid strain on my newly

healed collarbone, Michael

geared me up in the water,

kicking tanks and weights to where

I floated and gently wrapping me

in the complex web of equipment.

He motions, Okay?

I nod—remember to return

his signal, swallow again

and bump my leg into his

on purpose. 

Private lesson today.

No other students.

Just him and me, coral

and aqua water. Stray fish

staring at me like I’m an alien.

Alex with her students stir

up the sand on the other side

of the boat.

I’m in a new world with

Michael—his world

where my heart races

and I want to kick free

and swim for blue skies,

his world where his bubbles

breaking around me calm

my soul enough to pass off

skills kneeling in the sand,

wetsuited knees touching,

gauges checked, masks cleared,

air supply recovered, buddy

breathing.

Buoyancy balanced, he

leads me on a swim around

that wipes away the last wisps

of fear with wonder.

Is this really just under the surface?

Or did he transport me?

Am I on the moon? Mars? Venus?

A purplish world where

large flat fans screen the water

in lazy rhythm, fantastical formations

top every choral head.

A kingdom of tiny bright subjects

whiz in and out of their intricate

castles. Yellow. Blue. Black. Orange.

Vivid in tubular rays descending

from our own bright sun,

revealing their hidden playground.

Too soon we’re on the surface.

Too soon Michael unsnaps my B.C.

and unsnugs the Velcro cumber bun.

Too soon he boosts me back into the boat.

Too soon he reads the delight

in my face.

“Can we go again?”

I’m dying for another taste

of this mystery he loves so much.

He crushes me close, wipes a tear

from his eye before it can fall.

“Sure, babe.” He whispers,

“I love you.”

I blink, sniff, and manage to say,

“I know,” before his lips

take my breath away.

Is this really chapter 18 already?

Look, look, we've got 99 followers. Let's all do a dance when it flips to 100! Thanks for your help with the Spanish endearments. I really love "mi tesoro" or my treasure. And I'm taking notes on the other suggestions, too. I'm motivated now to write more scenes with Gabriel and Alex so I can use this good stuff.

No Gabriel and Alex today, though. A bit of a turning point for Leesie. Question, mull this over. Do you think this works from Michael's point of view? It's happening to Leesie, so it would be more natural for her to narrate, but it's Michael's turn and I like his reaction. The next part of the chapter will be a poem from Leesie that must be in her point of view.

And I discovered something important I've been leaving out. Leesie's engagement ring. Hello. We can't forget that. I'll have to go back and weave it in. This ring serves as an invested object. Great tool. It's got a whole history tied up with it, so whenever Michael looks at it or Leesie touches it or the sun hits the diamond, we're reminded of everything that it means to them. That's one thing that I always work hard to develop better when I revise. So for today, pretend like Leesie's ring has been hanging around her neck on Michael's chain shortly after they got to the apartment, okay?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME #10

Dive Buddy: Leesie           

Date:  06/08

Dive #:

Location: Grand Cayman

Dive Site:

Weather Condition:

Water Condition:

Depth:  

Visibility:  

Water Temp: 

Bottom Time:  

Comments:

            Dove this morning. Seth and Dani. She ran the show. Whatever else you say about her, she knows her stuff. Great with the people on the boat. Not just the guys. Even the kids and their moms.

            I’m off this afternoon to take Leesie to her appointment at the rehab place. She got all dolled up for the nurses. Pretty white dress and the hip white scarf twisted around her head—I hadn’t noticed the silver and white beads tied onto the fringe. Lots of makeup. The only color she’s got on is the bead and shell necklace she thought was Suki’s. It’s the first time Leesie’s worn it. Progress? I think so.

             “Ah, Sugar, look at you!” Her favorite nurse greets her with a hug. “So pretty! Better, no?”

            Leesie blinks, getting emotional. “No more pills.” She’s refused to even take over-the-counter pain pills since that same night.

            “Good for you.” Sugar pats her back, the quintessential mother.

            We wait for the doctor in a treatment room. She’s nervous. “What if it’s not fixed right?” She holds up her hand, twists it trying to see under cast and inside to the bones.

            I take her hand. “Don’t worry.”

            “What if he says I have to keep wearing the cast?”

            “Then my plans for tomorrow are wrecked.” I want to get her in the water so bad.

            “What if the ring doesn’t fit?” She’s been wearing it around her neck on my chain afraid she’ll lose it stuck on the top of her finger. [need to work this in earlier—I’ve totally spaced on all references to the ring. Fix that. How does it look with the other necklace? Hmmm.]

            “We’ll stop at a jeweler downtown and they can resize it.”

            “I don’t want to have fat fingers.”

            I bring her fingers to my lips and kiss them. “Your fingers are fine.”

            She tips her head to rest against my cheek. “I love you.”

            “I know.”

            She sticks her tongue out at me and the doctor walks in. Leesie gets cherry red and flustered, but the dude has his nose in her chart.

“Let’s see what we’ve got now.” He directs Leesie to perch on one of those doctor’s office exam tables. He checks how the wound on her head is healing. “Any headaches?”

“Only him.” Her eyebrows rise in my direction.

The doctor laughs. “How’s your nose?” His expert fingers press along the ridge of her nose, stop at the slight bump from the break. “Is it still tender here?”

“Not very.”

“Any nosebleeds?”

“No.”

“Good.” He unlatches her sling and pulls it off.

The dress is bare on top, shows how tan she’s getting.

The doctor runs his fingers all along her collarbone—spends extra time around the break. “This has healed nicely. Have you been using your arm?”

“Some.” She looks down at the white skirt of her dress draped over her knees.

“A lot.” I fold my arms across my chest.

She glares.

“Good.” The doctor helps her put the sling back on. “Wear the sling as needed for another two weeks. But you can take it off for exercise. Swimming would be good. Are you doing your physio?”

“Yes. Every day.”

Physio and more. She works out until she hurts. I think she wants to be buff like Alex. I got to change her mind on that one.

The doctor finally gets to her hand. He rolls a wheelie table in front of her and takes an electric saw with a round whirling blade out of a drawer. “Rest your hand here.” He puts on safety glasses and revs up the saw. “Hold still.”

The blade whirrs and kicks up a  billow of white dust. It’s hot in that room. Airless. A vision of him cutting her hand right off invades. I breathe faster and faster like a newbie diver in panic mode. Choke on the dust.

Leesie stops the doctor with a touch on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

I wipe my face. “Fine.”

“Good—look.” She holds her hand up so I can see her cast hangs on by a mere half inch width.

The doctor puts down the saw and opens a drawer. “I’ll use my scissors on that. Don’t want to slice open your hand.”

He really didn’t need to say that.

I take a deep breath, move closer for a better view. Snip. Snip. He pulls the cast off and her hand emerges.

Pale, clammy, greenish contrasted with her tan fingertips. She turns it over. Four faint scars curved to fit my fingernails emerge and memory blurs my vision. She’s holding my hand for the very first time, talking about angels, and I hang on to her so tight I hurt her.

She sees them, too. Remembers? I hope so. I need her to remember the power and conviction she bathed my wounds with that night. I wish I could bathe hers like that now.

Not my element.

Saltwater, though. Healed me up fine in the end. It should work for her, too. A good place to start.

Tomorrow.

The rest of Chapter 17

I've had a migraine all day, so I've been pretty useless instead of writing loads like I'd planned. I wrote this poem yesterday, so we're in luck--well blessed--I don't believe in luck--and I can get a post out today despite my overall uselessness. I took my last super-duper migraine pill, so I better call my doctor tomorrow.

I do need some help with this. I need a few Latin endearments that Gabriel would use for Alex. Suggestions?

And I wanted to tell you about a cool website I'm going to be a part of. It's called Dear Teen Me and just launched yesterday. They've signed up loads and loads of YA authors to write letters to their teenage selves and post them online for you to enjoy. There's a couple already up for you to check out. I'm scheduled in March--so that tells you how many authors are involved. That should be good timing. I hope to have CAYMAN SUMMER out by then. But that's not going to happen unless I scribble a lot more than I did today. No more headaches allowed.

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

POEM #??,

Alex sobs curled in a fetal

ball on the bathroom floor.

Gabriel picks her up,

tucks her in bed,

wipes her face

with tissues. “Come on,

now, my [need a Latin endearment here]

enough.”

I relieve him of the box

of tissues. “Let her cry.”

His handsome face

shows doubt. “Are you sure?”

I nod and sniff, blinking

back my own tears that threaten

to break through the stone

I’ve buried my heart with.

Gabriel bends over and kisses

her forehead. “Goodnight, my Alex.”

He retreats elegantly, looking every bit

the millionaire playboy caught

in caring that’s morphing to love

with every tear Alex sheds.

Once he’s gone, she groans, hiccups.

“I can’t stop. I keep trying.

Gabriel saw me like this.

How hideous am I?”

I give her a fresh wad of

soft whiteness to staunch

the hot snot dripping down

her chin. “He loves you like this.”

“I wish.” She buries her face

in the tissues.

“Cry, Alex. Don’t stop.

Even I still believe

in the power of tears.”

She sobs and sobs,

mourning her hurt, her loss,

melting into new found

tenderness that tinges her tears

with sparks of joy,

flutters of hope

and the dawn of love.

In the morning, she meets

Dani with coolness, but doesn’t

tear all the hair out of her head

or stab her with the knife Alex

straps to her leg when she dives.

Gabriel whisks her away

for a day off in the sun, lazing

on beaches and sipping icy fruit froth.

Dani’s got double shifts

until hell freezes over

to make up for leaving

everybody high and dry.

Seth’s working with her.

The boys have the other boat—

which leaves me my Michael

to dote on all day long.

Bonus.

We leave the dishes undone

and the place a wreck,

drive down to the blow holes,

buy spicy grilled chicken

from a roadside stand,

eat it, sitting side by side

on the bare coral shore

as waves crash against the cliffs

and force water in the cracks

and up through the spouts

to spray white and pure

high into the air.

He picks up a drumstick.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

He bites and chews. “Good  thing

Alex needed you.”

Good thing?

Bad thing?

It used to be so easy

to spot which was which.

I’ve opened the door

to bad thing.

Crave it more and more

every day. Would it

be so bad? Or would

it be the best thing

that ever happened to me?

I lean my head against

his shoulder. “If we would

have gone down to

the beach—?”

His eyes move away

from the intensity of mine

and gather the spectacle

of the ocean’s purity.

“I don’t know, babe.

I don’t know.”