any inkling of scandal sets them off.” Her eyes rolled at the absurdity of it all. “Doesn’t matter that half of them have an entirely too intimate relationship with the wine bottle or that their own husbands are banging boots with the secretary. They look for any excuse to gossip.”
I snorted. “What year is this? And really, ‘banging boots?’ Since when do you say, ‘banging boots?’?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. You want me to say something a little less ladylike?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No, no. I get the picture. Just call me curious. I’m a writer, remember? Comes with the territory.”
“Uh-huh. Back to the subject.”
“I think I’ve lost track of the subject,” I said honestly, wracking my brain to remember how we’d even gotten to this particular point.
Bette picked up the last French fry on her plate and pointed it at me. “You. Vacation. Your need for a break,” she enumerated.
How the woman remembered in the midst of all the verbal chaos was beyond me. In fact, I’d been holding on to a small sliver of hope that she really would forget this particular topic in favor of her own problems, but she was like a dog with a bone.
“But,” I started in protest.
“You’re not getting off that easy, lady.” Bette shot me a steely gaze. “I’ve known you way too long not to know your little tricks. You’d do well to remember that,” she warned.
I sighed. “I know. I guess I’m still afraid. You know how much I worry. And I can’t seem to stop doing it, either.”
Bette grinned. “My shrink would love you. Maybe she’d start to think I was normal!”
“Hey,” I said in mock insult. “I’m normal,” I insisted, trying—and failing—to convince both of us.
“Honey, you know I love you; but you’re far from normal.” Bette giggled. “That’s part of your charm.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re not winning any awards for normalcy, either.”
Bette grinned again. “Normal is overrated. What can I say?”
“Well, still,” I said, dropping my gaze to my hands in my lap. “Sometimes I think normal would be refreshing.”
Bette reached across the table to tap a finger lightly on my nose. “Hey, you. You’re tough, you’re beautiful, and you’re smarter than anyone knows what to do with.” Her eyes sparkled with emotion. “You’ve just had one hard run of it lately. But maybe this is just what you need. Like pressing ‘Control-Alt-Delete,’ if you want to geek out,” she concluded, echoing the words Charlie had spoken in our last conversation.
“Maybe you’re right,” I conceded. “Maybe you’re all right.” My nose burned with tears. “I’m just chickenshit sometimes.”
“Honey,” Bette laughed. “You’re the farthest thing from chickenshit. Don’t sell yourself short. You just gotta go out there and remember who you are,” she said simply, looking pleased with herself for offering such sage advice. “You’re a strong Southern woman who takes no nonsense,” she insisted. “Make this an adventure, Dellie. Don’t hide behind your computer.”
I stared up at the ceiling, wondering, not for the first time, when I’d let my life get so out of balance. When I’d stopped seeking new adventures and started hiding from them.
Bette was right. I’d been allowing myself to hide behind my computer, and it was time to stop.
Could I afford a vacation, though?
Airfare, a place to stay, food…all of that would be hugely expensive, especially if I was to take everyone’s suggestion and go somewhere for a month.
And besides that, where would I go? After all, I lived in Florida, in a part of the state that people regularly flocked to for vacation, shelling out thousands and thousands of dollars to lie on the sugary white sand of our famous beaches. We walked the fine line of still being part of the Deep South, with some very traditional Southern ways of thinking and living, even while so many people heard the word Florida and immediately envisioned places like Miami or Ft. Lauderdale, where the glitterati ruled and the air of sophisticated living was tempered only by the high population of the retirement communities. Here, we had Southern culture, lived a more slow-paced life, ate the food steeped in the traditions of the South. We said Ma’am and Sir and respected our elders. We welcomed visitors with open arms, still very much accustomed to showing people Southern hospitality.
In short, I was trying to plan a vacation away from the very place that many people vacationed to.
As I lay there in the dark, my mind was devoid of ideas. Sure, there were all kinds of places I’d always dreamed of going, but I couldn’t afford any of them—not for a weekend, let alone a whole month.
I closed my eyes and shifted under the covers, savoring the feeling of being snuggled up in bed. With the odd hours I kept, I didn’t spend much time between the sheets, but when I was there, it was like heaven.
Think, Dellie, I ordered my brain. If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?
To the bathroom.
The thought came so suddenly it almost made me giggle, which, given my current circumstances, would probably test my bladder far beyond its limits.
I tossed aside the bedsheet and blanket and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, fighting back a grumble of frustration that was forming over my forced departure from the comfort of my bed, even if it was only a momentary one.
I flicked the light switch and blinked rapidly as my eyes tried to adjust to the harsh brightness. I tripped over my own feet as I blindly made my way further into the bathroom and somehow managed to knock over a small bottle of perfume I’d had resting on a narrow shelf above the towel bar. The stopper fell out; and perfume began to pour onto the shelf before I could set it upright again, releasing the heady scent of a fragrance that I’d never worn, one that my grandmother had loved while she was alive.
“No!” I howled, reaching for the upended bottle and trying to stop the spill before every drop was lost. I’d been foolish to place such a top-heavy bottle in such a precarious position on such a narrow shelf, but it was so pretty that I’d wanted to put it somewhere that I could see it and be reminded of my grandmother. My cramped little bathroom needed all the decorative help it could get, and the elegant, sparkling bottle had seemed the perfect way to spruce things up just a bit.
“No, no, no!” I moaned, seeing that there was only the smallest amount left. The liquid that had pooled onto the shelf began dripping onto the floor.
I was about to let out another whimper when a thought shot through my mind.
Grammie’s.
I wanted to go to Grammie’s.
Not that she was there anymore, but that was the way I would always think
