The Lost - J. D. Robb [74]
“Shall we go in?”
Sonoma backs up in the water, tail wagging. She loves transitions, anything new. I was the same way. I fold my chair, tuck my phone in my pocket, the real estate contract I was reading under my arm. Put on my water sandals. It’s such a pretty day. Maybe we’ll go on a hike this afternoon—Shenandoah National Park is our backyard. “Ready?” Sonoma and I set off across the rocky shallows, and of course I’m extra alert, setting each foot down with care, wary of slipperiness. We reach the shore without mishap.
Sometimes I try to catch her off guard.
“Who saved Monica, Sonoma? Hmm? Who saved her, girl, you or me?”
Her ears twitch at her name and my questioning tone. She looks at me in happy blankness.
We start the climb to the cabin. I think of another trick.
“Hey, Sonoma! How would you like to be spayed? Huh? Do you wanna be spayed?”
I can’t believe my eyes! Her tail sags—her ears flatten.
“No?” My heart skips a beat or two. “You don’t want to be spayed?”
She shakes her head so violently, her ears sound like cards shuffling.
“Okay,” I say, shaky-voiced. “Okay, then. Don’t worry; we won’t.”
Now what? Did that just happen?
“I’m actually having the same dilemma,” I tell her as we proceed up the path. “Not getting spayed—getting pregnant. Sam and I, we’re talking about it. He’s for it, but, you know, trying to sound neutral. What do you think?”
But she’s through communicating. She’s got her nose buried in something stinky on the ferny wood floor. When she finishes smelling it, she pees on it.
So I am left, once again, to imagine what my dog thinks. It’s not as satisfying as knowing for sure, but since she’s the best of me I can never go far wrong—in ethical quandaries, tough decisions, tricky situations. I just ask myself, “What would Sonoma do?”
Lost in Paradise
MARY BLAYNEY
One
SUMMER 2009
ISLA PER DIDA
LESSER ANTILLES
“We should not have come. The curse will never die.” Father Joubay blessed himself as he spoke.
“A curse? What curse?” Why in the world would he say that? Isabelle wondered. It was a gorgeous day. The boat chugged its way through calm water clear to the seabed, filled with fish and sea grass.
The sky ahead was as blue as a sky could be, the island they were headed to as lush as one expected in the Caribbean. The air was warm. The old fort that loomed over the bay was the only thing that kept the shore from looking like a postcard picture of a tropical paradise. The home of the mysterious Sebastian Dushayne. A man who owned an island and lived in luxury. But a man Google had never heard of.
When Isabelle Reynaud turned to question Father Joubay, she saw that he was not looking at their destination, but was mesmerized by something behind them.
Isabelle looked toward the wake of the boat and drew in a sharp breath of shock. The sky on the far horizon was darkening with astonishing speed. Even as she watched, the rapidly building clouds eclipsed the late-afternoon light.
“How can there be a storm from the west? The weather never comes from the west here.” Isabelle folded her hands in front of her heart. “It’s only a squall.”
The boat lost its smooth momentum. The engine still ran steadily but the increasingly choppy waves made the going rough.
“Squalls pass quickly.” Please God. Isabelle breathed the prayer as the waves around them grew.