Skipping Seashells

Chapter One

I grabbed an armful of dishes off the table and made my way back to the kitchen. Taking in the room slowly, I let out a breath of relief, everything was going so well. When Paul had suggested hosting a brunch to raise money for the reserve, I'd rolled my eyes, knowing full well he wouldn't lift a finger to actually help run it. What he was really suggesting was that Annie and I take over completely. We'd plan it, cook, clean, do it all, while he took credit for the idea. He hadn't even helped set up this morning, strolling in five minutes before we opened the doors.

Still, I had to hand it to him, it was a great idea. And Annie and I had pulled it off. We worked well together. Paul knew this small island town like the back of his hand. He knew there was nothing more enticing to Florida retirees than a good brunch. And we needed the money, desperately.

Sanibel Island is mostly wildlife reserves with a small town tucked in at the far end. Our island acts as a buffer between the mainland and the waves, which means each year we lose a little more land to the sea. We barely made it through hurricane season this year. Now we needed funds to repair everything the storms had taken before the busy summer season hit.

I worked at probably the smallest, and poorest, reserve on the island. Our main source of income came from the guided tours Paul and I led during the summer. We'd walk guests through marshes and ponds, giving them a glimpse of the peaceful life we lived here on Sanibel before they returned to their nine-to-fives in glass buildings, their ties tightening like nooses.

I looked down at my ripped jeans and muddy boots, my Sanibel Sanctuary and Reserve t-shirt stained with dirt. I brushed some of it off with a sigh. Tourist season was coming. I just hoped the brunch had raised enough to fix the trails.

Annie had been sick with worry every night, hunched over the office laptop, muttering about where we could cut costs. Staff whispered about layoffs daily.

At least I didn't have to worry about that. Annie had taken me under her wing years ago, when I was just sixteen. We had an unspoken agreement, I helped her out for free, and in return, she let me live in the old groundskeeper's cabin. It beat paying rent, and I loved working on the reserve. Not that she could legally hire me anyway. I didn't have the paperwork, no name, no birth certificate. Too much red tape. Our deal worked, so we kept it hush-hush.

I stepped back into the dining room, where most people were still mingling and catching up. Nearly every face turned and greeted me with an easy smile or a wave. Gary, the local mailman, tipped his cap. Joyce from the island bookstore gave me a thumbs-up. Even Cal, who ran the marina, called out something about the eggs benedict. I nodded politely, offering the bare minimum, a half-smile here, a grunt there. They were all friendly, but I wasn't here for friendship.

I couldn't help but smile a little at old man Jack telling a loud story to a group of retirees. That man could spin a tale better than most authors. I quickly turned away before he noticed me. I wasn't in the mood to be pulled into his orbit.

I headed into the back office, the buzz of the crowd fading behind me. I loved the calm here. I wasn't like Paul, schmoozing with old ladies for donations, or Annie, expertly signing people up for annual memberships. "It even lets you bring a guest!" she'd say with a smile. Me? I just belonged here, on this island.

The quiet settled over me, and before I knew it, my eyes fluttered closed. Sleep had a way of finding me here when it couldn't anywhere else.

_____

I came home from the grocery store to a silent house. My arms ached from carrying the bags, and I set them down gently, listening. The air was too still, the lights off. Something was wrong. The leftover balloons from my birthday party still floated near the ceiling, bobbing quietly like they were holding their breath.