Page 62 of Reel Love

I step outside, making sure I’m out of earshot and then I answer the call from Joel.

“Hey, Joel. What’s up?”

“Hey.” His voice sounds raspy and he’s congested. “I got sick. Airplanes, man. And sleeping in that airport. You’re breathing everyone else’s air. The germs travel from all over and we just share them in the airplane. It’s a wonder all travelers don’t get sick more often.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Can I bring you anything?”

“Nah. I’m good. But I do need something from you.”

“I’m free for the rest of the day. What do you need?”

“Layna gets a routine Trader Joe’s order. I run to Ventura to pick it up for her once a week.”

“You do her shopping?”

“Once a week. Trader Joe’s. If she needs something else, I get that too. She has a lot of stuff shipped here, but some things she can only find on the mainland. I bring all those things to her in a weekly delivery.”

“You want me to go shopping for her?”

“Yeah, man. If you can.” He moves his mouth away from the phone and coughs.

“Sure. I’m glad to.”

“Great. Brigitte will send you the list.”

“You sure you don’t need anything? Mom would make her bone broth chicken noodle soup in a heartbeat if I asked.”

“That doesn’t sound bad, actually. But I hate to impose.”

“She lives to be the mother hen to as many island guys as she can. You know that. Let her do this for you.”

“Okay, man. I will. Thanks for pitching in. I’ll text Brigitte and she’ll get you what you need.”

I think Joel’s going to hang up, but then he asks. “How’d it go, anyway?”

“Driving the woman we call Layna?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. It was good.”

“She’s special, huh? Surprisingly normal for a woman of her status.”

“Yeah. She is. All that.”

I take off from the shack, clean up and take Joel’s boat to Ventura after Brigitte sends me a list. She also sends me Alana’s private address on the island, along with a stern reminder that I’m not to ever tell a soul where this house is, or that I’ve been there. I would never, but I appreciate the fierceness of Brigitte’s loyalty and protection of Alana.

Five hours after I left the shack, I’m driving a golf cart up into the remote hills on the North Shore. The properties here are spread out. Many of the residences are tucked back so you can’t even see the primary dwelling from the road. The trees grow thicker here, providing shade and privacy. At the peak of a winding road, I see the address I’m looking for. A wrought iron gate with a call box outside it blocks the driveway. I punch in the code Brigitte sent me. The gate swings open and I drive the rest of the way up to the house.

The home appears to be one level on the front, a small stoop leading to an extra-tall door with panes of glass going from top to bottom. Around the side of the house, there’s a deck which is built on stilts supported on the hill that runs down that side of the property. There’s a lower level below the deck which I don’t explore, since it’s obviously not my place to scope out her home.

I grab two of the three paper bags full of groceries out of theback of the cart and walk to the front door. Alana’s already opening the door before my finger hits the doorbell.

She smiles at me. “Security alert on my phone.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“Thank you for running this errand for me. I hate to put you out.”

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