Page 32 of Sometimes You Stay

Probably not as long as it would take to get her new electronics.

Selecting the express delivery of her items, she held her breath.

Seven to ten days.

She let out a hard sigh between tight lips.

Any way she looked at it, she was stuck on this island. Waiting. Which was not her strong suit. Or even her weak suit. Waiting was not in her skill set. Not anymore anyway.

She’d spent too many years waiting for something better to come along. For something to happen. For her mom to change.

An image of the brown stucco house just north of the Mexican border flashed across her mind’s eye. She could order the items to ship there and meet them.

The idea landed on her chest like a brick. Her mother’s house was not a possibility. No matter how many times she begged Cretia to come back. Which was pretty much every time she called home—every few months.

Even though Cretia sometimes said she would try to visit, she never had. And she probably never would.

Cretia could be stuck there. Stuck in that little house filled with too many things. Too many memories.

Or she could be stuck here, forced to stay on an island at a cute B and B in the middle of tourist country, down the road from a couple of precious baby goats and squishy puppies. It was a far cry from staying on a dead-end road in a house that barely had room for her. Even for a short time. But the reality didn’t stop her insides from wrenching.

Staying in North Rustico wasn’t the same as living with her mom all those years ago. It wasn’t.

It only felt like that.

Sliding a piece of paper with a bank letterhead out of her way, she rested her elbows on the edge of the desk and pressed her hands to her face. A bead of sweat trickled down the middle of her forehead, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand.

This whole situation wasn’t ideal. She could accept that.

But given the choice, she’d pick the Sahara over San Luis. And this tiny village was a far cry from either of those deserts.

She’d wanted to feature the island anyway. With at least a week in the area, she’d have time to find the hidden gems and explore things she would have missed in her planned two-day trip.

Sitting up a little straighter, she clicked on the cart on the screen. This wasn’t wasted time. She wouldn’t let it be.

“How’s it going?” Finn’s question came from right behind her, followed almost immediately by Joe’s chin plopping on her knee.

She looked up, forcing a smile into place. “Do you know the mailing address of the Red Door Inn?”

Eight

Cretia couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t known what to do with her day. Or if sheeverhadn’t. Probably not.

As a kid there had been school and survival. Those were the only things she’d been able to focus on. There had been part-time jobs, a flurry of them, during high school. All overlapping. All to barely keep the swamp cooler running. Then that fateful trip—her first cruise. Nannying for twin seven-year-olds while their parents enjoyed the sun, surf, and casinos.

Those days on the boat had been scheduled down to the minute. But the few seconds she’d found to film the Mexican Riviera had changed her life. Every day since then she’d either been planning a trip or taking it, filming or editing her videos, building her platform or connecting with followers.

Every day had a plan.

Until this one.

Out of habit, she reached for her phone, only to have her fingertips skim the wooden surface of the nightstand.

Right. No phone. The reason for having no plan.

She fell back against the deliciously cozy pillows on the bed in her room at the Red Door and pulled a quilt covered with phrases from L.M. Montgomery’s books to her chin. She had to take Marie’s word on that since she’d never actually read a book by the island’s famed author. A few clothbound books on the bookshelf across the room suggested she wouldn’t have to go far to brush up on all things Anne.

But not today. Today she needed to figure out what to do with the week that loomed before her.

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