Page 38 of Love Overboard
Dear Lacey-bell,
No matter how big you get, you’ll always be my little girl. Happy birthday. I hope it’s full of many surprises.
Love,
Dad
A bitter lump rose in her throat. It tasted all too familiar. She’d experienced it countless times throughout her life, whenever her father consistently proved how little he knew her. She hated being called Lacey-bell. She hated pink. And most of all, she hated surprises. Thanks to her dad’s impulsive, immature decisions, she’d experienced way too many of them.
Routine, stability, safety. Those were the things that gave her comfort.
The floodgates threatened to crumble. She drew in a deep breath and wiped the moisture from her lashes. That’s when she saw them. Five feet away, Gerry and Emily stretched out on deck chairs overlooking the ocean. Lacey walked to a nearby trash can, pitched everything but the new shirt in, and advanced toward the women.
Emily spotted her and hopped up. She darted between the chairs and scuttled in the opposite direction. Gerry sat with a novel in one hand and a red pen in the other, so she didn’t see Lacey’s approach.
Lacey stopped in front of the chair and crossed her arms as Emily disappeared through the double glass doors in the distance. “Your fearless leader is avoiding me.” She stared down her nose at the remaining older woman.
Gerry’s shoulders jumped, but her voice remained calm. “Wouldn’t you run, if it were you?”
“So you admit it?” Lacey crowded closer. “You admit it was a setup.”
“I admit nothing.” Gerry raised her slender chin and turned a page.
“Whose idea was it to lock us in the closet?”
“Someone locked you in a closet?” A guileless expression shone through her reading glasses. “You poor thing.”
Lacey eyed her, but Gerry’s attention reverted to her book. The CIA could use a tough cookie like her for covert ops. An undeniable fondness surged for the quirky ladies.
She leaned over and saw red markings on the pages. “Are you highlighting the steamy parts?”
“I’m editing.” Gerry clicked the top of her ballpoint pen and tossed the book in the bag at her side. “Four misspellings. What kind of proofreaders are they hiring?”
“Do you do this for fun?” Lacey sank onto the chair beside her and reclined. “Or do you actually send your edits to the company?”
“I send them. When they reprint it, they can fix the mistakes. Making me a laughingstock to all my former coworkers. What kind of librarian can’t utilize proper spelling in her own book?”
“Wait.” Lacey sat straight. “Her own book?” She reached into the bag, grabbed the novel, and checked the author’s name. “This says it was written by Dina La Rue.”
“Otherwise known as Geraldine Paroo.”
Lacey flipped to the back cover and saw quotes from reviewers praising the story. “Is this your first one?”
“Sixth.”
“What? Were the others published?”
“Yep. Last three hit the New York Times Best Sellers list.”
“Wow.” Lacey returned the novel to her. “All this time, I thought you were working on the same book.”
Gerry laughed as she stuffed it in the bag. “Everyone does. Althea teases me daily about my unfinished masterpiece.”
“Why write under a pen name? If I published a book, I’d brag to anyone who’d listen.”
“That’s a little complicated.” Gerry squirmed on her lounge chair and pulled off her spectacles. “Can you guess what the first advice they give in writing class is?”
Lacey shook her head.
