Page 54 of SEAL Mates

He laughed, “You’re so fucking sensitive. It was a joke. Look I’ll make the pancakes and give you a little of the Irish whiskey and see if you like it. Maybe try something new. Maybe that’s the reason you have writer’s block.”

I agreed with him, I’d had it for so long that I knew if I didn’t do something and write soon that I would never write again.

“You see this is the shitty thing about stopping writing. It is good to have that momentum. Write every day, even if it’s just a few words or even twenty minutes. Every word counts because the moment you stop, it’s like you’ve lost your rhythm.”

I was talking to him, but he was too busy putting his magic and making his pancakes to sit and give me the full attention that I was craving right now. As I sat back on the stool and realized he had a point. Maybe I did need to try something new.

“Not writing to a writer is like being constipated all the time. I hate it. I don’t know, you would think that the more you write, the easier it would be.”

He shook his head, as he flipped over a couple and put them on a plate for me.

“You would think that seeing as I’ve been fixing cars for the past three years, that it would be a piece of cake. Sometimes when I get a motor that’s a classic or different to what I’m completely used to fixing, this when the challenge begins, and when I get a fucking kick out of fixing that motor. What’s wrong with it? What beauty lies beneath the bonnet!”

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, as he described fixing a car, and then a smile came on my face as he scooped at the Häagen-Dazs Butter Pecan and gently placed it in the middle of the pancakes. Then he sprayed cream around it. It felt as if it was too pretty to eat, but the craving I had for the cake was washed away and tears of laughter once again came over me, as he took out the bottle of whiskey.

“Say no more!”

I laughed, as he pulled up to me, ready to eat and we both had our glasses with the shot that he promised of whiskey, but it wasn’t any ordinary whiskey. It was called Writer’s Tears.

“Cheers!” He laughed as both our glasses touched and then I tucked into the pancakes, ice cream and cream. He wasn’t kidding, no more did I think about the cake, it became a lost memory.

* * *

Three shots of whisky and two helpings of pancakes, and I was ready to write. I checked the time, and it was approaching two. Blake had to be up in about three hours to get going with the search party. He wanted to sleep in my room, but I wanted to write. I knew that if he did, I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to have his strong fingers all over my body.

No. I had to write.

I couldn’t put it off any longer, and as the words started to flow and no more did I have to think about what to write, it started to hit home.

Maybe Blake was right, I needed to drink more and think less for the words to start flowing, like they were at the moment.

* * *

I slept a maximum of two hours, that was as much as I could do given the current circumstances. I kept thinking about the many hours they’d spent searching and still nothing.

I let out a deep breath forgetting that I wasn’t alone, and that I was in the presence of company.

“If you’re tired, all you have to do is say and then we can continue here,” Rose, the owner of the bakery where we were making sandwiches for the search party. She’d lived here all her life, and she was one of the first women in the bakery to allow me to help out. The others weren’t so keen.

“Do they want me to leave again?” I nodded in the direction of the two ladies, who I never bothered to find out their names, but they looked like the typical Stepford wives, with their aprons on around their waists, perfect make-up, two kids each and their husbands were respected businessmen in the community.

She shook her head. “No. It’s not that. It’s just that you look so unhappy.”

“A child is lost. I mean. Not even lost, that part I could deal with, but she was taken from her home. You’re a mom too, you must know that it must be heartbreaking for that to happen to you.”

She nodded in agreement, and then she took my arm and moved me to the side. Her pearls bounced off her chest and as they did, I remembered that she wore them everywhere. She said that it was the best present her husband had ever given her, and she would wear them all the time, until the day she died.

Ed, her husband helped her out in the bakery. He said that he retired from running a business a long time ago. He wanted to spend time with his wife, but unfortunately she didn’t feel the same.

“Yes, even with my kids being grown I still think of them as babies, but we do what we have to do. If you think the worst, it’s only going to happen. This is why I try to keep my spirits up, because I think of the best not the worst. If something does happen to that little girl then that would be a different thing.”

I took her words of wisdom as she wrapped an arm around my waist to hug me. Then I lowered my head, to touch hers, as I absorbed her words and didn’t argue or disagree.

“You’ve been a real Godsend Paula, but it seems not only for the guys, but for you too.”

Her observation shocked me. We’d spoken before today, about the weather, how long I was in town and the popular conversation I embark on whenever I tell people that I am a writer and the ask the same question all the time, ´What’s the name of your book?´I told Rose and not only did she read one, but all three.

“Why do you say that?” I moved away from her. Her make-up was perfect as it was every morning, she didn’t show her age, whatever it was, but made sure she kept up appearances with her dark blazer, pink shirt and matching pants. In a way she was one of the older version of the Stepford wives, but a nicer version. One that I could get to know better, if I lived in town.

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