Resorting To The Truth. Lisa Dyson
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than a conference by myself. I’ll call Charlotte now.”
* * *
CHARLOTTE SWITCHED THE phone to her other ear as she walked barefoot across her living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen. “A vacation? Now? I don’t know, Allie. I’m not really in the mood for traveling.”
“Come on,” Allie persisted. “You’ll have a great time. When was the last time you took a vacation?”
“It’s been a while,” she admitted reluctantly. Probably some time before Charlotte’s mother had been diagnosed with cancer a year and a half ago. Charlotte didn’t count the emotional weekend at the beach she’d spent with her mother after the doctors had confirmed her mom had only a few months left to live. Plenty of time for her mother to have shared what she knew about Charlotte’s twin sister.
“All the more reason you should go.”
Charlotte had never vacationed alone. What would she do? She didn’t even go to movies by herself or dine in a restaurant at a table for one. That’s what Netflix and drive-throughs were for. “Thanks anyway. I appreciate the thought.”
“Come on, Charlotte, you know you want to go. You need this. Take the time to relax and get a fresh perspective.”
Could she resist such a fabulous opportunity? “I have so much to do,” Charlotte lamented. “I’m showing again next month, and I still have three more pieces I want to add to my inventory. I haven’t even started them.”
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you had beautiful sunset vistas, as well as birds and trees and a bunch of other stuff for inspiration?”
Charlotte realized she was smiling at the thought, and her adrenaline kicked in. She was known for her pastels, but she’d been in a creative downswing from the moment of her mother’s diagnosis, stuck on charcoal as her preferred medium. The stark black with shades of gray on a white background echoed her current view of the world. Things had gotten worse after reading her mother’s letter.
“Is your computer nearby?” Allie asked. “I just sent you some pics of the private island, Sapodilla Cay, off the Florida coast.”
Charlotte reluctantly pulled up the pictures on her laptop. Unexpectedly, the myriad of colors in the tropical island sunset called to her. “I have been hoping to get back into pastels and—”
“You can have a working vacation.” Allie took Charlotte’s comment as agreement. “Pack your art supplies and your bathing suit. I’ll email you the ticket so you can check in. The flight leaves at noon tomorrow.”
Charlotte laughed. The situation was absurd. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You deserve it. You’ve been there for me. I couldn’t have gotten that Fairleigh account without your help, not to mention meeting Jack. Please let me do this for you. Let us—Jack and me—do this for you.”
Charlotte hesitated, but the pull of the ocean views nagged her. “This is really sweet of you, Allie. You’re such a thoughtful sister. I guess—”
“I told Jack I could convince you.” Allie’s voice came through loud and clear before Charlotte could actually agree. “Go do whatever you need to do to get ready.”
“Thank you, Allie.”
“You’re very welcome. That’s what sisters are for.”
The thought saddened her again—exactly the opposite of Allie’s intent. But Charlotte couldn’t help thinking how many years they’d missed as sisters, thanks to her mother.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Charlotte wanted to crawl back into bed. She’d barely slept after going over all the details of this crazy, unexpected vacation. Partly because she was determined to enjoy the experience and leave her grief and anger behind, but mainly because she was sure she should skip the trip and stay home.
She had stayed up way too late figuring out what to pack and what to wear on the plane. October in Rhode Island made a coat a necessity, but the temps in Fort Lauderdale and on the island would be too warm for more than a light jacket. Would the evenings on the island be cool this time of year because of the ocean breeze? She’d checked the weather app on her phone, but knew temperature wouldn’t tell the complete story that close to the ocean. She settled for layers since she always froze on airplanes when they reached cruising altitude.
Not that she’d done a whole lot of flying. Occasionally, she’d needed to fly to get to galleries where her art was being shown. Beyond that, she’d traveled by car and twice by train.
Once she had sorted out her wardrobe and realized how late it was, she had been terrified she’d sleep through her alarm clock. Not that she usually did, but because of that, she had woken every hour and then had finally gotten up twenty minutes before her alarm had gone off.
Charlotte was ready early, pacing in front of the window while she waited for the driver to arrive at her small, historic home. Less than a year ago, she’d used some of her considerable inheritance from her mother to buy the home she’d fallen in love with the moment she’d seen it. Having Jack as her friend and neighbor across the street was an additional perk.
Allie had offered to drive Charlotte to the airport, but she’d declined. Allie and Jack had done enough by sending her on this trip. There was no need for either of them to drive forty-five minutes from Providence to Newport on a workday, and then drive Charlotte another forty-five minutes back to the Providence airport.
Allie had forwarded the e-ticket to Charlotte, as well as a detailed itinerary for the trip. She’d need to figure out what it had cost them so she could repay them the entire amount. Allie had offered the trip as a gift, but Charlotte planned to foot the bill herself. Allie wasn’t financially stable yet, so Charlotte didn’t want her sister, or Jack, to spend money on her. Between her inheritance from her mother and her successful art career, Charlotte was financially comfortable.
She checked her watch. The car was now ten minutes late. The longer she had to wait for her driver, the more she had second thoughts about the trip. It wasn’t too late to back out.
But if she backed out, she’d have to explain to Allie and Jack why. She racked her brain but couldn’t come up with a viable reason. Telling them she didn’t feel like it wasn’t going to work.
She reviewed her mental list for about the tenth time. Tickets, casual summer clothes that had been packed away for the winter, sunglasses, phone and charger, sunscreen, as well as her e-reader with several novels she hadn’t had time to read. Her carry-on was filled with her art supplies to prevent loss or damage in transit. She was also careful to make sure there was nothing in her carry-on that might be confiscated by airport security.
She was about to call the car company to make sure she hadn’t given them the wrong time when a black town car pulled up to the curb. Charlotte stepped out the front door onto the porch to wave to the driver. Her suitcase and carry-on were already on the porch and she started down the steps with them to the sidewalk.
“Morning, Miss Harrington. I’ll take those.” The driver came around the car. His hat shadowed his face as he took her bags.
“Good morning. I just need to lock my door.” She smiled, slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the front door behind her.
This was going to happen. She nearly missed a step in her excitement, and she grabbed on to the wooden railing to steady herself.
Before she knew it, she was seated in a window seat on the airplane, on her way to Fort Lauderdale where she’d take a ferry to Sapodilla Cay.
For someone pretty cautious, she discovered that since there was no turning back, she was actually excited about this new adventure.
* * *
SAM BRITON STOOD on the private island’s dock next to the gleaming fifty-six-foot yacht named For My Grandkids. The Blaise Enterprises logo was prominently displayed just below