8.

Peg was lying back with outstretched arms on the white down comforter of her queen-sized waterbed. Sam, on the terrace, wrote in a black leather-bound notebook. Music carried through the open door. The sun was bright and hot.
"This song reminds me of my father," she yelled. Pulling her hands to her side, she pushed herself off the bed. "This part: 'Take the boat out, wait until darkness, let's take the boat out, wait until darkness comes.'" Sam liked the sound of her voice. She sat near him and said, "That and another part about being in Daddy's arms again. When I lived in Maine, before my parents split up, we had a boat."
"Where in Maine?"
"Presque Isle. We lived on the water and had this old boathouse. I dream about it all the time." She closed her eyes. "'Anne, with her father is out in the boat, riding the water, riding the waves on the sea.' Wow. This song was written with me in mind, I swear."
"Where's your father now?"
"He died almost a year ago."
"Oh I'm sorry."
"No that's alright. I've seen him only twice since him and my mom got divorced, which was about twenty years ago."
"What did he do?"
"He had a company called World Exports which he moved to the Caribbean ten years ago. He built this house, and left it to me and my sister Pam."
"How old is Pam?"
"What are you taking notes? Thirty-one. Two years younger than me."
"Married?"
She smiled. "Yes. With three kids. Jimmy, Sarah, and Hannah. That's Hannah with an 'h'. Sarah too." She brought both elbows up to the table. She rested her chin on her fingertips. "Pam's very beautiful.
You'd like her a lot. No nonsense. Very stable. Doesn't take any shit.
"Sounds like you."
She laughed. "No way. I'm a basket-case. I let people run all over me."
"Didn't sound like it on the phone this morning."
Pulling her hair back she said, "That was Alec. He's a fool. You should have seen me after Paul left. I never stood up to him. Never."
"You don't seem at all submissive."
"Well, I'm not. Or at least now I'm not. I've started to wake up a lot. Pam talked to me after Paul left. She got me to move down here. She got me to start writing again."
"Write what? What do you write?"
"Nothing. Just some poems and stuff. I keep a journal."
"Really."
She sat back. She crossed her arms. "Don't sound so surprised."
"No, it's just you've never mentioned that to me before."
"Well it's not important. I'm not like you, always writing at bars and talking about it all the time. It's something I do for me. It's more private."
Sam put his pen down. "Maybe you're afraid people won't like it."
"That's not it at all. I just do it for me. Other people would think it was too vague."
"Sounds like fear."
"Fine." She stood up. "I'll show you." She went into her bedroom, opened a drawer beside her bed, and took out a blue writing book. She walked back with it. "Here."
"Nice." He was looking at the cover. "I recognize this painting." Several shades of hazy blue surrounded floating white flowers.
"That's Water Lilies by Monet. I was in a bookstore in Manhattan the day before I came to Saint Thomas a year ago when I found this."
She opened the journal and showed him the first page. "The three words at the top were written in it by someone else."
He read, "You may begin."
She began paging through the book. "I was a wreck when I first got here. I was out of my brain. Pam was really worried when I was staying
with her. God I miss her."
"She lives in Manhattan?"
"Yeah. I loved it there. So many interesting people. She has many cool friends."
"Where in Manhattan?"
"Uh, 79th and Broadway. The Apthorpe."
"I lived in the West Village."
"Here." She gave him the journal, pointing to a passage. "Here's what I was like when I first got to this house. The first two weeks I never went out. All I did was read books, get tan, and drink."

..

"Well it's not vague. Pretty damn exact if you ask me." He put the journal on the table. "I've been feeling like this for days, like I'm
waking up again. Where did you get the idea that it's vague."
"Paul used to say that." She laughed. "I used to write before I met him." Picking up Sam's pen, she looked at the digital clock on its tip. "Is this real time?"
"Yes."
"I'm late for work. Can you give me a ride to the Greenhouse?"
"Sure."
"Great. Thanks." She went in to her bedroom with her journal."
"Where are you staying anyway?"
"Nowhere yet. My bags are still in the car."
"Well, I'll tell you what." She put the journal in the drawer. "You can use my couch and save some money if you chauffeur me to work. Alec was my ride for a while. How long are you staying in Saint Thomas?"
"I don't know. A week?"
"Were you going to stay at a hotel?"
"Yeah. The Lime Tree. I had reservations."
Searching through a pile of unsorted laundry she said, "You could break them. I could really use the company."
"Sure. Thanks. That'd be great."
"Good." She found a green tee shirt with the Greenhouse logo on it.
"Now wait downstairs. I've got to get dressed."
"No problem." He closed his notebook and came in with it. At the top of the stairs he stopped. "Hey Peg." He turned.
She was standing in front of a mirror, with her bare back to him. Through another mirror, he watched her slim breasts and waist as she slipped on her shirt. No tan lines. Her body was an even brown.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." He started downstairs. "It can wait."