December 5--Paul Signac, Evening Calm, Concarneau, Opus 220. Claire walked along the pebble beach, not seeing the sunlight dancing like diamonds on the choppy water in the bay. She didn't hear the shouts of the children playing or the calls of the parents to come and get packed for home. All she heard was the voice in her head repeating, where's Mason, where can he have gone? Three days since he kissed her goodbye to go visit a winery someplace up in the hills behind the little cottage they'd rented across the street from the town beach. She had been too focused on her writing, too frustrated by characters who weren't doing what she wanted to pay close attention to what he'd said. Had he meant to be away for days? Why wasn't he answering his cellphone? The police were no help. They said that it wasn't against the law for an adult man to "move on." They had eyed her too familiarly, making rude faces and laughing when she'd shouted at them.
That's not good, I mean for her, not good for her. Although I suddenly wonder if there's really a Mason at all. Wouldn't that be an excellent twist? Better write that down. Okay, kiddos, I'm off to do what I mostly always do. I'm thinking of taking my sewing machine to work with me today since I "goofed off" all day yesterday with Durwood and didn't get any presents made... maybe I will. Have a nice day. God, that's lame.