One week from today we'll be waking up in Bonaire on our first morning. Yikes! All I see right now is all I have to do to get to that point. My stomach is in knots.
"Necklace, Mister? Only fifteen guilders." Jack pushed away the dark brown hand that thrust the shell necklace at him. One look at his face and the middle-aged woman vendor withdrew her hand and took a step back. His eyes, icy blue and darting from side to side, kept everyone at bay. It was obvious he was searching for someone and everyone who saw him as he threaded a path through the dawdling cruise ship passengers in Queen Wilhelmina park across from the Town Pier was glad he wasn't looking for them. He smoked the harsh island cigarettes one after another. Just another reason to wreak revenge on Manning, Jack thought. Eight years of not smoking and within a month on this God-forsaken outpost of an island, he was back smoking over a pack a day. Damned Manning. And damned Mona for nagging him about it.
The plot thickens, or the characters emerge, or some such cliche. Are you writing? See you tomorrow night.
--Barbara
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