This is good.
February 19--Bora-Bora. Sylvie looked over the side of the sailboat at the water. It was so shallow that it was clear with only a hint of greenish-blue and the tiny, even wind-ripples were the only evidence that there was water there at all. Andre had sailed them into this bay on the morning tide threading through the cut in the barrier reef with an escort of blacktip sharks that swam in for their morning hunt. Sylvie had watched as the squadron of five large gray shapes swam in formation until they had entered the calm waters of Leeward Bay and then the outer fish had peeled off to patrol the top of the inner reef alert to any unwary fish they could devour. Andre had heard that the shallows of this remote bay had good fishing and insisted that they stop so he could see for himself. She put two liters of water and a bag of watermelon chunks into her bag and pulled on a t-shirt dress over her bikini bottoms. She grabbed a hat and her beach shoes, then slid over the side into the knee-deep water to wade to shore. After a walk around the perimeter of the two-acre island, she planned to read and doze in the sun while Andre fished. An hour later at the end of an easy stroll around the island beach she was staggered to come back to her bag only to find an empty bay before her. No sailboat was in sight, no sails on the horizon, no laughing Andre casting his line into the water. She was alone.
Okay. This will definitely be tackled as soon as I need a break from organizing my novel. Happy Saturday. I have to work. *think of your paycheck, your nice fat paycheck*
--Barbara
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