I put it on.
I made a fresh cup of coffee.
I went out on the porch.
I sat down in my chair.
And I watched the pelicans come back.
Melissa called the next morning.
At 7:15.
Not 4:58. Not pounding on my door.
7:15. A phone call.
“Morgan,” she said. “It’s Mel.”
“Hi, Mel.”
“Poppy wants to know,” she said. “If you’d like to come to breakfast. At the resort. There’s a chocolate fountain.”
She paused.
“And I want to know too,” she said. “If you’d come. If it’s okay. If you’re not busy.”
Another pause.
“You can say no,” she said.
I sat on my porch with my coffee.
Looking at the ocean.
“Yes,” I said. “I’d like that.”
That was eight months ago.
My parents live in a two-bedroom cottage in Southern Shores. Fifteen minutes from my house. Dana found it. A retired doctor’s place. He spends winters in Florida.
