She walked into a large room where the front desk and concierge resided, the sound of the waterwall already washing away the stress. “My, my, my . . . look at this place.”
“Are you Ms. Harris?” a brunette asked as she extended her hand.
“Mrs.,” Winnie corrected. It was still Mrs. to her.
“I’m sorry about that.”
Winnie patted the woman’s bony arm. “Honey, not a thing to worry about. And aren’t you a breath of Southern sunshine. Where are you from, darlin’?”
She smiled. “Charleston. I’m Riley Sinclair. I’m the head of guest relations here.”
“Well, Miss Riley Sinclair from Charleston, I love the low country. Shrimp and grits, low-country boils. Can’t you tell I know where the good food is? And speaking of good food, if we’re going to apologize for anything, it needs to be the fact that you pass by food every day and don’t eat it. You’ve been here too long.”
Riley laughed again. “Well, I’ll make sure I do better with that.”
“You need to. Really, honey, men don’t want to marry scrawny chickens. They want hens with breasts and thighs and meat on their bones. Not that I even know if you want to get married or not. Shoot, you might already be married, but if you’re not, you really need to think about putting the fork to your lips, sweetheart. I mean seriously.” She came up for air. Then drew her hand up quickly to her lips. “Now I’m sorry,” she mumbled from behind her hot pink fingernail polish and then dropped her hand. “I tell kids what to do all day long. I doubt you needed to know a bit of what I thought.”
“It’s okay, really. You’re right. I stay too busy. I probably do need to eat a little more.”
“Did you come over here to tell me something before I blabbered like an idiot?”
“I came to tell you that we’re so glad to have you. I will be here this week to take care of any of your needs. You name it and I’m here for you. I want you to experience every part of the Atlantis that you desire to.”
“Well, I don’t really need much of anything. I’m just going to enjoy my room and maybe walk on the beach a little here or there. Have me a piña colada or two,” Winnie said with a wink, “and spend the rest of the week ignoring phone calls from my children.”
Riley opened the folded piece of paper she had in her hands. “Well, you might be able to ignore their calls, but it seems like they’ve packed your schedule with quite a few things. You’re swimming with the dolphins tomorrow—”
“I’m what? I’m not swimming with fish! If God wanted me to swim with fish, he’d have given me fins, not a life preserver,” she said, jiggling the flesh around her waist.
Riley laughed. “Well, that’s not all. You also have a day at the spa and tickets to a concert on Thursday night.”
“A day at the spa I can do. A concert? Who’s playing?”
“We have a special concert by Harry Connick Jr. on Thursday night.”
Winnie raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together. “I like him. He reminds me of Sinatra. I met Frank once, you know.”
“Really? Ol’ Blue Eyes himself?”
“Yes,” she said, batting her own eyes at Riley. “He said my eyes were the most beautiful blue he’d ever seen.”
“Well, I’d have to agree with him.”
“My Sam liked them. Said they reminded him of the blue of the sky on a cloudless day. As if it were painted just for him.”
She saw the shift in Riley’s eyes. Compassion maybe. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Harris. Please, if there is anything you need, I’m here to serve you. I have a feeling you will enjoy yourself.” She nudged Winnie’s shoulder with her own. “And I have a feeling you’re a mess.”
“A perfect mess,” she giggled.
* * *
As soon as she got to her room, Winnie peeked out of the sliding doors to make sure they had honored her request. They had. There was no sign of the Beach Tower from her window, just the breathtaking ocean that only exists with this kind of beauty in the Bahamas. Seeing it now made her feel as if she were back on those white sands fifteen years earlier with Sam’s hand in hers as he hummed their favorite song and they dug their toes into the cool sand.
She shook away the memory, scolded it like a ninth grader, and batted back at the grief that had shamelessly tried to reach the surface. She wouldn’t allow it. She hadn’t allowed it for three years, so why in the world would she begin today?
* * *
“Have you found your replacement?” Laine Fulton asked her assistant of only one month with her controlled tone.
There was stammering on the other end. She hated stammering. “It’s not a multiple-choice question. Have you found your replacement?” Her words came out deliberate. “Because turning in a book cover without me approving the final copy pretty much guarantees you’ll need to. So why don’t you take this week while I’m away to find one. You can e-mail me résumés. I’ll expect to see some by tomorrow.”
Laine hit the End button on her iPhone. She pulled her Tumi carry-on behind her. Her black patent flats with wide silver buckles strode across the carpeted corridor in an unbroken stride. She stuck twenty dollars in the hand of a young man leaning on the arm of his luggage cart and told him to grab her bags. When he had pulled both of them off the carousel, he followed her outside.
The afternoon Bahamian sun quickly warmed
