If I have not said this to you lately, thank you, Dana, in spite of everything, for always standing by my side and having my back. We’ll talk soon.
Love,
Nicole.
Nicole Chatham sat with her legs crossed as she finished her letter. She placed the notepad on the ground next to her and inhaled. The warm sea breeze caressed her skin as the salty ocean air filled her lungs.
This place, this stretch of sandy beach, was home. The jungle that sat far off behind the beach house was once something that haunted her dreams, but now, maybe it was the wildness that gave Nicole a sense of calm and freedom. At this moment, it was the safest place she had ever known, somewhere she could come and lick her wounds, even though many of them were self-inflicted.
Nicole stared out over the endless expanse of water that looked so calm it could be glass. The hot sun hadn’t fully come up yet. Its stifling heat would force her to wear a tank shirt and a pair of cut-off jean shorts. That’s why she was up early. Everything was perfect at this hour. Nicole pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. It was strange, but she felt more in control than she had in a very long time and equally unsettled.
Not much longer. Nicole’s time on the island was growing short but had had a profound effect. It was soothing and helped in the healing of her soul. Unfortunately, in one week, it would come to an end. Nicole did her best not to focus on that. There was no point. Time was something she could not control. Hadn’t she learned that by now? She sighed and spoke into the breeze. “That will be an ongoing lesson. I can only do my best to control what I can control.” The wind carried her words away. She hoped it wouldn’t take the lessons with it too. In seven more days, Nicole would have to face the music, but, for now, she was going to blanket herself in the peace and beauty of the island—her island—their island.
Chapter 3
Five Months Earlier
Nicole Chatham held the cell phone to her ear with her shoulder while doing her best to hang on to her three-year-old son, Davis Jr. or DJ. He sat on her hip, and his little arms and legs flailed about as he threw a tantrum for the ages. He was more than a little upset and screamed at the top of his lungs, making sure everyone within five miles knew it. Nicole rubbed and patted his back in a circular motion doing everything she could to soothe him.
She felt terrible that he was sick and was equally frustrated. Not just frustrated, but she was physically and emotionally exhausted. Nicole had a half of mind to throw her own damn tantrum. DJ had been ill for the past several days, and she had primarily been on her own caring for both him and her precocious six-year-old daughter. Between making sure her kids were fine, working her regular day job, and maintaining her duties with the Angel Foundation, where she sat on the board, it was all just too much. Her patience was at an all-time low, not with her children, but with Davis. She was irritated and let him know it. “You said you’d be home an hour ago.”
He knew she was pissed and with good reason. “I know. I’m sorry. The conference call couldn’t be helped. But we are wrapping up now, and I should be there soon.” DJ let out a piercing wail. It was so loud, Davis heard it through the phone. “It doesn’t seem like the antibiotics for his ear infection are working.”
“No, it’s not.” A strand of dark hair fell into her eyes, and she couldn’t see. Nicole tried to blow it out of the way because she needed both hands to hold on to DJ. It didn’t work. Her son wiggled so wildly that Nicole thought she would drop him. It was a shame that she had to hurry to do anything for herself, including moving her own damn hair out of the way. She removed her hand from his waist to push it behind her ear and quickly locked her arms around him again. “He still has a small fever and seems to be in pain.”
“Did you make a follow-up appointment?”
She wanted to say, “who the hell else was going to do it?” but somehow managed to keep the words from coming out of her mouth. Still, Nicole was about to respond with something just a little less snarky when she heard her name being turned into a theme song. “Mommy . . . moooom . . . mommmieeee . . .” She
