“They said you believe that your dreams can tell the future,” Esmé says. “Do you?”
“It’s none of your business what I believe.”
“I’m not prying. I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“As I said, I don’t care what anyone thinks about me.”
She looks out over the water for a second. “I read Annabelle Lies,” she says after a moment.
Sam and I both pause, looking at each other. Karen looks from one to the other. “What’s Annabelle Lies?” she says, finally. “Is that one of your books?”
Sam nods. “It was written under an assumed name.”
“For a reason,” I growl.
Holding her hands up in a gesture of peace, Esmé nods. “I really don’t have any interest in outing you. I just wanted to let you know that I read it and it spoke to me.”
“Yeah, well, you’re one of probably about six people. One of whom was my publisher.”
“I read your other books, too, but I didn’t like them as much.”
“Well, as fascinating as this conversation has been, I’ve got things to do, so...”
She stands up. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”
Looking up at her for a minute, I’m almost tempted to smile. Instead, I ask, “How did you know that I wrote Annabelle Lies?”
She pauses. “Annabelle was my ex-girlfriend.”
Sam exhales sharply. I grab my notebook and open it, trying to lose myself in my own work. I can feel the three women at the table looking at me. Worse, I can feel the eyes of everyone in the bar on me. A tunnel comes over my vision and I focus on my breathing. The words on the page blur together as I concentrate on just breathing in and breathing out. A loud hum starts to fill my ears and my head. I feel as if I can feel the eyes of everyone in the bar and everyone on the island. It feels as if they’re all looking at me, they’re all talking about me. My eyes close as a pressure fills my sinuses and the front of my brain. I’m half sure that I’m going to pass out.
“Dana. Hey. Dana.” Sam has her hand on my arm.
Lifting my head, I blink at her. The humming is dissipating. My vision is still a little blurred but I can make out the concern on her face. Her dark brown eyes stare into mine. We have the same eyes. It’s another reason that I’m sure we are somehow related. I never really considered us as looking alike. Sam is taller than me by about four inches. She has darker skin than I do thanks to some Native American ancestry. Her hair is dark brown with ever-increasing flecks of gray, just like mine, but hers is cut extremely short, almost buzzed, and mine is long and wavy. We’re both outdoorsy types; we like hiking and swimming and such, so we’re both pretty stocky. Sam is broad in the shoulders and slim in the waist and she works as a maintenance woman for a living, so her biceps are hard and kind of big. I don’t work out and I make my living sitting on my ass with a notebook, so I’m a bit softer and rounder than she is. Still, one day when we went on a hike to an abandoned lighthouse, she took a picture of the two of us with our faces close together, and later, looking at the picture, I realized that we had the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth, and the same basic facial structure. Trying to work it out, we both determined that while our fathers would probably have stepped out on their marriages, neither of our mothers were the type. Of course, we’re both from Ohio, so maybe there’s still a chance of some cousinery there somewhere. At any rate, even without a blood relation, Sam is my sister and the only non-blood I trust anymore. She’s worried about me, so I make an effort to pull myself out of my state.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I mutter. I give her a half-smile and look away.
She squeezes my arm one more time. “Thought you were taking off for a second there.”
“No, I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache for a moment.”
Karen pushes some water toward me. “You’re probably dehydrated,” she says. “I usually get headaches when I haven’t had enough water.”
Sam knows that I don’t have a headache, but she takes the water from Karen and puts it into my hands. “Drink it.”
As I take a big gulp, the last of the blurriness retreats from my vision and the hum in my head passes completely. Esmé is still standing over me. “I guess I should leave.”
“Yes, you definitely should,” I agree.
Karen holds out her hand. “It was nice to meet you.”
“It was. I hope we meet again soon.”
“Absolutely,” Karen replies. “In fact, my husband and I are having our end of the summer blow out soon. Maybe you could come to that. It’ll be a good chance for you to meet all of the other ex-patriots on the island.”