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had the place to ourselves. The same waitress led us to the same table we had occupied the previous evening, and again Brenda took time to assess the mood of the bay. It was still choppy and gray, the same color as the sky, only now there was no way to distinguish between the two. They had become one, a somber, slate-gray brooding landscape. What earlier hope there had been for sunshine was continuing to diminish as the day wore on. "Doesn't look very friendly, does it?" she mused. |
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I had to agree with her. The winds were aggravating the pines, the waves were running a good six to eight feet, and the day was holding out damn little promise. B.C. shuddered, hunched her shoulders forward and seemed to withdraw into herself. I wondered if now was the time to tell herand decided again to wait. |
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The mood prevailed right on into breakfast itself. Halfway through, she slumped back in the booth with both hands wrapped around her coffee cup. She had barely touched her food. "I'm not sure I'm ready to begin yet," she muttered. |
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"The research, or whatever it is that writers do when they go somewhere and start digging into things. I don't know. You tell me, you're the writer." |
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"It's already begun," I informed her. The time was now, I reasoned. |
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