"You don't have to give her your full life story yet," Amethyst says, frowning. "Let's just make the introductions. That's Captain Joe." She nods as she interrupts the conversation.
"I just told her my name was Captain Joe," he grunts.
"Well, yes, I was introducing you again."
"But you didn't need to introduce me again because?—"
"Don't mind them," a lady with a warm smile says as she steps forward. "My name's Delilah. Delilah Anderson. I'm 58 and originally from the Caribbean. I used to live in Barbados, and then I worked in Jamaica for a little bit. Now I'm here in Whisper Cove and loving my life, even though it does get cold sometimes. I like to go back home about once a year, and you'll see in my short stories that I write about my life as a young girl in the islands quite a bit."
"Nice to meet you, Delilah.” Finally, one normal person.
“You, too.” She beams and takes a step back.
“Hey.” Next up is a young girl with large glasses and frizzy hair, who gives me an awkward smile. “I’m Sally, and that’s Quincy. We go to Whisper Cove Community College. We’re in the creative writing program there. I guess our professor knows Enid, and we were invited to join.” She looks timid, as if she’s not quite sure if she really belongs here. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to be here.
“I’m Quincy, and yeah, we’re in the creative writing program," her friend says quickly. He is tall, skinny, and has a prominent nose that could rival Pinocchio’s when he’s lying. “I like to draw as well, though. I want to write manga.”
“Well, we can’t all write about mangoes,” Amethyst butts in. “Though I did have a piece I submitted toThe New Yorkerlast year. Yellow, juicy, oval, the island’s blessing. My stomach’s happiness. Mango, mango, what are you doing to me?” She clutches her heart, and I wonder if she thinks she’s on a stage.
“I saidmanga,” Quincy corrects her.
“I only speak English.” Amethyst sniffs. “I know them as mangoes.”
“Don’t mind them.” A very tall, very handsome man steps forward. His voice is deep and smooth, and his blue eyes leap in merriment. I’m glad I’m not the only one who seems to understand how odd this whole interaction has been. He offers me a cocky grin as he holds out his hand. "I'm Ernest. Ernest Cason."
"Nice to meet you, Ernest."
"I'm single and ready to mingle." He grins and winks, and even though he's handsome, I feel zero attraction to him. The man is full of himself and reminds me slightly of Patrick. The frat guy version of Patrick. No, thank you.
"Introduce yourself, Tina,” Amethyst says after a moment of silence has passed. I don’t bother to correct her. A part of me wants to run out of here and never come back. But too much is riding on this assignment.
"Well, shouldn't she wait until Enid's back to introduce herself?” Captain Joe says with a roll of his eyes. I can tell that he and Amethyst have no love lost between them.
"Did I hear my name?" An old lady walks into the room, and we all turn to her immediately. I can tell that she is Enid Waverly. She just has that air of wealth that only truly wealthy people possess. She looks at me, and then a wide smile crosses her face as she walks over to me.
"Oh, you must be the young lady that Preston hired to write our love story. What a dear you are. What a fabulous surprise."
"It's not really a surprise if you know about it, Enid," Amethyst says, and I'm surprised at the way her tone has changed—it's almost combative. Enid stares at her for a couple of seconds and then looks back at me and grabs my hand.
"Cook has made salmon tartar with wonton chips and some salsa and guacamole. Who's hungry? Let us make our way to the dining room, and we shall eat, and then we'll reconvene for the rest of the writing group. You will join us, won't you?"
"I don't know. I really should be seeing your husband if he's available. I'm not really sure what the plan is for this book, and I would like to find out my schedule."
Enid nods slowly. "I guess that makes sense. You're not here just for the writing group.”
“I don’t think I’m here for the writing group at all,” I say, almost apologetically. I don’t want anyone to take my words personally, but I’m here for a job. Well, two jobs, but they don’t know that.
“Everyone, you go through to the dining room, and I will take Ms. Spellman to speak with my darling husband. Follow me," she says, and she clickety-clacks down the marble hallway in heels that I feel are way too high for someone of her age. Maybe I’m slightly jealous that she’s walking like a runway model in her heels and silk dress, while I feel like a Walmart reject. I definitely need to get back home to gather some more elegant ensembles. We stop outside a closed wooden door with wrought-iron trim, and she knocks before opening it. The door seems more fitting to be on the exterior somewhere or in a medieval castle, but I suppose rich people can do whatever they want with their money and interior design.
“Preston?" She steps inside and stops.
"Yes, honey?”
"Gina Spellman is here.” She opens the door wider and ushers me inside to what is obviously Mr. Waverly’s office andstudy. There are books upon books in bookshelves and on his desk, and I notice a well-worn copy ofHamlet, sitting on a chair next to him.
"Wonderful." I watch as a tall man with a balding head stands up. He's got shrewd eyes and doesn't look particularly personable, but there's a small smile on his weathered, knowing face, so I'm not going to judge him just on his appearance. He's wearing a dark suit, which also surprises me because he's at home, but I suppose when you're wealthy, you always wear a suit. "Good to finally meet you, Gina. Your grandfather has told me so much about you."
"He has?" I ask in surprise, because I know my grandfather hasn't known him for long. I also hope he hasn’t regaled Mr. Waverly with tales of my horrible dating history. Though I’m not sure why he would have done that.
