Willow had thrown us into a game of chicken.Ididn’t want to burn the notebook.SomedayImight want to look back on it or show my kids thatIused to be awesome.Butmore thanIwanted that for future me,Iwanted the girls to know that present me wasn’t playing around.
I was done.
“Fine,”Iclipped asIcasually sipped my margarita. “Burnit.”
Whitney andWillowshared a look.Theyhadn’t expected me to say yes.Frankly, they were probably hoping it would snap me out of my funk, andI’dbe able to write again.
I cocked my head toward the house. “Myankle is killing me.You’llhave to go get it.”
Willow narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”
BeforeIknew it, the girls had dug a pit in the sand and constructed a bonfire.Theyused old wood we found lying around, and a chair we accidentally broke earlier in the day.Itall seemed safe enough to burn, and they had even done the due diligence of making sure fires were allowed on this part of the beach.
My plotting notebook sat in my lap as they danced around the mountain of wood slats and kindling.
It was a good thing the tequila clouds were back because they were the only thing keeping my sour mood at bay.
“Plotting notebook,”Willowsaid as she held out her hands as if this were some formal passing of the writing torch into the afterlife.
I plopped the heavy tome onto her palms. “Lightit up.”
Willow perched the notebook on the very tip-top of the wood pile whileWhitneyflicked open a lighter and ignited the kindling at the bottom.
It was an effigy of the old me.Watchingit burn seemed poetic.Itwas exactly howIfelt inside.
I was ready to dissolve into ashes and be carried on the wind to whatever was next.
“Cheers!”Whitneysaid as she plopped down beside me and raised her now-full glass in the air.
“Bottoms up, bitches!”Willowsaid as she knocked back her drink.
I followed suit and down the rest of mine.Iceclinked in the glass as the flames licked up the bone-dry wood.Itwould be burned to a crisp in no time.
“What the fuck are you doing?” a deep voice bellowed.
“Oh great,”Imuttered asJackcame storming down the beach.
“I told you rest and ice,” he snapped as he stomped through the sand. “It’snot a difficult concept to grasp,Roar.Restand ice.”
“Ooooh,”Whitneysaid. “Someone’sin trouble.”
Whitney andWillowsnickered among themselves.
Jack loomed over the three of us. “Whatthe hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m doing everything you said,”Iclipped. “I’mresting.I’melevating.I’mcompressing.”Iwaved my hand in the direction of my wrapped ankle that was propped up on a pile of sand. “Youdidn’t specify whether the ice was supposed to be on the rocks or blended.”Ishook my glass. “SoIhad mine on the rocks.”
Willow andWhitneygiggled.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something profane and utterly frustrated under his breath.
“Be gone, fireman."Iflicked my wrist away from us. “We’reperfectly safe.Youcan get your panties out of a twist.”
“And you’re fucking drunk,” he huffed.
“Not drunk,”Isaid with a pointed finger. “I’mhappy.Youshould try it sometime.”
Jack snatched up the mop bucket the girls had used to bring the wood down to the beach and stormed to the water’s edge.
