Page 1 of Until the Sea Runs Dry

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The sun shone, warming the bare shoulders of the woman as she wound the car down the familiar twisting lakeside road.

Gulls soared overhead as waves crashed against the surf below, a sound she had never heard as a child, but now fell asleep to every night.

It was a blessing, she knew, to live in this gorgeous place, with the means she now had — it was such a far cry from her humble upbringing in Oklahoma — but God seemed to give with one hand and take with the other.

It had been this way her entire life.

At just eighteen-years-old, she had known that there was more to life than what her sleepy hometown of Newcastle and devout Catholic parents could offer her.

Despite doing everything in her power to win their love, from attending church every Sunday, to the straight A’s and saving her virginity until marriage, it seemed she could never please them.

It was only when she had overheard a passing conversation that she came to realize her parents had never wanted children and her presence in the world was an accident.

It would have been too shameful to have given their child away, and anything else was unthinkable. So, they kept and raised her, though she never experienced the love and warmth that was so prevalent among her friends and neighbors.

Her childhood was filled with isolation and indifference.

Though her parents were never horrible to her, she grew up questioning her value, and couldn’t wait to leave this life — and town — behind.

When the job had come up to work in hospitality on a cruise ship, she had jumped at the chance. She would travel the world and get to experience all that life offered. Somewhere along the way, maybe, she would meet her handsome prince who would sweep her off her feet, and they would live happily ever after, surrounded by their many healthy children.

At least she had managed to accomplish one of those things.

Though the temperature in the car soared from the California heat, causing sweat to gather at the base of her neck, the woman kept the top of her sports car up and the AC off. She wanted nothing more than to feel the cool wind through her newly styled hair, but she couldn’t afford to undo all of her stylist’s good work, not after it had taken two long hours.

Today was an important day.

For what must have been the twentieth time since she had gotten into the car, the woman glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

Though she would be considered a beauty by any of the people who tossed admiring glances her way, she couldn’t see it herself and always reasoned away their reactions. It was the lighting, the angles, the professionals who spent hours getting her whipped into shape.

She stared critically in the mirror, analyzing every aspect of her heart-shaped face.

The plucked eyebrows artfully framed wide eyes that were a sapphire blue in color. Only the faintest dusky pink eyeshadow brushed the corners of the lids. Her lashes were coated in a natural brown mascara — never black — that would be too harsh for her pale coloring. Not for her was the heavy smoke-eye and fake-lash look of celebrities today, which her husband lamented as trashy.

He liked her understated, but classy.

Suitably, her cupid’s bow lips were coated in a sheer peach lipstick that hinted at sexuality rather than exaggerated it.

It wasn’t only makeup that was kept simple; the only jewelry she wore was a platinum band encrusted with diamonds on her wedding finger that she always found impractical, as the stones loved to catch on things.

There was no engagement ring as she had been young and impatient, too desperate to be whisked away.

Too stupid to have known better.

The traffic light changed to green. Behind her, a horn blared impatiently.

People were always in such a hurry in this city. It was one of the few things she missed from back home, the neighborly manners, strangers smiling at her in the street and saying hello. Out here, only the most ambitious survived: you were either born into the right family, worked extremely hard to make a success of yourself, or you married right.

She bit her lip as the thought flew into her mind that she might have failed on all three accounts.

Stepping on the gas, she turned the steering wheel a little too fast and felt a sharp pain shooting up her left arm.

She probably should have iced it today, but there hadn’t been time. Trying not to flinch, she held her car steady as the vehicle behind overtook her Jaguar and sped off into the distance.

It was her fault, she knew, that her arm hurt at all.

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