Page 9 of Shifting Sands

“Yes,” they reply in unison.

“This place is so quaint,” Erin says as she looks out the bay window to the backyard, where a stone path leads to a floating deck.

“Is that the ocean?” Jena asks, glancing over her shoulder.

“No, it’s the Intracoastal Waterway. It’s an inland passage for boats to travel. The north side of the island backs up to it, and the south side faces the Atlantic,” I explain as I pour us each a glass from the pitcher of lemonade.

“Can you swim in it?” Jena asks.

Erin quickly turns her head. “What part of ‘it’s November’ don’t you understand?”

“I mean, when it’s warm,” Jena clarifies.

“I wouldn’t swim in it,” I say. “But when I was little and we visited, my cousins and I would paddleboard and ride WaveRunners. It was a lot of fun. I saw one of the WaveRunners in the garage. Maybe Aunt Ida will let us come back in the summer, and we can take it out.”

“I’d love that,” Jena says.

“So, what’s on the agenda for this weekend?” Erin asks.

“It’s late, so I thought we’d just make dinner here and relax tonight. Tomorrow, we can take the golf cart out to explore the island a bit. Avie, a neighbor who’s our age, wants to have us over for wine with her and some of her friends one night,” I say as I start ticking off the list.

“Sounds great. What are we making?” Jena asks as she opens the refrigerator.

“Tacos,” I reply.

“Margaritas?” Erin asks.

I reach for the bottle of tequila on the hutch beside the table. “You know it.”

The three of us settle in the living room with our margaritas after scarfing down an embarrassing amount of tacos and chips and salsa and cleaning the kitchen.

“So, did we decide on the date for Zoey’s shower yet?” I ask as I click the television on.

Zoey Phillips is a champion skier. She worked as the head ski instructor during the year Misty Mountain Ranch and Ski Area opened. Now, she trains world-class athletes and Olympic hopefuls. Zoey is engaged to Langford’s younger brother, Morris Tuttle, and their wedding is scheduled for this coming spring.

“Sara-Beth wants to do it in early February. Maybe the week of Valentine’s Day and do everything in red,” Erin says.

“Really? What did Zoey think?” I ask.

Erin shrugs. “She doesn’t really care. I think Momma Tuttle is just running out of fresh ideas at this point.”

“This is the sixth shower in what, four years?” Jena adds.

“At least it’s the last one we have to worry about,” I say.

Erin’s eyes snap to me. “Um, last I checked, you’re not hitched yet, so we have at least one more to go.”

I scoff. “I think we’re safe. It will be a while before that happens,” I say. “Or maybe never.”

“Why do you say that?” Jena asks.

I shrug. “Look at my track record. I don’t have the best taste in men. I mean, Dave was a jerk. Eric had a cowlick, and every time I looked at him, that’s all I could see. Jim had bad breath, and whenever he leaned in for a kiss, I would gag. Sam made thisannoying whistling sound when he slept, which kept me up all night. And then there’s Dean—”

“Stop,” Erin says, throwing her hand in my face. “You’re a lunatic.”

“I am not,” I screech.

“Please, are you listening to yourself? A cowlick? Really? Eric was handsome, had a good job and a nice truck, and owned his own home,” Jena chimes in.

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