Eight words per line.
Every line.
Ken, my therapist, never actually read my journal, it was just for me, so at first I’d reverted to the old habit, even though the whole point of the journal was to help me stop engaging my compulsive behaviors. But eventually, I’d stopped writing in it that way. I’d stopped doing a lot of things I used to do. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a setback like I’d had today. Then again, it was the first time I’d approached a woman I was attracted to since everything with Diana fell apart. Add to that it was a girl I’d crushed hard on back in high school, and maybe it was no wonder.
Frustrated, I dropped the notebook into the sand. Maybe it was just too soon. Maybe it was just the wrong woman. Or maybe I was just doomed to be alone for the rest of my life. My own misery was enough—why should I make someone else unhappy too?
Ken was always encouraging me to be more social, but I hadn’t come back here to make friends or reconnect with anyone. I’d come here for peace and quiet, to start over, to forget about New York and everything that happened there.
Forget that I’d lost my mind.
Forget that I’d lost my job.
Forget that I’d lost the only woman willing to love me.
No, that was wrong—I hadn’t lost her. I’d driven her away.
I deserved to be alone.
Inside my mom’s car, I pulled the door shut and let my forehead drop onto the steering wheel.
Forget him. He doesn’t matter.
But the way the handsome stranger on the beach had looked at me with such blatant contempt, the scornful way he’d said I know who you are, truly bothered me. How long would I have to be ashamed of myself?
Don’t think about that. Think about the plan you have to make things better. Taking a deep breath, I sat up tall and turned the key in the ignition.
When I got back to the guest house, I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured a glass of iced tea. With my sandwich in one hand, I opened up my laptop with the other. I found contact information for pageant marketing director Joan Klein easily enough, and as soon as I finished my lunch, I dialed her number.
She didn’t answer but I left her a message explaining who I was and volunteering my time for the festival and related activities. I told her I was free anytime and eager to get started, and I gave her my cell phone number.
After that, I changed from my work clothes into jeans and a tank and grabbed my bucket of cleaning supplies from the pantry. I’d give the place a good dusting and scrubbing, and then later I’d invite my mom over for a glass of wine and give her some more decorating ideas. I’ll show her the Pinterest board I made, run some paint colors by her for the bathrooms, and offer to do the painting myself—if I’m not too busy with my new job.
I smiled as I filled the bucket. Through the open window I could hear an old Hank Williams tune, which meant my father was probably working in the nearby pole barn with his radio on. It lifted my mood further, and I hummed along to You Win Again as I dusted, the melody taking me back to grade school summers, when Jilly, Nat, and I would all pile in the front seat of his truck and go for ice cream after dinner, my mother howling from the driveway about seat belts. Those summers always went by so fast—you blinked and it was September again. I’d blinked and a decade had gone by! I couldn’t believe it had been ten years since I’d graduated from high school. Where had they gone? And what about the next ten years…would they fly by just as fast?
For a moment, I tried to imagine myself ten years from now, age thirty-seven. Where was I? What was I doing? Did I have a career of some kind? A husband and family? I had no clue, which was kind of distressing, so I shoved that thought out of my mind and focused on my housework.
About fifteen minutes later, my cell phone rang. I set down my dust rag and looked at the screen.
Yes! It was Joan Klein.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Skylar Nixon?”
“Yes, it is,” I sing-songed.
“Hello, this is Joan Klein from pageant corporate.
“Hello,” I gushed like she was my long-lost best friend. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. I’m glad you called, Skylar. We’d like to meet with you.”
“Fantastic!” I bounced around a little. “I can meet any time.”
“Could you come down to the office this afternoon?”
“Of course, no problem.”
“Around three?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you. We have some paperwork for you to sign. Oh, and if you could just bring your crown with you, we’d really appreciate that.”
“Certainly I can. I know just where it is.” Wow, they wanted a photo already! I’d put my work clothes back on—I hoped I hadn’t gotten my new skirt too sandy.
“See you then.”
“See you then!”
I ended the call and hugged my phone to my chest, thanking my lucky stars that something had gone right today. Deciding to forego the floor mopping for now, I left the guest house and walked over to my parents’ house to fetch my crown.
No one was there, but the door was unlocked as usual, so I let myself in and hurried over to the mantle above the fireplace. There was my crown, right next to a photo of me at the coronation. I picked up the frame and studied the picture—I looked so happy. So hopeful. So confident that every dream I had would come true if I just wished hard enough, worked hard enough, wanted it hard enough.