“Peanut, it’s me.” Paula cocked her head trying to place the man. He continued, “We hung out together when you spent the summers here.”

Paula covered her mouth with her hand, “Oh my God! Peter Hampton,” she threw her arms around his shoulders.

Peter was basically Paul’s only friend that first summer she spent here with her grandparents. She wasn’t thrilled about it, but her mother insisted. It might have been the best thig for a teenager trying to find her way.

Over those three summers she got real close with her grandmother, with lots of hart to hart talks. Something Paula had trouble doing with her mother. After that first summer she looked forward to coming back to the island. A couple months after they threw her a party for her sixteenth birthday, both grandparents died two weeks apart. She hasn’t been back to the island since.

Peter must have grown at least six inches, and filled out quite nicely. His hair was more brown than blond when Paula saw him last. She thought his eyes were blue, not hazel, but she could be wrong. It’s been almost twenty years. Still it was comfortable to see him.

“You still live on the island?” Paula pulled on the leash to keep the Great Dane from jumping on Peter.

“I do,” he rubbed the dog’s head. “I’m the carpenter and the President of Council.” Nodding toward the dog,” What’s this guy’s name?”

“Good for you, I always knew you’d do something in politics. This is Sherlock,” she scratch the dog’s ear. Got him after the divorce.”

“I heard about it.” Peter nodded, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s a good thing.” She smiled at him, “You want to come in and I’ll tell you about in. I’ll make some coffee if I can’t find any wine.”

“He smile back, “Lead the way. We have lots to catch up on.”

Published by authorjturley

R James started writing bad poetry in his mid-30's. While taking a couple writing courses he wrote short stories with interesting characters. R James has been published in, Creepies 2: Things that go Bump in the Closet, Deviant Shadows: Tales of the Parabnormal, among others. R James got sick of the northern winters, and writes from the sunshine state, where the sun sets into the Gulf of Mexico.

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