Please don’t let relocating to an island be a mistake. So secluded, so distant. Her heart fluttered at a temptation to return herself to an environment more suitable to her status.
“Stop scaring yourself, Ry.” Breathing in the candle-scented air, she again brushed her gaze over the Loguns’ lavish mansion. “I’m only passing through.”
She had one year to adjust and prove her ability to acclimate to the real world. This island was her bridge to success. Paradise! The actual location had made her friends back home jealous and made her present moaning silly.
Rylee glanced toward the staircase. She was still alone. Pressing her shoulders back, she squatted halfway but stopped to dust off the seat of her cut-off jeans before settling onto a cushion on the Polder sofa. This piece of furniture had challenged her geometrical mindset since her arrival. She leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. Doable, verging on comfortable. The sensation she had suffered of being off balance in this askew environment had diminished, a milestone adjustment, considering the simple yet rowdy home from which she had come.
Satisfied with her accomplishment that defied their doubts about her successful acclimation, she rose and moseyed to the two-story glass wall. She peered into the lush back yard and beyond to where the terrain sloped almost straight up, bathing her face in the late afternoon sun. The kidney-shaped pool called to her, but today’s busy schedule had allowed no time for swimming. She visually skimmed the patio for indoor playthings mistakenly chasing outdoor pursuits. Nothing except pool toys in sight, although those toys could be harboring an indoor counterpart.
“At least I’m not shoveling snow.” Don’t lie to yourself, Ry. She loved snow, loved building snowmen. Shoveling the deck and walkway used to earn her extra free time, perhaps a night at the movies or roller-skating. Snow season held the Golden Memory award in the life she’d left behind, as long as she didn’t linger on any specific dates.
She opened one of the patio French doors, leaned her torso way out, and peered through the trees opposite the mountain. In the distance, the boundless ocean and its rolling tide shriveled her courage as much as did the Logun mansion.
On the other hand, with the Yule season approaching, the absence of snow held promise. With the help of Hawaii’s tropical climate, Rylee might survive, if not completely elude, the holiday.
Christmas taunted her soul. She checked for toys then stepped back inside. Leaving the French door open, she prayed through the screen, “Lord, please, help them find me. Please.”
“Emergency!”
Behind her, a hollering child descended the stairs.