Truman and I are sitting on the couch, watching “Lost” and eating Thai. He tosses his plate of noodles on the coffee table, and says, “Well, that was nasty.”
I smile. “You say that every time we order from Thai Klang Dong.”
“I do, huh?” He kisses me…
I opened my eyes. A dream.
This is not my bedroom.
I sat up.
Santa Barbara. The Four Seasons.
I climbed out of bed and padded to the suite’s window.
The Pacific Ocean glistened beneath the moon.
I remembered my first trip here with Truman. A three-hour whale-watching tour with no whales the entire time. It had been forty-eight degrees that day. I caught a cold, and Truman got an ear infection. We swore never to go whale watching again.
And we didn’t.
I smiled, then slipped back into bed and pulled the comforter to my chin.
Truman’s spot in bed remained empty.
I twisted the rings on my fingers, then touched his pillow before closing my eyes.
The View from Here Page 25
