“Clean air is overrated. I like a little texture in my oxygen.” Flopping onto one of the armchairs facing my desk, she sighs heavily. “First Harper, now you. You’ll probably meet the woman of your dreams and stay up in the Last Frontier, abandoning me forever.”
“I assure you, Prisha, that’s not going to happen.” I open my middle drawer and unceremoniously start to empty it into a box.
“Sure, it is. You’ll find some outdoorsy gal who will teach you how to gut a fish or turn bear poops into … I don’t know … pottery. You’ll grow a beard, start wearing flannel, and never come back.”
“Again, not happening. Definitely not the relationship anyway.” I glance up at the ceiling. “Maybe the beard, but I promise that will be temporary because I’ll get rid of it when I come back in six months.” If I let Prisha know I may not come back, she’ll tackle me to the ground and perform a house arrest to keep me from getting on the plane. It’s not like I’m going to move to Alaska, but I might try my hand at Bali next, or New Zealand.
It’s unlikely I’ll become the next John Grisham, but even so, I’m almost eighty percent sure I’m through with Hollywood. If I do have to continue making my living as a lawyer, I’m definitely going to change my specialty. Maybe I’ll move to St. Lucia and practice real estate law from a shack on the beach.
“I’m not going to follow you, you know. Sheila and I are not wilderness people,” Prisha warns. “We’re not giving up vegan restaurants and hot yoga classes just because you and Harper have lost your minds.”
“Nobody’s asking you to follow us,” I tell her.
“Harper is,” she says defensively.
“Really?”
“Well, not in so many words, but she’s constantly talking about how happy she is up there in the godforsaken North Pole. She won’t shut up about how great small-town life is. Not only that, but she’s always asking when I’m coming to visit.”
“Sounds awful.” I roll my eyes.
“It’s a lot of pressure, and I don’t need it from you, too, mister,” she says in a warning tone.
“I’m going to miss you, Prish.”
“Well, I’m not going to miss you.” She starts to sputter as she jabs her pointer finger in my direction. “You’re … you’re … you’re just some nut who cuts and runs off to the woods to pretend he’s Ernest Hemingway.”
“Is that what you came to tell me?”
“No,” she says with a shrug. “I wanted to know if you’d like to go for lunch. Since it is your last chance for edible food and all.”
Yeah, because Alaska isn’t known for some of the best and freshest seafood in the world. But there’s no way I’m going to poke the bear. Grinning, I grab my phone off my desk and pocket it. “Ban Thai?”
“Obviously.”
“Let’s go.”
Once we’re on the elevator, she looks over at me. “Do you need a ride to the airport tomorrow?”
“My flight’s at seven a.m. I’ll take an Uber.”
She shakes her head vigorously, causing her curtain of thick black hair to dance around. “Forget it. I’ll take you.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll be up anyway, feeling sad about another friend abandoning me.” She drops her chin like she’s about to start bawling.
Wrapping my arm around her shoulder, I pull her in for a side hug, then drop a kiss on her forehead. “I love you, too, Prish. I promise I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Liar,” she hisses, but she doesn’t pull out of my embrace.
Chapter3
Moira
Lunch is always the busiest time of day at the diner. Every table is full, and there’s regularly a line out the door. As Abigail and I run around like chickens with our tail feathers on fire, I overhear Sissy Sinclair tell her husband, “I don’t know why you wanted to eathere. I could have made you a sandwich at home.”
“Which is exactly what I wanted to avoid. I’m sick to death of your tuna fish surprise. Guess what, Sissy? After all these years, pickle relish isn’t all that surprising.”