SEVEN
In the morning, I awakened to sunshine—which wasn’t exactly unusual in Southern California—but it was still glorious. I awakened to sunshine and quiet. Mark’s side of the bed was empty. I had turned off my cellphone and unplugged the landline last night. No one could get a hold of me. I luxuriated in the blissful silence. Except for the seagulls. I could hear them. I smiled and buried my head in the pillow for a few more minutes.
I should get up. Do some writing. Greet the day.
Then I remembered yesterday. Remembered the “robbery,” remembered recognizing Enrique, and then the events of the entire day came spilling out—like a sped up film. The climax came when Ryan Nichols suggested Alberto had died because I drank during my pregnancy.
Ugh.
Crap.
I had to figure out a way to get
