OPHELIA
The resort at Ensenada is light years away from Vegas. No neon, no crowds, and even though it’s not much warmer here than back home, the humid breeze feels like a caress. The room was prepaid, and we called ahead, so they took our late arrival without a fuss. Now I stand on a broad stucco balcony staring out at the Pacific and let relief wash over me.
We got away.
Everything’s very quiet right now. Molly is asleep again, snoozing in her own room on the far side of the suite. I just woke up a few minutes ago; Brian left a note saying he’s gone out to find us some burritos. I don’t know where he plans to get them at close to midnight, but he knows the area a lot better than I do.
I trust him to handle it. Maybe I’m trusting him too much. Depending on him too much. But so far, I’v
