You know me.

That is sometimes a scary thought ... that someone knows you inside and out, good and bad, not just superficial acquaintances.

I spent the weekend with my sister writing for the 3 Day Novel contest at a cabin in the woods.  As the last tick-tock of Monday night flew by, we had very sore backs and butts, the giggles and two finished stories.

The time away was wonderful but not what you might call a relaxing getaway.  We wrote non-stop - between the two of us we accomplished just shy of 80 thousand printed words in three days.  That does not count all the back spacing and deleting required to get to the finished product.

The funny thing about the weekend was my sister had an unusual case of laryngitis.  She can only whisper.  She is not ill, but her voice hasn't come back yet after many, many weeks.  So, aside from needed to focus on writing instead of visiting - we couldn't visit much.  So after spending Friday evening until Tuesday afternoon together we probably typed double the amount of words we spoke - easily.

Why do I tell you this little morsel of random information? Because

Chapter seventeen page three

Stacie and I walked out to the car port arm in arm.  We giggled at a few of the passerby-ers but mostly rattled on about all the latest news.  I felt content.  Would I ever forget meeting Quinn on the plane?  Hopefully never, but today was a new day and he wasn’t a part of it.  It was just Stacie and I and the beautiful city of Paris.

I plunked my suitcase in the grungy, packed trunk of her Green Machine car.  As I slammed down the hood, Quinn’s presence startled me.

“Sorry for startling you again.”

“Oh no.  I’m fine.”  I lied as I scrambled to slow my frantic heart.

Stacie walked up behind me for curiousity or support.

Quinn offered his hand.  “Hello, my name is Quinn Fowler.”

She quickly shook his, being wary of him.  “Stacie.”

Chapter seveteen, page two

Somehow, I managed to stagger my way into the ladies washroom.  I needed to freshen my face and rid myself of the dreaded tears before I found Stacie.  Hopefully that part of my journey is factual and my lovely sister is awaiting my arrival on the other side of the terminal.

I bent over the sink to splash water on my face when a woman spoke.  It wasn’t déjà-vu.  This woman was a young, spritely thing with the biggest mop of red curls I had ever seen.  Much like a grown up Shirley Temple.

“Hi there.  Do you speak English?”  She asked.

“Yes.”

Her eyes glanced upward.  “Thank you God.”  Then she turned her gaze on me.  “I was praying that someone who wasn’t French or Japanese or German or ... whatever would come into the bathroom next.”

No way Lord.  I thought.  I’m out of the vision casting, dream-reading business.  No more crazies, please.  I could not be sure God was listening to me because the young red-head had his attention as well.

As she raved her praises to God, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tube of bright red lipstick.  She began to tighten her lips and rub the vibrant colour across them.  “I never travel alone.”  She managed to speak despite her gaping mouth.  “You?”