Finally, sitting cross-legged on the cushion of the chaise longue, she pulled her laptop from her backpack. She looked at the canvas sail bag and saw its neat stitching that read YELLOWROSE SPRING BAY RESORT & SPA, VIRGIN GORDA BVI.
Glad Beatrix didn’t see that.
But then I could have just said it was Mother’s, or anyone’s, for that matter.
There I go again. Ready with the easy lie.
And, really, why does that bother me?
Because the girls always do it?
But to them, it must be a survival skill.
Which is what I’ve made it . . .
She reached in the sail bag and removed a square gray plastic-encased device that was about half the size of her laptop. It had a small face panel with a power on/off
button, a battery-power gauge, three jacks, and two light bars, one vertical and one horizontal. It also had an adjustable folding leg that allowed the device to sit at varied angles. She placed the device at the foot of the blue cushion and plugged one end of a cable into one of the jacks and the other end into the laptop.
Okay, let’s power on everything.
With the laptop booted up, she clicked on an icon shaped like a globe.
She leaned toward the foot of the cushion. Both light bars on the device’s panel blinked yellow. Then the vertical one turned half yellow and half green. She slowly rotated the device left and the horizontal light bar blinked red. She reversed, rotating the device to the right. The red went out, then the yellow that returned was replaced with half green. She continued turning it right—and then both bars became a solid green.
She looked at her laptop screen, and in one window there was: INMARSAT ACQUIRED. ANTENNA STRENGTH 98%.
Well, good. The subscription’s not expired from last time.
No way I could renew it without a hit on my credit card.
Would have to rent one. Or steal one . . .
Then she opened a new window on her Internet browser and clicked on the icon that would take her to a secure server.
After she signed in, an icon that looked like a mailing envelope automatically popped up. On it was a small red circle with “109” on it.
Her throat constricted.
And fifty of those e-mails are probably from Mother.
She must be going bonkers. I feel awful.
But this has been my first chance to send anything since yesterday.
She opened a new e-mail message, typed “I’m fine!!!” in the subject field, then wrote in the body: “Hi!! I’m in a good place but on the move. More shortly. Promise! Love you!! Mag.”
She then sent it to her mother, father, and cousin Emma.
Hang in there . . . so far so good.
She clicked again on the globe icon, and a moment later the screen read DISCONNECTED FROM INMARSAT. Then she powered off the antenna.
She poured herself some more tea.
Sipping it, she looked over the edge of her cup out at the Caribbean Sea, then thought of the dream she had on the airplane. She shook her head as she felt her eyes tear. She put down the cup.
Okay, you bastard . . .