Do Anything by Wendy Owens

Author:Wendy Owens [Owens, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00JEN5Y0U
Publisher: Four Bean Publishing
Published: 2014-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

My stay in Edinburgh was much briefer than I’d originally anticipated. Everywhere I turned there were reminders of Holden. Something as simple as passing by a pub and catching a glimpse of a man sipping his beer made me think of him.

It’s quite infuriating, though I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking of me as well. In my mind, I want him to forget about me, but in my heart I like to think I’m lingering in his thoughts. Our kisses, the way our bodies touched, or more than the physical, the way we connected.

My original itinerary for the entire trip has changed. The idea of visiting the stomping grounds of famous authors has lost its appeal. Perhaps because that, too, somehow led my thoughts back to Holden. Now I’m only trying to survive. I’m thirteen weeks pregnant, alone, and I have no plan. Rather than thinking about my next step, I can’t get Holden out of my mind.

In choosing my next adventure, I decided to go to a place I always wanted to visit. Greece. It’s the birthplace of democracy and the Olympics, but for me, there is something else drawing me to this place.

When I was eleven, I found a magazine in my mom’s nightstand. It was one all about travel, and inside the pages were amazing pictures of the coastlines in Greece. There were beautiful women staring out at the water, couples walking hand in hand, and even pictures of children smiling. I can remember the incident like it was yesterday. My mother walked in, saw what I was doing, and simply said the words, heaven on Earth, and then walked out. A rare insight into her thoughts that I wasn’t used to getting. She preferred to remain guarded.

Here I am, a place where one of the unhappiest women on the planet thought looked like bliss. If I can’t figure out my messed up life in a paradise like Greece, then I am clearly going about things all wrong.

It’s only been a day, and I’ve already found a quaint waterfront room to rent. It’s a bedroom inside of a home. The owner is an artist from New York who seems content with sharing her space and not her life. This is more than fine with me. Usually when people start sharing details of their lives, they will eventually want to know about yours. Right now my life is the last thing I want to talk about.

My room is up a spiral staircase—almost like a nest up in a tree. There’s a small bathroom and a door that opens to a balcony. The land curves around the harbor; outside of my balcony I can see the city sprawling from side to side on the other side of crystal blue water. The dwelling is built into the cliffside, the water licking at the rocks below.

This is one thing I can agree with my mother about: it’s paradise. A little piece of heaven on Earth. The problem is, I still find myself trapped inside my own personal hell.

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