Laws of Migration by Suzanne Frank

Author:Suzanne Frank [Frank, J. Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-5774-3
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2013-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

I stared at the words, imagining Zephyr reading them, silently chastising me for being so harsh.

On the other hand, she looks amazing for a woman her age, she’s a whiz with birds and her husband and son both adore her.

Not such a bad commentary.

Met another guy, just a …

I should have thought of Erik in terms of toy or pet or something equally dismissive, but I couldn’t.

I erased the sentence, tried again.

The reason I was so delayed had ripped abs and …

Again my fingers ceased typing as I stared at the screen. Zephyr would tell me to go for Erik. I didn’t need to hear that. I was already talking myself out of him on an hourly basis.

I canceled the message to Zephyr and just for fun, for distraction, I searched: “Bald ibis Morocco.”

• • •

Arabella woke me up. “Larache was cool! I’m sorry you didn’t go. Look what I got!” I peeled open one dry eyeball as she unrolled a long gown embroidered in gold. “And these, too!” A pair of the backless shoes, babouches, in red. “I wanted to get them matching my dress, but the sales guy said women wear red shoes, and men wear yellow or white. Doesn’t look too bad, does it?”

“My first surfboard was that color combo,” I said. “A red and orange sunset with a silhouette of a palm tree.” Arabella looked up from her orange dress and red shoes. “Looks fine,” I said.

“I wanted to get my hands done, too,” she said. “But Lettice advised against it. Said I might have a reaction to the dye.”

“It’s henna,” I said. “All natural. Most people have no problem.”

Janice came in, also burdened with bags. She pulled out Spanish sausages and wine, cheese and bread. “I’m starving,” she said. “It’s like a little port in Spain, except they still speak Moroccan.” She opened the wine, fixed a plate, and we sat on the beds. “Try this tortilla,” she said, slicing into a quiche of potatoes.

They told me how quaint Larache was, so Spanish it even had a Catholic church.

“Oh, a picnic!” Lettice sang as she joined us, also carrying bags. Sam thought I was like her?

“Arabella, that is just the prettiest djellaba I’ve seen!” Lettice said. “It’s going to be lovely with your skin.” Lettice displayed some new scarves, a pair of shoes. “And I found these,” she said, pulling out a plastic vitamin box and popping it open. Diamonds winked inside. Both women gasped.

“I remember now,” Lettice said. “I’d started having some reaction to the water or air and my ears were ringing. So I took my earrings off and put them here, where they’d be safe.”

“You told the manager you found them, right?” I interjected into their congratulations.

“I’ll mention it to him at dinner,” she said, not even glancing in my direction.

“What about the girl? Surely you’ll apologize?”

Lettice stood at the foot of her bed. “I have nothing to apologize for.”

“You accused the girl of theft! She might get fired!” I looked at Janice, at Arabella, but neither of them backed me up.

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