Writing All Wrongs Read Online Free Page A

her view of Leigh Whitlow, the young woman was completely unaware of the flirtatious glances being exchanged between her boyfriend and the three girls. “I mean it, Rob. If you came here hoping to learn about crime and violence for your creative writing paper, you might just get your wish. Leigh Whitlow’s thrown jealous rages before. She drove Silas’s convertible into a lake this summer and threatened a cute fan who got too cozy with him at some book event in Chicago.”
    The line moved again, but the young woman didn’t budge. She was riveted by Leigh Whitlow’s slightest movement—every impatient flick of the famous woman’s dark browntresses, how she splayed her nails or adjusted the rings on her fingers, and the way she stared straight ahead, her jaw set in a hard line.
    “When will you finally lose it?” the young woman murmured, clearly reveling in Leigh’s discontent. “When will your jealousy finally push you over the edge?”
    At that moment, Rawlings came up alongside Olivia. Noticing her pinched expression, he whispered, “Is anything wrong?”
    Before she could answer, a man approached Leigh’s golf cart and made a shooing motion, indicating that he wanted her to scoot over to the passenger seat so that he could take the wheel. Scowling fiercely, Leigh complied, and the pair drove off in a cloud of sand-colored dust.
    “Not yet,” Olivia said in answer to Rawlings’s question. “But the day is stillyoung.”

Chapter 2

    Regardless of how many boats you send to other shores or how many ships arrive upon your shores, you yourself are an island separated by its own pains, secluded in its happiness.
    —K AHLIL G IBRAN
    T he house Olivia had rented was far too big for one man, one woman, and a poodle. She hadn’t selected it for its spaciousness or because it had been recently renovated, but because it was located at the end of a private road and featured expansive wraparound decks overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
    Rawlings pulled his overloaded golf cart to a stop by the side door. Turning to Olivia, he whistled. “Is this Jay Gatsby’s beach bungalow?”
    Olivia parked her cart behind Rawlings’s and told Haviland to jump down. “It’s called Lifesaver, actually.” She pointed at a plaque affixed to the left of the front door. “The rental agent said that all the houses on the island have names.”
    Rawlings frowned. “‘Lifesaver’ doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. I’m envisioning people strapping on floatation devices while a storm surge rushes up the beach and floods the ground floor.”
    Laughing, Olivia gathered up the grocery bags. “Theagent told me all sorts of facts about this place. For example, the house was built on the former site of the Cape Fear Lifesaving Station. Once upon a time, men lived on the island year-round. Their job was to watch the shoals night and day in case a ship ran into trouble. Their vigilant gazes saved many a sailor.”
    Rawlings took the key from Olivia and unlocked the door. “I imagine their conditions were less plush than ours.”
    Haviland immediately pushed past Rawlings into the roomy kitchen and rushed off to explore the rest of the house. Olivia could hear his claws clicking on the hardwood floors.
    “What happened to ladies first?” Rawlings called out in mock censure. He then turned to Olivia with an impish grin. “Why don’t you organize the food while I unload the rest of our
staples
. Unless you’d like to step back outside so I can carry you over the threshold. How about it?”
    In reply, Olivia grabbed a crab-shaped pot holder from a hook near the stove and tossed it at him. Rawlings caught the crab, stuffed it down his shirt, and headed for the golf carts.
    Olivia decided to leave the groceries on the counter and search the cabinets for flashlights or battery-powered lanterns instead. The kitchen was well stocked with both.
    Next, she walked into the sunlit living room and was pleased to discover a stack of firewood and a