the pain and then as soon as you move, it jolts you back into reality.
We look through the refrigerator and decide on an omelet with spinach, tomatoes, and onions. I hate the fact that she has to do all the work so I take it upon myself to cut up the vegetables.
“You know, you really don't have to. I don't mind.”
“I know you don't like to cook. I do and I want to be of use.”
“Okay,” she says, throwing her hands up. “You win.”
When the food is ready, we sit at the dining room table near the patio. I want to eat outside, but it's not a good idea. Mrs. Bowden doesn't know that Isabelle is here with anyone and it's better that it stays that way. That means that I have to stay put.
“I went out to the water today,” Isabelle says. “I put my feet in.”
“How was it?”
“Really cold, but beautiful. This lake is magnificent.”
“Yeah, it is. I wish I could join you,” I say with a tinge of jealousy.
“I know, me, too.”
We eat our breakfast in silence. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's just that I don't really want to talk about it right now.
I'd rather just enjoy this moment of peace and not worry about what might be in the future.
After lunch, we get comfortable in the living room and she looks through the books in the bookcase next to the television. I grab one of the magazines called Coast from the coffee table and look through the pages. It's mainly stories about decorating your coastal house and the type of fabrics and furniture that go well together. The pictures are glossy and enticing, calling you to dream of a cottage by the sea.
Isabelle finds a book and curls up on the couch next to me. When I get to the middle of the magazine, I stumble upon a featured article about a reclusive fantasy writer called D. B. Carter.
There was a time in my life when all I ever read was fantasy, but I haven't read it in years. The article is written from the perspective of the reporter who goes out in search of the true identity of this famous writer who no one knows anything about.
I start to read and I can't put it down. I keep turning the pages to find out what happens next. Afterward, I grab my phone and immediately download the first D. B. Carter book that I see on Amazon.
I'm hooked from the first sentence. The lush descriptions, the weaponry, and the chivalry immediately transport me to the mind of the kid that I used to be.
“Wow, you're really engrossed in that,” Isabelle says and I realize that I've been reading for two hours. “What are you reading?”
“Of Sand and Time by D. B. Carter,” I say.
“It sounds like a fantasy book.”
“It is,” I admit without a tinge of embarrassment.
“I remember when we were in middle school, that's all you ever read.”
“What else do you remember?” I ask.
She tilts her head back and smiles.
“Remember that big room that we had that led up to the cafeteria? There was a small foyer between two sets of double doors that went outside. You used to always sit there with your book and your lunch. You were so brooding, sexy, and untouchable.”
I laugh, tilting my head back and continue to chuckle through the pain and then say, “I was a big nerd and you thought that I was untouchable?”
“Well, yes and no. You were nerdy because you liked Tolkien, science fiction, and Star Wars, but you were also quite popular and that's not an easy task to achieve.”
“It's easy enough if you live in a five thousand square-foot estate with gardens,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“That was the only reason I was popular,” I admit. “I mean, I wasn't very friendly and I mainly did what I wanted to do, but my dad made a lot of money and everyone wanted to be my friend so they could come to my house.”
She nods and looks away.
“You're one of the only friends that I ever had. You never cared how rich my dad was. You liked me for me.”
“That isn’t the only reason people liked you,” she starts to say, but I stop her by putting my finger on her lips.
“Of course it is and you know it. The silly reason why everyone else who read fantasy books and kept to themselves were mercilessly made fun of and