Primal - By D.A. Serra Page 0,21

has always seen this weighing out process as blatant, even as others proceed ahead at the subliminal level.

Alison asks, “Not hungry?”

“Always dieting.” Bella lies. “It would be good if you could get something in your stomach.”

“I’m still having nausea. It comes in waves. Ugh…” Alison holds her stomach, “shouldn’t say waves.” Even sick, she manages to connect on a personal level with Bella. Alison is so plainly likeable. She has an innate softness that touches others gently. She is as naturally warm as the blaze in the hearth.

“So, did you lose a bet or something?’ Bella raises her eyebrows.

“Oh, no,” she grimaces and runs her fingers through her hair, “Is it that obvious?”

“The French Tips were a dead giveaway.”

“You know what? I’m going to fix that. I can play with the team,” convincing herself as she tries to convince Bella. “Sometimes don’t you just get sick and tired of being exactly how everyone expects you to be?”

“Yeah, I guess. Although people don’t expect much from me. I’m a writer so they expect me to observe and then huddle in front of a computer screen in a room by myself. And they’re actually not far off.”

“Yeah? I’m a middle-class, middle-aged, married, elementary school teacher, and I’ll bet a whole bunch of prefab characteristics popped into your head when I said that.”

“Yup, they did. With those statistics I guess I now know everything about you.” She teases.

Alison says, “And look over at the table each of them in their little bubble of stereotypes: outdoorsmen, frat boys, newlyweds. I wonder if we construct those stereotypes or if they construct us.”

“Already a deeper conversation than one usually gets on a fishing trip.”

Alison tosses her head and smiles at Bella, “I’m not really prepared to talk about bait.”

“There will be a lot of talking about bait here unless this storm keeps up, then, the entire week may really be about Parcheesi.”

“Hey, I rock at Parcheesi.”

“I kinda knew that about you.”

“You see?” Alison smiles honestly and Bella genuinely likes her.

Back at the table, Ed Hutchinson asks, “Hey, Hobbs, there’s no cell service so where’s the phone?”

“No phone.”

“No, phone?” Hank asks surprised.

“Got a shortwave for supplies.”

“A shortwave?” Bruce glances at Grant.

Grant responds, “And here we are inside a living anachronism.”

Hobbs continues, “Shortwave. This storm. Only static.”

Julie says shyly, “It’s kind of romantic being isolated like this.”

Mike says, “Hey, I ain’t that attracted to Dan.” They laugh. And nothing brings a disparate group of individuals closer faster than a shared laugh.

“You ain’t my type either,” Dan responds with his voice booming, “You got less hair on your head than you got on your earlobes.” Mike laughs so hard his eyes scrunch up around the outside and look like little squinty slits.

Alison has a sudden wave of nausea. “Oh.”

Bella asks, “Hobbs, where’s the head?”

“Through the kitchen.”

Alison makes a dash for the kitchen and disappears into the other room.

Dan says to Hank, “Maybe you should’ve left her at the spa.”

Hank defends, “Hey, she’s a trooper. She came along and it—”

The front door bursts open! Violent winds and sheeting rain blast into the room along with the four Burne brothers. Around the dinner table, mouths drop open and eyes widen. Gravel slams the door behind them. Even with their oversized trench coats, they are drenched. Gravel’s stringy hair clings to the sides of his cheeks. Kent’s baseball cap sits sopping and tilted forward on his forehead. Their handguns are out of sight tucked into the back of their belts and in their coat pockets. Ben is holding the carburetor from the outboard motor. As the door slams, thunder claps loudly, and Julie jumps. Ben takes a quick measure of the dumbstruck group and begins genially.

“Gee, folks, so sorry we startled you. Our engine gave out and we were lucky to find you in this storm. A guy could drown standing straight up out there.”

Hobbs ask, “You fishermen?”

Ben answers, “Yes, sir. Blue Marlin, Mako. My brother here (indicating Kent) held a record on a Giant Tuna for a while.” Ben is calm, smooth, and believable to the core.

Dan looks interested, “That so?” Kent nods as the room relaxes. Theo crosses to the dinner table.

“Fishermen always welcome here,” Hobbs says.

“Gee, thanks.” Ben smiles. His blue eyes sparkle kindly and his grin is broad and sweet. “We’re much obliged.”

Theo has trudged over to the table where he sticks his fingers into the stew pot, takes out a large chunk of meat, and puts it in his mouth. Ben notices the disgusted looks and he

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