Message in a 300 Page Bottle

In the history of electronic amplification of human speech, there has not been a conference hall so quiet as this one is.

"I want...." I say.

And I kiss him. Maybe he kisses me.

I kiss him because he is a man and I am a woman.

I kiss him because he is Doug and I am Mary Kay.

Boy meets girl.

**********

Epilogue

Doug

I can't believe I made it through four years at a pretty good school without learning that Vanuatu is a real place.

The beach sand is white as an oyster shell, the lagoon beyond so violently blue my brain refuses to think it natural.

Our tent flaps move slowly in the languid breeze. Sherman looks through her sunglasses out at the horizon and shifts in her chair.

"Reminds me of something," I say.

"The pool."

Dead on. We are both thinking of the place we met. Where we sat and talked about nothing in particular while I fell in love with her.

"I miss it," she says.

"Me too," I say. We came here on a whim, but it is just as good a place as any other to ask her what I have to ask her.

I reach around behind me and drag a bag across the table sugar sand.

"A week without internet." I open the bag. She looks over and peers inside. I have brought all of her books. I only ever read the first.

Sherman smiles at me.

I take another book out. A fresh copy of Message. She has still not read it. I take a pen out of the bag and write in the inside back cover.

"Here," I say, handing it over. "I just added a new ending. Don't peek."

I rose. "I am going to go get us two ice cold beers."

Outside the tent, I stop and look back. I can see her through a narrow gap.

She turns immediately to the end.

Her eyes widen. One hand goes to her mouth.

Anyone who writes does it to get that kind of audience reaction.

She rereads my inscription:

And they lived as close to happily ever after as they could manage.

**********

Epilogue

Claire

When I got home from work, Bill called out from the kitchen. "Honey, you got a strange package today."

After I left Hilton, I took a job managing an old resort just over the Vermont border the owners were rehabilitating. Bill owned one of the small construction companies working on the project. Things happened. We got engaged and moved in together six months ago.

"Strange how?"

He appeared and held out a box. Inside was a six pack of Bud Light Lime bottles and a baby rattle. It was a really nice baby rattle. I know. I have been researching them.

"Oh hell," I said slowly. "Doug."

Bill picked up the rattle and shook it. "How does he know? We haven't even told our parents yet."

I regarded my fiancé with apprehension. Men can be fiercely jealous. I haven't seen that in Bill yet, but still.

I shrugged. We had been friends forever. Lovers for years. Maybe just the way I walked away from him that day? Do freshly-impregnated women walk in a discernable manner?

"No idea," I said. I touched one of the bottles. The box was an apology.

I looked at Bill and he looked at me.

"Are you okay with this?" I had to be sure. Bill knew how close Doug and I had been.

He took my hand and kissed the palm. "I told you before. His loss is my gain. Forever."

I put the palm against his cheek. "Can we invite Doug and Sherman?"

"Absolutely. Who's Sherman?"

"You'll see," I said.

All my old friends would be at the ceremony. I will invite them down to the river to see if the rope is still there, to jump over the water and be stupid again.

Not me, because I am... you know.

I am carrying a child. I can't afford to carry grudges.

I will tell him that everything after 2012 is wiped clean.

That's how being friends works.

**********

Epilogue

Mrs. Sherman

"What is Dad doing?"

I turned and looked out of the garage window into the back.

"He's expanding the garden."

Mary Kay seemed jumpy. "Why?"

I sighed. "Shouldn't you be leaving for the airport?'

"His flight doesn't land for three hours."

"Then go for a walk. You're making me nervous. Why are you so nervous?"

"Meeting the family and all that."

I handed her a rusty trowel and a wire brush. "Here, clean this."

She began to work on it energetically. "Aren't you nervous?"

"Not really," I said. "I feel like I know him already. We still shopping for swim suits tomorrow?"

"Unless he's jet lagged, I guess so." She stopped. "Isn't this book club day?"

"I quit."

"What? Why?"

"That's clean enough. Well, I got tired of being the expert all the time. You may not have ever had this happen to you, Mary Kay Sherman, but when your daughter is a best-selling novelist, the other members of the club kind of expect you have all the answers. How does publishing work? How does being an agent work? Where do writers get all their ideas? I am not allowed to just relax and talk about books."

"I never thought about that."

"I have had to quietly depart several book clubs. I kept looking for new ones, ones where the members didn't know who I was. I joined them under my maiden name in case Sherman rang a bell. That worked for a while."

"So what happened?'

"What happened was that now not only do I have a daughter who is a famous writer, but I most likely am about to have a son-in-law who is also a famous writer."

Mary Kay blushed like I had not seen in thirty years.

"So, my dear, I am joining a gardening club. I have had it up to here with book clubs."