Chapter 36

• SEA WHISPER
• How long have I been staring at the ceiling? An hour? Maybe two?
• I turn over in my bed at the cabin, pulling the blanket up around me. There’s been an autumnal chill in the air the past few days, strangely early even for Portland. We’re in the last week of July, and already the whisperings of Fall are weaving themselves into the brilliant summertime tapestry of the forest – in threads of gold through the oak leaves, the red-rimmed dogwood, the copper-kissed maples.