A tale of two summits: Part 1
It had the worst of views; it had the best of views. - It had rained overnight. Each gust of wind brought down a clatter of drops on the roof and set palm fronds scratching at the window frames. Cool air fell into the room from the open window, smelling of novelty and the sea. A book, open to the second chapter, lay on the side of the bed where Sal would normally be. The pages soft and informal, without the new-page crispness that a book of that age would normally retain. Maybe, at some time in the darkness, a form of island life has soaked into the pages, making the book feel more at home than me. There were no children eager for space or fidgeting for closeness. There was no cat, stamping about, sharp-clawed and busy-tailed, awaiting the departure of humans before settling in for a long day of sloth and idleness. I picked up my own watch from an unfamiliar bedside table, just in time to see the hands click over to 5....