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Island Sketches: Julie

Julie tucks a stray curl the color of cinnamon and ginger, behind her ear as she finishes filling in the deposit slip.

Island sketches: Tom

Tom bikes to the Minute Clinic pulling an empty toddler trailer behind his faithful old Townie. His teal scrubs show no signs of exertion, even though the morning is hot and tropic. After his shift, he will pick the typhoon twins up from the day camp being held at the old school. It is the last day of  junior surf camp. All week, the added steps of putting surf gear away and removing as much sand as it takes to comfortably ride home has added an extra half hour to the boys' pick-up routine.  Just time enough to pull the clinic shades for a power nap and wake in time to stop by Julie's for his usual.  Julie closes at four, but she doesn't leave until Tom stops by, even if he's running late. She always has a smoothie on standby for him and a little something to eat. Tom is always appreciative, even when the smoothie has spinach.   Islanders know all about Tom's naps and we take special care not to disturb him when he's fortunate enough to grab one.  Between endles...

investments

Our hands brushed as we tucked our daughter into bed between us.  He pulled away quickly as if burned, despite a lack of spark.   Exasperated sigh; me. Our bodies have touched, remember? They've been intertwined. Look at the child between us. How do you think those get here? These were only thoughts. We have been stuck fast in a No Speaking zone for weeks. No Touching Zone, too. Obviously. Down with sixty second hugs, We laughed at the couple who did not know how.  'Always kiss me goodnight' Pretty, plastic platitude. I understand not wanting to touch. I need those walls, too. Bites always forthcoming.   Please, do, just stay over there In your corner Pouting. Jimmy Wayne, baby. Stay gone. The touch was accidental This is all so typical. First it's loud bravado  and then a falling back, victimized by yourself, the blame is shifted to me. He makes a list of all the things I am not; tells me to just leave. I am not: a good mother a godly person genuine I think of ...