The Moment of Letting Go - J. A. Redmerski Page 0,3

door.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Paige says, looking about the room.

“Nice is an understatement.” I run the palm of my hand across the smooth surface of the table next to me and I think of my parents momentarily, about the only time we ever went on a vacation when I was younger. We stayed in a cheap roadside motel one night on the way to visit friends of my parents somewhere in Texas. It wasn’t much of a vacation really, but I was glad to see my parents spending time together, doing something other than working sixty-hour weeks and too tired to talk to one another when they saw each other in passing.

Paige plops down on the end of my perfectly made bed, her tanned legs dangling off the edge, her feet dressed in an expensive pair of Louboutin gladiator-style sandals.

“How much time do you think we have?” she asks, bouncing gently on the bed to test the feel of the mattress.

I don’t even want to think about work because I just got here, but it was inevitable.

“I’ve gotta take a shower,” I say, raising my back from the comfort of the chair, “and put on my makeup and fix my hair—we’ll head down to the pavilion in about an hour.”

Paige nods and gets up from the bed.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m gonna get a bite to eat. I’m over in 510. Call me when you’re ready—unless there’s anything you need before I go … boss?” She winks.

I shake my head and smile, leaning my back against the chair. “No, I’m good, but thanks. See yah soon.”

The door closes with a click behind her.

Finally I’m alone. In Hawaii. I’m in Hawaii! I can hardly believe it. I glance over at my hard-side suitcase sitting upright on the carpeted floor and I contemplate pulling out my camera gear packed safely inside of it—I bring it pretty much wherever I go. Then I glance at the clock on the nightstand beside the bed and a long, deep sigh escapes my lungs.

Accepting that it’s not a good time—unfortunately, it rarely ever is—I erase the camera gear from my mind and get up from the chair, sliding the glass door open and stepping out onto the balcony. The warm eighty-degree breeze greets me as I make my way out, pushing through wandering strands of dark auburn hair pinned sloppily to my head. I shut my eyes for a moment and breathe in deeply, taking the wind into my lungs and savoring the moment of peace while I can. Because once I step out that suite door to head down to the wedding site near the beach, peace and tranquility will be nothing but a memory.

TWO

Sienna

I meet Paige in the hallway an hour later and we’re on our way to the elevator. She’s changed into another pair of shorts and a cute lacy top. Her blond hair has been brushed and lies softly over both shoulders.

“I’ve already met a guy,” she admits.

I look over at her.

“You’re kidding.” This doesn’t really surprise me much; Paige has always been a social girl; not to mention she’s beautiful, with a magnetic personality to boot—she dreams of becoming a model someday, and personally I think it’s just a matter of time.

Her slim mouth spreads into a grin.

“Hey, it’s not like I went looking,” she says as she moves a few long strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “I went to check things out and ended up in the bar downstairs.”

“The bar? Paige!” I shake my head disappointedly.

The elevator dings and stops on the fourth floor, the doors parting. A thirtysomething couple steps in.

“I wasn’t drinking,” she whispers, rolling her eyes. “I was just looking around and getting a feel for the resort.” The woman looks in our direction. “Anyway, he works at the bar and told me to stop in and have a drink sometime when I get a chance.” She grins and lowers her voice even more. “He’s not the kind I usually go for, but he’s hot enough I’m willing to make a few adjustments on my requirements list.”

The elevator stops on the third floor and the couple gets out, leaving us to our privacy.

Paige has quite a requirements list—I’m surprised she’s not still a virgin. I’m not as picky, but I admit my list isn’t all that short. Difference is that mine is more reasonable.

“Just remember we’re here to work,” I say. “And unfortunately, I doubt we’ll have time for