Chapter One The phone rang but it was Mel, and Sara had no intention of talking to Mel. She relaxed and sank deeper into the steaming water of the bath. Candles flickered on the side of the tub. Pachelbel's "Canon" played softly in the background. Mel had called twice before and Sara hadn't answered either time. They had grown up together in tiny Howard's Mill, Tennessee, and had once been as close as sisters, but that was long ago. They still exchanged Christmas cards and the occasional e- mail, but they hadn't actually spoken for nearly twelve years, not since Sara's daughter Nicky was born. Besides, Sara knew why Mel was calling. Lola had reached her two days ago and in her drawling Alabama accent had invited her for a beach trip. "At my new beach cottage! For a week! No husbands or kids! Just the four of us together again for the first time since college. Annie says she'll go. Mel says she'll go if you do." Lola had sounded even more spaced out than usual. She kept referring to her beach house as a "cottage" when everyone knew it was a beachfront palace on exclusive Whale Head Island in North Carolina. Lola's husband, Briggs, had made a fortune by investing in a little start- up called the Home Shopping Channel. "I'll think about it," Sara had said, knowing full well that she had no intention of going. She hadn't even bothered mentioning it to Tom, although she was sure he'd tell her to go ahead, he'd take care of the kids. The phone rang again. Sara sighed and checked the caller ID. It was an unknown cell number and she frowned, knowing that sometimes Nicky forgot her cell phone and used a friend's to call home. She hesitated and then sat up to answer it. "Okay, fly, why are you ducking my calls?" Mel asked. Fly. It was one of the nicknames they'd made up for each other as kids. A fly was someone who ate shit and bothered people. "I'm not, fly." "Liar." Sara sank down into the tub, flicking the stream of water with her toes. It didn't matter how many years had passed, it didn't matter how much heartache and disappointment had passed between them, she would always feel like she was ten years old when she talked to Mel. "I haven't talked to you in nearly twelve years and the first thing you do is call me a liar." "Why is that?" Mel said, lapsing into a Southern accent. "That we haven't talked in twelve years, I mean." "Because you never call me." "You never call me." "Well, I guess we're even then." Sara turned the faucet down to a trickle and sank deeper into the steaming water. "Hey, I was at the last reunion Lola planned," Mel said. "The trip to London. The one you never showed up for." This was meant to make her feel guilty so Sara ignored it. She could hear loud music in the background, some kind of blues standard. "It's a little early for happy hour, isn't it?" "It's never too early for happy hour. You used to know that. Before you became a Republican. Before you became a Volvo- driving soccer mom." "I would have called you back. Eventually. And don't call me a soccer mom." "I suppose you'll use them as an excuse to not go on the beach trip. The hubby and kids, I mean." Mel's voice had an edge to it despite her attempt at good humor. Excerpted from Beach Trip: A Novel by Cathy Holton All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
