Chapter 5

It rained hard overnight, and the day dawned overcast, with just a drizzle. That was fine with me. I like to drive in those conditions, as long as the wipers are good, I have Rain-X on the windshield, and the road is free of grease and rubber dust. The heavy rain would have taken care of that, so it looked as though the haul through Central and South Florida would be about as painless as could be expected.

With Madi’s clothes, game console and cartridges, makeup, laptop, and my electronics and personal items, the Maserati was full. The front seat was relegated to snacks, me, wiggly girl, phones, and chargers. Madison was so wound that a nap didn’t seem likely for quite a while.

We kissed her mom goodbye, hugged Elle – whom Leah would deposit at home on her way to the office – piled aboard, popped a sugar-free Monster for me and a diet Coke for my traveling companion, and we were off. After a short drive to I-75, I set the Marine blue Maser on cruise at 78 and we settled in for the trip.

Madi was delightfully clad for the trip in a low-riding, tan mini, a pink halter top, and a little white jacket that just reached her belly button. That lovely depression, so much more interesting now than when I first saw it, sported a tiny diamond, which – Madison informed me with a giggle – was a “stud”. Her shapely feet were in pink flats that matched her top, and her long, slim legs were shaved clean. I mentioned that it must be a pain to shave your legs all the time, and she said, “Oh no, Mom and I go every month and get waxed! The lady at the spa says if I keep doing it at my age, eventually the hair on my legs and ... Ummm ... other places will stop growing in at all.”

Niece or not, I found myself contemplating the “other places”, then tried with some success to turn my mind to other things.

“So, young lady, we’re going to be in each other’s pockets for a whole month, so let’s pretend I don’t know anything about you, and you tell me about yourself.” I already knew all about her, but we needed something to talk about, and I wanted to hear what she’d have to say.

“Well, I’m fourteen years and two months old, I’m five feet six inches tall this week (Mom says I’m growing like a weed), and I weigh about 110 pounds. I have red hair, blue eyes, and if I get in the sun I get freckles. I like K-Pop, swimming, gaming, reading, and I like to write. I get good grades, A’s, except in math sometimes I get a B on a test, and my favorite class is English. I want to be an Olympic swimmer someday, and a writer, and I love cats!”

<Seems like this conversation isn’t going far.>

“Well, that was succinct,” I said. “I love cats, too, and I like to write, of course, since that’s how I make my living. I like to swim, too, but I doubt I’ll make the Olympics at my age...”

“Oh, you’re not old, Uncle Jack! you’re just right!”

“Anyway, I majored in literature and journalism at Columbia, I was a Captain in the Marines, and after six years I got out and started to write about my experiences. One thing led to another, and now – as you know – I write adventure novels.”

“Do writers make a lot of money,” my redheaded companion asked.

“Well, some of us do,” I replied. “There’s a good market for the kind of things I write, and people seem to enjoy my stories. Many writers work just as hard as I do, and write better than I do, but mostly get paid in satisfaction – poets, for example.”

“I like to write poetry, but I don’t let anybody read it. it’s private.”