She had spent some of the best times of her life in Jamaica. When she was sitting at her desk in their home on her beautiful island, trying to write, she found herself thinking of Jamaica. Not really about the times she spent there, but about the climate. The climate was always the same. Hot and humid around the coast no matter the time of year and cool as you went into the interior of the island. The Blue Mountains made up the interior, where the coffee plantations were located. Those mountains reminded her of her home in the Appalachian Mountains.
It was a hot November on her beautiful island. The daily temperature published in the media was always ten or more degrees lower than what it really was. The temperature hit 90F degrees every day. The air conditioning in the house had been damaged by Hurricane Irma and wasn’t cooling very well. It was hard to stay inside because it was so hot, but she felt the need to write. Creativity wasn’t coming easily in that environment, particularly since she felt she had a jailer lurking right outside the door.
He wouldn’t go anywhere with her and if she tried to leave for the day, taking one of the day trips she loved, she would see the look in his eyes when she left and when she returned. Barely concealed rage and anger. It just wasn’t worth it. For the first time ever, when she is on her island, she is missing her home in the Appalachian Mountains.
Thinking about the last two years, she slowly starts to realize the state of her marriage. She has tried valiantly to save it, but she is gradually realizing there is nothing to save.
The realization dawns on her that it is time to try to save herself. Is it too late?
This post is part of Linda G Hill’s JusJoJan 2018 Challenge. Prompt by Barbara. Drop by and visit her site!
It’s never too late…