Description: She ran her palms over the trunk's glossy redwood lid and took the handle. Camille had been sailing with her father since she'd learned how to put one foot in front of the other, and knew the value of packing lightly. With an easy tug, she pulled the last trunk down the hall to the lip of the stairwell- the last trunk she would ever pack for a sea voyage.The tall case-clock in the foyer snapped to the five o'clock hour, sending a persistent chime throughout the townhouse. Camille quickened her pace, careful not to nick the stairwell post as she manoeuvred the trunk around it. Dropping the trunk near the front door, she turned and ran toward the recesses of the house, into the kitchen. The blackened hearthstones were cold and dormant, the tidy countertops waiting for the morning to begin with breakfast and tea. She liked being awake before anyone else. The notion that she was about to do something improper was an undeniable thrill.

Please Wait