Chapter Twenty-One. “I remember Tracy,” a loud Australian slurred

“I remember Tracy, ” a loud Australian slurred. “Back in seventy-four. Crikey mate, smashed Darwin to bits. Christmas bloody Day, too.”

“Peace on earth, eh? ” A man near him mumbled into his Fosters.

Annabel sipped her coconut water and peered gloomily out across the main street to the lagoon. The sea looked unusually murky and already the tide was up. It was the usual Friday night carnage outside: drunken drivers jockeying their Subarus around the Post Office roundabout, Honda two-strokes polluting the air faster than you could breathe it, and the occasional Banana Court patron collapsing in the middle of the road in a stupor. At intervals the police showed up and transported these barflies to Avarua jail to sleep it off.

The Cook Island News informed Annabel that a panty thief at large in Avarua was found to be Mr. Jimmy Tuara’s goat, and that New Zealand’s newly elected Prime Minister was a thin woman who climbed mountains and had a husband but no children. From the tone of the article, this fact appeared to be of grave concern.

Local radio was ordering everyone under cover and inland. Meteorologists predicted the hurricane might bypass Rarotonga and that the island would only experience its fringe winds. But Bevan was not convinced.

“I think it’s time we got to the hotel, ” he told Annabel above a cacophony of paté drums.

Normally show time at the Banana court happened much later, but faced with the looming financial disaster of early closing, management had rustled up some dancers for a happy hour show. Tourists hung over the decorative wooden surround that protected the performers from wandering hands. Lithe male dancers worked the audience in a dance of pumping eroticism, while women wearing leafy green garlands egged them on with sensuous hand and hip movements. As the dance reached its conclusion, several members of the audience were pulled on stage to prove that white people don’t have the rhythm.

Annabel had never seen anything like it. Distracted by the acreage of smooth flesh and jiggling coconut halves held mysteriously in place over rounded breasts, she contemplated waiting the storm out here. But she could see Bevan was restless.

“I wonder how Cody is doing, ” she said, belatedly guilt-ridden at the thought of her huddled in the Kopeka Cave while she and Bevan were partying in one of the last old-time South Seas bars on the planet. Thank God they’d made radio contact. Ironically, that was one debt they owed to the freak weather conditions, according to Bevan. Normally Moon Island was consistently out of range.

Bevan climbed onto a chair. “Rarotongan Resort Hotel, ” he shouted into the melee. “Anyone need a lift? ”

A woman materialized at their table as they were preparing to leave. “Do you have room for me? ” she asked nervously, and Annabel caught her breath as she recognized the accent. The woman was a New Zealander, and very attractive, with curly red hair and wide dark blue eyes.

“No problem, ” Annabel said.

The woman followed them outside. “By the way, I’m Margaret, ” she said as she climbed into the back seat of the jeep.

Annabel shook hands and made an obvious remark about the weather.

The woman lifted panicky eyes to the sky and shuddered. “We get a lot of wind back home. But never a hurricane.”

“You’re a New Zealander? ” Annabel asked conversationally.

“Yes. I’m from Wellington. That’s the capital city.”

Wellington. Annabel’s eyes darted to the woman. “What do you think of Rarotonga? ” she inquired cautiously.

“It’s beautiful, ” Margaret enthused. “Although I liked Moon Island better.”

“You’ve been on Moon Island? ”

“Yes. I just spent a few days there.” She sounded wistful and Annabel tried to ignore the sudden alarm that squeezed her gut. She exchanged a look with Bevan. If this woman had been on the island, he must have flown her there. Yet he was acting like they’d never met.

“There’s another New Zealander on the island, ” Annabel began, the germ of a suspicion forming.

Margaret’s eyes widened. “Do you know Cody? ” she asked. “Cody Stanton? ”

“Yes, ” Annabel said flatly. This woman knew Cody. Her name was Margaret, and she had just spent some time on the island. Annabel tried not to leap to any conclusions, but it seemed obvious that their passenger was Cody’s ex-lover.

It had started to rain and the air felt unbearably thick. Gusts of hot wind tore at the foliage around them, littering the ground with papaya. Annabel couldn’t help but notice the way Margaret’s T-shirt clung to her full breasts and that her hair was curling into wonderful little ringlets. She was quite stunning, she thought, feeling colorless by comparison.

“How did you get to meet Cody? ” Margaret asked.

“I live on Moon Island, ” Annabel explained. “I kind of run the place. As a matter of fact, Cody has been filling in for me recently, while I was back home in Boston.” Her voice fell slightly short of normal.

Margaret looked at her intently. “Are you lovers? ”

Annabel nearly spluttered. She shot a pleading glance toward Bevan, who merely raised an eyebrow at her, offering no help at all. If she wanted to tell their passenger to take a hike, evidently she would have to do it herself.

Margaret had added two and two. “You are, ” she concluded. “That was quick work.”

Annabel moistened her lips. Why the hell should she feel guilty? Cody was single. She and Margaret had broken up well before she traveled to the island. And from all accounts, Margaret was not exactly a woman wronged.

“I guess Cody has told you about us, ” Margaret said.

Annabel fastened her safety belt as Bevan pulled away from the curb. “She mentioned her relationship had broken up. It’s really none of my business.” Wanting to end the conversation, she turned in her seat, facing forward.

“I was a fool, ” Margaret said, resting her elbows on the seat back. “I came over to get her back.”

“I see.” Annabel felt like she was walking on nails. “Look, Margaret, I really don’t feel comfortable discussing this. It’s between you and Cody—” She broke off as they drew up alongside the hotel.

Dense sheets of rain had replaced the drops that were falling just moments ago, and the palm trees around the Rarotongan were doubled over in the wind. Hotel staff were taping glass and battening windows. A sign at reception warned guests to stay indoors until further notice, and the lobby was choked with excited tourists capturing the moment on video as if a tropical hurricane was just another thrilling attraction on their holiday of a lifetime.

Although she could see Margaret wanted to continue their conversation, Annabel immediately excused herself and escaped to her room, a jumble of thoughts chasing each other in her head.

Long-term relationships went through bad patches, everyone knew that. Couples could often heal their differences and carry on. Perhaps this was the very process Cody and Margaret were going through. Perhaps she should take a step back right now and give them some room.

Peeling off her damp clothes, she stalked into the compact bathroom and stood under the shower. Less than an hour ago, Cody had seemed thrilled to hear from her. Why would she have stayed on Moon Island if she had just got back together with her ex? Was she planning to have her cake and eat it too—to return to the cozy domesticity of her LTR after the thrill of a holiday fling?

Dismayed by this possibility, Annabel soaped the sweat and travel grime from her body. She had spent the entirety of that hellish trip back from Boston wildly impatient to see Cody—virtually planning a future with her. She had allowed herself the fantasy that their short-lived romance might translate into something more meaningful. Before she left the island, it seemed she and Cody had reached an understanding of sorts—a tacit agreement that they both wanted to explore that possibility. But that was then, and this was now.

In an environment like Moon Island, it was all too easy to forget there was a world beyond the horizon, to get caught up in the heat of the moment. Had they just been swept away by the intensity of their physical attraction and interpreted lust as love? Short flings could be very passionate. Women became infatuated. I’ve been through that pattern, Annabel reminded herself. It was classic rebound stuff—which was why it was a dumb idea to get hot and heavy with someone who had just broken up. She should have known better.

Drying herself roughly, she tried to push the memory of their lovemaking from her mind. But the very thought of Cody sent a shock of tingling awareness down her spine. She ached to lie next to her, to feel the sleek strength of that body, to surrender to the strange magic of their union. With Cody she felt more intensely alive than she had ever known. Her world seemed brighter, safer, rich with enchantments. Flowers roared their perfumes at her, birds danced slow ballet in the sky, Cody’s touch lingered in mind and body like a love letter.

Whatever might be going on for Cody, Annabel recognized with dazzling clarity what was happening for her. She was falling in love. It would be impossible to see Cody as nothing more than instant gratification. Annabel had experienced the McDonald’s approach to lesbian relationships—eat and run, as she’d once put it to a friend. She knew this was different. Yet it seemed she was in danger of making a fool of herself. If Cody was willing to run straight back to the ex who had dumped her for a man, what did that say about the depth of her feelings for Annabel?

Her stomach lurched. The thought of Cody with another woman bruised her heart. Fool, Annabel said to herself. How could she have let this happen?

Cody twisted in her sleeping bag and changed position, stretching her cramped limbs. The four women in the cave sat wrapped in their bags in a huddle around Cody’s attempt at a fire, and Kahlo was tethered in the adjoining chamber.

Outside the sky was black and the noise of the hurricane was deafening. It filtered down from the mouth of the cave with the distortion of an outdoor rock concert. Cody was astounded at the range of sounds, everything from a deep low bass to screams that made “Nightmare on Elm Street” sound like a Mormon Tabernacle Choir rehearsal. Dust fell in clouds from the cave roof, and its resident Kopeka birds clicked and swooped like thousands of tiny bats.

“Yuk! ” Dawn batted ineffectually at them. “I hate these creepy little birds. How long is this going to last, anyway? ” The young Australian with the blonde ponytail and the attitude problem had complained non-stop ever since they left Villa Luna.

“It depends on the size of the hurricane, ” Cody responded patiently. “According to the radio, the winds will be at their worst for six hours. After that…” She shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to hope there’s something left of the houses.”

“You’re exaggerating! ” Dawn accused.

Brenda cast a sympathetic look in Cody’s direction. “Since when were you an expert on hurricanes, Dawn? ” she remarked with gentle irony.

Dawn prodded the fire and said nothing.

Cody wriggled out of her sleeping bag. “I’m going to take a look.”

“I’ll join you.” Catherine scrambled up. “I could do with stretching my legs.”

“No worries. Are you sure that knee of yours is okay? ” Cody eyed the woman uncertainly. Catherine had fallen as they crossed the makatea, and the razor sharp coral had sliced her leg open in a jagged line from her knee down her calf almost as far as her ankle. Her jeans were stiff with drying blood, and Cody was worried the wound would open again if she moved.

“I think so.” Catherine tested her leg gingerly. “Brenda did a pretty good job of binding it.”

Cody took her arm, and they made their way slowly toward the mouth of the cave, halting well within its protection. A steady hail of silt, leaves and twigs rained down on them, but thankfully the cave mouth seemed to be trapping anything larger. Cody stared up at the groaning sky. It was starless, writhing and filthy with debris.

“The truth is, ” Catherine admitted as soon as they got out of earshot, “I couldn’t stand another moment listening to that spoiled brat. If she says another word about demanding a refund when she gets home, I’m going to stuff her Reeboks down her throat.”

Cody laughed. “She’s just a kid. And she’s really scared. I think she complains all the time because it gives her something to think about. It takes her mind off her fear.”

“You’re far too nice, ” Catherine said, raising her voice to be heard above the relentless cacophony beyond their refuge. “If it wasn’t for you, the silly little bitch would have been mincemeat crossing the ridge. And she’s not the least bit grateful.”

“Ignorance is bliss, ” Cody said. “Anyway, I think I’d rather have her grumbling and in one piece than chopped up and screaming.”

“You ought to make her piggyback you going back, ” Catherine said darkly.

Cody shook her head. “I plan to get there.”

“Do you think there’ll be anything left… really? ”

“I honestly don’t know.” Cody squinted up at the swirling chaos overhead. “It’s pretty bad out there. I reckon those winds must be over a hundred miles an hour.”

Catherine shuddered. “Thank God for this place.” With some difficulty she lit a cigarette.

“Your cottage won’t survive, ” Cody said. “It’s too close to the beach.” She thought regretfully of pretty little Frangipani Cottage, the one-person villa in Hibiscus Bay. The beaches on the western side of the island would probably be the worst hit.

Catherine had been staying over there for the past week, and Cody had enjoyed visiting her to drop off supplies. To her amazement she had discovered that Catherine, a fellow Wellingtonian, lived only a few streets away from her old flat in Hataitai. Yet they’d had to travel thousands of miles to meet.

Catherine looked puzzled. “What difference will it make whether the cottage is on the beach or not? It’s a hurricane. Won’t the wind be just as strong everywhere? ”

“More or less, ” Cody said. “But it’s the storm surge I’m worried about. That’s a kind of tidal wave that comes in just as the hurricane strikes. They were talking about it on the radio. That’s why I decided to move us all inland. At least it’s elevated here.”

“Oh my God. A tidal wave.”

Cody wished she hadn’t said anything. Catherine looked so pale, it seemed like she could faint at any moment. Giving her a reassuring hug, Cody said, “Don’t worry. We’re completely safe here.”

She tried not to think about the possibility that if tree branches and torn vegetation filled the mouth of the cave, they could find themselves trapped. But Annabel and Bevan knew their location. They could probably survive inside the cave for at least a week on the provisions she had brought in.

“So half the island could be under water even when we get out of here? ” Catherine was trying to take it in. “What about the runway? What if aircraft can’t get in to rescue us? We could be stranded for weeks with no supplies and no idea when anyone will get to us.”

“It’s possible, ” Cody conceded. “But if we are, then we’ll just have to make the best of it.” God, she sounded like a Girl Scout leader.

Catherine seemed to get a hold of herself. “I’m sorry. It’s not like me to panic.”

“It’s not every day you’re in a hurricane.”

“At least we’ve got water. And there’s so much fruit around. We could probably survive for months if we had to.” She laughed suddenly. “That would really give Dawn something to complain about.”

They both glanced down into the cave where the young woman was piling extra wood onto the fire. She was speaking to Brenda, but the noise around them made it impossible to hear anything she said.

“She says she’s training for the Australian Olympic squad, ” Catherine said. “Can you imagine? ”

“Don’t tell me—beach volleyball.” Cody snickered.

“Swimming, ” Catherine said.

“You’re kidding. Who’d have thought she had the discipline? ”

“I’ve seen her. She’s out there every morning. Up and down the beach for a couple of hours.”

“To think she made me carry her half the way here.”

Catherine laughed and stubbed out her cigarette. “My point exactly.”

Cody took her arm as they descended once more into the cave.

“How does it look? ” Brenda asked.

“Dangerous, ” Catherine replied, awkwardly lowering herself onto her makeshift bed, her leg extended out before her.

Cody handed her a couple of Motrin from the first aid kit and said, “I don’t think we should go up there again until it’s over. There’s a lot of crap falling in around the entrance.”

“Will it block the way out? ” Brenda asked anxiously.

“It might, ” Cody said. “But—”

“Then how the fuck are we meant to get out of here? ” Dawn cut her off.

“The youngest and fittest members of the party will go up there and clear a way through, ” Cody said coolly. “And that means you and me.”

For a moment Dawn just sat with her mouth open. Then, collecting herself, she said, “No way. And you can’t make me.”

Cody met her gaze squarely. “Try me.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“That is a horrible sound, ” Annabel said, pushing her meal half-heartedly around her plate. It was her new favorite—ika mata, a spicy, marinated fish salad, one of the few authentic Polynesian dishes on a menu clearly designed for carnivorous Westerners.

The hotel restaurant was packed, and looking around, Annabel couldn’t help but be reminded of the carnival atmosphere of a “Poseidon Adventure.” She shivered at the idea.

“Collective madness, ” Bevan remarked, verbalizing her sentiments. “They’re tossing down cocktails like there’s no tomorrow.”

The Rarotongans loved a good cyclone, he had told her earlier. As they drove to the hotel, she saw people swarming the shoreline, apparently thrilled by the prospect of fleeing huge waves and howling winds. This cavalier attitude to danger was also embraced by a small minority of tourists who should know better, but behaved as if a hurricane was just another joyride in the theme park of life.

“Damned fools, ” Annabel muttered. Like most New Englanders, she had a healthy respect for storms. Her mother had been a child in the 1938 hurricane and returned from vacationing on Westhampton Beach only days before the great gale hit. The family’s house had been completely destroyed, earning Laura the childhood nickname “Lucky” for getting out in time.

Family legend had it that the shock of losing her favorite home had been so great for Annabel’s grandmother that it had set her health into a decline. She had died not long after, leaving fourteen-year-old Laura to manage the household.

Recently Annabel had wondered how much this experience had contributed to her mother’s over-developed sense of responsibility and her obvious insecurity about close relationships. Annabel was conscious of an echo of this pattern in her own reluctance to commit herself. Something her mother said came back to her—Everyone I love leaves.

On some level, she expected the same thing herself, Annabel realized. She thought about a little girl called Lucy whose two mothers had left her—one in body, the other in mind. Now she was the one who did the leaving. Since Clare, she had walked away from every woman she became involved with. Was this what she was doing with Cody, too? Was Margaret just an excuse?

Frowning, Annabel stared down into her drink. She did not know what to think. Maybe Cody and Margaret were just friends now. Maybe Margaret’s visit was a total coincidence.

“Get real, ” she murmured.

Bevan nodded agreement. “Let’s hope none of them is called on to make like a hero.” He eyed a particularly raucous bunch of tourists.

Annabel followed his gaze and grimaced. Four drunk men were showing off to the women at their table.

“Reckon we should leave the sheilas here and go take a squiz down the beach, mate, ” one large member of the group slurred loudly. There was general agreement and they got to their feet and lurched off.

“Bloody lemmings, ” Bevan hissed and pulled out his chair.

“You’re not going after them? ” Annabel protested, then swallowed her irritation. If Bevan chose to take responsibility for some of the more limited members of his sex, that was his funeral. On the other hand, she needed an experienced pilot. “Just don’t go outside, will you? ” she insisted.

Bevan stubbed out his cigarette. “You’re the boss, ” he said with an impassive expression and strolled from the restaurant.

An hour later, when he hadn’t returned, Annabel tried not to panic. A moribund hush had descended on the revelers, who now seemed transfixed by the awesome roar outside the hotel walls. The band strummed “Staying Alive” with all the enthusiasm of an undertaker’s convention. Annabel stared into her drink and fought off images of Moon Island decimated, Cody maimed, or dead. She should have taken her to Boston, told her what was going on. Suddenly everything that had occurred over the past three turbulent weeks seemed mere soap opera. What mattered most of all was life… and love.

Rebecca left Moon Island thirty years ago without Annie, and they never saw each other again. Annabel couldn’t bear to contemplate history repeating itself. She felt tears plop onto her hands.

“Cheer up.”

It was a woman’s voice and Annabel swung her eyes to a squarish face she did not recognize. A stranger occupied the other chair at her table. She was very tanned, with short, graying black hair and a hard-looking body clad in white shirt and black pants. Very nice, too, Annabel thought abstractly.

“I see your guy’s got himself lost, ” she observed.

Annabel stiffened. “You noticed.”

The woman grinned. “You looked like you could use some company, and I thought I’d beat out the incredible hulk over there.”

Annabel followed her gesture and met the bloodshot eyes and salacious grin of a balding man in a Hawaiian shirt.

“Oh great, ” she muttered and quickly looked away.

“My name’s Rose, ” said the stranger in a near-Texas drawl. “Rose Beecham.”

“I’m Annabel Worth.”

“I’ve seen you fly that little de Havilland, ” her companion remarked, moving a little closer to make herself heard above the din of the storm.

“You have? ” Annabel was surprised.

“When I first got here, ” Rose explained. “I was thinking I’d stay on that island of yours but you were booked out. I thought I’d check again when I arrived, and they said I could find you flying the island shuttle. So I showed up at your hangar and some old dude who couldn’t speak a word of English told me you were out of town.” She was so completely deadpan, Annabel burst out laughing.

“That was Smithy, ” she said. “And he’s as English as they come. London, no less.

“No doubt the confusion was mutual. He acted like I was off another planet.” Rose Beecham laughed from low in her belly. Appreciative dark blue eyes traced Annabel from head to toe. Could this woman be any more blatant about cruising her? “So who’s the cowboy you were with? Tell me he’s not your husband.”

Annabel gave her a measuring look, then told herself not to be so prickly. So what if a dyke tried to pick her up in the middle of a tropical hurricane? It wasn’t as if she had anything else planned. “That was Bevan Mitchell. He owns the Dominie and flies for me.”

“And you own Moon Island, right? ”

Annabel nodded, a little bemused at the third degree.

“What can I get you? ” Rose summoned the waiter.

“Pineapple juice, ” Annabel said and Rose ordered the same.

“Is your hair natural? ” she asked Annabel bluntly, then said, “Sorry. Betcha get real sick of that type of question.”

Annabel relaxed. “Mostly people don’t ask. They stare instead.”

“Well, I can certainly understand that, ” Rose said. “You’re mighty pleasing to the eye.”

Annabel could hardly believe such a corny line could make her blush, but it did. Guiltily aware of Cody trapped on the island trying to keep the paying guests safe, she sipped her pineapple juice and prepared to deliver a gentle but definite brush-off. Before she could frame the right words, an unearthly boom erased every other sound and the restaurant shuddered as if an earthquake had struck. Everything went black and people started screaming.

Annabel felt her arms grabbed. In her ear, Rose’s voice ordered, “Don’t panic. Come with me.”

Rose had her firmly about the waist and also gripped one hand with fingers so strong Annabel was losing feeling.

“Where are we going? ” Annabel shouted as they descended stairs.

“We’re getting our asses out of here.” Rose seized a door handle. “My room’s right around the corner.”

“No! ” Annabel shook herself free and staggered back a step. “We can’t go out there in this.”

The building shuddered again and she clutched Rose once more.

“If we go now, we can do it, ” Rose urged, as the gale momentarily lulled. “Otherwise we can head back into that watering hole and get ourselves trampled to death. Take your pick.”

Knowing it would almost certainly be safer anywhere but in a two-story building with a mob of people, Annabel renewed her grip on Rose’s arm and yelled. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Rose inched the door open, assessing the pattern of the winds for a moment. Then she yelled, “Now! ” and the two of them ran through driving needles of rain across a short expanse of paved garden to a long single building. Arm locked around Annabel, Rose jammed her key in the lock and they fell into her room, gasping for breath.

“Guess the power’s out everywhere.” Rose tried the light switches to no avail. “Probably a good thing. All we need now is live current setting off a fire.”

“Do you think we’re safe here? ”

“It’s hard to say. We’re on a single level and we’re overlooking the gardens not the ocean. Nothing can come crashing down on us other than the roof.”

“Great.” Annabel eyed the ceiling. A dark void, it seemed very close.

“And if that happens we’ll get in the shower cubicle.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

In the pitch darkness, Rose led her into the bathroom and guided her to a recess, “The shower, ” she said.

“This is crazy. Don’t they have hurricane shelters here? ”

“They claim this place is built to survive the average tropical cyclone, ” Rose said. “I guess we’ll find out.”

They groped their way back into the main room, and Rose steered her toward a sofa. “Have a seat. I’m going to organize some light.”

What am I doing here? Annabel thought. Even if they were about to be blown off the island, she should not be in some attractive stranger’s hotel room. It was asking for trouble. She would simply inform Rose she was in a relationship, Annabel decided. Yet was she? Annabel rested her forehead in one hand for a long moment. She wished she could say she was in a relationship. But since Cody had just got back with her ex, where did that leave her?

She had no doubt that Cody wanted to see her again, but on what basis? If Cody was looking for an open relationship, why try to keep her and Margaret secret from one another? She didn’t seem the non-monogamous type, Annabel thought. But what did she know? Cody hadn’t exactly broken down the door to be honest with her.

Despondently, she kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her. Sometimes falling in love was one-sided and you had to make a choice, she concluded. Either settle for whatever crumbs you were thrown or preserve your self-respect and walk away.

Three hours later, while the hurricane pillaged the Cook Islands with random cruelty, Annabel lay in Rose’s arms and marveled at the twist of fate that saw her confiding her most guarded secrets in a total stranger.

“It would make a great book, ” Rose said when Annabel finished telling her about Aunt Annie. “Wrong genre for me, of course.”

Annabel stirred. “You’re a writer? ”

“Sure am, honey.”

“I’m impressed, ” Annabel said. “Is that why you’re over here? To research a book? ”

“Hell, no. I came for some peace and quiet. And the one-night stand of a lifetime.”

Annabel spluttered. “You’re joking! ”

“Nope, ” Rose said. “When I saw you flying that Dominie I said that’s the one, and tonight in the restaurant I knew the goddess had delivered.”

“Rose! ” Annabel pulled back from the warm circle of her arms. “We’re about to be blown off the island, and you’re propositioning me? ”

“Yes, ma’am, ” Rose said. “The way I see it, truth is stranger than fiction. When they ask you what you did in the hurricane and you say, I got picked up by some woman and we went up to her room for a quickie, what do you think they’ll say? ”

Annabel couldn’t help but laugh.

“Who’d believe you? ” Rose continued in her deep easy drawl. “Last Tango in Rarotonga. What a title.”

She rolled to face Annabel squarely. “This is a once-only opportunity. We can lie here all night wondering what it would be like and worrying about whether we’ll see tomorrow, or we can have some truly excellent sex. Your choice, honey.”