By Cunningham Mary
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Additional resources for The Life of Michael the Synkellos (Belfast Byzantine Texts and Translations, 1)
And as the full morning sun illuminated Fiona Dunbar’s trash masterpiece, he saw what he’d been unable to make out before—the pair of red women’s panties that flapped—like a red flag in front of a bull—from the sculpture’s outstretched arm. THE POUNDING ON HER DOOR woke her. Fiona groaned, then pried open an eyelid and peered at the clock: 7:22. 7:22? Who in God’s name could possibly want to talk to her at 7:22 in the morning? No one who knew her, that was for sure. Never an early riser, Fiona preferred to start her day when the sun was high in the sky.
And Lachlan hurtled right over her! “Stacie! Hey, Stace! ” The blonde girl looked over from the volleyball game with her brothers. “Oooh, cool, Lachlan! Which one? ” And as Fiona watched, he showed her the letter. They looked at it together, their heads bent over it, so close her hair brushed his cheek. He touched her hand. She touched his arm. Fiona sat there, stunned. He’d never even noticed her. She should have left. Perversely, she couldn’t seem to. Not yet. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment.
Life in suburban Virginia with its soccer leagues and its supply of cute blonde cheerleaders had been all he’d ever wanted back then. Being uprooted and transplanted to a remote Caribbean island just so his father could satisfy a need for wanderlust at the same time that he pursued his career as a family physician had infuriated Lachlan, though the rest of the family had come willingly enough. In fact his brother, Hugh, two years younger, and his sister, Molly, six years his junior, had been delighted to trade their stateside existence for life in the sticks.
The Life of Michael the Synkellos (Belfast Byzantine Texts and Translations, 1) by Cunningham Mary