One of his buddies still enlisted in the U.S. Marines was on a long tour in Iraq, and had offered the small, remote beach house in Antigua to his friends whenever they needed it. Ely had needed it. Away from the touristy areas, the small house had few amenities, no close neighbors and challenging waters right outside the door. It was perfect. Completing ten more laps, he finally started to feel the loose-limbed, warm exhaustion in his muscles that he sought every morning. He’d run later, after he did some fishing. He liked to catch his own dinner. He’d followed that routine for the last ten days, without fail, and finally some of the restlessness that had sent him here in the first place was starting to ease. He’d slept through the night before, a rare luxury. Emerging from the water, he paused, surprised to find a few bikini-clad women standing on the beach—his beach—watching in admiration.
