Florence's Final Journey22

“Oh, my! What a gorgeous day!”
On cue, Eva Cassidy's version of Louis Armstrong's, Wonderful
World started playing. Rolling through the mountains without
speaking, they listened to the entire song. Whitefish and the connecting
Canadian rail was less than an hour away. That's when she would take
them. If things went right, she would last right up to Lake Louise. She
needed another pain pill and decided to lay off the wine for a few miles.
“Okay, Florence enough stalling. Let's hear a story or two. You
promised some good tales for me.”
“I need a topic.”
“Tell me about the best beach you've ever been to.”
“Oh, good one, Gabby. Let me think... Got it. Zipolite which means
“Beach of the Dead” almost clear down to Guatemala in southern Mexico.
Scrappy took me there once. It was on the Pacific. I've seen more
impressive white beaches, like the ones near Panama City on the Gulf but
the water was such a deep blue there. I remember taking an early
morning swim when this Mexican woman spotted me and ran out
screaming, “No, senorita, no! Muy peligroso, muy peligroso!”
I was already out in the water a fair piece for I used to be a strong
swimmer. I was about to turn around anyway and catch a wave. They
were huge there over eight feet high. I was going to body surf back to
shore but a current swooped me out about thirty yards before I could
react. I didn't panic but knew I was in serious trouble. I swam with all I
had for about a hundred yards parallel to shore, like you do if you ever
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