It was an old Lambrusco bottle. The exposed section of label was extremely sun bleached. The rest was buried in the nearly gelatinous sand around the black, volcanic rocks that lined the beach from where they had landed a year ago. Helen had to plant her foot on the rough pumice to free it from the slick suction. The water table mightn’t be too deep here. The bottle was likely meant for the sea. Whatever forces prevented this bottle from making the remaining two feet to the water line perhaps intended a good fortune for the recipient. Perhaps a treasure map or a tale of lost love was waiting inside the green bottle.

She peered into the bottle whilst tilting the butt towards the sunlight for a contrast. A small piece of paper was rolled up inside. It looked dry and wet at the same time from her angle. A plastic hair tie was keeping it rolled up tight enough to be removed from the bottle. Once it was in her hand, Helen realized the piece of paper had been laminated so as to protect the contents. She removed the band and unfurled it.

“It has been handled. Have a nice day.” The message had been typed in the neat letters of a typewriter.

On the back scribbled in pencil was a phone number and a contradiction. “It has NOT been handled and I still blame you!”