conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Howe, Actionseven, Simon with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Reunion at Red Paint Bay'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first three paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Reunion at Red Paint Bay
  Garrity hitched up his holster, which had slid below his belly. "I don't figure that will help right now."
  Why would he say that? Publicity always helped in missing person cases, unless the person wasn't able to be found. Simon put out his hand. "Never know."
  He flipped open his cell phone and dialed Amy. The call immediately kicked over to her message, as usual. He could count on it, and he often did when he didn't want to deal with her questions. "Hey Amy, it's me. Listen, I was just talking to Tom Garrity about the guy missing at the lake. It seems like it might be that client of yours you were telling me about. Tom's going to get in touch with you, I think, since I hinted that you were seeing the guy. I know you can't really say anything for privacy reasons, right? I told Tom that. But he'll probably still try to coax something out of you. He wants to find out where the guy is, and you don't know that, so you can't really help anyway. Okay, this is kind of a long message. Call me if we need to talk."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is three more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: That was what Simon had meant, but he realized it was useless to phrase his advice that way. "I want you to be strong enough to walk away if kids hassle you, that's what I'm telling you. Can you do that?"
  Her comment confused him. "No, it was at that place on the harbor in Portland with the huge wreath made out of corks. Real classy."
  He remembered bringing out the engagement ring, the best $195 could buy, and trying to slip it on her. It was way too small. He couldn't believe how much he had underestimated the size of her finger. "You said yes right away, no hesitation."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: "I want you to be strong enough to walk away if kids hassle you, that's what I'm telling you. Can you do that?"
  Her comment confused him. "No, it was at that place on the harbor in Portland with the huge wreath made out of corks. Real classy."
  He remembered bringing out the engagement ring, the best $195 could buy, and trying to slip it on her. It was way too small. He couldn't believe how much he had underestimated the size of her finger. "You said yes right away, no hesitation."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Simon imagined what Amy would say if she knew—two supposed rapists going for a beer together. She'd be furious. "Sure, David," he said, "why not?"
  He opened the door, swung his legs out, and leaned down to pull off his sneakers and socks. He walked across the small beach, digging his toes into the sand with each step. The feel of the grains reminded him of the first day each summer when he was a kid and could go without shoes. Running out the back door, down the winding path that led to the water, then hours of exploring the edges of the bay till his face burned from the sun and his tender feet were cut and bloody.
  He picked up a handful of sand and let it slide through his fingers. He watched for a minute as the water lapped onshore in miniature waves. A half mile across, the opposite side was dotted with pinpricks of illumination, like fallen stars. He walked out onto the dock and a spark of light caught his eye, a firefly writing in the darkness as if on a blackboard. That was odd, a solitary beetle weaving its distinctive pattern so far away from the tall grass where potential mates could see the display. As a boy he'd watch them for hours in his backyard, fireflies by the hundreds flickering off and on. One night he snatched one from the air, proving to himself how quick his reflexes were. It shocked him when he opened his hand to see the mangled legs and wings, and he quickly wiped his palms down his pants.
  There was laughter from the inn, and he turned instinctively to look up the hill. He wondered at how easily sound traveled, how much could be heard. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and ran off the end like a broad jumper, his legs pumping to keep himself airborne. It was only seconds, but time enough to imagine himself eight years old again, wanting more than anything to light up like a firefly. When he hit the water, it swallowed him whole, a giant mouth. He let himself sink straight down until his feet touched the spongy bottom. The muck of the bay surrounded his legs, holding him down.
  After some time, he couldn't imagine how long, the air burst from his lungs. He flexed his knees and shoved upward, his hands stretched out as if grabbing for the rungs of a ladder. The water above him seemed endless. He wondered if he had miscalculated and was really going sideways. Maybe the beers had disoriented him. He tried to hold his lips shut, but the brackish water seeped in. When his head finally broke the surface, he lifted his mouth toward the sky and coughed and spit.