Page 120 of The Unfinished Line

Kam had laughed, surveying the two sunset-silhouetted mounds. “Proof that men stuck at sea too long can sexualize just about anything.”

Now, Dillon watched the waves crash against the sprawling bed of rocks that made up the base of the furthest island. At its highest point, several hundred feet above sea level, the starkoutline of the Mumbles lighthouse flickered its caution through the mist.

As a child, Dillon often skirted across the beach at low tide, navigating the exposed causeway, and climbed the steep stone staircase leading to the eighteenth-century landmark. It had been a favorite escape of hers, a place she had often gone with her dad—fishing, tide pool-wading, ship-watching. She was glad today the tide was high, making the trek to the lighthouse impossible. It wasn’t a place she cared to visit any longer.

Her lungs still burning from the exertion of the run, she sank onto a wooden bench to stretch her hamstrings.

She’d been unfair to Seren. She knew that. Her sister had nothing to do with the rift between her and their mam. If anything, she was the thread that kept their small family tethered together.

But Dillon was tired of her mam’s endless scrutinization. Her ceaseless worry. She just wanted to be able to live her life without being analyzed for every move she made.

Snugging up her laces, she dragged herself to her feet. She knew she needed to go home, to try to set things straight. Her mam simply didn’t know Kam. She couldn’t judge her off what she saw on TV.

Dillon just didn’t look forward the conversation. No matter her intentions, when it came to heart-to-hearts with her mother, she always failed to say the right things.

It was almost dark by the time she jogged up the three stone steps to the front door. She’d cut her arrival dangerously close to dinner, and knew she would have to wait to talk to her mam later in the evening.

But instead of stepping into a quiet house, disturbed only by the routine sounds of meal preparation in the kitchen, she was greeted by laughter coming from the lounge. She peeked around the threshold to find Kam on top of one of her mother’sportable file boxes, clinging to Seren’s shoulder for balance with one hand, while stretching with the other to straighten the star on top of a towering Fraser fir. The tree had been bare when Dillon left earlier in the afternoon, but now glowed with lights and tinsel, its branches covered with hand-carved ornaments that had been passed down through four generations.

“A little to the left—no, no, yourotherleft.” Her mam was issuing directions from the comfort of the sofa, a cheerful headiness in her voice, no doubt in direct correlation to the half-empty wassailing bowl steaming on the coffee table. The flushed cheeks on all three women promised none were on their first round.

With more laughter, Kam and Seren managed to get the star set to Jacqueline’s standards, before returning to the punch bowl to fill their glasses. From the door, Dillon could smell the strong aroma of the rum, combined with the fruity fragrance of the cider. She waited a moment, still concealed within the shadows of the hall, as the conversation resumed.

“So Kameryn, you were saying—your parents weren’t approving of your decision to pursue the art of acting?”

Dillon leaned against the wall. Of course, her mother would interrogate Kam, digging into every corner of her life as if she were one of her clients heading to the courtroom.

“No.” Kam laughed.“They definitely weren’t.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so,” said Jacqueline, in her no-nonsense, truth-can-hurt manner, and from her hiding place in the hallway, Dillon braced herself for what she knew would follow. “But I can sympathize with your parents. I imagine it’s hard not to be concerned when your child chooses a profession many consider just a step above prostitution.”

Before Dillon could intervene—to tell her mam how out of line she was—she saw Kam smile, entirely unperturbed by the insult. She waited.

“I can’t argue that. I believe there’s only one profession in Hollywood most consider to be less reputable than either acting or streetwalking.”

“And that is?”

Kam took a calculated sip of her cider, her smile never wavering. “Being a lawyer, Mrs. Sinclair.”

The room went silent. After a beat, her mother laughed, her amusement genuine. “Touché, Kameryn. And please, call me Jacqueline.”

Dillon exhaled. Kam didn’t need her defense. She was doing just fine on her own.

Scene 41

I woke to an empty bed.

Every morning since arriving in Mumbles, I’d risen with Dillon at dawn, and together we’d walk to the waterfront, where I’d sit on the seawall and watch her swim from the boat launch to the pier and back again.

After, once I’d helped peel her out of her wetsuit, and snuck a kiss as we climbed the stone steps to the pedestrian path running along the main road, we’d stop in at Dunn’s Coffee Shop, just around the corner from her mam’s.

Dillon would order a breakfast bap and I’d discovered the wonder of freshly made Welsh cakes, and the two of us would chat as her hair dripped salt water into her tea and I silently contemplated vanishing from the limelight of Hollywood and moving to a one-horse town in Wales.

But when I opened my eyes this morning, Dillon was already gone.

There was a note on her pillow.

It’s cold this morning. Thought you might want to sleep in.

---