Page 40 of Until We Break

“You’re good though, right? I mean with everything that’s happened. That May drowning?—”

“Stop, Gabe. I don’t want to talk about it.” I shot him a warning look. I’d managed to avoid the first loss of my career. It happened to every rescue swimmer, but we all hoped we would miraculously be spared. I wasn’t.

“Yeah, I know, but it wasn’t your fault and I’m not sure you’ve let it go.”

“I’ve let it go. Swear.” I hopped off the end of the bed. Why don’t I go with you to get the beer?” I stood.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I walked toward him and turned off the light. If I stayed here, I was going to think about the money. Think about calling Margot. I was going to drink way too much alone. I’d think about the rescue that had gone wrong and the ones that had come close. “I’ll even get the ice.” I slapped him on the back as we headed out. “Wait, hold on just a second.”

I took my phone out of my pocket and left it on the dresser. Just in case I thought about calling her tonight after a few drinks I wouldn’t be able to. A guilty drunk dial or text wasn’t going to fix what I knew I had broken. It was better for her this way.

TWENTY

Margot

The shower felt like heaven. I’d never had a shower so needed or so appreciated. I was covered in sweat and dirt, and what I was afraid were some of the fish guts from the boating sign. I reached for a towel to dry my hair and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

I hadn’t been here long, but I already had more color in my complexion than I’d ever had. I thought I even had some highlights in my hair that were usually darker blond. In only two weeks, I noticed my legs looked more muscular. It had to be from all the chores and repairs I was doing daily. My body was transforming, and I hadn’t even realized it.

I thought about what Dean had said about taking out a business loan. The idea terrified me. The truth was the only thing I had was the Blue Heron. He was right—I hadn’t asked about how to sell it or what I needed to do to get it on the market. Even the cashier at Reel Time had tried to convince me how valuable the property was. Too valuable to sell. But what was it worth if I had bills and debts to pay?

That led to the question that haunted me the most. What did I do once it was gone? Where did I go? Back to New York? My dad’s absence hit me. He was the one I needed to talk to now. He would have known what to do about the Blue Heron. He would have told me what to do about my writing career. He would have had all the answers. But like everyone else in my life—Dad was gone. I was alone and I had to figure it out. But how?

I slipped into a navy tank top and a pair of white shorts. For the first time since I arrived on the island, I thought about putting on earrings. Maybe even a bracelet. I smiled, heading to the closet. I hadn’t bothered to move out all of Uncle Walt’s things yet. It was still on my to-do list to take the rest of his clothes and donate them.

I had layered all my jewelry in a shoebox for the move. I reached on the shelf over my head without turning on the light. I flipped open the lid. But I wasn’t looking at earrings and necklaces. It was a box of pictures. I wandered to the bed, lifting a few from the stack.

I had grabbed Uncle Walt’s shoebox instead of my own. There were pictures of fish people had caught. Pictures of the Blue Heron. Sailboat regattas and fishing competitions. I studied each photo. These needed to be in an album or on display for customers to see. Was that an ice machine in the background? I was mesmerized by how the marina used to look. How pristine it was. How there were so many events and so many people having fun. There was joy in those photos. God, what had happened to make it fall into the water-logged heap it was?

Then I spotted a picture of Mom and Walt together. I smiled. They each had an arm slung around the other. They looked happy. There was one of me too as a kid. I smiled at the camera holding up a tiny fish on the end of my pole. I didn’t rememberthe picture being taken or catching a fish. I sighed. I wished I had a way to tap into those memories. To pull them out of the deep recesses of my brain, but it didn’t work like that. They were lost to me. I only had this picture to prove I was here before.

I took the picture of Uncle Walt and me, and the picture of my tiny fish and me and laid them next to the bed and returned the box of Walt’s things to the closet.

I had to get ready. Josie would be here to pick me up in ten minutes. She was the first potential friend I had here. I couldn’t start this friendship off by letting her down.

I finished with the last touch of lip gloss and jogged down the stairs. I waited for Josie on the screen porch, hoping not to attract mosquitos.

I saw the headlights shine at the end of the drive before the Jeep roared into view, kicking up gravel.

“Hey, girl. You ready?”

The screen door slammed behind me. “Yes.”

I climbed in next to her. “The other girls are going to meet us there.”

“Oh, good.”

Josie cranked up the music and it was then I realized how pointless it was to worry about my hair as it blew around in the wind. Josie took the curves wild and fast until we were parked at the opposite end of the island from the Blue Heron. I hadn’t ventured this far, yet.

“Come on,” she hollered. She jumped out of the Jeep.

I could barely keep up. She was already in a swarm of people, hugging and laughing. It was easy to tell Josie was one of the popular girls here. Fun. Warm. Gorgeous. She was one of those people who was easy to talk to and got along with everyone. I trailed up over the dune, following Josie’s path into the party, thinking I was none of those things.

TWENTY-ONE

Caleb

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