Page 14 of Until We Break

I grabbed one of the baskets stacked by the door and scrolled through the list on my phone. I felt eyes on me before I put the first item in my basket. I looked over my shoulder and smiled at the woman at the register.

“You visiting?” she asked.

“Something like that,” I answered. I don’t know why her question felt like such an invasion of privacy. I didn’t know how long I would be in Marshoak Island.

“Oh, where are you staying?”

I thought I had moved far enough into the next aisle and dropped in a roll of paper towels.

“The Blue Heron Marina.”

“You’re Walt’s niece? I thought I recognized you.”

It seemed I couldn’t keep shopping without talking to her. I stepped toward her. “Yes. Margot.” I reached over the conveyor belt to shake her hand.

“I’m real glad someone is going to run the Blue Heron now.” She grinned. “It needs TLC. Real TLC.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I protested. “I’m only here because I have to be. I’m a writer actually, not a—” I stopped. Was I a writer? I wanted to collect the items on the shopping list and get out of Reel Time. I felt like a fraud.

She frowned. “You don’t want the Blue Heron? The marina? You don’t want it? But Walt gave it to you.” I swore her face went pale.

“I didn’t say that.” My stomach churned. I was trapped in a moment where I felt the need to tell her everything that led me to this moment or drop everything in the basket and run out of the store and never come back.

“Most people on this island would want it. All that waterfront. All that water access. There’s nothing else like it anywhere around here. And if your uncle wanted you to have it, that’s saying something.” She nodded toward me. It felt more like a sermon from a pulpit than a piece of friendly advice.

“I think I’ll get the rest of my shopping done.” I darted into the fishing aisle and took a deep breath. I remembered what Dean had said yesterday—there was already a line forming of people who were interested in taking the Blue Heron off my hands. That should make the decision to sell it, easier, but there was something in the cashier’s tone that made me feel it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“No, no, no, no.” I threw the car in park and jumped out, racing to the dump truck blocking the boat ramp. I forgot about the bags of cold groceries in the hot car.

I couldn’t get the driver’s attention.

“Hey!” I screamed at him, waving my arms. I jumped up and down. The engine rumbled. “Hey! You! Stop!”

He was about to dump a ton of dirt and gravel into the only working ramp. If it was blocked, there was no way for me to move an entire ton of debris. Nothing I did worked, so I began pounding on his door.

He finally heard me and jerked open the door, throwing me back hard enough to land on my ass.

“Ouch.” The fall shook me.

“What are you doing?” He scowled at me.

I struggled to stand. The sting of being thrown, sinking into my backside. “Trying to get your attention. What are you doing?”

“I have a delivery.”

“I see that, but why would you dump all that dirt in the boat ramp?”

“It’s on the order.”

“What order?” I was cautious as I approached the truck. He climbed down to meet me.

“This one.” He handed a purchase order to me. “See?”

I read the hand-written instructions. “This doesn’t make any sense. I don’t want the boat ramp blocked.”

He shrugged. “Where do you want this load if not by the ramp?”

“I don’t,” I countered. “I don’t need it. My uncle must have ordered this. Just cancel it and take it back.”

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