Page 44 of Until We Break

“Are they in town?” I asked.

“No.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets, fiddling with the lighter between my fingers. “Okay, then where is she?”

“Caleb, they’re gone.”

The frustration built. “Where. Did. They. Go?” I knew I was being a jackass, but Walt wasn’t making it any easier.

“Home,” he answered quietly.

My jaw locked in place. There was no way Walt was telling me the truth. No fucking way.

“Uhh. That’s not possible, Walt. Margot and I have plans tonight. She’s not leaving Marshoak for another two weeks.”

“Helena took her back to Virginia. They’re gone. That’s all I know.” He started to close the door, but I shoved my foot in the gap to stop it from closing on me.

“Why? What happened?” I kept my voice low and steady, despite every urge in my body to rip the screen off its hinges and toss it into the marshland.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”

“It matters to me,” I growled.

“Call Margot yourself. She can tell you whatever she wants.” He yanked hard on the door and I slid my foot away. It closed firmly in place.

“I’ll do that,” I muttered, jumping from the stoop.

I pulled out my phone and called Margot. I stared at the phone when it went to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m at the Blue Heron and your uncle just told me you and your mom took off. Call me so I know you’re okay. Call me back. I need to talk to you.”

I walked back to my truck and sat behind the wheel. My shoulders were hunched over and I felt how tight my chest was.

I didn’t know I wouldn’t hear from her again.

TWENTY-THREE

Margot

Against all my better instincts I waited for Caleb at the burned-out shipwreck. At least, that’s what I think happened to this ship. It was dark, but there was something even darker and more sinister about the wood beams we were using as benches. I wondered what its story was. How it landed on this stretch of beach off Marshoak Island. Were there families on board? Lives lost? I started making up tales of the passengers. Then I gasped. It hadn’t occurred to me what I was doing. For so long it had been an innate part of my being, as natural as breathing.

Holy shit. I wanted to write. I wanted to write all of it down. Not that I was interested in this kind of story, but I was interested inastory. Someone’s life. Someone’s history—their pain, their joy, their journey on a ship? I almost laughed. I hadn’t felt that kind of creativity or curiosity in months. Was I delirious or completely sane?

I thought I saw a shadow walking toward me. The distant bonfire flickered behind the figure. I called out to be sure.

“Caleb?”

“Yeah. It’s me. I got our beers.” He sounded a little different. Off somehow from when we had come up with this plan to meet.

“What happened? It took a while.” I didn’t tell him long enough for me to conjure up an entire list of questions for the shipwreck’s passengers and three different versions of how it had come ashore.

“Nothing.” He handed me the icy glass bottle. The frost on the outside was a shock to my fingertips. “Just ran into someone.”

I took a swig. The beer tasted good. What was best about it was how cold it was. I didn’t drink beer much in New York. Ethan liked to order specialty cocktails and bubbly mixes. This was nice. Simple. Easy.

“You still think it’s a good idea for us to talk?” I prodded. He had grown quiet since he returned.

“I do.” He squared off his shoulders as he rotated to face me. “I’ve been thinking about it. How it all happened.”

---