Page 2 of Sometimes You Stay

With a sigh, she sank to the edge of the boardwalk. She needed a minute or two. Gently she rotated her foot.

Or three.

She’d seen a few people out walking their dogs earlier, but it was an early morning—well before the start of the tourist season—and there wasn’t a soul in sight from her angle.

Parking down by the dock had seemed like a smart idea that morning. There had been plenty of spaces, and she never complained about an opportunity to stretch her legs. Not when so many of her days were spent in airplane seats.

Heaving a big sigh, she closed her eyes and gave her ankle another twirl.

Maybe a little better. Not perfect but better. She could get to her car and then find somewhere to get ice and elevate it for a while.

But first she had to get to her car.

She squinted at the four wheels on her carry-on. She’d tried leaning on the handle once in Florence, and the whole thing had flown out from under her. Utter betrayal. Total embarrassment.

Ironic because she had accepted it from a sponsor and endorsed it in part because of the way it rolled so smoothly.

She wasn’t about to replay that scene on a different continent. So she sat there until a lobster boat chugged into the harbor. Then another.

With each growling engine, she tested her range of motion. Some improvement.

She’d take it.

Pushing herself up on her good leg, Cretia squared hershoulders. Then she took a tentative step on the tips of her toes.

A groan tried to escape, but she swallowed it down. Clearly nothing was broken. She was just going to be a little bit sore. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Grabbing the handle of her unhelpful bag, she hobbled toward the dock, pausing every few steps to catch her breath and let the pain ease.

Halfway to the dock, her face was damp with sweat despite the cool air, and she was fairly certain her cheeks had turned a not-so-pretty shade of red. Dabbing at her forehead with the sleeve of her sweater, she nodded as a jogger rounded the bend in front of her.

The woman in bright pink leggings slowed, then pulled out one of her earbuds. “Everything okay?”

Confirmation of those not-so-pretty cheeks.

Cretia forced a smile. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

With a second concerned glance, the woman gave a quick nod, tucked her earbud back into place, and picked up her speed.

This day was turning out to be less productive than she’d planned. But at least she had a few shots of the harbor and the boardwalk. And after a decent night’s sleep, her ankle would be good as new. Or at least good enough.

She just had to get to her car.

Hobbling on, she let out a sigh of relief as she rounded a bend to see the bustling dock ahead. Almost there.

Fishermen crawled off their boats, unloading equipment and oversized coolers. They hefted awkward wooden traps with ease, hollering to each other from boat to boat. It was a choreographed dance.

One she should be recording.

She grabbed her phone from her backpack and didn’t bother to zip it all the way up as she hurried toward the dock. Ignoring the sting in her ankle, she slipped into the action, hunting for the best angle. She passed a man at least a foot taller than her, his brown overalls covered in wet patches. But he gave her a broad smile beneath his bushy beard. The other men were almost as big, grizzled but somehow kind. One gave her a wink as she zoomed in on him.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he called.

Cretia laughed and waved at him before spinning to watch a boy probably still in high school toss a round mesh trap of some sort to a man on a boat. The man was an older version of the boy, his lips whistling a cheerful tune. He caught the trap by curling his fingertips into the twine, then tossed it into the stern like he’d done it a million times.

When she swung back to the boy to record his second throw, she turned right into a solid wall. It grunted but had no give, and her ankle screamed as she stumbled backward. Twisting hard to take any weight off her right foot, she turned toward the harbor.

Suddenly the ground disappeared, and she clawed for purchase on anything, only managing to wrap her arm around the handle of her suitcase with those stupid wheels that rolled along far too agreeably.

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