Page 24 of Every Chance After

“No. That’s not good enough.”

“Even charging reckless was a stretch,” Jim continues. “Improper driving would’ve been more accurate. You’ll probably talk the judge down at trial.”

“So, I fucked up, but she’s the one fucked.”

Jim’s shoulders fall in a deep breath. “Take heart, Grady. You’re still financially responsible for the damages and her medical bills. Your insurance companies will hash it all out. With the Sullivans involved, there’s hope for a civil suit. So, cheer up.”

Dad chuckles, but I shake my head, steaming. “I don’t care about the Sullivans. What about Marina? Sheshouldsue me.”

“She might. But, given our chat last night, it’s unlikely. She wanted a chance to thank you?—”

“Thank me?”

“For saving her life. She wanted me to tell you she’s okay. Truly. Her words.”

My eyes close tightly with the word, thinking of our promise.She remembers our truth policy.Only she’s not okay. Not the way I found her.

I lean against the counter next to Dad, lightheaded and uneasy. “She should hate me. Is she… what is she? Foolish? Naive? Insane?”

“No. None of that. She’skind, Grady.” He moves toward the door. “I gave Donny the go-ahead to fix your truck. It’s salvageable. Hers isn’t. Talk later.”

He leaves, and Dad groans. “It’s best to let this go, son. Focus on taking better care of yourself. Get your fishing pole and put this behind you. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I breathe out, wanting exactly that. She’s a stranger, yesterday’s over, and, surely, her family, such as it is, is caring for her by now. Even so, remembering her words, my fists tighten against the granite countertop.I thought today I’d get a family.

Like he’s reading my mind, Dad says, “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I know.”Sometimes nothing can be done.“Dad, I gotta go. Can I borrow The Beast?”

“Keys are on the peg,” he says.

I grab them, my bag of effects, and whistle for the dogs. We load up in my grandfather’s old Ford, nicknamed The Beast for its size, heavy rumble, and few modern conveniences. It’s a beast to drive. But it works. Once it groans to life, me and the dogs do what I’ve wanted to do for the last two days.

We go home.

CHAPTERSIX

Marnie

I dream in Ashe-vision,a jumbled version of our greatest hits.

All the times I worked the cash register at Sunny’s Beach Market as a teenager, hoping he’d notice me. The summer before his senior year in college, he finally did.

“Marnie, you have the sunniest smile at Sunny’s,” he said. “Mom should give you a raise just for that.”

Laughing in the break room over Mountain Dews and guessing what flavor they’ll think of next.

His first day as our store manager after he graduated, brandishing his degree like a scepter. He went to the booth overlooking the registers, and his voice came across the PA system, like a seasoned deejay.

“Good morning, folks. It’s another bright and beautiful day at Sunny’s Beach Market,” he said then, and every day he’s worked since.

I still love that.

When we built cases of Coke and Sprite into a Christmas tree in the store’s iconic gazebo and, the following year, a fireplace with Santa peeking through. That was the same year he danced with me at our Christmas party, and I went home still smelling his faint cologne in my hair.

“It’s my New Year’s Resolution, Marnie,” he said the following week as we worked on a Valentine’s display.

“What is?”

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