Page 9 of Windlass

Stevie knew she looked like bullshit herself, having seen enough cow manure. Her eyes were red and shadowed, and she had slept terribly when she had finally come back inside after Lana drove off sometime around two, curling up on the couch to avoid running into Angie in the hall. Marvin, poor dog, had been very confused and had whined off and on, further disrupting her sleep. Talking about it now would only make her want to cry again, and that would aggravate her throbbing headache.

“Then can I get you a coffee? Doughnut?”

She peeped at Morgan’s profile. Damn her for knowing Stevie so well. “Maybe.”

Morgan slowed the truck and did a U-turn in the empty country lane.

“We’ll be late, though.”

“No, we won’t.”

Stevie slumped deeper in her seat as they drove the short way into town. Rain clouds built farther down the coast.

“Do you want to come in?” Morgan asked when she parked beside Storm’s-a-Brewin’, Stormy’s coffee shop and bar.

Stevie shook her head.

“Be right back then.” Morgan slid out of the truck, lanky and confident and everything Stevie was currently not.

The ocean was visible between the buildings. A decayed lobster wharf was directly in her line of sight, and a cluster of seagulls cawed raucously into each other’s faces in the parking lot opposite. It didn’t look like friendly conversation, but what did she know? If Angie were here, Stevie would have made up a conversation between the gulls to pass the time. Angie, unlike Morgan, would have fed into it, because Angie was as ridiculous as Stevie, even if she hid it better.

Unhelpful thoughts. Her stomach churned and ached. It was stupid, frankly, that emotions came with physical responses. Stupid and unfair. Wasn’t it bad enough she’d had her heart clubbed with a nail-studded bat without having to feel like she was going to throw up and have diarrhea at the same time?

Time strolled by, heedless of her misery, and then Morgan was back with a hot coffee and a giant cinnamon roll. “I know I said doughnut, but Stormy said you like these.”

A lump formed in her throat.Fuck. She was going to cry anyway. Morgan moving out, the not-near-kiss, Lana, the beautiful goodness of her friends . . .

“Thanks,” she mumbled thickly as she accepted the offering. Then, noting a distinctly teeth-shaped excision, said, “There’s a bite missing.”

“Delivery fee.”

Stevie bit into the soft, sweet dough. At first her tastebuds reacted with the same laconic misery as the rest of her body. Gradually, though, cinnamon and other secret spices penetrated the barrier of her depression, and by the time she had licked her fingers clean she felt mildly better and they were halfway to their first appointment, only a few minutes behind schedule. She washed the sweetness down with coffee.

“Thanks,” she said again.

“No problem, bud.”

The radio was still off. She contemplated reaching for the button, but that seemed like a lot of work.

“Lana come over yesterday?”

Stevie flinched. “Did Angie say something?”

“Just a guess.”

She stared at the mixed hardwood forest passing on her right, seeing only Angie. The need to get the toxic weight off her chest forced her next words out.

“I heard them.”

No need to explainwhatshe’d heard.

Now it was Morgan’s turn to wince. If she said she was sorry, Stevie decided, she would open the truck door and throw herself out. Better to be a smear on the potholed asphalt than an object of pity; she already felt pathetic enough. But Morgan didn’t offer platitudes. She was annoyingly prudent that way.

“You know you’re always welcome at our place.”

Stevie nodded. The coffee had reduced the pounding in her head somewhat, and she realized, now that her stomach had something to chew on besides itself, that she hadn’t eaten breakfast. Her appreciation for the cinnamon roll grew.

“I think I need to move out.” The very thought made her bones ache, but she did not have to go through what she’d gone through last night. She was an adult with choices. Getting over Angie—and getting back to being friends instead—would be a lot easier without forced proximity.

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