Page 40 of Fire Island
A knock pulls me from my inspection. Eve stands in the doorway, her glasses gone. Her hair is up, and she changed into shorts and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Almost like she came to help clean up.
“You needing something?” I ask, fixing the books on the shelves that are not in my alphabetized system.
“I came to see if you needed help?” She looks around the house, almost with a longing expression.
“I’m good.”
I turn my back to her and continue sorting the books.
“Sure, okay. Well, holler if you need me?” She sounds so meek, like she’s apologizing for fucking existing.
Then it occurs to me, she has no kitchen over there in the hut. She’s going to have to eat with me. I’m going to have to feed her while she’s here.
My gaze drops to the floor by the coffee table. The ghost of a giggle flits through my mind. My hand tightens around the book I hold. I jerk my head to the side, dislodging the remnant of what feels like a memory.
Something sweet. Something fueled by . . . need.
Fuck.
I swing my attention to the doorway.
But it’s empty.
She’s gone. And the slip of a memory of whatever or whoever fades before I have the chance to catch it.
With the living room put back the way I like it, I make my way upstairs. The bedroom door is open. The bed is neat and made up, better than when I left it. The dust bunnies under the bed drift around on their own accord. The window by the desk is open. I round the bed and check over the contents of my desk. Opening the drawer, I find EarPods.
Odd.
I don’t own any . . .
Maybe the looters dropped them, and Em thought they were mine? The man should know better. He should have tossed them in the trash. Closing the drawer, I pad to the bathroom. The small, clean space looks fine. But dread swells when I think of the next thing I should inspect.
The lantern room.
Bracing myself for the worst, I climb the stairs.
The door has screw holes that weren’t there before. Like someone boarded it up or added latches or something. I pull the door open and step inside.
The desecrated carcass of the Fresnel I poured hours of love, care, sweat, and tears into shines in the morning sun.
Those fuckers oughta damn hang.
Her elegant, majestic body lies in tiny, jagged pieces to my right, brushed into a pile. Just as Em said. And I wonder why he left the mess when the rest was taken care of.
I walk through the room, and glass dust crunches under my boots.
The sound breaks my fucking heart. I run a hand over the few remaining lower panes that sit in the base, broken but still attached.
“Fucking criminal.”
“I’m sorry.” The words breathe from behind me.
I spin back to find Eve standing in the doorway, hands gripping the doorframe as if it’s the only thing holding her up. Her focus is stuck on the pile of glass on the floor. How long has she been there? Her mouth is a thin line, eyes tight and brows drawn, her chest heaving.
I study her where she stands. The glasses are still gone. Maybe she has contacts? Her dark hair frames her beautiful face claiming angles that would be hard to forget. Sweet curves, a narrowed waist that dips in before her hips, and legs for goddamn days.
When I raise my gaze to where it should be, she’s staring right at me.
