Page 41 of Fire Island
Hell, it may as well be through me. The expression on her devastated face snuffs out any inkling of need my body was heading toward.
She looks like she’s been through hell. Yet here she is, helping me.
I should turn down the asshole a little.
Shouldn’t I?
Eleven
EVIE
Impossible is trying to act normal, platonic, around Cal. Pretending nothing lies between him and me. Being back here is the worst kind of torture. Where every memory we made together clashes with the chaos and fear of the last two weeks with Timothy. And I am glad to be near Cal but not in his space right now. Because if I’m honest, I don’t think I could be closer without falling apart.
The little shack is fine. It’s enough. It’s also void of the horrible memories made in the house. I need a little distance from it. I know I want to get back eventually. For Cal and me to go back to what we had before I left. Before the accident. Before the abduction.
That’s a lot ofbeforeswe have to work through.
And I’m grateful to have the time to do it. Less is more. And the shack is absolutely less. So it’s my job to bring the more. More writing, since it helps me process and recover. More time to think over recent events and what I want moving forward. Iris has set me up well, like she did last time.
Where would I be without her?
Em did a great job of the cleanup. Who knows what he found when he came out after he rescued me from the water. Ididn’t exactly take stock on the way out that day. The day before Timothy and his buddy hightailed it and left me for dead in the ocean.
They got away.
An unfinished story.
A loose end . . .
The police didn’t think I have cause to think they would return. Not after being reported present in this area. The officer they sent to the hospital was pretty thorough. I’m guessing he knows what he’s doing. Still, the unease in the back of my mind will most likely never leave. The tiny thought that one day they’ll come back to finish what they started. After all, six years of effort is a lot to abandon.
“Hello?” The door opens on his heavy knock.
I’m sitting at the small table. My laptop is open, but my attention has drifted out the window. I glance to the door. Cal stands with a bowl in his hands.
“Oh, hi. Come in.” I stand and run a hand over my shorts before tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
He steps inside. “Thought you might like to help me harvest some vegetables and whatever else is still good over there. Hopefully most of it survived.”
I realize now the large bowl is, in fact, empty. A smile fights for control of my face. Hope blooms like the hordes of plants I know he has stuffed away in the greenhouse. “Sure.”
Happiness lights up his blue eyes, and he fumbles the door before walking outside.
We wander over the grassy span toward the greenhouse. The door is closed. He opens it, sliding it on its long tracks, and the humid heat spills out instantly. The scent of growing, thriving plants comes with it. I breathe it in. It may as well be Cal I’m inhaling.
Inside this long, oversized structure is months and years of work. His love and care. Toil and trial and error have all accumulated to produce this. I wander the aisles until I come to my tomato garden. I smile as I find my plants healthy and loaded with shiny red fruit. “Hello, babies, Mama’s missed you.”
“You always talk to your food?” Cal says with a chuckle.
Shit.
I hope he didn’t pick up on that. Dammit, I have to be more careful. Iris told me repeatedly he must remember the last three years on his own. I want him to recover, well and fully. And I will do whatever that takes. Even if it’s breaking my own damn heart every day he thinks we’re strangers.
“Not usually. These ones are just so pretty, and they smell so great,” I say too quickly.
A crooked smile wobbles as he says, “Sure thing, Eve.”
Eve.
