Page 64 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
“Evander!”
My gaze flies from Geneva to the window, half expecting to see my sister standing beyond the pane of glass. I don’t, but that doesn’t mean my heart isn’t thrashing against my ribs. My hand shakes, making me slosh cocoa over the edge. With a curse, I set the mug aside, grabbing a paper towel to clean up the mess. After cleaning that, I wipe down the counters. I refold the kitchen towel, decide it’s not good enough, and fold it again. Taylor was particular about keeping the house clean. It made it easier on Mama when she got home from whichever job she was working.
“Van, sit down.”
“That’s more like it,” I joke, though my words sound uneven as I tidy Geneva’s protein powders.
“Van,” Geneva tries again.
It’s the caring sweetness in her tone that makes me look over my shoulder. She leans forward, patting the chair her foot is currently occupying. Since my sister’s voice sounds like a howling banshee instead of my memory of her, I cross the room. Geneva’s gaze makes an efficient swoop of my face as I lift her ankle into my lap.
“What is it?”
I tap her shin a few times before I’m able to look into her warm brown eyes. “Do you hear that?”
“The wind?”
A painful pressure corkscrews down my spine. “Yes, but does it…sound like anything?”
Anyone?
Her brows crease as she tilts her ear to listen. “We get windstorms like this during hurricane season. It’s pretty typical for September, but this is nothing but a tropical storm. We’re not even in the projected hurricane track. Otherwise, people would be buying out Dotty’s Market. You don’t have to worry. I didn’t even fill the tub for this one.”
Rain pelts the window as Geneva finishes her sentence, drawing her attention. When she looks back at me, she bends at the waist again, settling her fingers over mine.
“It’ll be okay. Everyone’s first hurricane season feels worse than it is.”
I shake my head, unable to articulate what’s truly bothering me. So much grief has stacked itself up like unopened boxes that my chest feels like it’s caving in. Each breath feels tighter than the last, like my lungs have shrunk. I’ve treated a few people for panic attacks in the ER, most of them thinking they’re having a heart attack. I check my pulse at my throat, already knowing it’s severely elevated. Its deafening beat is hammering in my ears.
“Van?”
“Evander!”
When the voices overlap, I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Please…please talk to me.”
I force a chuckle, the sound of it dry and cracked. “Another courtesy word. Lucky me.”
Geneva’s fingers squeeze mine with a fierce grip.
“It—” I stop, debating whether or not I should even voice this out loud. “The wind sounds like my sister saying my name.”
To her credit, Geneva doesn’t flinch, doesn’t call me crazy or wrinkle her brow. Instead, she nods. “Okay. The wind sounds like it’s sayingVan?”
“Evander,” I correct. “Like I’m in trouble. Taylor never used my full name unless I’d done something I wasn’t supposed to.”
Geneva’s shoulders raise with a slow inhale.
“It’s just—” I tug at my ear. “It’s unsettling.”
“I can imagine.”
My fingers go back to tapping at Geneva’s shin, strumming a melody without strings as the exhausting battle wars within me.
The wind continues to thrash at the windows while Geneva pulls her leg from my grasp. Using the table as leverage, she balances on her good foot and moves her chair right beside mine. Her fingers slide into my hair as she leans her head on my tense shoulder.
“Will you tell me more about her?”
