Page 20 of The Words We Lost

“Guess that proves I have at least one athletic bone in my body, right? You’re my witness.” An opener that earned a smile from the dark-haired, tanned-skin girl. “Few things in life are worth the risk of getting soaked—and books are at the top of that list.” She handed the tattered—but dry!—copy ofIsland of the Blue Dolphinsback to the gawking stranger. “I’m Cecelia, by the way. But you should know I’m in the process of changing it to Cece.”

The girl’s dark eyebrows rose an inch as she tilted her head in a way that suggested she didn’t quite know what to make of the curly-haired maniac who was still splayed on the dock like a dying starfish. Or perhaps the tilt was because she didn’t understand her? Maybe she didn’t speak English?

Cecelia’s cheeks grew hot at the possibility. There wasn’t exactly a ton of diversity to speak of up north, not that her hometown in Nevada was much different. But still ... there was something almost otherworldly about this girl with her rich skin and sharp, dark features. Her eyes were the color of warm honey, yet her waist-length hair was an indistinguishable black-brown. She glanced down at the cover of the girl’s book once again, her eyes noting the similarities anew.

“You’re changing your name?” the enigma asked with crystal-clear English.

Cecelia sighed internally and crisscrossed her legs beneath her, ever-aware that her getaway backpack was still waiting for her up on the hotel patio. “Not legally or anything. It’s not that I hate the name Cecelia, it’s just that I think it sounds like a stuffy aristocrat who wears a girdle, ya know? Cece is more my speed.” The girl smiled. “Unfortunately, though, the only person who ever calls me Cece is my cousin. And seeing as he’s been calling me that since I could fit into the hotel’s laundry chute when I’d visit on family vacations, I don’t have a lot of hope the others will join him anytime soon. But like my uncle always says, ‘Success is a slow, long process of repetition.’” She rolled her eyes, realizing only then that her “nickname process” would stop once she boarded her ferry.

In twenty-six minutes.

The girl nodded like she could relate, though she probably had some rare gem of a name like Saraiya or Arianna or Catalina— “I’m Ingrid.”

Cecelia blinked. “Ingrid?”

She nodded again.

Of all the names she could have guessed,Ingridwould not have made the top thousand. All theIngridsCecelia had ever read about were fair-skinned Scandinavian women with hair the color of a ripe apricot. Also, they were usually being held captive by a Viking king.

“It was my dad’s mother’s name,” Ingrid supplied. “She grew up in Norway before she moved to the States when my dad was a kid. I never met her.”

“It’s a strong name,” Cecelia added politely, realizing now that her private thoughts must have leaked onto her public face. Joel always said she should never play cards. She made sure to smile extra big just to spite him. “We both have the namesake thing in common. That’s where I got my name from, too—a great-aunt on my mom’s side who died before I was born.”

Ingrid’s decidedly pensive gaze wandered from Cecelia back to the cover of the book in her hands.

“What’s that about?” Cecelia asked. “Sure looks like you’ve read it lots.”

The spark in Ingrid’s gaze was unmistakable. “I have. It was my mother’s favorite—a survival story about a young girl named Karana who was abandoned on an island for years after her people went in search of new land.” She tapped on the picture of a girl who shared many of Ingrid’s characteristics.“All she had for a friend was a wild dog. She creates an entire world for the two of them, never giving up hope that one day she’ll be rescued.”

“And does she? Get rescued?”

Ingrid studied her, her eyes practically aglow under the sun’s rays. “You should read it for yourself. It won some pretty big awards in the sixties and seventies. It’s also a movie, though I’ve never seen it.”

“Then I can’t believe our library doesn’t own a copy of it.”

“It does.” Ingrid’s voice boldened. “I saw it there in a display of classics the last time we came to port, but since I can’t get a card, I have a list of others I read through while we’re in town.”

“Oh, wait.” Cecelia shook her head and upped her volume to be heard over an obnoxious seagull. “I wasn’t talking about the community library. I meant the library at the hotel—my uncle’s a huge book nerd. My mom says it must be where I get it from because she can hardly get through a novel. Give her a book on art or gardening and she’ll read for hours, but give her an adventure story and she’ll be asleep within five minutes.”

Ingrid’s smile was soft as she asked, “So Mr. Campbell is your uncle?”

Whenever Cecelia was asked this question, she wanted to throw out a bunch of caveats to include with her answer, share that even though her uncle owned the most affluent hotel in town, he wasn’t the stereotypical rich jerk who barked orders at his family and staff. Truth was, he was everything opposite that.

But this time, all she said in reply was, “Yeah, he is.”

“He’s at the marina with my dad—he’s a captain, looking for charter work for the summer.” Ingrid pointed across the water at the marina, which was only a short swim away. Cecelia squinted her eyes to see if she might spot the men between sails and boat lifts. But there was already triple the usual number of people to scan through. Looked like today’s festivities were already underway. “Since the library’s closed, your uncle said I could read anywhere on his property if I didn’t want to sit at the marina all day. I already spend too much time on boats as it is, so this sounded like a better way to spend the afternoon.”

Cecelia’s ears perked up at this, and she readjusted her position. “Do you always go on the boat with your dad while he works or something?”

Ingrid scrunched her lips together for a moment before answering, “Usually, yes, but we’ve lived on a boat since I was six.”

Cecelia nearly gasped as she switched positions once again, this time propping herself up on her knees to face Ingrid fully. “Youliveon a boat?” She slapped a palm to her chest. “How absolutely magical!” She closed her eyes, wishing there was an ocean breeze that would sweep her hair back at this very moment to confirm her deepest of desires. “If I lived on a boat, I’d have all the inspiration I’d ever need to write my series.”

“Your ... series?”

Cecelia nodded vigorously. “I’m an author—or I will be one day. But for now, I’m still working out the kinks in my plot and waiting for the right muse to come along. That’s a big part of being an author, you know—finding your muse. Most non-writers don’t know that.” Ingrid shook her head slowly as if to say she hadn’t known, either. “It’s going to be a pirate fantasy set in the brutal Kingdom of Cardithia.” Her hands worked in animated gestures. “There’s hidden treasure, capsizing ships, secret stowaways, magical spells, kingdoms conquered by evil rulers, and many epic battles to the death. Oh, and of course, there will be a forbidden romance between a ruggedly handsome pirate and an orphaned princess.”

Ingrid’s previously reserved demeanor blossomed to life before her eyes. “I would read that series in a heartbeat.”

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