Page 6 of Shiver Me Timbers

I want that so badly.

Not withArthur, obviously, and not baby Poe in particular, though he is cute. He has a real mop of soft, black hair.

But… that kinship. The love and support. Someone who understands me better than I know myself, and who knows how to stop a meltdown with a few murmured words. Someone who loves me, flaws and all. A family.

I will not look at Duncan.

I will not look at Duncan.

Romantics.Did Penny really have to call us that?

“Fine.” I clear my throat, then nod at the map. “I’ll listen to it. So show us where to find her, then we’ll go see the Wailing Woman tomorrow. We’ve got a free night, right, Duncan?”

Finally, I risk a glimpse—then feel my heart sink. Because Duncan glowers at the kitchen tiles, completely unaffected by the raw display of love we just witnessed. If anything, he looks like he’d rather climb out the window than spend another ten minutes in this conversation.

You know, this mandoesthings to my insides with his steady presence and his rumbly voice, and yet he’s always untouchable for me. Always out of reach.

“Yes.” Navy eyes flick toward me, then skate away. “We’ll go see the Wailing Woman tomorrow.”

Said like a man walking to the gallows. Jeez Louise. And maybe a boat trip alone isn’t such a good idea, not with everything so fraught between us, but—

“Then it’s settled,” Penny says, poring over the map. She smooths the creases tenderly, the paper crackling under her palms. “She’ll be worth it, I swear.”

She’d better be—or that ghost won’t be the only one yelling into the void.

* * *

One day later, I could strangle Penny for her choice of ghost. The Wailing Woman? Seriously?

“Did you listen to that podcast?” Duncan asks as we shove away from the jetty, waves sloshing up the side of the boat. We move in unison, coiling ropes and dragging buoys back inside, our movements a well choreographed dance. We’re always quickest setting off when there’s no one else on board and we don’t have to pick our way around scattered handbags and backpacks.

“Yup.” Penny was right. The podcast is awesome, but I’m in no mood to appreciate that fact; in fact I’m sourer than a lemon as I follow Duncan to the steering wheel. Since there are no tourists to impress tonight, I’ve swapped out the shawls and maxi skirt for faded jeans and one of my dad’s old sweatshirts. It’s sage green with a tiny embroidered pink shrimp. “Did you?”

There’s a beat. A seagull cackles overhead.

“Yeah,” Duncan says.

Oh, I’ll murder that girl. She may be a friend, but she is criminally oblivious. And Duncan listened to the episode too? He noticed the parallels? Just perfect.

The silence is awkward as we leave the harbor, weaving around a kayaking group and a clump of floating crab pots. Gray seals yawn at us from a rocky outcrop, slumped over the seaweed piles like giant floppy sausages. As we pass, the air smells like stinky fish breath, and the seals huff and stare.

Honestly, I don’t mind the smell. Anything that screams “This is not romantic!” is just fine by me tonight.

The map Penny showed us yesterday was way too old to navigate by, but we’ve come up with rough coordinates—enough to start with, then we’ll coast around the area and see what we find. As Duncan sets our course, frowning between the pink horizon and his controls, I chew on the inside of my cheek and watchhim.

He’s tense tonight. Tenser than usual, I mean, because there’s always something rigid about Duncan Matlock. Something held in check. But tonight, his shoulders are rounded even though the breeze is unseasonably warm, and his forehead is etched with a frown. The air feels taut around us.

“Thanks for this,” I say, even though I know better than to fill Duncan’s silences with chatter.

He grunts, twitches the steering wheel, and squints out at the water.

Yup. I should know better, but I can’t seem to stop. “A new ghost would be good for the tour. Keep things from getting stale.”

Another grunt.

Right.

The waves are tinted bronze by the setting sun, and the breeze tastes like salt, but I can’t enjoy it. I suck on my teeth. Usually, I find Duncan’s long silences relaxing, but tonight… I’m too on edge. “And it’ll be good forus. We’re in a rut, don’t you think?”

---