Page 9 of Shiver Me Timbers

“Wailing.”

“Right,” I say, so relieved that Ellie has said a single word. “So if we just sit and listen, hopefully we’ll hear her. Then we’ll see what else she does.”

Ellie shrugs beside me, her sleeve brushing mine. Seeing her in Pete’s old clothes earlier was a kick in the gut, but the pain of that shock has dulled now.

The sweatshirt looks good on her in the moonlight. Comfy. Right.

“I have snacks,” I say, because apparently I can’t stop fucking talking tonight. Can’t stop filling the strained air. What is wrong with me? “So let me know if you get hungry. Brought you a flask of hot chocolate, too.”

A sniff. “Thanks.” The word is so quiet, I almost miss it.

“And blankets,” I go on desperately, inwardly kicking myself for this verbal diarrhea. “There are blankets if you get cold. And I think one of your old beanies is stuffed away in the wheelhouse somewhere—”

“I know,” Ellie says, a little louder now. Her words are clipped, and her shoulders are stiff beside mine. “I’ve been on this boat a million times, Duncan.”

True enough. But I can’t stand her pained silence; can’t just leave her here hunched over and sad and notdosomething, so apparently I’m a late blooming chatterbox after forty years of barely any practice. Who knew making conversation is such an art? I should’ve made more of an effort before now.

“We could let down a hydrophone,” I say.

The wind whispers through Ellie’s hair. Her soft, wild hair that dances on the breeze and tickles my shoulder.

“Hm?” She’s barely listening.

“In case you can hear her underwater. The ghost. We could let down a hydrophone.”

“Oh. Sure.”

My knee bounces nervously. I scratch my jaw, casting around for the magic combination of words that will take us back to the way things were before that conversation in the wheelhouse.

We can go back. Right?

“I met Arthur at the library this morning. We looked up the Wailing Woman in the town archives, and—”

“Duncan?”

My throat is thick. It takes effort to swallow. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

Ellie sighs. “I don’t care. I just… want to get this over with.”

Ah, shit.No.

Ellie always cares. She’s one of those bright, shining people: one of those precious souls who cares too much about everything and everyone. I’ve teased her for that enthusiasm in the past, ribbed her for it, but I couldn’t stand if that warmth was snuffed out.

“Of course you care.” Maybe if I declare it, it will be so.

Ellie scoffs and folds her arms over her chest. “Try me.”

And Ellie being angry isn’t good, but it’s better than two minutes ago when she wilted with sadness. So why not push my luck?

I nudge her with my shoulder. “You be careful, Ellie May. The Wailing Woman might hear you talking shit, and what then?”

Another loud huff, and Ellie throws up her hands. “Maybe then she’ll give us an earful, and we can call it a night and I’ll finally get off this boat, Duncan. Away fromyou.”

The boat creaks as it rocks in the swell, and cold wind flaps my shirt against my chest.

Stunned, I sit with that for a moment. Let those bitter words sink in, sea water flecking our cheeks and stiffening my beard.

Ithurts. Pain radiates through my chest, pulsing out in dark waves, throbbing all the way through my body to my fingertips. But I deserved that—what she saidandthe way she said it. After the way I handled things earlier, I deserved that and worse.

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