Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4-1
The morning will come, in the press of every kiss
With your head upon my chest
Where I will annoy you, with every waking breath
Until you… decide to wake up
Wake Up, Coheed and Cambria
Kate gazed into the distance. On the other side of the marina, The Sands was still lit up against the nighttime sky, its strands of party lights twinkling like far-off stars.
She’d made a lot of wishes on those stars last summer, but here she was. Back to square one… hoping against hope that somehow he could find it in his heart to forgive her. Or, at least hear her out.
The Mira Bella rose and fell gently as a passing skiff stirred the waters. Kate’s long, shapely legs dangled over the river, her toes near to kissing its darkened surface.
What would Jake say? Worse, what would Ethan do?
With a sigh, she hugged her knees to her chest. The gentle clang of a loose rope flapping against Mira Bella’s mast played a melancholic lullaby.
Kate hopped smoothly to her feet and ducked below deck. Everything was precisely as she’d remembered: the kitchen was tiny but tidy, even if ill-equipped; the galley table and bench were pristine. She ran her hand along the table’s surface. Jake was always neat, particularly for a bachelor… never a crumb out of place. Everything about him was consistent; steady; clean.
“So, what do you wanna be when you grow up?” he’d winked at her last summer, when the two of them last sat here.
Cracking open a cold one, he’d waited for her response with that calm, steady sea-blue gaze of his. He’d meant it as a joke: they were both late twenty-somethings and should have been well on their way at this point. He was just turning the tide of conversation after their lazy morning of fishing and sunbathing on the deck, followed by a quick dip in the river; but Kate had felt cornered.
Even now she blushed, remembering his muscular arms wrapping around her and wrestling her into playful submission after she’d splashed him mercilessly in an attempt to swim out of his grasp — Jake was an excellent swimmer.
“Oh, who wants to grow up?!” she’d deflected, tossing her summer blonde and smiling dazzlingly, hoping that would do the trick. But Jake was unapologetic.
“Come on, Kate,” he’d whispered into the nape of her neck, drawing her near, “I know you’re not wasting every summer for the rest of your life here in Bayport. People come here to retire… when they’re done with their adventure. Bayport is how the story ends.”
“For YOUR information, Mister, I DON’T consider it a waste,” she’d pushed him away in mock indignation, stealing a quick glance in his direction from beneath a row of dewy lashes. He wasn’t buying it. And now he was kissing her neck.
“You’re the most beautiful… most brilliant… most talented… woman… I’ve ever… met,” he’d continued.
Kate shook her head. One year felt like a lifetime ago. His guitar stand sat empty towards the hull of the yacht, near the bed. Hearing him play tonight at The Sands had reawakened so many things in her. A solid reminder that last summer wasn’t a dream — and neither was this.
She took one more glance around. She’d hoped to catch Jake after closing, but it seemed things were still going strong at the bar — Jake’s Bar, as all the locals referred to The Sands. Anxiously, she glanced at her phone. She’d just have to leave a note.
Opening a galley drawer, she rummaged for a pen and scrap of paper. “We need to talk, xx,” she scrawled. Folding the paper in half, she reached to tuck it beneath Jake’s pillow — but her fingertips brushed something slim and silky. Startled, she pulled out a long, black silk hair ribbon. What the….?
Before she had time to reconsider, she shoved it back under the pillow, crumpled her note and tossed in into the wastebasket. Scurrying up the stairs and across the deck, she climbed onto the pier, slipping swiftly into the black sandals waiting there.
One last glance over her shoulder at the Mira Bella and Kate was back on dry land. Lord Street was the quickest route, so she ducked onto the dark path, overhung by the arcing arms of ancient live oaks, dripping with Spanish moss. She turned onto Prince and then deftly zig-zagged towards Blue Belle. These historic streets made no sense in their windings and ramblings by day; even less so in the dark. But she knew every inch by heart.
As the house came into view, Kate’s heart sank. Even at this distance she could see Ethan’s dark, lurid form pacing in the parlor window.
Creeping across the front porch, she eked open the screen door without so much as a creeeak from the rusty spring — but it was to no avail.
“Where… WHERE… in God’s name have you been?” Ethan exploded, drunkenly rounding on her. Kate shivered in the foyer in spite of the humid summer heat as Ethan stumbled towards her like a lion, mad with blood-thirst and drooling over its prey before going in for an apparent kill, “I s-s-s-SUppose you went back to that Water-Rat’s nest… huh? Huh?”
Kate drew herself up with feigned confidence; she decided to take her chances and let his alcohol-induced anger run its course in silence. Ethan continued to ogle her, head to toe:
“How many damn times…damn times… do I have to tell you not… not... to wear those dangly… things? They’re stretching out… perfect. Earlobes,” Ethan faltered, then grabbed Kate’s chin to make his point, clumsily stroking her cheek with barely-bridled irritation; his eyes struggled to focus as Kate yanked away.
“And what the — what the HELL, Kate, do you have on your feet… Kate?” he sneered. “Those the Water Rat’s flip-flops? What else the Water Rat give ya…?”
Kate froze in terror, stealing a glance downward; her heart sank. They were his sandals… how could she not have noticed?! With an inner moan she recalled that she and Jake did wear the exact same size flipflop. This would be fun to explain all around.
“Ethan, babyyyy…” came a voice from the other room, “what’s keeping you?”
“Yea. You said you’d be right back,” pouted a second.
“SHUT. UP!” Ethan roared, but Kate had already taken advantage of the interruption. Bounding up the stairs, she slammed her door and locked it tight — before Ethan could get his bearings.
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Just counting the days. Counting the days away until Jake's fist finally connects with Ethan's smug little face. Any day now...
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