“Excellent,excellent. We’d love to have you. And may I just say how thrilled I was over your championships?” Wrinkles folded across his skin like an accordion as he smiled. “And not just the championships, but the way you handled yourself in that final, painful season. Pure class. Inspirational.”
Remy walked atop the breakwater that jutted out from the Rockland harbor’s northern edge. Almost a mile long, it had been completed in 1901 to safeguard the ships and industry of the town from storm-driven waves. Seven hundred thousand tons of granite blocks had been used, which now formed a wide walking path to the lighthouse perched at the breakwater’s end.
On her left, more than ten miles of water separated the mainland from North Haven and Vinalhaven Islands. On her right, the harbor stretched wide and deep. Then came the town, tucked against a backdrop of hills. The heavily clouded sky seemed to pause to watch the progress of boats of every shape and size—sailboats, commercial barges, tourist schooners.
This was the first time since moving in with Wendell that Remy had made this walk. She’d have liked to look up and admire the views while moving forward. As it was, the cracks between the boulders and their uneven tops meant she had to keep her eyes down. She counteracted this by stopping often to enjoy the vistas.
When she reached the picture-perfect lighthouse—a quintessentially New England creation of red brick and white-painted wood—she walked around it, then up the exterior staircase to an outdoor landing. Wind tugged her hair behind her like a banner as she faced in the direction of Islehaven.
Soon, she’d need to return there. Not only because she missed the power it had to restore and protect her, but also because her checking account balance was beginning to demand it. During this trip, her rental car was her largest expense. Next to that, food. She’d been frugal, but still. She flatly refused to dip into the savings she’d worked so hard to grow.
The simple financial realities of her chosen profession of artist were these . . . It had taken her a long time to create sculptures worth buying. Now that she’d reached that point, she was limited income-wise by her own output. Her creative process took time and could not be rushed. While she had amassed a following of collectors willing to buy her pieces, that following was relatively small. A lack of great demand combined with her unwillingness to over-charge combined with the fact that she compensated her mother and sister for running the business side of her art meant that she was not a person who could afford to tarry here much longer.
In a few days she’d return home and resume work. And that was for the best, except . . .
Jeremiah.
Every time she thought his name it was like a screw twisting into her heart. She’d been in communication with him since their kiss, but she couldn’t bring herself to see him today, which was cowardly and unfair because he’d been wonderful to her.
Truth be told, she was embarrassed by her freak-out last night. She shouldn’t be. People who’d experienced trauma sometimes found themselves in situations that shoved them close to or over the edge of a panic attack. That wasn’t her fault. That was just trauma, and she shouldn’t be embarrassed, and she should give herself kindness and acceptance.
Andyeah yeah yeah. . .
She was embarrassed.
By the freak-out and by the fact that she’d kissed him ardently then just as ardently yanked away. Worse, if she was to see him again—this evening, for example—she had no reason to trust herself to behave better. Because that kiss . . .
That kiss had been a masterpiece.
She’d lain awake last night thinking about it. Today she'd been daydreaming about it.
Remy started back across the long line of boulders.Think on this inspiring walkway, she ordered herself,andwhat a wonderful addition it would make to one of the stories surrounding your pieces.
An orphan girl could cross it holding a sword. And on both sides seething fog could shelter dragons. The girl could be on a . . . a quest to free a knight on the other side. He could be held captive behind bars.
Remy pictured it, her heroine drawing near the captive and the captive turning toward her in his suit of armor. Pale green eyes, dark blond hair, a knowing smile—
She broke off the reverie with frustration.
Things were dire indeed if Jeremiah didn’t have the good taste to leave her alone even in the inner chambers of her imagination.
By sunset, Jeremiah was going crazy from inactivity. He finished every possible piece of work connected to Alexis's timeline in an attempt (that failed) to distract himself from Remy. Then he texted his brother.
Jeremiah
I don’t remember the people Alexis saw during the final two weeks of her life. Would you and Anton and Fiona be willing to call them for me?
Jude replied almost instantly.
Jude
Definitely
Jeremiah
When can you come to Groomsport?
Jude
