Neera:I'll make itwork.
7
Slack Tide
n. A short period when the water is completely unstressed and there is no movement in thetidalstream, before the direction of thetidereverses.
Cole
"May I join you?"I asked, leaning through the doorway to theporch.
Owen was kicked back in his chair, a book in his lap and a tumbler of whiskey by his side. If there wasn't an interesting ball game to watch after dinner, Owen often settled on the porch and I holed up in my room. I'd made good progress with a handful of new ideas I was testing out, but I was climbing the wallstonight.
I didn't mind the routine we had going here—awake before dawn, on the water all morning, fish markets followed by work fixing up my boat in the afternoon, dinner around sunset, bed shortly after—but I needed something more tonight. Back in California, most of my days were spent talking. Taking calls, sitting in meetings, hearing from my coders, arguing with my board. There was always someone or something that required my attention, and being here with Owen was still strangely quiet for mytastes.
Gesturing to the open seat beside him, Owen said, "Yes, but I have someconditions."
I stepped onto the porch, thankful for the slight drop in temperature from the heart of the house. The air was still heavy and thick, the day's heat and humidity continuing long after sunset. Only the slightest breezes blew in off the water, and they were laced with the pungence of seaweed andmarsh.
"Anything," I said, dropping into the open rocking chair. Before coming to Talbott's Cove, I would've ascribed rocking chairs to grandmothers and nurseries, and nothing much else. But these were justright.
"No questions," Owen said. I bit back a groan at that. "You've asked all the questions necessary, and I need a break." I opened my mouth to reply, but he held up his hand. "No. No, this isn't an opportunity to ask why. Just live withit."
"I'll try," I said, rocking back in the chair. I could see why Owen enjoyed this. It was just like being on the water. "It would be really terrible if I died of curiositythough."
Owen snarled and set his book on the table beside him. "How would that even happen,McClish?"
I held out my hands, shrugging. "I can think of a number of ways," I started, "but I'll keep them to myself. I don't want to botheryou."
He hissed out a breath and I was convinced he grumbled, "Oh, for fuck'ssake."
I had to suck my lips between my teeth and bite down to keep from laughing. "We don't need to talk," I said. "We've got the ocean and the stars, and there's no need to talk. This is great. You do you,Bartlett."
I glanced over at him. He was sighing and grumbling as if I was causing him physical discomfort. At least he couldn't turn himself on with those sounds. I did not possess the same immunity. With my hands folded over my crotch as casually as I could manage, I gazed out over the water and focused on identifying all the constellations I could find. It was good, distracting work, and it would've kept me distracted if not for Owen's huffing andsnarling.
Such a moody one, this OwenBartlett.
"All right," he said, finally breaking free of his sigh-a-thon. "How would onedieofcuriosity?"
"Marie Curie comes to mind," I mused. I leaned forward, my arms braced on my thighs, and studied the Japanese beetles congregating on the screens. The yellow glow of the porch's overhead light attracted them, but the screens held them off. They were small, pea-sized, but their low hiss called to mind the sound of old-fashioned dial-up. I imagined they were sweltering,too.
"How do you figure?" Owen snapped. "She discoveredradium."
"Oh, yes, and polonium," I agreed. "It killedher."
He reached for his whiskey and took a hearty gulp. "Right. You're not discovering new elementstonight."
"And the cat." I sat back, nodded towardhim.
The lighthouse blinked on the far end of the cove, the brightness illuminating his features. My fingers ached to trace the scruffy line of his jaw, stroke my thumb over his cheeks, scratch my nails along his scalp. My skin was flushed from the unrelenting heat but now I washot. Hungry,too.
Owen waved his glass in front of him. "Whatcat?"
He was getting riled up, and I loved that shit. A few days ago, I pretended I didn't know the difference between flat head and Phillips head screwdrivers for the simple pleasure of his exaggeratedreaction.
"The one killed by curiosity," I replied. "Thatcat. Poorbastard."
Owen sighed as he shook his head, but it morphed into a chuckle. Soon, his shoulders were shaking as he laughed. I laughed too. I couldn't help it. The deep, full-bodied sound wascontagious.
