“It looked important.”
“I have another one.”
I don’t have another one. That was my only drill. It’s currently settling into the mud at the bottom of the marina, and I’m standing here with my hands empty, watching my tools and my composure disappear into the same murky water.
“Anyway,” Aidan says, because eight-year-olds have the emotional triage skills of a golden retriever, “Dad wants to take us to the aquarium. Can you come?”
“That’s a dad-and-kids day, bud. You should enjoy it with him.”
“But you’re one of us too.”
I look at this kid. Sandy hair standing up in three directions. Shark tooth necklace. Stomper tucked under one arm even though he’s heading to an aquarium and not to bed. He said it like it was simple. Like it was obvious. Like family is something you justarewhen you show up enough times.
“Go have fun,” I say. “Tell me about it when you get back.”
“Will you be here?”
“I’m always here.”
He grins. Punches my arm—still too hard, still slightly off-target—and sprints back to the houseboat. I watch him go.
Then I sit on the edge of the dock and stare at the spot where my drill sank.
Moving closer. Matt wants to move closer. Matt, who couldn’t show up for a school play, who checked his phone eleven times at lunch, who has a climate-controlled garage full of miniature trains—that Matt wants tomove closer.
And Emma held her coffee cup tight and listened.
They leavefor the aquarium at eleven. All four of them in the silver SUV. Aidan waving out the back window. Millie with her book. Jenna with her earbuds. Matt behind the wheel, looking like a man who’s already rehearsing the next act.
I wave back at Aidan. Keep the smile on until the car turns the corner.
Then I go to the marina store, buy a replacement drill—a cheaper one, because I just threw two hundred and forty dollars into the ocean—and work on the railing until my arms burn.
Justin finds me at noon. He takes one look at my face and sits down on the dock without a word.
“Don’t pull the quiet trick on me,” I say.
“What quiet trick?”
“The Holly thing. Where you sit there and wait for me to crack.”
“I wasn’t pulling anything. I was resting.”
“You were resting with intent.”
He picks up a piece of sandpaper and startsworking the rough edge of a dock board. We sand in silence for five minutes.
“He wants to move closer,” I say.
Justin keeps sanding. “Heard.”
“From who?”
“Harold. Who heard it from Grandma Hensley. Who heard it from Lottie. Who heard it from Emma.”
“So everybody knows.”
“Everybody knew before you did. That’s how Twin Waves works. Information moves faster than the tide.”
