This time is going to be different. It’s October, not quite as busy along the coast, and the spot where we’re gathering is a remote cottage on a large piece of land owned by friends of the Lintons. I think I’ll be okay here. I think I can relax and have some fun.
One time, I suggested to Dad that we move far away, to a cabin in the mountains or somewhere I wouldn’t ever be triggered. He got mad, told me I didn’t understand anything about his responsibility to the church or to Wicklow. When he finally quit ranting and I escaped the room, I decided the mountain cabin plan would never work anyway. I wouldn’t want to be trapped there with him.
Trapped… I feel trapped so often, and it’s glorious to feelfreefor once. As we crest the dunes and the chilly wind collides with my whole body, I can’t hold in my excitement any longer. I drop thetowels and the basket I’m carrying for Edgar, leap out of my flip-flops, and run.
It was hot today, and my bare feet fly over sand still warm from the afternoon sun. I race past a stone firepit surrounded by log benches, over the scattered pebbles and chipped shells, onto the smooth, wave-swept sand, into the cold, curling foam of the surf.
A reckless urgency squirms under my skin, and I shuck off my hoodie and my dress as fast as I can, hurling them onto the dry sand. I hesitate for a bare second, glancing at the others along the ridge. They’re walking calmly down the path like adults. I’ve known most of these people all my life, and I’ve seen them in church countless times, but I wouldn’t call any of them friends. They know me, but they don’t understand me—never did, even before my curse manifested.
With a rush of manic liberty, I realize that I don’t care what any of them think.
Wild and windblown, I laugh at them, and then I turn and wade into the sea.
The water is a frozen shock to my system. My heart rate spikes, my breath catches, and I scream another laugh. The setting sun glitters on the water, paints it rich orange and deep blue, with highlights of pale yellow. I stand upright, toes curling into thick, wet sand, and I run my hand through fringes of foam.
This is glorious. This is everything.
Maybe I should feel bad that I’m not helping everyone set up the food and the fire. But I don’t. I wade deeper, relishing the keen slice of cold water around my shins. The wind coils through my hair, tosses it around my shoulders, twirls it into a mess of tangled curls. I wish I were a pirate, standing on the deck of my own ship, headed far, far away from gods and churches and supernatural secrets.
“Cathy!” Linton’s voice, thinned by the breeze.
I turn around.
He’s on the wet sand, smiling nervously at me.
“It’s colder than I thought it would be,” he says.
“You never know this time of year,” I tell him. “It could be worse. Come on in!”
“And freeze my rear off the rest of the night? No thanks.”
I’m about to make a teasing retort when I glimpse a figure behind him, striding forward. Heathcliff’s dark eyes hold mine as he pulls off his black T-shirt. He’s wearing black swim trunks, too, all his tattoos on full display. The wind ruffles his dark hair as he gives me a villainous smirk.
“I’ll take some of that action,” he says.
I knew he might be here, half hoped he would be, but he wasn’t in the big van that left from church. Come to think of it, neither was Isabella. She must have ridden with Heathcliff in his truck.
The thought makes me unreasonably angry. I give him my most ferocious frown, but that only makes him smile wider.
Edgar stares open-mouthed, like a disapproving fish.
“Your sister invited me.” Heathcliff gives Edgar a nod. “I met her right before church last Sunday.” He turns toward the firepit and gives Isabella a wave. She waves back with a bright smile.
Well, she’s obviously smitten.
Edgar clears his throat. “Cool, so…I’ll get the fire going, Cathy. You’re going to be freezing after this. Good thing I brought blankets.”
He trudges back up the beach, throwing another dour glance at Heathcliff over his shoulder.
“Blankets?” Heathcliff murmurs, looking out over the waves. “Who needs blankets when you have body heat?”
“Stop, you heathen. This is a church get-together for singles, not a frat party.”
“Speaking of that—did you do the Greek life thing at college?”
“I went to college online—pretty much the only option for a banshee who might explode into catastrophic grief at any moment.”
“I didn’t go at all, online or in person. Took a few business classes, though. And I watch a lot of videos, workshops and stuff. You can basically get a free business degree on YouTube if you subscribe to the right channels.”
