I can’t help this girl. That much was obvious on the boat. She argued with me the whole time, like she thought she could wear me down if she just kept at it. Like I was enjoying it as much as she was.
Okay fine, maybe I didn’t completely hate that part, but that still doesn’t mean I want to spend my summer with a tourist.
Tate shoves my knee with his foot, dragging me out of my head. “Dude, relax. You look like someone just poured sand in your soda.”
I force a scoff, shoving his foot off me. “I’m fine.”
Eryn doesn’t say anything. Just watches me for a beat longer before hopping off the truck bed. “I should go.” She stretches her arms over her head. “I told Teresa I’d take an afternoon shift today.”
I nod, trying to shake the strange unease creeping into my ribs, the feeling that something is shifting and I don’t quite have control of it.
“Promise me you’ll give it a try?”
I glance away, staring at the edge of the truck bed where thepaint is chipped, exposing the dull metal underneath. It’s easier than looking at her. I haven’t liked anything about McCleave’s since I was a kid. And maybe not even then. The things I care about—the real things—are crammed onto shelves in the backroom, forgotten because nobody else gives a damn. And honestly, I’m no better. I’m just a guy a year out of high school with no qualifications beyond, hopefully, keeping those artifacts from falling apart. The kind of degree I’d need to make anything of them doesn’t exist here on Nantucket. Not that it matters; I couldn’t leave if I wanted to, which thankfully I don’t. I love this island.
I’m just stuck.
My gaze travels to Eryn again and I think about how utterly incapable I am of saying no to her. I never really could, even before the accident. And after?
How many girls would stay with their brand-new fifteen-year-old boyfriend after he broke his back and spent months in the hospital? How many would step up to take care of that boyfriend’s dad, cooking him dinner every night, keeping the house from falling apart, so his dad could fight with insurance companies to get him a wheelchair? How many would still be there four years later, dressing up in a mermaid tail every week for his family museum?
How many would talk about a future and a family with a guy who couldn’t even get down on one knee for them?
The thought twists in my chest, sharp and unwelcome, like a splinter I can’t get rid of. I lower my head. “I’d have to talk with my dad,” I say finally, my voice low, resigned.
“That shouldn’t be too hard.” Eryn’s hand brushes against mine, her touch light, but it only makes the unspoken expectations between us feel heavier.
“Sure,” I agree, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “But I can’t help her find something that isn’t there.”
“You can help her find closure,” she says, her tone quiet but insistent.
I seriously doubt that. Some people don’t know when to give up. My gaze drifts over Eryn’s face, and I realize just how true that is.
Seven
Lili
The day after the mermaid tour sees us up bright and early, and for once, I’m not the only one in a dress.
“Stop,” Mom tells Goldie when my sister makes yet another face at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, squirming as though ants are crawling all over her. “I checked all the seams and cut out the tag. You’ll survive one morning.”
Goldie stills as Mom finishes braiding her hair, her small frame rigid, but her mouth still turned down in a pout. “I got to wear shorts back in Arizona.”
“And you can still wear them under your dress if you want to.”
Goldie looks up at Mom to make sure she’s serious, then, with a grin, races back to our room.
“You look really pretty,” I tell Mom, watching her smooth the blue silk scarf she’d tied loosely around her neck for the third time. It’s a delicate thing, with tiny golden anchors dotting the fabric, like a map to the sea. “Very nautical chic,” I add with a teasing smile.
Mom catches my eye in the mirror, a crinkle of warmth spreading across her face. “Thanks.”
I watch her for another moment, trying to decide if this is the right time to bring up the offer Wren made me yesterday. Before I can work up the nerve, Mom is ushering us both down the stairs.
“Move your butt. I’ve been wanting to step inside that steepled white church since before Goldie was born, and we are not going to be late for our first service.” She gives me a gentle swat, and I can’t help but laugh.
The church is located in the heart of downtown, only a few minutes away. When we arrive, there are still plenty of people walking up the stepped brick pathway, greeting each other with smiles and laughter, the quiet hum of their conversations mixing with the sound of a bell tolling overhead. It’s all very welcoming, but my hands curl into my skirt. Now that I’ve decided to talk to Mom, I can’t stop rehearsing how I’ll say it.
We slip through the old wooden doors to find that, like the exterior, the inside is bright and white. Every surface glows from the sunlight streaming through the tall arched windows that line the walls.
