For the first time in months, I did not feel as though I was waiting for my life to start again.
It already had.
Eleven
Annie
Rachel called again.
I watched her name flash across the screen until it disappeared.
Captain Pancake watched too.
Then he looked up at me with the grave disappointment of a dog who believed phones should be used exclusively to order food.
“I’m handling it,” I told him.
He yawned.
The back door of Reef Rascal stood open. Beyond it, afternoon light cut across the narrow alley toward the docks.
Ellie had gone outside.
I followed her.
Captain Pancake followed me.
“This is private.”
He accelerated.
Apparently, privacy was no longer available on Pelican Key.
Ellie stood beside the rinse station with the hose running over the purple mermaid tail from the birthday party. Glitter swirled across the concrete in tiny silver rivers.
She had needed air.
She had found underwater costume maintenance.
That felt like Ellie.
I stopped several feet away.
Captain Pancake positioned himself between us and sat down.
Unlicensed mediation.
“Ellie.”
She turned off the hose.
Water dripped from the plastic fin.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she asked, “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“I wanted to.”
