My shoulders tensed, and I pushed the image away, snuffing it out before it could catch fire. It was a phantomlimb, a memory of a life I’d amputated long ago. She was on the other side of the country, where she could stay.
And I had a delivery bright and early. I pulled out my phone and opened the calendar to create a new reminder. My thumbs moved with practiced efficiency.
Keg delivery. Salty Pelican. 9 a.m.
I set the phone down, but my thoughts drifted from the scheduled delivery to the promise of future mornings on the water. The bite of salt in the air, the deep, quiet blue of the outer reef. It had been too long since I’d felt that peace. And longer since I’d been in the water myself. Tessa was nowhere near, and the ocean was calling. For the first time all night, that was a reality I could count on.
Chapter Two
TESSA
My world had turned beige.The air conditioner in my rental townhouse hummed with a monotonous, metallic drone, a sound that did nothing to drown out the silence. The quiet was manufactured, the hollow peace of a place with no history. Beige walls, beige couch, beige carpet. The only color came from a generic seascape print above the television, a pale imitation of the real thing just a few hundred yards away. The place was a study in offensive neutrality, a furnished residence designed for people just passing through.
People like me.
I’d been here ten days, and my life remained in cardboard. Boxes labeledkitchen,bedroom, andbookswere stacked against one wall, monuments to a life in La Jolla that seemed a million miles away. Scripps Institution of Oceanography, where I’d worked since graduating four years ago, had offered to put me up at Sunset Siesta for convenience, but I’d politely declined, stating I neededmore room for equipment than a hotel suite could provide. A much easier explanation than the truth. That I desperately needed some distance between that long ago Tessa and the one returning now. Interacting with Eli would be unavoidable, but I’d do my damndest to avoid other Coleridges.
One especially.
I stood at the sliding glass door, a mug of coffee warming my hands, and watched the real world. A riot of green from a neighbor’s bougainvillea bush spilled over the fence. The air, even through the double-paned glass, looked thick and alive, shimmering with humidity that unlocked a core memory. This was the Dove Key I remembered. The one that got under your skin and into your lungs.
My phone buzzed on the granite countertop (white with beige streaks), the vibration sharp in the quiet room. The screen lit up with a picture of my parents smiling on a golf course in Houston.Mom.A smile touched my lips. I took a fortifying sip of coffee and answered, leaning my hip against the counter.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Tessa, sweetheart! I was hoping I’d catch you before you headed out. How are you? How’s my brilliant Dr. Donovan?” Lucinda Donovan’s voice was a warm wave of practiced affection, the kind that could soothe you and pin you down at the same time.
“I’m good, Mom. Just getting organized.” I gazed around the room, a laugh bubbling up. “I’m settling into the beige box. I think the interior designer’s only instruction was ‘make it look like a manila folder.’ It smells like sad plastic.”
My mother made a thoughtful sound. “Oh, darling, that’s perfect! Beige is a wonderful neutral. It means youwon’t be distracted by clashing colors while you’re working on your research. Think of it as a blank canvas for your brilliant thoughts!”
“Or a sensory deprivation chamber. Either way, it’s… functional.”
“Functional is good. Efficient. This is your chance to shine,” she said, completely missing the joke as usual. A pause, and her tone shifted to one of familiar concern. “Are you eating properly? I hope you’re not just living on granola bars and coffee like you did during your dissertation. You need proper brain food.”
I smiled at her concern. “Relax, Mom. I’m a scientist in the field. I’m foraging. Yesterday, I successfully hunted a wild yogurt in the back of the fridge and trapped a protein bar in my gear bag. I’m practically living off the land.”
There was a beat of confused silence on the other end of the line. “That’s not funny, Tessa. Your father and I are sending you a gift certificate for that nice seafood place on the harbor. Please, for my sake, order something with Omega-3s.”
I laughed. “All right, Mom. I will. Thank you.”
“Richard and I are so proud of you, you know. The lead on a project like this, at your age. And with the Great Barrier Reef opportunity on the horizon… it’s everything we hoped for.”
My stomach knotted. The Great Barrier Reef Project. The crown jewel of a Scripps career. The next logical step on the perfect, linear path they had mapped out for me since I was sixteen. A path I’d willingly traveled. I stared at the plastic-looking seashell arrangement on the dining table. “It’s not a sure thing, Mom. It’s just a possibility.”
“Nonsense. Dr. Albright thinks the world of you. He told your father as much at the symphony benefit. That post is as good as yours.” Her tone was breezy, as if myentire professional future were a piece of settled gossip. “You were the only one he thought of when he had to find a last-minute replacement for the Dove Key project.”
A swell of pride filled me as I recalled sitting in my boss’s office two weeks ago when he offered me the position to fill in for him. I’d tried to ignore the panic slithering in my stomach, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. “Good thing I’m light on my feet and pack quickly.”
“You just have to keep your head down for the next three months, do your brilliant work, and then you can move on to bigger things. This little project is the perfect stepping stone.”
A little project. My assignment was a comprehensive ecological assessment of one of the most unique reef systems in North America, which was beginning to show signs of stress. It was work that ignited my passion, the reason I pursued this career in the first place. But to Mom, it was just a box to check on the way to a more prestigious address. She and Dad had sacrificed a lot to help me reach my dream. Our dream. And in return, I lived my life trying to avoid disappointing them.
I glanced at the clock. “I need to get going, Mom. I have to calibrate the equipment on the boat.”
“Of course, darling. Work hard. We’re thinking of you.”
I finished my coffee in three quick swallows, the lukewarm liquid doing nothing to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth. Bigger things. My entire life had been a race toward bigger things. My parents had always supported me, and I loved them dearly. But they had also never shied away from steering me toward a certain image. I’d never minded because that image was what I wanted too.
