Page 3 of Crash Over Us
I tossed it toward the headboard and pulled the worn quilt over the sheets. We had a summer of bliss, untethered sex. I had been here for a couple of months, and summer for the tourist season was coming to a close.
Caleb told me it would be different once fall came. Then winter. His eyes seemed to study mine when he mentioned the changing seasons. He worried I was going to bolt. He had every reason to believe I would after the way my mom and I left the first time.
But I was committed to staying and building the Blue Heron into a viable business again. I also knew I could write when the winter months were harsh and the island turned brown and gray. I had to convince Caleb I could handle all the seasons here. All of him.
I tried to imagine Marshoak Island as something different than what it had come to mean to me. To pull off my business plan, maybe I needed an off-season. A time to recalibrate and prepare for next summer.
I exhaled. I had too many thoughts flooding my brain at once. Caleb. My failed writing career. The marina. The money. Putting roots down.
My stomach rolled.
I didn’t put roots down. My parents never had. I certainly hadn’t attempted to find a consistent living arrangement when I was in New York. I bounced from roommates to boyfriends and back to roommates.
All of it had changed with a single piece of paper in the mail.
Everything around me belonged to me. I was responsible for it. For being the steward of Uncle Walt’s land. It could be suffocating if I let it.
Or it could be the lifeline I believed it was.
My phone rang. I smiled, hoping Caleb had gotten my message.
I grimaced when I didn’t recognize the name. I had learned that Marshoak was the kind of place where I had to answer phone calls because the local contractors didn’t like to text. It had taken most of the summer for me to get used to the idea. Every time I answered an unknown number felt like playing a weird version of roulette.
“Hello?” I tested who was on the other line. I was expecting to hear back from one of the bait suppliers on the island.
“Is this Margot Delaney?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“Hi. It’s Gemma from Tide Cellular, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in a new plan.”
“No, thank you. I’m not interested, Gemma.”
The telemarketer tried to convince me to stay on the line, but I saw a car roll through the opening into the parking lot.
“I’m sorry. I need to go.” I hung up and pushed through the screen door. I peered through the tinted glass to try to make out who was driving.
It was possible someone was lost, but the winding drive from the main road to the marina usually dissuaded anyone who started down the one-way path.
The sun was bright. I stepped closer to the car that had parked directly in front of the cement stoop.
The door opened, and I gasped. “Ethan?”
He slammed the door. “Hi, Margot.”
I didn’t budge. “What are you doing here? I thought you left last week. Did you come back to the island?”
He shrugged. “I stuck around,” he admitted. “Longer than I planned, I guess.”
He looked out of place here. How did I not know he had been here an entire week? For once I was disappointed in the island gossip mill.
“Why would stay? Why are you still here?” I pressed.
Ethan cleared his throat. “I didn’t think I could go back to New York. Not yet anyway.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I know I really screwed up and I’ve been thinking about how to make it up to you. At least try and make it right.”
