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“Good. Glad you know. Now what are you going to do about it?”
He’s quiet as he pulls into the garage. I wonder if he’s thinking my same thoughts. It’s not like Nantucket has slums, anyone who lives here has to have a certain level of wealth, but there’s still a big difference between the homes in his neighborhood and some of the homes we visited today. Some of these people have generational homes and businesses. They’re not millionaires, let alone billionaires.
When it comes to hurricanes, a lot of people stay back during an evacuation for stupid reasons. People like Ethan. But then there are people who stay back for good reasons, people like that elderly couple who simply didn’t have the resources they needed to get away. And people like Ethan? They can just hire someone else to prepare their homes, flying on and off the island whenever they want.
I hate it.
I hate that wealth is so lopsided.
That some people have all the luck, all the connections, everything they could possibly ever need. And then there’s other people, people who have to rely on the good will of others. Good will that often doesn’t come.
People like me.
I stomp into the house, not even bothering to slam the car door behind me.
Ethan is quick to follow, hot on my heels. “What is your problem?” he demands.
I swing around to face him, poking my finger into his chest. “The fact that you even have to ask that question says everything I need to know.”
“And what is it that you think you know?”
My words come hard and fast, biting and cruel. And I don’t care. “That you, and your dad and stepmother, and your brother, and your friends, you’re all bad people.”
“Everyone is a bad person on some level. That’s not why you’re mad.”
I scoff. “There are good people out there, Ethan. You just wouldn’t know one if you saw one.”
“We all have good parts and bad parts. That’s not what this conversation is about.”
I step back and he follows, caging me in against the entryway wall. “Enlighten me then.”
“You’re mad because you’re scared.”
Well, he’s got me there. I’m always scared. “So what? I just went through a terrifying event in the last twenty-four hours. Frankly, I think it’s weird that you’re not more frightened yourself.”
He shakes his head slowly. “That’s not the kind of scared I’m talking about.”
I swallow the words I was teeing up to throw in his face.
His hands are on either side of me now. There’s nowhere for me to go.
“You’re scared because you’re jealous, because you’re alone, but most of all, you’re scared because you want me.”
How dare he.
How dare he be so conceited, so ridiculous . . . so right.
This would be the part where I throw myself into his arms, where I give in to his seductions. But I’m not that girl. I refuse to be that girl. So instead, I duck under his arm and walk away. I need sleep. And then tomorrow, God willing, I’m getting the hell off this island.
My mind is racing when I finally slip into the guest room blankets, my body so exhausted it feels like I’m being swallowed by the mattress. I should sleep like a baby, but I don’t sleep much better than I did during the damn hurricane. It’s too quiet, especially compared to last night. It feels like I’m the only one in the house again, but I know that’s not true, and then it’s like I’m living with a ghost.
Not just living with one, being haunted by one.
The next morning, I wake with the sunrise and walk down to the beach. I’m not getting in the water, but I’d like to say goodbye to the ocean and sand before I head out.
It’s the same ocean that greets me, but it’s not the same beach.
The storm has changed it, eroding a few areas of the cliff face. The sand is covered in tumbles of seaweed brought in by the waves. With a deep breath, the morning air fills my lungs and I head down the stairs. I’m already imagining the feel of the grainy sand between my toes when I hear Ethan’s voice calling out to me.
