And I intend to make sure of it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“So where did you go to school?” I ask, studying the bubbly blonde across from me as she settles into her chair at La Madeleine, all bright smiles and easy energy, like the world has always met her exactly where she needed it to.
“Ocala. West Port High. Go Wolfpack.” She lifts her fist enthusiastically, like she’s still cheering from the bleachers on a Friday night.
I had meant college, but of course she didn’t go. It’s not even a judgment so much as an observation. There’s a lightness to her, a kind of untested optimism that suggests life hasn’t asked very much of her yet. She’s sweet, though. A little superficial, maybe, but harmless on the surface. And right now, harmless works in my favor.
“How did you wind up on Marco Island?” I take a slow sip of my espresso, letting my smile soften into something warmer, something more inviting. I mirror her tone carefully, matching her brightness without overplaying it. Trust has to feel natural. Earned, not engineered.
“I’m not a horse girl like everyone else in Ocala,” she says with a laugh, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I knew I had to get out as soon as I graduated. I was meant to be on a beach somewhere, drinking something fruity, not riding horses in the heat.” She giggles at her own joke, pleased with it. “What about you? Where are you from?”
I hesitate just long enough for it to feel real. Too much detail invites questions, but too little creates suspicion. “I’m from here,” I say simply.
“Oh.” She tilts her head, her expression shifting, curiosity sharpening into something more pointed. “Phillip said?—”
“Phillip said what?” The question comes out a little too quickly, and I have to rein it back in, temper the edge before it gives something away.
“He said you’re from the Indian reservation,” she says, as if it’s just a fact, something neutral, something he offered casually in passing.
“I was born there,” I reply, my tone even. “I was adopted.”
“Which one?” she asks, leaning forward slightly, eager now. “There are a few near Ocala. I have friends who grew up on one of them.”
“Not that far north,” I say. “Outside of Tampa.”
“Oh.” She nods, processing that, then smiles again. “Do you go back often? Maybe we know some of the same people.”
“I haven’t stayed in touch,” I say, quieter this time, choosing my words carefully. “We don’t really… get along.”
“That’s too bad,” she says, her voice softening with sympathy that feels instinctive rather than informed.
“Is it?” I let out a small laugh, though there’s nothing particularly amused in it. I take another sip of my espresso, then meet her gaze directly. “I feel lucky I made it out.”
She stills slightly at that, her expression flickering withsomething uncertain, like she’s aware she’s stepped into territory she doesn’t quite understand. “Oh,” is all she offers in return.
“I’m not saying they’re bad people,” I add, easing the tension just enough to keep her comfortable. “It’s just… not the kind of place where you’re encouraged to want more.” My mind flickers briefly to my brother, to everything he had to claw his way through just to get somewhere different. Some people escape. Some people don’t.
“Did you go to college?” she asks after the waiter stops by to take our order, her tone polite, almost relieved to be back on safer ground.
“Miami University,” I say, lifting my hand in a mock cheer. “Go RedHawks.”
She smiles, though it doesn’t quite land the same way hers did before. She takes a slow sip of her orange juice, her posture settling into something more reserved now, more careful.
“How long have you been on Marco?” she asks.
“Since I graduated,” I reply. “I studied business administration. I met Bennett my senior year. His family has always had a place here, and after his master’s, he came down to work with his dad. We did long distance for a while, then got married the summer after I graduated. Small ceremony on Tigertail Beach.” I pause, letting the memory settle in the space between us. “Almost ten years now.”
“Have you always lived in Tigertail Beach Estates?”
“Since the beginning,” I say, offering a polite smile as the waiter returns with our food. “Thank you.”
He lingers for a moment, his expression shifting into something more solemn. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss,” he says gently. “I know you don’t know me, but I used to see you and your friend in here all the time.”
Something softens in my chest, unexpected and fleeting. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
Chrissy shifts in her seat as he walks away, her discomfort almost palpable as she reaches for her fork a little too quickly.
