I sink lower down the wall, my eyes fixing on the fading sunset and my chest heavy under the crush of ugly words I was never meant to hear.
I’msostupid.
I thought I finally learned a thing or two about life, but here I am, a bigger laughingstock than ever.
Forget my marriage and the eight years I was Ethan Whitehall’s wife. The name I used to sign had opened doors until our divorce slammed every last one of them shut in my face. “Friends” picked sides. Not my side, though. Now, I’m on the wrong side of thirty, stuck on an island in the middle ofnowhere, and working a dead-end job, barely making ends meet. My family loves me, but they tiptoe around me. I don’t travel anymore. I can’t afford to, and, worse still, I’m not even sure I want to.
What’s the point?
The first man I trusted after my divorce used me up and spat me out, and I didn’t even realize it. I let him.
Because I’m nothing.
A train wreck.
Zero out of ten.
Maybe I don’t have the prettiest face. My features are sharp, and my nose is too pointy, but my hair is nice. It’s long and dark, and it curls so pretty if I take the time. That should edge me up to at least three, shouldn’t it? If I doll on a bit of make-up, my rank has to rise to at least a passable five.
The plod of heavy boots on the gravel interrupts my spiraling thoughts, but not enough to remember how to move my feet. I should shuffle behind the shop, hide myself, but my body refuses to budge. I manage to turn a defeated gaze just as Sawyer lumbers around the corner.
His hazel eyes pop so wide that all the crinkles in the corners disappear. “Elsie Hoskins? How long you been hidin’ back here?”
I blink up at him.Too long.
He frowns. “You heard what they were sayin’?”
This time, I answer with a nod.
“You goin’ to march over there and give them a piece of your mind?”
Have Ieverdone anything that brave?
I’ve spent most of my life lost in the comfort of books and other people’s histories because I’m hopeless at standing up for myself. That’s why I walked away from my marriage with somuch less than I deserved—my dignity and a lifetime of knowing I never had to see my ex-husband again, but almost no money.
I shake my head. “I’m not good at”—I gulp—“confrontation.”
Gravel scatters under footsteps that close in from the beach.
My heart hammers in my chest, and I flick a wild, panicked look in every direction. “God.” There’s no escape.
Sawyer’s hand cups my shoulder. “Elsie.” He jingles a set of keys before reaching around me to unlock the door. “Don’t give them the satisfaction of seein’ you all worked up.” Hinges groan open. “You go in there. I’ll get rid of them.”
There’s nothing but pitch black on the other side of the door.
I dive in anyway.
2
A temporary lull to make a new friend
Nothing but rapid blinksand a prayer guide me through the dusty labyrinth out the back of Mulligan’s Bait and Tackle.
Cracks of orange sunset filter between the gaps of stacked boxes. Shadows swallow most of the storeroom—if that’s what this tight spot is—and I edge around the nets and poles, doing my best to avoid tripping over…something. I can’t even see the toes of my Mary Janes in so much black.
I wedge my body into a corner and press my hand against my heart.Steady. I almost smile.Strong. And no tears! They’ll make a grand entrance eventually. They always do. Frustrated, stubbing my finger on the filing cabinet at work, that time of the month—it doesn’t take much to tip me over the edge. I can almost cry on command. If standing on a stage didn’t terrify me, I’d make a superb actress.
The doorknob rattles.
