“Elle,” Liney whispers, shaking her head. Have I embarrassed her? Perhaps that comes with the territory of elder sister. Despite the rot inside me begging to tear the two apart and devour Bridget, she’s grown on me.
Bridget nods, but there’s something so careful in her movements now. Liney squirms. She changes the topic. Bridget slowly warms back to life after my sister’s ranted through her encyclopedic knowledge of four tidal species.
It’ll hurt Liney when I tell her I won’t bring her with me on the supply run, but I’ve done much worse for the sake of less. And another plan has begun to form. Somehow riskier than merely asking how to stop this decay within me. God help me; am I truly considering trying to save her?
The rain truly lets up for the first time in days, and it comes to all of us as a respite. They beg me to let them take a walk. Liney hugs me when I consent. I cherish this new ritual while it lasts. I hold her tight to me, as though the pressure can prove something. Can she feel it? How all these machinations are for her?
“Don’t stay out there too long!” I call as they reach the door. “You’ll catch a chill.”
Liney turns to show me her scarf wrapped tightly to cover half her face and her woven hat pulled down past her ears. Bridget peers around her, hood heavy over her head.
“Perfectly cozy,” Liney says through the fabric. “I’ll overheat before I freeze.”
Bridget lingers at the door after Liney’s already walked out.
“I’ll make sure she stays warm,” she promises. “Maybe get some sleep while we’re gone?”
The door shuts behind her. It was hard enough when Douglas began helping me. But for my future prey to offer her protection of my sister? She doesn’t know what torture her kindness has created. Our home has filled with laughter and stories. What I used to give to Liney before it was crushed out of me. Is that what she needs? If Bridget can earn her heart, where does that leave me?
Yet Bridget can’t save herself from the Devil with the moonlit eyes.
I’m finishing up a soup for their return when Douglas appears. I remove a fresh loaf of bread started by Bridget from the oven. We’ve run out of a few key ingredients thanks to the extra mouth to feed. All the more reason to get to the mainland as quickly as possible.
“Dare I say you’re coming to enjoy Miss Coleman?” he asks, eyes soft with too much admiration for me. I haven’t decided whether to attempt to save or damn her.
These shifting dynamics have dismantled the rules I understood. When I laugh with Douglas while I stir, it happens without decision. My smile cracks through my nature as a newborn bird would an eggshell. When I tease him, it’s to see the color creep into his cheeks.
I set the table but peer out the kitchen window every few minutes. I spot movement in the trees every once in a while. At least they’re keeping from the shore.
“They’ll be back,” Douglas promises. He’s busied himself with a book that I’d grabbed for him and set down on the other side of the counter. I occasionally flip the pages of it whenever he can’t drum up the presence to himself.
“Then they’ll have to do with cold soup. I’m not waiting any longer.”
“You could call for them?”
I could. But it’s not absurdly late yet. And if I find Bridget alone while Liney’s off looking at seaweed, what could stop me? I don’t trust the island’s influence; it may drag me into bloodthirst, as it’s done before.
I won’t tell Douglas, but these moments are also a gift to Liney. IfMr. Pratterman won’t compromise with me, this could be the last time she’ll both trust me and enjoy Bridget’s friendship.
I can barely admit to myself that I’m also enjoying this time alone with him.
“No, she’s decided to stay out. They can warm it up on the fire later.” I then realize what I should ask. “Would you like to sit with me? I suppose you can’t eat any of it, but—”
Douglas interrupts, rushed and eyes alight. “I’d be honored.”
We dine together. I pour our bowls to the brim with soup and cut four slices of the loaf, two each. I place a small dish of butter between us. If the girls interrupt us, I’ll say I set something out for Liney and forgot Bridget. We sit, but before I can bring my soup spoon to my lips, Douglas startles.
“There’s wine above,” he says, looking to the stairs. “You’ve never touched it.”
It was too invasive to drink. While using his kitchen and sleeping in his bed was necessary, the small collection of old wines was too intimate.
“Feel free,” he urges. “Concord wine from Boston a few years ago.”
We drink together. Well, I drink. I pour him a glass, and he smells at the rim.
“Sweet,” I say, swishing it in my mouth. It’s fruity enough that I swallow it before the rotten aftertaste all other meals develop can take hold.
“I prefer sweet over dry,” he explains. Was he worried I wouldn’t like it?
