Page 107 of Fish Out of Water

“No, they weren’t. Alistair Eaton was a fisherman, and Martha Eaton was a schoolteacher before she had Robert. Anyway, Robert climbed the ladder until he ran the place andeventually took it over as his own mill when the original owners died. He got greedy, as was typical for him.”

“Clearly.”

“He over-logged and created quite an imbalance in the ecosystem. The sea never really recovered from that, and generations down the line still have to pay for it. My point is that the cafe may have caused even more damage if they hadn’t finally paid attention to the signs.”

“I hope they all burn in Hell, or wherever Mier sends people when they die,” Jake said.

Isabel smiled softly. “Spite won’t help, dear. It’s real action that helps. Why else do you think the town has banded together to do as much as they can against the Eatons?”

“I get it now, but what about Robbie? Genuinely, what did he do besides being born into that family?”

“You just said it yourself. Robbie is the next generation, and one of the infamous Roberts, no less. He was always going to have to pay that price, from the day he was born until the day he dies.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. At least you finally recognize it.”

Jake bristled. “I recognized it before, I just…”

“You just didn’t want to.”

“Yeah, well, Robbie still fuck—screwed me over. I’m not happy with him, and it has nothing to do with his family.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Of course n—” Jake stopped himself. He couldn’t lie to his own aunt.

“You should say goodbye to Robbie at the dance on Saturday,” said Isabel. “It may be your last chance to make up.”

“We tried that a couple of times already, and it didn’t work.”

“Well, try again.” Isabel patted his knee. “Just do it, Jake. I know you have it in you, so be the bigger person and don’t go with anything left unsaid that you might regret.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say, Aunt Isabel. I’m just gonna try to avoid him at the dance. It’ll be better for both of us. No reopening old wounds.”

Isabel got up and went into the kitchen. She looked unhappy, and her quietness throughout the evening only proved that.

Jake went back to Sandway before dinner and picked up a few bags of groceries, just throwing whatever looked okay into his basket. Isabel’s words continued to claw at the back of his mind, coming forward again when he checked out.

“Have a great evening, Jake,” the cashier said. “And tell Isabel hello for me.”

“Will do.” Jake smiled, but his stomach twisted in knots.

Isabel had already eaten dinner when he got home, but she’d left a plate out for him. He wasn’t really hungry. He hadn’t been truly hungry in days, but he still ate, if only to keep from wasting away.

He wondered if Robbie was eating. Robbie always seemed to have a more delicate constitution when he was upset, and if he was anywhere near as upset now as Jake had been for the past few days, he probably wasn’t eating at all. If he withered away, would anyone notice? And if they did, would they care? Safiya might, Isabel certainly would, and Jake…

He sighed and stabbed at a spear of cold asparagus drowned in congealed butter. If something ever happened to Robbie, Jake would care a lot.

It wasa cool Saturday morning that Jake awoke and dragged himself over to his bedroom window to open it a crack. He could hear the noises drifting up from the coast already, early as it was. People—volunteers—were setting it up for the dance.

Isabel had gone, and Robbie was presumably there too. Anywhere there was volunteering in Eventide, Robbie showed up. At least the beach was already clean, no thanks to Jake anymore.

He closed the window and picked up his bathrobe from the floor, wrapping it around himself like a blanket. There was coffee in the kitchen and a note from Isabel saying he could use whatever he wanted for breakfast.

“I’m not a child,” he muttered, crumpling up the note.

He certainly felt like a child with the way he was acting, but he didn’t say that out loud. If he spoke it aloud, he might have to face it, and if he did that, then his whole narrative about these last several months would come tumbling down. He couldn’t risk that now, when he was so close to breaking free of this salt-tinged shell of a place.