Page 89 of The Last Special Thing

“Max!” Madisson scolded.

He’d passed the drunk line and was teetering toward destruction. More alcohol was not what he needed. But as she was not his responsibility, he was not hers. She closed her eyes as her chest fell. She did not want to be anywhere near Max when he became unhinged.

“Babe, we’re going,” Max said.

Madisson looked between the two. Amelia had a flicker of hope that she would stay.

“We’ll be back soon, right?” Madisson asked.

The hope extinguished.

“Yeah, we will be right back.” Max smirked, putting an arm around Madisson, and they turned.

Amelia peered at Art, who had stayed quiet during the exchange. She didn’t want to ask him to stay. She wanted him to know to stay. But she was starting to feel that his love for any sort of altered state outweighed his love for her.

He scratched the back of his neck.

“I finished my drink. Come with me, Princess.” He reached for her hands.

She pulled away and hung her head.

“I want to be here,” she said to the sand.

A seashell in the light sparkled pink, then purple. Being anywhere else felt wrong.

“Will you be okay here for like five minutes? Maybe ten?” he asked.

She didn’t want him to go for any duration of time. She wanted to collect seashell shards together and talk about their cotton-candy colors and twisted shapes. She wanted to have lively discussions about chirping dolphins and messy-haired mermaids, and people-watch. She wanted him to babysit her, care for her, as he had promised.

“You’re going to go?” she asked.

His eyes flicked to where Madisson and Max had gone, then back to her.

“I’ll be fast,” he promised.

She dipped her head, and he must have taken it as acceptance. With a kiss goodbye, he jogged away.

Over his shoulder, he called, “Don’t fucking leave this area, and for the love of God, do NOT get in that water.”

Then he was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Amelia did end up wandering. Not in defiance; she forgot she wasn’t supposed to. She left the crashing waves and sat at the end of a line of umbrellas and pop-up tents. Her fingers sifted through sand that sprinkled on her thighs and warmed her skin.

Two boys with shaggy hair built a sandcastle. It glimmered, and the sky opened up above it, shining as a spotlight on their creation. They dug a full moat. It reminded her of summers spent with Georgina in the Florida Keys.

“Are you okay?” A shadow came over her.

A woman with curly blonde hair and a sunflower dress stood above. Amelia’s eyes found the boys again. They had stopped scooping sand and were looking at her.

“Yeah, this is probably weird. I’ll go,” Amelia admitted. The words came out slow and unnatural. Muscle memory brought her to her feet. She wasn’t sure how she remembered how to stand.

She headed for the sidewalk and chalked it up to divine intervention when she spotted her friends across the street at a tiki bar. Tables were spread across the patio, with blue light rimming the thatched overhang.

Max was yelling at a stocky guy in a backward baseball cap, his fists clenched. Amelia couldn’t make out the words. She took a seat on a wall of rocks on her side of the street. Max pulled back his arm and punched the guy, who stumbled backward and gripped the table. It was like watching a movie. She remained seated in curiosity.

Madisson shrieked. A police officer walking by sprang into action, shoving Max’s chest against the wall and kicking his feet apart. Handcuffs snapped around his wrists.