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She looked down at his hand and smiled. “Kit and I used to sit on our dock years ago, and you’d go striding by.” She peeked up at him and grinned. “You were just a boy, but I’ll admit you looked like a full-grown man to us. Like a . . . dream, really. And that’s what you were to me. A handsome, safe, seemingly well-off gentleman who would serve as the safest of safe harbors.” Her smile slipped. “I wasn’t in love withyou—just the idea of you. Of all you represented. The safety and security and escape I never had. That’s why I came here that night two years ago.” She glanced at the creek, listened to the soft waves lapping at the dock. “I came to this place—to you—looking for those things. And I made the mistake of imagining that you were the ticket to those things.”
She turned her hand over in his and squeezed. “And don’t get me wrong, your friendship was the lifesaver I needed at the time, and I still do. Your friendship is the most valuable one I’ve ever had. Besides Kit’s, that is . . . which is why I’ve made the decision I have.”
Beau frowned. “And what decision is that?”
“I’m leaving.” She raised her brows, excitement and fear mingling in her eyes. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. To get away, to see another part of the world for a while, to find my own space in it. I just never thought I could while my mom was around,” she said, her voice shaking. She cleared her throat and shook her head. “But now things are different, and . . . maybe one day I’ll find my way back here. But for now, I need to get away and start over. I need to do what Kit did.”
Beau’s frown faded, and he looked away, his throat tightening.
“Are you angry with me?” Viv whispered.
“No.” He faced her then, taking both of her hands in his. “Not at all. I’ll miss you, though. And Kit . . .” He shook his head, his chest aching at the thought of her reaction. “Your leaving is going to break her heart. She came back for you.”
“I know,” Viv said quietly. “And I understand why she did what she did now, but if I’ve learned anything from my mother, it’s that you can’t live for someone else. You can live only your own life. That’s what Kit was doing when she left fifteen years ago, and it’s what I need to do now. Not just for me, but for Kit, too.” She tugged her hands free from his, cupped the back of his head and, rising on her toes, kissed his cheek. “And for you. Both of you are the most important people in my life, and it’s past time for you to have a chance to be happy again. Y’all can move on together, and by the time I get back, I’ll be a better person to know.”
Beau smiled, his eyes burning, as he walked around the table and hugged her. “You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known already, Viv. I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”
She smiled back, her expression brightening. “And I hope I’ll be even luckier to have you as a brother one day.”
* * *
Kit scooped a large heap of ice into a plastic bag filled with freshly caught brown shrimp, knotted the top closed, and lifted it high. “Here’s the last of it. Are we delivering to Vernon today or tomorrow?”
Royal, standing beside her in front of the deveining and packing table in the Teague Cottage fish house, took the bag and hefted it up a time or two, testing its weight. “Perfect five pounder, and tomorrow’ll be soon enough for delivery.”
He walked over to the freezer on the back wall, opened the lid, and dropped the bag of shrimp in with several dozen others they’d packed that afternoon.
Kit shrugged her shoulders, stretching the tight muscles between her shoulder blades, and moved her neck from side to side. She smiled, the slight ache in her biceps and calves and the lingering tingle on her windswept skin conjuring to her mind the hours she’d spent on the water with Royal earlier that morning.
It had become a morning ritual over the past week—waking up at six in the morning, dressing, and joining Royal on the front porch to enjoy a cup of coffee and watch the sun rise. The new screen-free porch had become Royal’s favorite spot, and it had even overtaken Kit’s preference for the “thinking tree” spot she’d enjoyed so much over the years. Now the hour around sunrise, spent kicking back in the wicker chair, sipping hot, strong coffee, enveloped in the scent of Royal’s morning cigar, had become Kit’s favorite time of day.
Not just for the coffee and contemplation, but for the company, as well. Royal, growing more at ease and optimistic every day, relished having a full house again, and his drive for shrimping had returned full force, along with his love for the water. Even on days when the fishing was slow, Royal would navigate the boat along Hope Creek, find a calm, clear spot to view the horizon, and cut the engine, allowing the vessel to bob in the waves while he sat and enjoyed a smoke or just closed his eyes for a few minutes, a slow smile crossing his face as he soaked up the sun.
These were the kind of days Kit remembered—and loved—the most from her childhood, and it was wonderful to see Royal more like himself again.
“You got enough energy left to help me and Mackey finish painting the guest room?” Kit teased.
A look of mock affront crossed Royal’s face. “You trying to say I’m too old to tackle another labor-intensive task today?”
Kit laughed. “Nope. Just asking if you’re interested in making the effort this late in the day.”
He glanced at his wristwatch and grinned. “It ain’t late, girl. It’s only five o’clock. Still two or three hours of daylight left, and it’s supposed to be mild out tonight, so it’s a good time to leave the window open for the walls to dry after we finish.”
“It’ll involve moving a dresser, too,” Kit warned.
Royal laughed. “So be it. This ol’ back of mine’s got enough gumption left in it to move a dresser.”
And it did. Mackey was already hard at work by the time they walked to the house and made their way into Sylvie’s old bedroom. He had painted half the walls of the room light blue and stood by one of the remaining unpainted walls with a paintbrush in his hand, dripping blue paint on the hardwood floor.
“Oh, Mackey.” Kit grabbed several sets of old newspapers Royal had placed in the room for Mackey earlier that morning and started spreading them out over the damaged areas. “You need to make sure you’ve got the papers spread out before you start painting again, okay?”
Mackey frowned. “Oh. But the blue looks good, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Even on the floor?”
Kit winced. “Well, the walls are beautiful, and the floor . . . well, the floor—”
“Looks fantastic, too,” Royal said, walking across the room and hugging Mackey. “It’s about time this room had some life in it again, and the colors you chose are perfect, son.”
Mackey beamed.
