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Yesterday, my agent had called to ask about the third book. I told her it was almost done.
I lied.
I have fifty pages written, and they don’t even form fifty pages of coherent plot. I haven’t written for nearly a year. I want to. I desperately want to escape into my stories, but every time I try, real life intrudes. My sister is dead, my husband left me, I’m not sure I can be a good parent to my niece, I’m not sure I can be a good teacher to kids traumatized by the pandemic.
Rocks crunch as Kit walks up. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t fall in step beside me or behind me. Just finds his own path to wander in the same direction, and when I glance back, he has his sneakers tied and hanging from one hand, the other shading his eyes against the morning sun.
When I’m on the island alone, I often rise early to enjoy the sunrise with my morning coffee. Sunsets on the lake get all the attention. They are breathtaking, with reds and oranges that turn the sky intoa screaming portent for the end of days. I prefer sunrise. So much subtler, with the sky suffused with soft layers of pink and purple. I picture sunrises as the day waking, slowly stretching, while sunsets are the day flaming out in a blaze of riotous glory.
This morning, sunrise has stolen the cloak from her sister. She’s blood red, a fiery warning. Storm’s coming. I can feel it in the wind, hear it in the slap of waves, even smell it, I swear, whipping over on the breeze.
Red sky in morning, sailors take warning.
I shiver, and Kit says, “That’s not good,” making me jump to find him so close.
“Hmm.”
“If you’re out here because you’re even considering paddleboarding, I hope that sky is your answer.”
I wrap my reply in a look that has him twisting a smile.
“Okay,” he says. “Obviously.”
“Yes, I was taking a look, but I already knew the answer.” I cross my arms as a gust cuts through my sweatshirt. “I’m mostly concerned about whether Sadie can send anyone for us today. I’m afraid the answer is no.”
“Not this morning, at least. It’ll calm down later, and she’s not going to leave us overnight again.”
I tighten my arms. “What if she doesn’t send anyone?”
“You really think she’s going to strand us out here?”
I hesitate, and then shake my head. “Not Garrett. Not you. Not Madison.”
“Not even you and Jayla. I know there’s history there, and I know why, but everyone makes mistakes, and I really think she regrets hers.”
He doesn’t know the whole of it, and I’m not about to explain. Sometimes, I think I should, so he can make a fully informed decision about any relationship he might have with her. But then I don’t because, deep down, I’m afraid he has a point. She did make amistake. She does regret it. Or, at least, she regrets it enough that I can’t write her off as an evil backstabber I don’t want anywhere near my ex.
“I know you two have issues,” he says. “But you’re still in touch, which tells me you know she regrets it.”
“I haven’t talked to her in years, Kit.” I glance over my shoulder as I continue walking. “Sure, she sent flowers when Anna died but—” I wave it off. “Yes, I think she’ll send a boat for us. That’s all that matters.”
“When exactly did you last speak to her?”
After we got married. When she called to accuse me of stealing you from her.
Jayla said that’s ridiculous—no one marries a guy to spite an old friend—but could Sadie have thought it started like that? I hooked up with Kit knowing she liked him, and then I fell for him?
Damn it, the last thing I want is to feel bad for Sadie. Especially now.
“She’ll send someone,” I say. “Eventually. But all this has made me think you were right. If I’m not going to get a ham radio license, then I need to invest in a satellite phone. Not for the renters, but for me.”
“Thank you,” he says, coming up beside me. “Can I get one for you? Please? I run a tech company. I might not be an expert myself, but I can have someone find the most reliable one. If you’re going to do this, I’d like it to be done right. Let me get it.”
I push back the instinctive denial. He’s right. I need one that’s reliable, which means it’ll be more than I can afford. This is about safety—mine and Madison’s.
I shade my eyes to look out at that blazing sun rising over the horizon. “Okay.”
“And I know I shouldn’t push my luck,” he says. “But there have been some real advances in satellite internet. You like being offline to write. I get that. But as a backup emergency contact system?” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I think it’d make everyone feel better.”
