Tom’s eyes bore into mine, and I averted my gaze to stare at Roxie instead. Normally, looking at her sweet, slightly vacant expression calmed me down. But today, she just made my heart swell even more.
I didn’t want to take this job. I didn’t want to stay on Summersea. I didn’t want to open up doors I’d closed a long time ago.
But looking down at Roxie, I couldn’t help but be conscious of how much I depended on her. As much as I took care of her, she took care of me. Kept me from calcifying into a complete block of granite.
We all depended on other beings for our survival. It would be shitty for me to say ‘fuck you’ to those turtles just because I had memories I didn’t want to revisit. And I did, technically, need a job.
Plus, there was the Scott Nash-ness of it all. Scott was tied up in the reasons I’d left Summersea in the first place. It wasn’t his fault, exactly, but his hands weren’t clean either. Fire burned in my gut when I thought about the self-satisfied look on his face, the last time I’d seen him.
Julian, if he were still a part of my life, would probably remind me that people can change. He’d say something about the power of forgiveness, and tell me not to make decisions out of pure spite.
But spite was one of the main things that kept me going. My body burned it for fuel, holding a giant middle finger up to the universe that had tried to snuff me out.
Besides, Julian wasn’t a part of my life anymore. And if I were careful—if I were disciplined—surely I could keep it that way.
I met Tom’s gaze with a level one of my own.
“When do you want me to start?”
2
Julian
Connor was in my dream last night.
Isn’t it funny how we say that? You were in my dream last night.
Like a dream is a tangible thing. Something real, if gauzy, that you could grasp ahold of. Like someone could really join you there.
But I guess that’s how it feels. When Connor’s involved, at least.
Seeing him in my dream feels as natural as a heartbeat, as inevitable as the moon. It’s only when I wake up and remember that I haven’t spoken to him in ten years that everything feels strange.
Well, ten years, nine months, and thirteen days. But who’s counting?
I should have expected to dream of him. I always do when I’m stressed.
It’s the same dream, each time. I’m at McIntyre Beach, at night, scrambling over the dunes. I’m late. It’s never clear for what, exactly, but I know I need to make it across the dunes before something happens. Before time runs out.
I fall in the damp grit on the far side. The tide is receding, leaving pale, star-washed stretches of sand exposed like the collarbone of the earth. My hands dig into the ground as I push myself up. My fingertips sting. I taste salt on my tongue.
It’s not until I’m looking up again, my eyes searching the wind-blown darkness, that I realize what I’m searching for. Or rather, who.
Connor is standing in the surf, his back to me. He faces oil-black waves that beckon him further out to sea. I can’t explain how, but I know he’s looking for something too.
Something in his posture gives it away, maybe. The way his hands curl into fists as the waves batter at his legs. The resolute set of his shoulders.
It’s dark, but I swear I can see his jaw shift, then lock, as he finds whatever he’s been scanning the horizon for. I see the moment he decides to leave.
“Connor.” I try to call out to him, but I can never make my voice work right in this dream. His name comes out a silent croak, like someone has scraped my vocal cords out with a rusty grapefruit spoon. My throat aches, but I try again.
“Connor.” It’s no louder this time, and Connor takes another step into the water, the waves at his thighs now. He has no idea I’m there.
“Connor, stop.”
Not a sound, but suddenly it occurs to me that even if my words don’t work, my legs still do.
I stumble forward. There’s something slow and clumsy about my movements, like my legs are stuck in the waking world, reluctant to join me in this dream. My toe catches on nothing and I trip, sprawling back out into the sand. I taste blood and brine as I bite my tongue.
Connor still doesn’t see me, has no idea he’s not completely alone in the dark. I’m sideways, my cheek against the sand, as I watch him take another step. The water swirls around him, filling in the hole his body has left, and I can feel how hungry the ocean is. Each wave does its best to wear away at him, to pull him under and leave no trace.
I push myself, half-walking, half-crawling, down the beach until I reach the waves. The water is frigid, stabbing my hands like a warning, hissing that I should run. I don’t.
I part my lips to try again and am rewarded with a mouthful of saltwater. I spit it out, shoving myself upright. Connor has slipped even farther into the ocean while I was down. The water laps at his ribs now.
“Connor, please,” I gasp, choking through the salt in my mouth. For once, my words are audible.
He turns. Sees me. Tilts his head. I see curiosity in his eyes, but no recognition.
No, I think. No, I won’t let it end like this. I slosh forward, my legs cinder blocks in the water, but I make it to him.
“Please wait,” I say, the words tumbling from my mouth, soundless once again. “Please, I just need to tell you—” and then my mind reels, spinning like a kaleidoscope and stealing my words away when I need them most. I can’t say what’s beating at the inside of my ribs, desperate to get out. All I can say, again, is, “Please.”
I grab for his hand under the water, and at my touch, Connor’s eyes come alive. Hope flares in my heart. The water tries to tear us apart, but I lace our fingers tightly together, sealing every crack with warmth and color.
It doesn’t matter that he can’t hear me, I think. He knows me, now. Surely he won’t leave this time.
And then he turns away, his gaze fixed on the horizon again, and it’s like he’s already gone. I ache to tell him everything I’ve held inside all these years, but the ocean drains my words away, leaving me hollow. A whirlpool of need spins inside me and I have no way to give it voice.
My lips are cracked, my chest empty, but I have to try. I dredge up my last ounce of strength and manage to scrape out his name.
“Connor.”
My voice carries only the fingerprint of a sound, but I know he hears me because he looks back. His name hangs in the air between us, bleeding and raw. He blinks, his dark eyes as savage as the midnight sea, and just as unknowable. And he shakes his head.
“No,” I beg. It’s more the ghost of a word than a word itself. “No, please. Not again. Not like this.”
He lets go of my hand. His fingers are almost gentle as they slip from mine. And in the second it takes my hand to rise from the water, to grab for his shoulder, he disappears.
My hand hits the waves, empty, and I search the ocean wildly. How could he just vanish? The world doesn’t work that way.
I turn towards the shore, hoping I’ve made a mistake, that he’ll be waiting for me there, even though I know he won’t be.
I’m still scanning the sand when a wave hits me from behind, pulling me under.