The Rattled Bones(51)

“Do you? Because you’ve been going full throttle since your dad passed away, and everyone’s worried about you.”

“I know, Hatt. I’ll be fine. Having you here the other night helped a ton. It was exactly what I needed.”

“Then I’m coming over after work today.”

“I’ll be here.”

“And Sam?”

“What about him?”

“Will he be there too?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Is it a totally inappropriate time to tell you I think he’s a hottie?”

I laugh, which makes my side stich with hurt. “Shut up.”

“Never.”

When I get to the kitchen, Gram eyes my uniform. “Ya will not haul today, Rilla Murphy Brae.”

I cringe at Gram using my middle name. It’s a fine name; it’s Gram’s family name. But it means she’s triple serious. I adjust my shirt on my shoulders. My arms are sore with even this slight movement. “I won’t fish. Don’t worry. Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” Yesterday scared me, and I’m smart enough to know not to work the sea when there’s fear in my bones. Still, I need to be on the water again, remind my memory—and my muscles—that I know what I’m doing on the ocean. But I make Gram a promise: “I won’t haul.”

“Hmph.”

“I’m gonna check on the boat, make sure everything’s tightened down after yesterday. I might take her for a short spin, but no fishing. I promise.”

There’s a deep crease in Gram’s eyes, like a line carved itself there last night. Dont go! the line says. “A promise is your word, Rilla. And ya know your word is all you’re worth.”

I move to Gram, kiss her just above that worried line. I would do anything to take Gram’s worry away. “I give you my word. No hauling. I won’t even say the word ‘lobster’ today.” I smile, trying to ease her concern. “Except for right then, when I said ‘lobster.’?” I bring my hand to my mouth, cover it. “Okay, now for real. I won’t say it again all day. I will have exactly zero to do with lobsters.”

Gram nudges her way past me, frustrated but convinced. “Fool girl. You’re lucky I love ya.”

“I am.” I move to her, give her a deep hug. Even though my muscles scream, I hold my grandmother so tight. “I know how lucky I am.” Luckier than my father, whose heart gave out on the sea, luckier than so many men who’ve been lost to the deep. So lucky to have Gram as a mother and grandmother and so much more.

Gram pulls away, swats at me. “Go on and get out of the house, then. I’m not foolish enough to think I could stand in your way.”

I slice off a hunk of fresh bread and make my way to the Rilla Brae. At the dock, I turn and see Gram watching me from the kitchen. I give her a wave, and my muscles chastise me for the chore. I raise my eyes to my bedroom window, see the reaching arm of the ancient maple tree even as I know it wasn’t the tree that knocked at my window. It was the girl.

My girl from the sea and the shore.

The girl from Malaga.

I check all the lines on the Rilla Brae, each one tied in cleat hitch knots, pulled secure. Onboard, the chum buckets are clean, tucked neatly into a corner of the deck. The wheelhouse is prepped for fishing, all the instruments cleaned and stored properly. I turn the key and head out to sea. Sam’s boat is moored off Malaga. I approach, drop anchor.

Sam’s in his skiff by the time I’ve gathered my bag. “Wanna lift in my salty dog?” His expression as unsure as he is. He coasts his boat to a halt and grabs hold of my fender lines. “Can you climb on?’

“I can.” I prove to myself that I can, even if my back hates me for the challenge.

“To the island?”

I nod. “Please.”

“You’re sure?”

I nod.

Sam doesn’t row today; he uses the small five-horsepower engine to cut through the choppy waters. We don’t raise our words over the motor’s tinny roar. He rides the boat up onto the shore, beaching most of the skiff. Every movement jostles my aching limbs, but I climb out, my feet steadying on the ground.

“How are you feeling?”

“Grateful for your help yesterday.” I give my lower back a small stretch. “Today would be very different if you hadn’t thought to run the rope through the pulley. I’m indebted.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes, the scattered shells at his feet holding all his interest. “I’m glad I was there for you.”

“Me too.”

I’ve had too much time to think what would have happened if I’d been alone, the way Dad had been.

“I feel like your accident was my fault.”

“Your fault?”

The sun on Sam’s face brings out the red in his solid cheeks. “I distracted you, talking about a stupid empty lobster trap. That’s why it happened.”

“Not even.” I was the careless one, my mind always in some other space lately.

“Your fall scared the shit out of me.”

“I was pretty scared too.”

He runs his fingers through his dark hair, and it cascades along the curves of his wide face like always. I feel him searching for words, struggling.