CHAPTER 15
Katrina
Katrina stirred the pancake batter with a wooden spoon, scraping it against the sides of the bowl. She was going to simply make some toast, but all that good sex last night and this morning had made her hungry. And she craved something richer.
She’d set the coffee to brew ten minutes ago and now it gurgled on the counter, the last drops falling into the pot with a sound like someone clearing their throat.
At her feet, Skylla thumped her tail once against the floor, hopeful that breakfast might include something for her.
The batter was ready, but she’d let Marina take care of the rest because she was a better cook. She poured herself a cup of coffee. The steam rose and warmed her face. She inhaled deeply before taking a sip. The hot liquid furthered invigorated her.
Her body felt loose and pleasantly tired, the kind of tired that came from using muscles she forgot she had. She took a long sip and looked out the window.
Footsteps on the stairs. Marina came into the kitchen, her skin flushed from the shower, her hair twisted into a loose knot. She wore cutoff shorts and an oversized gray t-shirt that hung off one shoulder.
“Smells good in here,” Marina said. She reached for the coffee pot. “God, I need this.”
“You don’t need it,” Katrina said. She grinned and leaned against the counter. “You got enough dose of Ryan to start the day.”
Marina poured her coffee and didn’t look up, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Then why are you having it?”
Katrina chuckled. “Out of habit.”
They fell silent for a moment, sipping their coffee and listening to the sound of Ryan’s shower running upstairs.
And then Marina set her mug down and reached for the bowl of batter. “I’ll take over. You burn everything.”
“I don’t burn everything,” Katrina said. “But that was the plan anyway.”
Marina was already at the stove, wiping the pan with a paper towel, turning the heat to medium. Katrina opened the fridge and took out eggs, butter, a jar of strawberry jam.
She set the table: three plates, three forks, napkins folded in half because why bother with quarters. She put out the jam and the butter dish and a bowl of sliced bananas and apples.
“So,” Katrina said. She leaned against the counter behind her sister, watching Marina crack eggs into a bowl. The shells made a clean sound. “Had a good time?”
Marina whisked the eggs. “Yeah.”
“I mean, really good? Like, worth-the-hassle-of-sharing good?”
Marina turned and looked at her. Her face was serious for a second, and then she smiled. The kind of smile that started slow and took over her whole face. “Best decision ever.”
Katrina felt something warm bloom in her chest. Not just the coffee. “Okay. Good.”
Marina poured batter into the pan. It sizzled. She flipped the first pancake and it landed with a soft thud, golden on both sides. She slid it onto a plate and started another.
Ryan came down the stairs. Katrina looked up from the pancake batter as he stepped into the kitchen.
He was wearing yesterday’s shirt, slightly wrinkled and damp around the collar.
His hair was damp and slightly tousled, as though he'd simply run his fingers through it on the way downstairs.
Damn. Why did that somehow make him even more attractive?
“Coffee’s there,” Katrina said, pointing. “Help yourself.”
He poured a cup. His stomach rumbled, loud enough that both sisters heard it. Katrina laughed.
“Sorry,” he said. He ducked his head, embarrassed. “Can’t blame me. It smells better than any breakfast place I’ve been to.”
“Of course it does,” Katrina said. “Marina makes the best pancakes in the world.”
Marina set a stack on the table. “These ones have walnuts. You allergic to anything?”
Ryan shook his head. He looked at the stack, then at the plate Marina was still filling. “That’s a lot of pancakes.”
Katrina chuckled as she followed his gaze to the dozen pancakes. She had mixed three times as much batter as she usually did.
“Figured you were hungry,” Marina said.
Katrina nodded. “Yeah, we definitely wore him out.”
Ryan chuckled. “Not at all.” But he blushed, and the blush traveled down his neck and disappeared under his collar. Katrina watched it go and felt a little thrill. She knew exactly where his mind had gone.
They sat. The pancakes were thick and soft, studded with walnuts that had toasted in the pan and gone slightly bitter at the edges. The butter melted into golden pools.
Katrina spread jam on hers – the strawberries had cooked down to something dark and jammy, with whole pieces that burst between her teeth.
Ryan ate three in a row without speaking, just making a low sound of appreciation after each bite. Marina watched him with that quiet half-smile she got when she was pleased with something she’d made.
They finished all twelve. Katrina licked jam off her thumb and leaned back in her chair. The plates were empty except for smears of syrup and crumbs.
They cleared the table together, the three of them moving around the small kitchen without bumping into each other. Ryan rinsed the plates. Marina wiped down the stove. Katrina put the jam back in the fridge.
“So,” Katrina said, sitting down again. “What’s the plan for today?”
Ryan sat across from her and wrapped his hands around the warm mug. “I’m going to take my surf lesson with you in the morning, and then work on the website this afternoon. Get the design tightened up, maybe finish the booking system if I have time.”
“Sounds good,” Katrina said. “But I kind of feel bad you have to work on your vacation. At least let me pay you.”
“Nah,” Ryan said with a wave of his hand. “You’ve already given me a discount on the lessons. It’s fine. I like working on this stuff.”
“Okay, then. Thanks.” Katrina leaned in to stamp a kiss on his cheek.
Marina sat beside him, her coffee black and steaming. “I’m working afternoon shift today, same as yesterday.”
“We should do something fun this weekend, sis,” Katrina said, glancing at her sister, her elbows on the table. “Before Ryan heads back Sunday.”
Ryan took a sip of coffee. “Like what?”
“Go sailing.” The words slipped out of Katrina’s mouth before she could stop herself.
Marina’s mug paused halfway to her mouth. She set it down carefully. “Kat.”
Katrina looked at her sister, her heart racing. Had she said the wrong thing? It wasn’t the first time she had made the suggestion over the years. She had tried it once, maybe twice, but Marina refused. Katrina had never insisted, but maybe it was time.
“What? We have the boat. I can reschedule my lessons. You can ask for a day off.” Katrina said. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Perfect weather for it.”
Ryan looked as if he was put in a different position. He glanced between her and her sister without speaking.
“Saturdays are busy,” Marina said. She folded the towel and hung it on the oven handle. “There might be parties.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it,” Katrina said, not giving up. “You’ve been there forever. You never call in.”
“It’s not that simple on Saturdays. I might not be as replaceable as usual.”
Something passed between Marina and Ryan then – a look, quick and loaded. And then Ryan dropped his eyes to study his coffee. Marina went back to the sink and started rinsing a mug that was already clean.
Katrina saw it. She felt it like a draft, a cold spot in the warm kitchen.
Her sister was hiding something. She’d had this feeling before, usually when the Beacon came up in conversation.
Marina would get careful with her words, would redirect or change the subject.
But now Ryan knew whatever it was, and that didn’t make sense.
Ryan had known Marina for what, three days? Four?
It was silly. Probably nothing. But the feeling sat in her stomach, right next to the pancakes, and didn’t digest.
Ryan looked up. “You don’t have to reschedule anything on my account. The lessons are important. Bad for business to cancel.”
“It won’t be a problem,” Katrina said. She was still standing by the fridge, one hand on the door handle. “I really miss sailing. Like, actually sailing. Not teaching.”
“We chartered that tourist group last month,” Marina said. She’d turned around and was leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “Remember? The family from Arizona.”
“That was business. I want to do it for fun.” Katrina let the fridge door swing shut. “We haven’t done it for fun in a long time. Actually, we haven’t done it for fun since—”
She stopped. The sentence hung there, unfinished, and the kitchen went quiet. The coffee maker ticked as it cooled. Outside, a car passed on the street, the sound fading.
Ryan looked between them. His face was open, curious in that careful way he had, as though he wanted to understand without intruding. “What exactly happened to your parents?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
No one spoke. Marina’s eyes found Katrina’s across the kitchen, and Katrina looked down at her feet. The linoleum was old and yellowed near the stove where heat had cooked the color out of it.
“It was eight years ago,” Marina said finally.
Her voice was quiet but steady. The way she always talked about hard things – like she was reading directions, one step at a time.
“They both loved to sail. We were both born on the water, actually. Mom had me somewhere off the coast of Washington, and Kat came along three years later near Vancouver Island. They didn’t settle on land until I was old enough for school. ”
Katrina remembered the stories. Her mother telling her about the quick, messy birth in the cabin of a thirty-foot sloop, her father radioing the coast guard while boiling water on the camp stove. She’d been told so many times it felt like a memory, though of course she had no memory of it at all.
“They picked Cliff Harbor because of the marina,” Marina continued. “The dock’s in a protected harbor because of the cove and the cliff. Good anchorage. Safe.”
Ryan nodded. He was watching Marina’s face.
“The trip – the one where they – it was during my spring break. But Kat’s spring break in high school was different, a week later. So I came home to stay with her while they went. It was supposed to be a short trip down the coast. Three, four days max. They’d just bought a new boat.”
Katrina closed her eyes. She could see it: the bluewater sailboat at the dock, forty feet of gleaming fiberglass. Her father showing her the navigation system, the upgraded galley. Her mother’s face when she talked about Baja, the summer trip they had planned. How they’d all go together.
“They’d had a smaller liveaboard before,” Marina said.
“But this was bigger, newer. They bought it for a family trip to Baja that summer. They were so excited. They hadn’t sailed much in years because of us – school, activities, all that.
This was going to be their thing again. The short trip was basically a shakedown cruise.
Making sure everything worked before we all went. ”
Katrina opened her eyes. The kitchen was too bright. The morning light had strengthened and now it lay across the table in hard rectangles, catching dust and crumbs. She could feel her heart beating in her throat.
“A spring gale moved in faster than forecast,” Marina said.
Her voice had gone flatter, the way it did when she reached the part she couldn’t soften.
“The Coast Guard thinks the mast was damaged during the storm. The boat was struggling in rough water too close to the cliffs. They issued a mayday, but by the time the cutter reached the area…”
She stopped. Her hands were gripping the edge of the counter behind her, knuckles white.
The silence filled the kitchen. Katrina felt it like pressure in her ears, like descending too fast in deep water.
Her chest hurt. Eight years and it still hurt, a dull ache behind her ribs that flared bright whenever someone said it out loud.
She knew the story by heart, but she hadn't heard Marina tell it in years. They simply didn't talk about it.
“They never found the bodies,” Katrina said. The words came out before she could stop them, her voice strange in her own ears. “So I never really believed they’d died. I just keep thinking they went on a long trip. That they’re still out there somewhere, sailing. Stupid, I know.”
Ryan stood up. He crossed the kitchen and put his arms around her.
He was warm and solid and he smelled like their soap, like the shower he’d taken in their bathroom.
His hand was on the back of her head, holding her against his chest, and she realized she was shaking. She hadn’t known she was shaking.
He hugged Marina too, one-armed, his other hand still on Katrina’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said. Simple. No platitudes, no attempts to fix it. Just sorry, and the weight of his hand.
Marina wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I can’t really enjoy trips on the boat,” she said. “Because of the accident. But I can’t bring myself to get rid of it either.”
“You thought about selling it?” Ryan asked.
“I was tempted,” Marina said. “It was worth a lot of money back then. Still is. Every time I’d get close to making a deal, I’d think about how excited they were when they bought it. They’d been saving for it for years. It was their dream.” She looked at Katrina. “So I kept it.”
Katrina remembered the offers. A doctor from Santa Barbara who wanted it for weekend cruises. A retired couple looking for their retirement dream. Marina had taken the calls, had gone to meet them at the dock, had come home each time looking hollow.
Katrina reached across the table and squeezed her sister’s hand.
Ryan sat back in his chair. “You don’t have to go out on it,” he said to Marina. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“I know,” Marina said. She looked at Katrina. “But maybe it’s time.”
Katrina’s eyes brightened. “Yeah?”
“Let me talk to my boss,” Marina said. “I might be able to work just the night shift.”
Katrina grinned, some of the heaviness lifting from her face. “Okay.”