5. Etta #2
"That sounds lovely," Simone said. "I'm sorry he had to cancel. This Helsinki deal has been six months in the making. The timing is terrible, but Kari and Leena are very particular about when they'll meet."
"I understand," I said.
"Do you boat much yourself?" she asked.
"I grew up on the water."
"That must be wonderful. I'm afraid I get terribly seasick."
"Oh," I said. "That's too bad."
"Airplanes are much better," she said lightly. "Though Sven tells me you two met on a sailboat."
"We did."
"He said you out-sailed him on the first day."
"I did," I said.
She laughed. "I love that story. A man needs a woman who can keep him honest."
"He told you that?" I asked.
"Oh yes. He's very proud of it. Says you handled the boat like you'd been racing your whole life."
"My grandfather taught me," I said.
"The same one who started Boone and Daughter?"
"Yes."
"What a legacy," she said. "Sven says you're doing remarkable things with the operation. Expanding the beds, modernizing the equipment."
"We're trying," I said.
"He's been very helpful, hasn't he? With the permits and the suppliers."
"He has."
"That's good. It's important to support each other's work."
Sven was watching me. Not saying anything. Just watching.
"We should be back tonight," Simone said. "Late, but tonight. So it won't be a long trip. And then maybe you two can reschedule your day on the water."
"Maybe," I said.
She was being kind. I could hear it in her voice. She was trying to make this easier.
I set the cooler down on the floor by the door.
My hands were shaking.
I looked at the plates again. At the coffee cups, sitting side by side. At the carafe of coffee that was still warm.
At my husband and this woman standing together by the window in the morning light.
And I understood.
Not in a flash. Not like something breaking.
Just quietly, the way you understand that winter's coming when you see the first frost on the marsh grass.
This was the morning I'd been asking for. The easy, unhurried breakfast with someone you wanted to spend time with. The laughter. The coffee poured slow. The kind of morning where you weren't rushing anywhere because being right where you were was enough.
It was happening.
Just not with me.
My hands stopped shaking.
I looked at Sven. He was watching me, his expression careful. Waiting for me to say something.
I didn't have anything to say.
I reached down and pulled my wedding ring off my finger.
It came off easily. It always had.
I crossed the room. My footsteps were soft on the carpet. Simone moved aside as I passed her, and I caught the scent of her perfume. Something expensive. Bergamot and cedar.
I set the ring on his desk.
The ring looked small on the wide surface. Fragile. It made a soft sound when it touched the wood, like a coin dropping.
Sven went very still.
"Etta—"
I looked up at him.
"Have a good trip, Sven," I said.
My voice was kind. I meant it to be kind. I meant every word of it.
He stood there looking at me.
Waiting.
I knew what he was waiting for. I'd said it every time he left for eight years. Every flight, every trip, every time he walked out the door before dawn or after dark or in the middle of an ordinary afternoon.
Text me when you get there.
Five words. A reflex. The smallest kindness.
I didn't say it.
The silence stretched out between us. It wasn't loud. It wasn't painful.
It was just empty.
A marriage ending.
Made entirely of love.
I turned around and walked out of the room.
Behind me, nobody said anything. Nobody called after me. Nobody followed.
I went down the stairs.
The woman at the desk looked up as I came down the stairs.
"Everything all right?" she asked.
"Everything's fine," I said.
My voice sounded normal. Steady.
"Did you get to see him?"
"I did."
"Good. I bet he was glad to see you."
"Maybe," I said.
She looked at me for a moment, her expression shifting. "You sure you're all right, honey?"
"I'm fine. Thank you for your help."
"You didn't leave that cooler up there, did you? After all that work you put into it?"
"I did."
"Oh, honey. You want me to run up and get it for you?"
"No," I said. "It's his. Let him have it."
She looked at me a long moment. "All right, then."
"Thank you for everything."
"Of course. You drive safe now."
"I will."
"You have a good day now," she said.
"You too."
I pushed through the glass door and walked out into the parking lot.
The sun was higher now. The light was hard and bright on the asphalt. I could feel the heat of it on my shoulders, on the back of my neck.
I got in my truck and started the engine.
My hands were steady on the wheel.
I pulled out of the lot and turned south. The marsh stretched out on either side of me, wide and flat and gold in the morning light. The causeway was empty. No other cars. Just me and the road and the water.
I drove past the waterfront without looking at it.
I drove past the office. Past the boats. Past the sound.
I drove straight to the dock where the Charlene was tied.
When I got there I turned off the engine and sat for a minute with my hands in my lap.
Ray Cullens was coming up from the water, a bucket in each hand. He was one of the older shuckers, had worked the waterfront for forty years. He saw my truck and lifted a hand.
I got out.
"Morning, Etta," he called.
"Morning, Ray."
He set the buckets down and walked over. "Thought you were taking the day out on the water."
"Changed my mind," I said.
"Sven couldn't make it?"
"No."
He nodded slowly. "That's a shame. Man needs a day off now and then."
"Yes," I said.
"You still going out?"
"I think so."
"By yourself?"
"Looks like it."
He frowned. "You take a radio, then. Weather's supposed to hold but you never know."
"I will," I said.
"And stay inside the sound. Don't go running out past the point."
"I won't."
"I mean it, Etta. Water's no joke when you're alone."
"I know, Ray. I've been doing this my whole life."
"I know you have," he said. "But your mother would have my hide if I didn't say something."
That made me smile, just a little. "She would."
"Wind's picking up out of the south," he said. "But it should hold nice till this afternoon. After that, come in."
"I will. Thank you."
He picked up his buckets again. "You have a good one, Etta."
"You too, Ray."
He headed toward the shucking house and I stood there for a minute watching him go.
It was quiet. Just the sound of the water against the pilings and the gulls calling overhead. The marsh grass moving in the wind.
I looked down at my left hand.
The skin where my ring had been was pale. A thin white line, like a scar.
I'd worn that ring for eight years. Put it on the morning we got married and never taken it off. Not once. Not to shower or swim or work the boats. Not ever.
Now it was gone.
I picked up my phone from the cup holder and looked at it for a long moment.
Then I set it on the seat. On purpose.
I got out and walked down to the water.
The Charlene was waiting right where I'd left her, still provisioned for the day we were supposed to have had. The cushions I'd laid out. The blankets. The cooler I'd packed before dawn.
No.
Not that cooler. That one was upstairs in his office at the airfield, sitting on the floor by the door.
This was a different day now.
I stepped aboard and moved through the familiar motions. Untying the lines. Coiling them. Stowing them properly. My hands knew what to do without me having to think about it.
I started the engine. The sound of it was steady and sure and it filled the air around me like a promise.
I backed her out of the slip and turned her bow toward open water.
The sky was pale and the marsh was silver in the early light. The wind was cool on my face. Clean.
I pushed the throttle forward and felt the deck rise under me as she came up on plane.
And I didn't look back.
I didn't look back at the dock or the waterfront or the town.
I didn't look back at my phone sitting on the seat of my truck or my ring sitting on his desk or the cooler I'd carried up those stairs thinking it would fix something.
I didn't look back at anything.
I just pointed the bow toward open water and went.