38. Emory #2
I turn and look at him. The sun is dropping lower, catching the side of his face in gold. His shoulder is pressed against mine. Hank snoring against our backs. Jake sitting here like there is nowhere else he’d rather be and no version of the future where I’m not in it.
He deserves someone who doesn’t need a decade and a broken grandmother and a summer of second chances to figure out what she wants.
He deserves someone who would’ve stayed the first time.
“I know you’re figuring things out,” he says.
I let out one soft, sad laugh. “I’m not very good at figuring things out.”
“I know.”
He reaches over and gently takes the watch from my hand. “Give me your wrist.”
I hold out my arm. His fingers brush the inside of my wrist, warm and careful. He fastens the strap slowly, then smooths his thumb once over the band before he kisses my palm.
Then Jake lets go.
“It looks right on you,” he says.
I look down at it.
Then back at him.
For one terrifying moment, I can see it. Next month. Next year. Me here. Still here. Him on the pillow beside me. Hank snoring between us while Jake complains he’s overheating and refuses to move him anyway. Feet dangling from the dock at sunset.
A life so easy to step into it feels like I already have.
Wanting it this badly feels reckless though.
I’m standing so close to the edge of this, I could ruin it if I said yes.
I cup my hand over the watch and look over at him. “Thank you.”
His expression softens. “You’re welcome.”
The breeze picks up and blows my hair across my mouth. I reach for it, but Jake gets there first. He tucks it gently behind my ear. The backs of his fingers linger against my cheek.
My hands are shaking, and I can’t stop them.
I quickly stand before he can see them.
“I should get back,” I say. “Check on Granny.”
He looks up at me, and I see that flicker of disappointment he tries not to show. Just for a second. Then it’s gone. “Okay,” he says.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
He nods.
I turn and start walking back up the jetty.
Again, the one doing the leaving.
Same as always.
I hear Hank arf as I step off the jetty onto the path.
It cracks the last of my composure right down the middle.
I run back to Holey Moley with tears trailing down my face.
I can’t sleep.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the room shift deeper into night. I think about tomorrow.
Then a light flashes on the wall.
Once.
Twice.
I sit up.
The light comes again.
Morse code.
Even through the blur in my eyes, I can still make out the first message. Hi.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I can’t do this.” I get out of bed, tug Jake’s jersey over my head, toss it onto the chair, and pull my suitcase from the closet. I pack fast. If I go slow, I won’t go at all.
The white linen dress from Dog Days. His gray Bucs sweatshirt. The boat shoes with sand still in them from our island.
The flashes on the wall stop.
I reach for the bkr and phone charger from the nightstand with clumsy fingers. The flashlight is there too.
I leave it.
I turn the knob on the door, giving the room one last glance over my shoulder.
Jake’s jersey sits on the chair by the window.
I open the door.
But I can’t leave it behind.
I rush back and pick it up.
I pull it against my face, gripping it tight with both hands, his number eleven pressed against my forearms.
“Jake.” I look out the window, across the water toward the boathouse.
I say goodbye the only way I can manage.
Silently.
In the dark.
Without him hearing it.
Granny’s light shines from under her door. I knock once and push it open. She takes one look at me, at the jersey in my arms, and her face changes. “Tonight,” she says. Not a question.
“I have to, Granny.”
She is quiet for a long moment before she says, “Emory, I watched you find something again this summer.”
My chin quivers. I look down before the tears can fully fall. She looks at me with those eyes that have seen through me my whole life. “Don’t lose it again.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Story of my life.
I never have the right words when I need them. I get them later. In the car. In the dark. In the middle of the night when it’s too late to use them for anything but self punishment.
“Granny,” I whisper.
“I know.”
She opens her arms. I go to her. She holds me tight, and I put my face against her shoulder and cry. “I love you,” I say.
“I know that too.” Her hand moves slowly over my back. “Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”
I don’t avoid the stair that creaks. The same one that creaked when I was thirteen and sneaking out. The same one that creaked when I snuck out again this summer.
Outside, the night air hits my wet face. The water makes that same soft, steady sound it always does. Across the bay, I hear laughter.
Life keeps going. It doesn’t pause because you’re breaking your own heart. It just keeps moving.
I put the suitcase in the backseat. Then I get into the truck, putting Jake’s jersey in the seat beside me. I don’t start the engine right away. I sit there with both hands on the wheel. Listening to the watch tick against my wrist. I brush my thumb over the band. Then I look up.
The boathouse light is still on.
Still waiting.
Nothing in my life has ever felt this much like something I’m not supposed to leave.
And somehow I’m leaving it anyway.
I start the truck.
Shells pop under the tires as I pull out and turn onto the road.
In the rearview mirror, all I see is the pink striped inner tube.
The only sounds in the truck are my crying
and the tick
tick
tick
of the watch.
Like the mermaid’s heart beating for her prince.