Chapter 14
The morning air tasted of salt. Somewhere behind me, seagulls called out like gossiping teenagers. A few crew members smiled and invited us to help haul the canvas. I stayed back and watched Daniel step up. The sails cracked open like thunder and caught the wind.
We glided out into sunny Penobscot Bay as the tourists took turns at the wheel.
When my turn came, I held the course for a minute, steering us past Curtis Island Light—a white lighthouse gleaming against the cliffs.
Seals draped themselves over the rocks like lazy kings, while seabirds skimmed the waves for fish.
It wasn’t even ten in the morning, but people were already sipping cocktails. A couple held champagne flutes as if it were noon in the Hamptons.
Daniel raised a brow at me.
I shrugged. “Sounds about right.”
I took a mimosa when the staff offered. He grabbed an IPA, laughing.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”
We found a wide bench and sat down, the wood warm under us. The Windward Belle leaned slightly into the wind, graceful like a ballerina. Behind us, the Camden Hills grew smaller.
By the time we circled back and Mount Battie came into view again, the sun had warmed my skin, and the mimosa had just enough bite to make me feel a little floaty.
We chatted with the crew and some of the guests: two couples from Canada, a few Americans from Massachusetts, and a lovely family visiting from the UK on a six-month road trip.
Their kids, maybe eight and ten, had a glow about them: sun-kissed faces, wide grins, the kind of light that shows up only when you know you’re loved and safe.
They laughed at a seal that the boy claimed looked just like their dad when he napped, which made all of us laugh too.
Daniel smiled at them, then at me.
“If you want one of those,” he said, nudging me gently, “I think I know how to make it happen.”
He must have seen something in my face. Disappointment, probably.
“Someday, I mean,” he added quickly. “If you’re ready. If not, that’s okay too.”
I’d always wanted kids. So had he. He never pushed.
Always said he’d be okay either way. However, the thought of passing down my mind like some kind of curse was hard to shake.
It wasn’t the diapers or the sleepless nights that scared me.
It was the fear of what might come from me.
Of what I might give them. Or worse, that one day they’d have to take care of me.
Their unstable mom. The one who kept them from living their own lives because she always needed to be saved.
Yet, sitting there on the sunny deck of the Windward Belle, things felt hopeful. For the first time in a while, I felt like I might be able to work it all out. The gaps in my childhood memories. If I could ever find out what happened to me, maybe the nightmares would stop.
The thought rose in me, warm and unexpected.
Hope.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling at him. “I think kids someday would be great.”
Daniel looked stunned. Then his expression broke into something huge and bright, like the sunlight had doubled across his face. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together.
Giggles drifted over from a nearby bench. I glanced up.
Three women, maybe in their twenties, were dressed as if they were headed to a party. Their stares weren’t exactly subtle. They looked at Daniel, then at me, and then they mumbled something—and they all burst out laughing.
It wasn’t new. This had happened before. A few times, actually.
Daniel—with his movie-star smile, leather moccasins, designer sunglasses, and white-on-white outfit—looked like he was about to host a yacht party. People expected a model on his arm. Not someone like me. Not a woman in a floral dress that she’d bought on sale.
I wasn’t ugly, but no one had ever called me stunning, especially not with my scar. When people looked at us like that, like I was the joke in the picture, I usually glanced away, embarrassed. Like I owed him an apology just for existing next to him.
But not today.
I sat up straighter and leaned over to his ear, my gaze locked on the three women, who were still whispering like I couldn’t see them.
“We could practice some rough baby-making tonight,” I murmured.
Daniel turned toward me, caught off guard. “Good God.” He grinned and kissed me. Really kissed me. Long. A little over the top for public viewing, yet entirely worth it.
When he pulled back, still smiling, he brushed my hair behind my ear.
“The Breakers is bringing out a side of you I could get used to,” he said.
I glanced back at the women. They’d gone quiet. One suddenly found something very interesting about her cocktail.
We spent the rest of the cruise baking in the sun, stealing kisses, and trading jokes with strangers who felt like friends.
After the three-hour sail, we walked into Camden and found a seafood restaurant near the harbor. I ordered the lobster.
Best I’d ever had. Period.
Then we did some shopping in the little stores that lined the streets. We even stumbled across an afternoon market. My prized finds included dog cookies for the gang, local maple syrup and honey, an apron that said “Best Cook in Town” for Tara, and a real leather belt for Hudson.
Daniel bought me a gold necklace—one I’d picked up and admired but put back. He’d circled back to get it while claiming he was heading to the bathroom. That was only fair, as I’d done the exact same thing earlier to grab him a set of locally made hot sauces—also under the noble guise of going pee.
We laughed and chatted our way through the afternoon.
Later, Hudson picked us up in the small boat, bringing us back to the Breakers’ private dock.
On the way back, Daniel and I told him about our day: scenic views, food, seagulls fighting over a hotdog in the parking lot.
It wasn’t anything world-changing, but every moment felt exciting when it was drama free.
Dinner that night was unbelievable. Tara outdid herself.
Candles flickered on the dining table next to vases filled with sprigs of wildflowers.
The smell of homemade schnitzel filled the air, along with the aroma of warm potato salad and fresh veggies on the side.
Laughter rolled through the room like waves.
Hudson and Daniel kept taking jabs at each other, the kind that happen only when there’s love underneath.
It made something inside me ache in the best way.
Mochi was there too, in his travel cage on a stool nearby, chirping happily as he snacked on fruit and a cookie. Every so often, he tossed out a noise that cracked us up. Like his fake dog barks that sounded so real.
Later, when my head hit the satin pillowcase, a sense of deep happiness settled in. This kind of day made everything else seem survivable. Like maybe the fainting and hallucinations wouldn’t get the final say. Like maybe I could still be a mom one day. Be normal again.
Maybe a single good day like this could be enough to fight the darkness.
The TV murmured in the background, voices blurring into a low, steady hum. Sleep pulled at me, soft and heavy.
And then it hit me. Right before I fell asleep.
I hadn’t taken my nightmare meds.
And that could be a very bad thing.