CHAPTER FOUR
CATHERINE
I lean over the mahogany railing that wraps around my aunt’s back porch, the worn wood smooth beneath my bare feet, polished by years of sun, sand, and salt spray.
A faint shiver runs through me in the shade of the house while the last golden rays of the setting sun slip around the corner, igniting the sand and turning the ocean to molten glass.
I sigh, trying to shake the heaviness clinging to me after yet another day spent applying for jobs and hearing nothing in return.
I’d only been back a few days, but being laid off and returning to my childhood summer home without a plan has left me restless, my thoughts circling like gulls over the shore.
Gin lies at my feet, her head resting on her front paws, back legs occasionally twitching as she dreams. She hasn’t left my side since Mirabella left, a second shadow.
I wasn’t ungrateful, though. Being alone in the large house felt strange.
I’d lived alone for the better part of seven years, aside from Mango, but being alone in a studio apartment with the constant distraction of work was different than this.
Different from being alone in a too-big house with too many memories.
At least there weren’t ghosts.
Just memories.
I lean against the railing and take a deep breath, trying to clear the tangle of thoughts and worries in my head.
New jobs took time, and everything—even in the business world—moved slower in the summer.
I had a stellar résumé, years of skills and certifications.
Not to mention I was willing to relocate.
I’d find a job. The right job. It was only a matter of time.
And patience.
A skill I didn’t particularly excel at.
Maybe this was a sign, like Mirabella said, to refill my internal bucket or whatever she’d called it.
Give myself permission to slow down.
I snort at the thought, and Gin glances up at me before getting to her feet, stretching long and slow before nudging my hand.
“Sorry, girl.” I pat her head, then turn back toward the ocean.
Waves roll in under the fading light, the tide low as the sun sinks toward the horizon, casting long shadows from the palm trees scattered along the beach.
No one is out in the surf tonight as far as I can tell, but that doesn’t surprise me.
Grandma bought this large expanse of beach behind the house decades ago, and the property stretches far enough on either side to leave us with nearly half a mile of private shoreline.
The whole world feels hushed.
Suspended.
Gin nudges me again, and I push away from the railing to stare down at her.
“Okay, fine. I’ll make you dinner.”
I head inside, idly petting Mango, who’d fallen asleep draped over my shoulder in the warm evening sun. I settle him gently into his open terrarium.
At least someone was enjoying their time in the sun and letting loose.
Turning the knobs on the sink, I plunge my hands under the faucet and water explodes everywhere. It sprays me straight in the face, instantly soaking my shirt, arcing over my head and splattering across the counter.
Gin starts barking, running frantic circles around the kitchen island. I lunge for the knobs and wrench them off, then lean over the sink dripping wet, hair plastered to my cheeks.
What. The. Hell.
I grab two kitchen towels from a drawer, drying my face and hair before mopping the counters and floor so I don’t slip.
Great.
Now I’d have to call a plumber.
I move automatically after that, letting muscle memory take over as I refill Gin’s water dish and food bowl, then grab a loaf of bread and make myself a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich and a double gin and tonic.
A staple dinner.
Though I really needed to go into town for groceries sometime this week. I’d just been avoiding leaving the house. I wasn’t ready to run into anyone yet. Not ready to explain what had brought me back to Crescent Cove for the entire summer.
I hadn’t even messaged Juniper to see if she was still in town.
I’m halfway through my sandwich when Gin nudges my hand.
“You can’t eat this. It has chocolate in it,” I say, polishing off the other half and licking crumbs and Nutella from my fingertips.
I finish my gin and tonic and make a second, just to numb the edge of my worries for the night. And after the whole water geyser incident, I could use it. I wasn’t planning on driving anywhere tonight.
That would be reckless.
I already had too many impulsive, reckless things I wanted to do since getting laid off, but the part of me that craves balance and routine has been clawing at the walls this week. This stretch of… nothingness has left me restless.
Gin nudges me again, then lets out a short bark and spins in a circle, tail wagging furiously.
“I already fed you. And we were already outside. What do you want?”
She spins again and barks. I haven’t seen her with this much energy since I arrived.
Maybe the sink spraying everywhere upset her.
Or maybe she misses Mirabella.
“I know,” I murmur. “I miss her too. But you’re stuck with me. She won’t be back for almost two months.”
I glance toward the clock. She’d called the night before from her hotel to update me and said she’d be calling again tonight.
As if on cue, music crackles through the kitchen.
Do you believe in magic…
I freeze.
Because it isn’t my phone.
It’s the radio.
The old antique replica I got her the Christmas before I left, sitting on the counter.
That’s odd.
I walk over slowly and hit the power button.
The radio clicks off.
Silence.
Gin starts racing back and forth between the kitchen and living room, barking.
“What’s gotten into you?” I follow her into the living room, where she’s jumping on the couch and back off again in wild loops.
“Gin! You have the zoomies all of a sudden?”
She promptly ignores me and continues her chaotic laps.
At this rate she’s going to hurt herself, and then I’ll be taking her to an emergency vet, which I do not have the time or energy for—not to mention explaining to Aunt Mirabella how I injured her dog in under a week.
She’d probably hop on the next plane home.
And then the kitchen radio turns itself back on.
Louder this time.
I swear the volume rises.
A chill skitters down my spine.
Okay. Nope.
I need to get out of this house.
I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe a walk in the fresh air will do both of us good.
The second I grab Gin’s leash, she stops spinning in circles and sits perfectly still, eyes locked on it, ears perked, the picture of innocence.
I stare at her.
Then laugh despite myself.
“At least I got one thing right.”
Five minutes later, I’m walking down the beach in the moonlight.
We used to do this as kids, sneak out after dinner, race each other barefoot through the surf, dare one another to go farther down the shoreline where the dunes turned wild.
But never alone. A shiver skates over my skin as the breeze picks up, tossing my hair across my face.
Not fear exactly. More like the beach at night has its own kind of magic, older and quieter than daylight, the kind that makes you feel watched even when you know you’re the only one there.
I’m not afraid of the dark. Strangers rarely came to our stretch of beach during the day, let alone at night. If anything, the bigger concern would be sharks in the shallows or jellyfish drifting in with the tide.
Not that I planned on swimming.
That would be reckless.
My sandals sink with every step, damp sand seeping between my toes. I should have put on something practical before walking Gin, but I hadn’t wanted to dig out socks and running shoes when I’d spent most of the week padding around barefoot in pajamas anyway.
I’d even let the girls free tonight.
No one was around to judge me, so what was a little freedom before I went back to city life in pressed blouses, pencil skirts, and heels—the polished image of a woman who always had a plan.
Dress for the part you want, they say.
Well, right now I’d decided I wanted to dress for a lazy summer.
Gin barks and lunges hard enough to jerk me from my thoughts, and I stumble in the sand. I didn’t have that much to drink.
The leash slips through my fingers.
Okay, maybe two doubles was a bad decision before walking the dog. In the dark. On a beach alone.
“Oh no you don’t—”
She takes off.
“Slow down there, girl! We’re not in a hurry to get back.”
At least I wasn’t. I trot behind her while she picks up speed.
I’d unplugged the radio before leaving. It had probably shorted out from the sink explosion and kept glitching itself on. If it was still acting up by morning, I’d toss it and order Aunt Mirabella a new one.
Problem solved.
Unlike the blur of fur now sprinting toward the shoreline.
I chase after Gin, my sandals sucking into the wet sand with every step until I curse, rip them off, and run barefoot after her.
Damp sand sprays up my calves.
She peers back at me, tongue lolling in canine mockery, then resumes barking toward the water’s edge before suddenly circling back to sniff at my feet as if she hadn’t just nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.
“Don’t do that again,” I scold, bending over with my hands braced on my knees while I fight for air.
Good goddess. I am out of shape.
I straighten slowly and take in my surroundings. The tide has come in since we sat on the porch bathing in moonlight, but the sand is firmer here, packed smooth beneath my feet. The ocean stretches silver-black before me, waves tipped in moonlight.
Then I realize it’s not just moonlight.
It’s bioluminescence.
Tiny dinoflagellates shimmer in the surf, barely visible beneath the full moon’s glow.
I’d almost forgotten.
Every summer, on certain nights, the ocean looked enchanted.
A warm wave washes over my feet and I glance down, mesmerized as the water glows electric blue around my ankles. Gin backs away, barking at the glimmering foam.
I laugh. Actually laugh.
Then I throw my arms wide and spin once, looking up at a velvet sky glittering with stars like scattered diamonds.
How I missed this.
In the city, the lights swallowed half the heavens. Here I can still trace constellations Grandma taught me to navigate by. There’s Orion. Cassiopeia. The North Star.
Grandma.
The thought lands like a bruise. My chest tightens. But I barely have time to feel it before a wave crashes into my legs nearly to the knees and sends me staggering.
I freeze.
I hadn’t stepped farther in, and the tide doesn’t rise this fast. I turn toward shore for Gin.
Another wave slams into me. Harder.
It takes my legs out, and I hit the water on my knees. Salt floods my mouth. I sputter and push up, dropping one sandal.
“Goddess damn it.”
I grope for it in the illuminated water on my hands and knees, moonlight rippling over the surface.
Nothing.
Forget the sandal. I can buy ten more. I just need to get out.
I plant my feet and try to stand. The undertow yanks at my soaked sweats.
Then the water pulls.
Not pushes.
Pulls.
Back.
My stomach drops.
No.
No no no—
Another wave crashes over me before I can move, and suddenly I’m down again, dragged farther as the tide recedes. Panic claws up my throat.
This. This is why Grandma warned us never to swim alone. I am not getting swallowed by the ocean tonight.
Who would feed Gin?
I force myself up, heart pounding so hard it hurts.
One step.
Two—
The next wave hits like a wall. It slams into me, and this time I disappear under.
Everything goes dark and blue.
Glowing plankton whirl around me like stars torn loose from the sky.
Up.
Which way is up?
I kick.
Or think I do.
The current spins me hard enough that I lose all sense of direction.
Sand scrapes my leg.
Then nothing beneath me.
Just water.
Endless water.
I try to push upward, but another surge tumbles me like a rag doll. My lungs burn. Salt sears my eyes. Panic becomes something animal.
Primal.
I open my mouth and get seawater.
No.
Not like this. Not here.
Somewhere above the muffled world, I hear Gin barking.
Frantic. Distant.
Please don’t come after me, I think wildly. Don’t be stupid.
My chest screams for air. My arms feel heavy. The current pulls again.
Stronger.
And for one terrible heartbeat, with the moon a fractured blur overhead and darkness pressing in from every side, I think the ocean might keep me.
Warm arms band tight around my ribs, solid, unyielding, real in a world that’s gone black and brine-bitter. One second I’m sinking, lungs clawing for air that won’t come, the ocean forcing itself down my throat like it owns me, and the next I’m being dragged.
Sand scrapes my knees. Cold air slices into my chest. I fold in on myself, coughing hard enough it feels like I might crack open, retching up seawater and cheap liquor and every bad decision that led me here.
It burns. It all burns.
I gag again, spit dripping into the sand, and dimly register a steady hand at my back, grounding me, holding me upright when my arms threaten to give out. Another hand gathers my hair, pulling it away from my face with surprising gentleness.
“Easy. I’ve got you,” a voice murmurs, low, warm, and entirely too calm for someone who just hauled a stranger out of the ocean.
I suck in a ragged breath that stutters halfway through and dissolves into another coughing fit. My chest aches. My throat is raw. My eyes sting, not just from the salt.
Great. Laid off less than a week ago. Walking the beach alone after drinking to numb the thoughts of failure. Nearly drowned by midnight.
Stellar life choices.
When the worst of it passes, I slump back on my heels, shivering violently, every inch of me soaked, shaking, humiliated.
“Hey,” he says, softer now.
I look up.
And—oh.
His eyes catch the moonlight, brown shot through with gold like they’re lit from within. Concern etches every line of his face, open and unguarded in a way that pulls painfully at something in my chest.
He’s still holding my hair. Still steadying me like I might tip over if he lets go.
Like I matter.
“What the hell were you thinking,” he asks, not harsh, just… worried, almost breathless with it, “swimming out there in the middle of the night?”
I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth, tasting salt and shame, and glare at him because it’s easier than admitting anything else.
“I wasn’t,” I rasp.