Chapter 73
Landlocked
By noon, the house had become unbearable.
Nothing was wrong with it, which made the feeling harder to defend.
Sunlight filled the living room. The laundry hummed.
The dishwasher clicked through its cycle.
Marissa answered two emails from the dining table while Nathan pretended to read the news on his phone and instead found himself staring at the word charter in his search history like a man studying a spell.
They were home.
That was the problem.
Home had rules neither of them had written down. Home had paths worn into the floor by habit. Home knew which side of the couch Nathan sat on, which mug Marissa used when she was tired, which drawer held takeout menus and which held batteries that may or may not work.
Home made it easy to become old selves.
Nathan felt it happening by inches.
He grew quieter. Marissa grew careful. Not dishonest, exactly. Just measured. Every pause became a test they had not agreed to take.
At 12:17, she closed her laptop.
"This is awful," she said.
Nathan looked up too quickly. "What is?"
"Us pretending the dishwasher is fascinating."
He laughed with relief so sudden it almost hurt.
Marissa pushed back from the table. "We need to get out of the house."
"Where?"
"Anywhere with air."
They ended up at a small cafe three blocks from the harbor, which was either coincidence or proof that neither of them had wanted to admit what direction their bodies had chosen.
The place had blue umbrellas, uneven patio tables, and a view down a side street where masts rose above rooftops like thin white questions.
They ordered sandwiches they barely tasted.
Nathan watched Marissa watch the harbor.
"Say it," she said.
"You first."
"I miss the boat."
The honesty landed between them without apology.
Nathan exhaled. "So do I."
"I do not know if I miss Dane or the version of us who existed there."
"Both, maybe."
She looked at him carefully, then nodded. "Both."
A server passed with iced tea. A couple at the next table argued softly about parking. Somewhere a dog barked from the sidewalk. The day was too normal for the conversation they were having, and maybe that made it safer. The world did not stop because they had changed.
Nathan folded his napkin into a smaller and smaller square.
"I looked up the charter site," he admitted.
Marissa's eyes widened, not with anger. With recognition.
"When?"
"This morning. Before you woke up. Then again while you were emailing."
"And?"
"It has terrible SEO."
She stared at him.
He shrugged. "That seemed relevant."
A laugh escaped her, bright enough to make two people glance over.
Nathan smiled, then let the smile go. "There is a Friday overnight option. Marina to Black Lantern Cove, weather permitting. Private cabin. Dinner. Sunrise return."
Marissa's hand stilled around her glass.
The harbor masts beyond the rooftops seemed to lean closer.
"Did you read all of that by accident?" she asked.
"Repeatedly."
Her cheeks colored.
"I am not saying we should book it," he added quickly.
"No," she said. "You are saying you know it exists."
"Yes."
She looked toward the harbor again.
Nathan felt the old panic rise. It came wearing noble clothes: protect the marriage, end the danger, put the card away, call last night beautiful and finished. But beneath it was the smaller, uglier fear that if Marissa wanted more, he would discover he wanted to permit it.
"My truth," she said, still looking away. "The idea scares me. Not because I hate it."
Nathan closed his eyes briefly.
"Same."
She turned back. "We do not decide today."
"No."
"But we also do not pretend we do not know."
He opened his eyes. "No secrets."
"No secrets."
Their sandwiches sat between them, mostly untouched.
Marissa reached across the table. Nathan gave her his hand. Her thumb moved once over his knuckles, not soothing him out of discomfort, but staying with him inside it.
Down the side street, a sailboat mast flashed in the sun.
Land suddenly felt less like safety and more like a temporary misunderstanding.