20. now
now
Atlas wasn’t kidding when he said he found a place on the beach.
Mark’s Bed & Breakfast is the type of place I didn’t know still existed.
It’s not listed on any of the common rental sites, as he was proud to inform me.
He had a friend who had an uncle who once stayed here.
Apparently, reservations are only accepted via phone, so Atlas called early last week.
It seems like a lot of work for one weekend getaway, and that warms my chest with all sorts of pesky emotions I don’t want to acknowledge.
As Atlas collects our bags from the back—he insists on carrying them—I stare up at the two-story beach cottage.
It’s right next to the ocean. I can hear the waves crashing against the shore from here, and flickers of blue are visible between Mark’s B&B and the neighboring house.
Aside from the sign proclaiming this place a bed and breakfast, it looks like an ordinary—but perfect—house.
White shake siding. Blue shutters. Hand-crafted wood furniture on a wrap-around porch. A small tree heavy with dying cherries.
Inside, we meet the owner, a man whose name is not Mark but Steve. The interior is decorated with ocean blues and sandy browns, making it feel like we’re on the beach. The living room is open and light, filtering sun through the slatted shades.
Steve shows us to our rooms—separate, obviously. The coastal theme from downstairs is in my room, too. A blue bedspread, overstuffed white pillows, a massive picture of Haystack Rock above an antique dresser. My window looks out toward the ocean, and when I open it, a salty breeze surrounds me.
After standing with my eyes shut for longer than I should, I close the window and change into a white sundress.
It’s not particularly warm today, but wearing leggings and a sweatshirt to the beach feels blasphemous.
I want to walk with my toes in the sand and feel the wind on my bare skin.
I evaluate my appearance in a mirror that hangs on the back of the door.
The dress is a bit wrinkled from traveling in the bottom of my backpack, but my cleavage looks good enough I’m confident Atlas won’t notice.
And yeah, okay, I intentionally packed a dress with a low-cut neckline to make sure my boobs look good. Maybe I do want Atlas to notice just how much I’ve evolved in the past five years.
Sue me.
I’m slipping into a pair of black braided sandals when a knock comes at my door. My stomach flips, the way it did when I was sixteen and convinced Atlas was the love of my life. Despite my determination to squash the feeling, it stays, even as I step into the hallway.
Atlas is in the same outfit as before—a T-shirt and basketball shorts—but he’s styled his hair. It was messy in the car, partly from running his hand through it too many times, partly from rolling down the windows once we hit the coast.
I wish I could at least pretend not to be affected. Instead, I feel a sharp heat crawl up the sides of my neck.
“Ready?” He steps out of the way as I shut my bedroom door, taking a second to lock it.
I’ve never stayed in a place like this. I’ve only ever been in an AirBnB, with the whole house to myself or in a hotel with room cards.
There’s something idyllic about this place.
Locking my door with a simple brass key, walking past the homey decor, passing the shared bathrooms.
“I wonder how many people are here,” I say, nodding at the remaining doors. Mark’s has eight bedrooms from what I can tell. Mine and Atlas’s are at the very end, facing the beach. I wonder if he paid extra for that, or if it’s just a happy coincidence.
“Probably a couple, but I doubt they’re all full. It’s the off-season.” He extends his palm for me. For one long, breath-catching moment, I think he’s offering me his hand.
And for one, humiliating second, I almost take it. By instinct, obviously.
“Your key,” he says. He nods at my dress, swallowing hard enough I can follow the movement in his throat. “Unless that thing has pockets?”
“Oh, no, it doesn’t.” I pass him the key. “Thanks.”
We don’t run into Steve or any of the other guests in the living room. It’s only us, walking silently side-by-side through the quaint neighborhood and along a sandy trail.
“I wish I knew why Nat wanted to come here.” I wrap my arms around myself, squinting out at the horizon. The sun is high in the sky, but with the steady wind, I can’t feel its heat. “I’m glad she did though. It’s beautiful. I doubt I ever would have ended up here without her list.”
Atlas shoves his hands into his pockets, walking close enough that I can feel warmth radiating from his arm.
He’s always been like this. A walking furnace, regardless of the weather.
In high school, he was one of those notorious guys who wore shorts all year long and never cared to keep a coat in his locker.
“Do you think she planned to come here with someone?”
I don’t know exactly when Nat wrote this list, but there’s a chance she and Michael were already broken up.
Maybe she wanted to bring James or Shayna or someone else entirely.
It wasn’t until she was gone that I realized how little I knew about my own sister.
She may have had someone in mind for this whole list, and I’m certain it wasn’t me.
“I don’t know, Vi.” Atlas slows his steps as our dirt trail transitions into pale sand. Without the houses for coverage, the wind feels stronger. Colder. I tighten my arms, trying but failing to keep from shivering. If I look too miserable, Atlas will insist we go back, at least to grab a jacket.
Now that I’m in this place Nat wanted to see—but never did—I don’t want to miss a single second.
“It’s peaceful here,” he says after a long pause. “Maybe she wanted to come alone. Enjoy the quiet.”
As soon as Atlas speaks the words, I’m confident they’re true. I breathe deep through my nose, exhaling as slowly as I can manage. When I speak again, I force myself to meet Atlas’s waiting gaze. “I think she really meant it, Atlas. I think she wanted to get better. I think…”
I trail off then, unsure what to say. Whether my thoughts will even make sense, especially to Atlas. The guy who kept Nat’s secret for less than a week before ruining everything.
“I don’t regret telling your mom.” Atlas keeps his gaze on mine, and much as I want to look away, I don’t. I clench my teeth, eyes sharpening as he continues. “But I hate everything I did after.”
I scoff and start walking again. We’re standing too close. My body may crave Atlas’s proximity, but my mind needs distance.
“You didn’t do anything after, Atlas.”
“Exactly,” he whispers. He falls into place beside me, until our arms brush. He’s not looking at me anymore. “I never thought she’d run, Vi. When she did, I didn’t know what to do. You hated me for what I did, and I didn’t know how to process it. How to fix it.”
I’m not looking at him, not directly, but I catalogue every unsteady breath he takes.
“All I knew was you wanted nothing to do with me. It didn’t feel right to try to make amends while Nat was missing. I figured once she got back, once things straightened out with her, then I’d fix what I’d broken. I never thought…”
That she wouldn’t come back. That your dad would go to prison and things would get even messier. That some things can’t be fixed, no matter how hard we try.
“If I knew how it was going to end, I would have done things differently.”
His voice cracks, and the ache in it cuts deep through my chest, splintering my ribs until all my most vulnerable parts are exposed. When I swallow, my throat is painfully tight. Once again, I’ve stopped moving without meaning to.
“I thought I was doing what was best, Violet.” His voice is too heavy, too weighted, for one person to carry.
Tears stream from my eyes, trailing down my cheeks.
Salt burns against my chapped lips. But it doesn’t feel like I’m crying, not really.
There’s no ugly pain. My chest isn’t wracking or heaving.
My breaths haven’t even faltered. I am perfectly motionless, wishing desperately his words were enough to heal the hurt between us.
“You promised,” I whisper through my tears.
“I know—” His voice is so thick, so choked, that without opening my eyes, I know he’s crying too.
It’s all too much.
“I want to be alone.” My fists are so tight they’re shaking. I can feel my fingernails leaving indents against my palms.
“Vi—”
“Please, Atlas.”
“All right.” The words come out as a heavy sigh. “Come find me once you’re ready. If you want.”
I don’t respond. I sink right where I am, somewhere between the line of cottages and the ocean.
I should move closer to the water. It’d look less weird, I’m sure, but I’m too tired to move another inch.
As Atlas’s footsteps retreat back the way we came, I tuck my knees into my chest and let myself cry.
I don’t know how long I’ve been on the beach. I don’t have my phone, and I never learned how to measure time with the sun. It’s daylight, but it’s been several hours since Atlas left. From the way my stomach is growling, I know I’ve missed lunch. Maybe dinner, too.
I should go inside. I’m sure Atlas is pacing the living room, or maybe his private room. It isn’t fair. I’m being cruel, and I know it. As usual.
He drove all this way for no reason beyond helping me. He’s trying to make amends…and I’m sitting alone in the sand, glaring out at the water.
I haven’t moved any closer. It’s for the best. There are too many people walking the shoreline now. I don’t want to make small talk. I don’t want to answer questions. I only want to imagine I’m here with Nat.
With my eyes closed, I can pretend she’s sitting beside me.
She’d say something like, why are we just sitting here? Shouldn’t we be exploring? Hiking? Doing something? Jumping in the water?
And I’d say, we can do whatever you want. Just take me with you.
It’s not true, and I know it. If Nat was here, the way she was when I last saw her, she wouldn’t care about exploring or hiking or doing anything other than partying.
During an unexpectedly long stretch of time, where it’s just me and the quiet lapping of waves, I let my eyes flutter shut again.
“Are you here?” I whisper. “Or are you gone?”
No one replies. There isn’t so much as the screech of a seagull.
“If you’re gone…” I trail off, breathing deeply until the tightness in my throat eases. “If you’re gone, can you give me a sign? I know you never believed in stuff like that. I don’t really either. But if you send one, I’ll believe it. I promise. I just…”
Tears line my face again. I must be close to running out. I wipe them away, smearing them across my cheeks. I’m sure I’ve ruined my makeup.
“Do you hate him?” I whisper to the breeze. “Do you want me to hate him, too? Because I have, for so long, and I’ll keep hating him if that’s what you want. But I’m…I’m so tired, Nat.”
A sharp gust of wind rustles the hem of my dress. Every exposed inch of my skin is covered in goosebumps now. The sun hasn’t started to set, but it won’t be long. I’m going to have to go inside eventually. I’ll have to face Atlas. I’ll have to tell him something.
I tuck my chin against my knees.
Even though I know I should, I don’t get up. I remain frozen where I am, shivering, teeth chattering. The beach has been vacant for a while, but as the sun starts to set, people reappear to watch the sky change colors. I don’t move, not until he calls my name.
I startle and twist in the direction of Mark’s Bed and Breakfast. Atlas stands at the end of the neighborhood trail. He’s wearing a thick sweatshirt now and carrying a fuzzy plaid blanket. I don’t recognize it from his truck, so it must be one from the rental.
When I start to rise, he waves for me to remain seated.
“I’m not trying to rush you,” he says as he reaches me. He crouches at my side in a way that suggests he doesn’t plan to stay. “I just brought you a blanket. And some snacks.”
He unfolds the blanket, and a collection of treats falls out. A bag of pickle chips—the nice kind, not the off-brand ones I packed, a few protein bars, a nachos Lunchable. As I pick up the bag of chips, he shakes out the blanket and drapes it around my shoulders.
“Do you want to stay?” I don’t look at him when I ask.
I’m staring at the bag of chips, feeling a strange blend of embarrassment and exhaustion.
Atlas doesn’t answer right away, and I understand all too easily.
I’m chasing him off one moment. Begging him to stay the next.
It’s confusing to me. I can’t imagine how it feels for him. I ask louder. “Will you stay? Please.”
Atlas sits cross-legged beside me. I move the blanket until it’s spread evenly over our laps. Then, I tear open the nachos and eat a handful of round chips. I’m going to need proper dinner at some point, but this should at least ease the ache in my stomach. I moan without meaning to.
“I wasn’t sure you still liked those,” he says, chuckling.
“I do.” My cheeks heat, but I’m too hungry to slow down. “I didn’t know you brought food.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “There’s a gas station nearby. I just grabbed a couple things.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” He shifts, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. He holds it toward me, arching a brow when I start to protest. “You’re shivering, Violet. Take it.”
He holds my food while I pull it over my dress, and I feel another flicker of disappointment. I don’t care if it’s weird, I’m going to wear this dress again tomorrow. It was wasted on today.
After I’ve finished snacking, and the sky has lit up in a blend of oranges and purples and pinks, I look over at Atlas. He’s watching the horizon, but he’s quick to meet my gaze, a soft smile in place.
“I don’t know how to forgive you,” I say, voice hoarse. Atlas winces, but then he nods, like he understands. Like he doesn’t blame me, no matter how much it hurts him. “But I’ve missed you. As terrible as it makes me feel, I like being around you.”
Atlas swallows.
“I don’t want you to feel terrible, Violet. If it’s easier—”
I scoot closer, until our bare legs touch and I can rest my head on his shoulder. His words break off on a sharp intake of breath.
“I missed you,” I say again. Firmer.
“I missed you more.” He winds his arm around me, hugging me against his side. There’s a slight tremble to his arm, like he’s anchoring me to him, determined to keep me exactly where I am.
And for once, I don’t try to run.