Chapter Eight

The next morning, a knock sounded on her door, and Emmie carried her morning coffee over to look through the peephole. Coleson gave a jaunty little wave. Smiling, with giddy butterflies dancing through her belly, she opened the door. Leaning against the doorframe, she took another sip of coffee and perused him up and down.

“Looking mighty fine,” she murmured.

“Back at you,” he smirked. He held up a set of keys. “Wanna go for a boat ride?”

“You have a boat?”

“I’m not quite sure what it looks like, but I’m hopeful it’s still floating.”

“How can I say no to that ringing endorsement?” She stepped back and invited him in. “Give me ten minutes, big boy.”

As she sauntered to her bedroom, he called after her. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.”

Emmie laughed.

She dressed in record time, throwing her hair up in a ponytail and forgoing makeup. Once upon a time, she never would’ve stepped outside her condo without her full mask on. Heavy eyeliner. Painted lips. A shield against the world. Her priorities had been extremely skewed, thinking the only things that mattered were popularity and gossip. A shallow world that ate people up without remorse.

She walked over to her dresser and laid her hand on the decorative urn that held her brother’s ashes. Jacoby’s death put everything in perspective, and it didn’t take very long to realize just how superficial she’d been. There was so much she regretted.

“Miss you,” she whispered.

Pushing aside her perpetual sadness, she joined Coleson and a minute later they were on their way to the marina. It had been a while since she’d last enjoyed a day soaking up the sun on the back of a boat. The dock itself was rectangular in shape, residing inside the sweeping C-curve of the bay. Coleson parked in the designated lot and she threw her beach bag over her shoulder as she followed him.

“Let me notify the manager we’re here,” he said.

She nodded. “What’s the name of the boat?”

He glanced at the deed. “The Henrietta . Slip twenty-five.”

“I’ll meet you there,” she said. He nodded and walked toward the office. Emmie strolled toward the correct slip, reading the names of each boat until she found the Henrietta , a twenty-foot bowrider that looked like it had been well cared for.

Her father had a sixty-foot yacht he used to wine and dine clients. The glazed parapets, balustrades, and transparent barriers allowed the passengers breathtaking wraparound views even from the flybridge. She’d only been on it once, when she and Jacoby had been about fifteen, and the only reason McBride Adinson allowed his children onboard at all was to pretend they were one big happy family in front of the Governor of New York. When their usefulness was no longer needed, he’d sent them back to their corner of the luxurious high-rise penthouse.

She jumped when a hand settled on her hip.

“Sorry!” Coleson said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She waved away the apology. “It’s fine. I was woolgathering.”

He looked over the bowrider. “She looks in pretty good shape. Wanna go test it out on the ocean?”

She nodded. While she stepped onto the deck, he untied the moorings. After joining her, he sat in the captain’s chair and started up the engine. It purred like a kitten.

“Thomas took great care of the Henrietta ,” he stated.

“You know how to drive a boat, right?” she asked.

“How hard could it be?” he counter-asked. She blinked, and then after a moment he chuckled. “Yeah, I do. Spent many summers off the coast of North Carolina, boating and fishing.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Yep.” He slowly navigated through the heavy traffic of docked boats. “Grew up in Raleigh. Thomas was my youth football coach and when he found out my mother was basically drunk off her ass every night, he made sure I had enough food to eat. Made sure I went to school. During the summer, he’d always take me to the coast to fish and enjoy the beach.”

“I’m glad you had Thomas,” she said.

“Yeah, me too.” He glanced at her. “Was it you and your brother against your parents?”

For a moment, her memories flashed through her head. “He usually got us into trouble. A bad influence, our parents would say.”

“Fuck your parents.”

Her eyes widened, and then she laughed. “Yeah. Fuck my parents.”

Once they passed the bay and the Atlantic stretched before them, Coleson sped up. The cool wind contrasted with the hot sun, and she leaned back to enjoy the dueling sensations. They headed down the coast and she honestly couldn’t remember having a more enjoyable time. For the first time in the past year, she was having fun. After about an hour, Coleson turned the Henrietta around to head back to Anchorridge Cove. The landscape was breathtaking, and she understood Jacoby’s fascination with this part of the country. It almost felt like he was guiding her beyond the grave, following his footsteps, and with clarity knew this was where he’d want his ashes.

When Coleson docked the Henrietta , she hopped onto the slip to tie the boat up. Once everything was locked up and covered, he joined her and it seemed as natural as breathing when he took her hand and threaded their fingers together.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

“Let’s head into town and find a nice place to grab lunch.”

They settled on a seafood restaurant with a table by the huge window so they could look out over the bay.

“I want to scatter my brother’s ashes on the ocean,” she said.

“Thomas wanted that too.”

“Maybe we can have a goodbye ceremony, you and I.”

“That sounds a great way to honor their wishes. You said your brother had a journal of Anchorridge Cove?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t I help you walk in his footsteps?”

Emmie cocked her head. “What?”

“Let’s go to all the places he went. It’ll be part of saying goodbye. Letting him rest in peace.”

A lump rose in her throat that she had to swallow down. “You’d do that with me?”

When he held out his hand, she placed hers in it without hesitation. “I have the feeling you’d offer the same if our places were reversed.”

“I would,” she confirmed.

A united front over their shared grief.