Page 86 of The Captain

“And my parents,” I added.

“Especially your parents,” he said, grinning. “Your mother already feeds me like I’m endangered.”

“She thinks you are,” I said.

Papa, a few paces behind us, pretended not to hear and hummed louder. Marcus snorted, hands in his pockets. “Tell her Dominion Hall’s kitchen won’t try to compete.”

Down by the truck, Miguel was giving Becca a speech about sunscreen. Tamika pretended to check the cooler and actually checked my face.

I nodded:steady. She nodded back:good.

I loved my people. So hard.

Jacob leaned into me, hip to hip. “So,” he said, glancing at the water like it might offer commentary, “engaged engaged.”

“Engaged engaged,” I confirmed, and lifted my hand to admire the small, bright circle the way I admire a clean dorsal photo—proof you can hold.

He traced the engraving with his thumb. “Lily would have liked you,” he said quietly.

“I know,” I said, and meant it. “I like the person she made you decide to be.”

He swallowed, looked away at the horizon for one breath, then back at me. “Me, too,” he said. “Thanks for finding the rest.”

We loaded the last of the gear. Papa handed me a thermos that smelled like chicory. McGuire took a call, winced, and mouthedlaterat me. The Coasties did that thing where they try to be invisible and fail adorably.

“Come here,” Jacob said, tugging me two steps away from the clatter. He took my face in both hands and kissed me like a promise, then looked down at my hand again, at the word inside the ring that has always been our liturgy.

“Respire,” he said.

“Respire,” I echoed. Breathe.

The pod was gone, the way wild things go when they’ve said what they came to say. The released dolphin had become a streak of muscle and will somewhere beyond the bar, where the bottom falls away and the light is different. I pictured her slipping into the slot between two others, finding the rhythm, choosing the next breath. I pictured a house that was mine because my people were in it: a suite with tall windows and a river porch with a swing; a kitchen where Jacob burned toast and my mother shook her head and smiled; a future with small, sandy feet and tide charts taped to the fridge.

We started up the beach, side by side. The ring warmed to my skin. The ocean breathed behind us, and for once, it felt like it was agreeing.

“Ready?” he asked.

“For what?” I said.

“For all of it,” he said.

I looked at the water, then at him, and thought about the way a dolphin will ride a boat’s wake not because it has to, but because it wants the joy of being carried and the work of pushing forward at the same time.

“Yeah,” I said. “All of it.”

We walked toward the day that was already waiting for us, and I counted once, for luck.

“One,” I said under my breath.

He laughed, hearing me, falling in. “Two.”

“Three,” we finished together, and we kept going.