Page 56 of The Wild Beneath

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s been weeks.” Her tone is clipped.

“But that has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

“You left me here.” The words feel like a punch in her own gut. She’s pushing Evan away.

“That wasn’t what I wanted—­” Evan starts.

“But you did it anyway.”

He looks at her, a longing in his eyes.

“I need some space,” she hears herself saying.

He blinks. He does not breathe for a few moments, until he stands and climbs over the lifelines and descends the ladder.

Something feels cracked, but Annie’s not ready to mend it. “Wait.”

“What is it, Annie?” he says quietly from the base of the ladder, staring resolutely at the ground.

Her voice catches. Walker is standing in the doorway of the warehouse, wearing his work gloves and a blue T-shirt and shorts. He’s looking across at Evan. How long has he been there?

“Be careful tomorrow,” Annie manages to finish. “I can’t have anything happen to you.”

“I will.” Evan turns and notices Walker. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but reconsiders. Giving Walker a curt nod, he grabs his hat off the hook and heads out without another word.

Chapter 20

It takes Annie longer than usual to fall asleep that night.

Tossing and turning, she flips onto her front and cradles her head in her forearms. Her thoughts swivel around Evan, his explanations, what he said about his mom, the way he told her “I love you” so close to her face. But it feels as if he’s choosing something he hates instead of choosing her. She’s upset with him but also misses him so badly. It’s all coated in a thick worry about him towing booms solo.

She rolls onto her side and tugs the blanket snugly around her shoulders and ears. The only thing that seems to help right now is Walker’s sound, lulling her from the next room.

Is his vibration affecting her in ways she can’t understand? When she was seven, Aiden took her through a lesson in snakes and how they respond to the world. “There’s a delicate bone in the inner ear, which is quite well developed,” Aiden said, showing her a diagram in a biology textbook. “There’s no external ear, no tympanic membrane. Sounds conduct through bone.”

It had been storming that day. The boat was heeling in the wind; the portholes covered in flecks of seawater. But Aiden’s voice was calm and unhurried. “Snakes can locate and strike at mice using vibration alone,” he continued, as he flipped the page. “Makes you wonder what animals do during storms, right? They detect these things long before humans do.”

Annie tries to picture her mother—­was she with them in the galley? No.

Mara had been swimming in the middle of that storm, hadn’t she? Annie has a vague recollection of pulling herself up the companionway, wanting to get topside to find her.

Before she can remember the full story, Ruth’s screen door creaks. The flashback fades. Annie’s watch on the side table reads 1:08 a.m. She pulls on a hoodie and goes out into the hallway to investigate. The door to Walker’s room is open, the bedcovers thrown back.

He’s gone.

Back in the kitchen, she grabs a beach towel from the trunk beside the door. Outside, the wind is cool but not cold, blowing strands of hair into her face. She holds the towel between her knees and ties her hair back.

At the edge of the bluff, she spots him in the distance, a faint silhouette half submerged in the low tide.

She climbs down to the beach and sits in the furrows of sand. He’s swimming again in the middle of the night. Why? His sound is strong, and it seems to make everything else bearable. How can she face real life on her own if this is the only way she can manage?

Two black-crowned herons take off from the water and flap out to sea. She wants to be like them—­still following a normal ritual, their normal pattern, in a place where everything normal has been upended.

When Walker emerges from the water, he doesn’t look surprised to see her.

“It’s the middle of the night,” she says, handing him the towel.