Page 58 of The Wild Beneath

“My mom collected them,” Annie says.

“I’m going to put them in this divider tray based on size,” Ruth says. “Get them sorted once and for all.”

“Why do they need polish?” Walker asks. This time he picks up a pewter spoon cast in the shape of a conch.

Ruth cocks her head. “Polish is what you do with silver.”

“It’s late,” Annie says.

“That’s like fighting its nature. Polishing its stories away,” Walker goes on. “Don’t you think?”

Ruth shrugs. She takes the pewter spoon out of Walker’s hand. “Yes, it’s late,” she says.

When they’re all back in their own beds, Annie can’t stop replaying Walker’s words:The ocean is inside us. You’ll swim again.He sounded so certain she almost believes it. She sinks into his sound coming from the other room, as deep as she can go, letting it sing her songs that don’t have words, until she’s asleep again.

Chapter 21

The mid-August sun rises later and sets earlier. In between, Annie and Walker circle one another: fishing, fixing, doing chores, and repairingPolariswhen they have time. In town, they’ve run out of shelf-stable milk and root vegetables. Supplies of toilet paper, batteries, and kerosene are dwindling. The nights are cooler.

There’s no word from Evan on the tug. He’s been gone nearly a week. Annie is sick worrying about him. The evacuation date looms, and Ruth looks ashen. Annie wonders if she’ll make it until October without a transfusion.

A warm drizzle hangs in the sky when Evan pushes through Ruth’s screen door. A rush of humid air hits Annie where she stands beside Walker at the counter, preparing dinner.

“You’re back!” Annie exhales her relief. Then more firmly: “It’s been six days.”

His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is wet from the rain. “I didn’t mean to barge in on your dinner.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ruth says from her seat at the head of the table.

Evan’s gaze flicks to Walker. “I thought you were staying on Henry’s boat.”

“Henry likes to be alone. I don’t think he wants overnight guests,” Walker replies.

“Right.” Evan pauses, then unloads his backpack onto the counter. Two bottles of multivitamins and a box of peanut-butter protein bars. Next, a dozen Mylar pouches of freeze-dried dinners. Annie picks them up one at a time: just-add-water beef stroganoff, pasta primavera, a pad thai advertising vegetables and the crunch of roasted peanuts.

“Grab and go,” Annie reads the label. “Twenty-five-year shelf life. And sriracha lime sauce.”

“Let’s all eat some real food,” Ruth insists. Walker hands Ruth a bowl of chili they’ve concocted from the remaining canned tomatoes and beans.

“Are you sure there’s enough?” Evan deposits himself in a chair to Ruth’s right.

“There’s plenty,” Walker says.

Annie pours water into a glass and hands it to Evan, then sits across from him with her own meal. “When did you get back?”

He takes a long sip before answering. “I came straight over.”

“Isaac didn’t have a to-do list for you tonight?” she asks, and then immediately wishes she’d been gentler.

Evan swallows hard and places the glass down on the table.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Annie says.

“I know what you meant. I get it.” Evan sounds resigned. “He doesn’t know I’m back yet.”

Walker hands Evan a full bowl and a spoon. “You look hungry.”

Ruth puts her hand on Evan’s shoulder. “How did it go?”