Page 69 of The Wild Beneath

She opens her eyes, and the images fade.

The wristwatch ticks beside her bed. Light pours through the window.

Memories of the night before flitter back. The kissing, Walker’s lips, his secret visions that feel like real life. The way she could close her eyes and see ocean. She wants it again: his body against hers, the feeling of being... in-and-out-of-body?

Then she thinks of Evan. Her heart seizes more than it did in the heat of last night.

Standing to shake it off, she pulls on woolly leggings and a long sweater from the closet. She scans her collection on the shelf and picks up the lone sand dollar. Who is she now, and what is this thing with Walker turning her into?

She puts the sand dollar down, then collects her hair, running her fingers through to sort out the tangles. A weight sits on her shoulders, as if she’s carrying sandbags. What about Ruth and Evan? She minimized them, being so consumed by Walker last night. Is she being selfish, feeding this obsession?

All she really wants is to walk out of this room, take Walker’s face in her hands, and kiss him again, reenter his force field.

But allowing herself this... Evan would break. His heart would shatter, and so might her own. Pain and more pain. She goes to the smudged mirror over the dresser and looks into her eyes. Does Walker have what she needs most?

Or is she losing hold of what’s important?

When she finally gets the nerve to leave her bedroom, she’s still undecided, unmoored, walking a threshold she can’t step over.

Walker’s already up, feeding the wood stove. He wears a white T-shirt, jeans. Bare feet. “How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“Fine. Good.” Her heart bounces. She looks away from him, pours herself water from the kettle. “You?”

He comes to her and traces his fingertips down her arm. Annie pulls back from him, knocking over her mug. Rivulets of hot water pour over the edges of the counter, dripping onto the floor.

“I need to wipe this—­” She picks up the mug and sees a large crack down the side. “Oh god. I broke it.”

“I’ll clean it up.”

“Ruth’s had this mug forever.” Her skin feels tight.

“I’m sure we can fix it.”

Annie feels like she’s plummeting. “Let me get a cloth.”

“Annie,” he says. “Stop.”

She wants to touch him. But the water keeps trickling off the counter.

“Can we just pretend last night didn’t happen?” she hears herself say. “Between us.”

He takes a step back.

“I just need to think,” she says.

Walker looks at the floor. His right eyelid twitches, and he rubs it away. “Of course,” he says finally. His face softens as he looks up at her, then turns to go out on the porch. “It’s your choice. That’s the point.”

“It’s just—­”

“You don’t have to say anything else. I understand.” The screen door claps shut behind him.

Annie’s chest hurts so badly it’s hard to move. She cleans up the water, paces around the kitchen, feels like screaming.

She fears she has broken them before they’ve even begun.

For the rest of the week, Walker leaves space around her. She hates every second of it. He’s even quieter than usual, his expression more faraway. The air is crisper as the temperatures fall. The sky darkens earlier, as night crawls up from the corners.

The following Friday evening, Annie and Walker work onPolarisin what remains of daylight. Annie feels somehow bereft in the silence of the warehouse. On deck, Walker repairs the leaky rubber boot for the mast. Annie stitches a rip in the mainsail, not sure anymore why they’re doing the repairs.