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Her mom’s bathroom was in impeccable condition with all its pink fixtures, but Emilie avoided going into the adjoining bedroom. Dean had said the downstairs didn’t need a lot of repair.
Only the upstairs needed a major overhaul. Emilie moved slowly through the hall until she reached the old playroom filled with her childhood toys. The adjacent room was her bedroom, a place filled with happy childhood memories.
And the place where her mom’s life ended.
She peeked in, hardly believing it looked the same. Her room was just as she left it, but the air smelled of window cleaner and old linens. Two small twin beds, one for her and one for her best friend, Ava, who frequently stayed the night. Correction: ex-best friend. Her pain vibrated inside, spreading its vicious blackness. When her mom was diagnosed with schizophrenia and her dad left them, she’d pushed everyone away, including Ava.
If Emilie had told more people, it would’ve helped her to better cope, but her mom made her promise to keep it a family secret. Over a period of eight years, her mom deteriorated before her eyes. In the last few months of her life, the episodes had increased until the relentless voices in her mom’s head convinced her to end her life. Somehow, Emilie had prevented most of the gossipy little town from knowing the truth about her mom’s death.
Emilie shook away thoughts of the past, not ready to deal with those emotions. Instead, she continued her scan of the room. A small wooden dresser still stood in the corner, and a mirror hung on the back of the closet door. Her gaze darted up to the window, the one place in the room she used to love. The outlook provided a view of the whole street and the corner of the next street where Dean lived.
Finally, her eyes fell to the floor where a dark bloodstain still remained. All the scrubbing in the world couldn’t remove it. After a full day of trying, she’d left it there as a fresh reminder of what she’d lost.
She closed her eyes and images of her mother filled her mind. Her old room was still too familiar and seeing it picked at the secure Band-Aid she’d left on her heart. Her throat tightened, the collar of her shirt too constricting. She pulled at her shirt, whisking it away from her skin like a fan. That Band-Aid was not ready to come off.
She had to get out and fast.
Emilie hurried down the stairs, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door. Even though the better part of the morning had been spent in her car, she needed to go for a drive. She couldn’t stay in that house a second longer.
2
Dean
Dean Wright whistled as he prepared the boat for an early morning of fishing. Three in the morning and not another soul in sight. Perfect. His bones told him it was going to be a good day.
He patted Snapper, the boat he’d inherited from his father, then started the engine. It sputtered to life in the unusually quiet morning, giving him a little thrill. The water was his favorite place to be.
Dean maneuvered through the dark, shallow waters leading to the Porter inlet. His boat stayed docked in Beverly, a town fifteen minutes from Danvers, well worth the drive. His fishing business supplied most of the restaurants and grocery stores in Danvers and surrounding cities. Work kept him busy and doing well financially. Fishing all day was his dream job, and he figured life couldn’t be much better.
Until Emilie had shown up.
Water sloshed underneath the boat, splashing and gurgling as the boat accelerated into open waters. After an hour, Dean turned on the boat spotlights and trawled for his next catch. The method of dragging a net across the water as he moved was faster than waiting for fish to swim past the net but still time consuming. The brackish water rocked against the rope. If he found a good spot, the net would only take a few hours to fill. He looked out over the water. Too dark to see much, but the sound of the waves lapping against each other set him at ease.
It wasn’t long before his thoughts drifted back to Emilie. For the first time since high school, she was coming home to stay. His insides rocked like the moving boat at the possibility of seeing her every day, her long brown hair shimmering in the sun and that smile that always brought him a sense of peace. Her looks were only a bonus. She had a compassion he’d never found in any other woman. Her teenage years had been stripped from her, and yet, she’d served her mother faithfully until the end, doing more than she should have at her young age.
The two of them had been inseparable since middle school, when she was assigned as his biology partner in seventh grade. He stayed by her side when her mom fell sick. They drifted apart some after she’d dated Finn in high school, but his feelings remained the same. For him, she had been the only one he ever wanted to date. If only he could work up the courage to tell her…
Before long, the ropes wriggled and shook against the boat, indicating the net was full. He checked his watch. Less than two hours. A new record. Maybe getting on the water earlier was the way to go.
After he pulled up the net and plopped it into the boat’s belly, he went through the tedious task of sorting the fish. He stuck the bigger ones in a cooler of ice, threw the other fish back, and moved locations. After dropping the net twice more, the cooler was packed to the brim. By the time he pulled into the dock a couple of hours later, his team was packed and ready to pull out in their other boat.
The sun rose, blinding him momentarily. He pulled his old, worn ball cap over his shaggy hair. When he blinked back the floating spots in his vision, a happy sight met him. Sammy, his fishing partner, waited on the dock, his arms crossed and a silly grin on his face.
Sammy Seo had moved from Samoa to Massachusetts four years ago. He was the fastest fish cleaner in their little community. He’d caught Dean’s eye in a fish market out in Boston, right along the wharf. Dean would never forget that day. The islander had moved his knife with lightning speed, a big smile plastered on his face the whole time.
As Sammy helped him tie up the boat, his ribs poked out at odd angles, showing off how skinny he was. His long dreadlocks covered his long face as he moved.
“Hey, tagata malie,” Sammy said in his deep voice. “Tagata malie” was the Samoan word for “funny man” and was Sammy’s nickname for Dean. “Why you go out so early? The little fishies are still sleeping.”
“Check out my catch, and then you’ll really have a reason to laugh.”
He led Sammy to the boat’s stern to show off his work. The cooler door opened with a loud hiss, and Sammy leaned over to get a better view.
His friend’s dark eyes widened as he stared at the fish. “Where did you go, man?”
Dean scratched the side of his head and readjusted his hat. “I think I took a right,” he teased. Every fisherman knew the area even in their sleep.
The islander laughed loudly, slapping him hard on the back. “You funny, man.” For such a skinny guy, he was mighty powerful. Dean rubbed his back where Sammy’s hand had been.
