Page 83 of Letting Go

"We are so in trouble," he says and squeezes my butt.

Later, after we've cleaned ourselves and tidied the cabin, he raises anchor and stares at the instrument panel to check for drift, radios Finn an arrival time, and we push off into the night. Holding hands with him at the wheel, while watching lights from the coast twinkle and flit, is heaven. I look up and see Orion's belt.

Bryce's voice finds me in the dark. "I wasn't prepared when you left. I wasn't ready to let you go."

"I'm sorry." I pause. "But you found me. And that's all that matters."

My heart is full, and my soul is somehow, inexplicably—anchored. In a world where nothing is guaranteed, Bryce's love for me is a constant I can trust. He kisses me again and I slip an arm under his jacket.

We are also tethered to that whole, hot, wonderful mess of a family waiting for us in Echo Bay.

I realize what this feeling is, this all-engulfing wave. It's not contentment. It's gratitude.

A falling star trails across the sky.

Epilogue

Chloe

It's a late, warm day in Spring, and the last Saturday for the weekly Burger & Dip gala event. Finn has decided to shelve these until November. All winter, guests and locals could grab a burger or veggie burger grilled outside, collect themselves around the big fire pit behind The Inn, and warm up before a quick dip in the ocean.

The stress is on "quick."

My contribution to the weekly Burger & Dip has been to organize a treasure hunt in the garden for little kids. I fill each of our mother's twelve tiny glass herb jars with a stone or a treat or a tiny ring. Just a little something. The kids love it—the strange thing is, even the older kids seem to have fun.

As for actual dipping, a select few of the adults would strip off and dive in, but for most intrepid thrill-seekers, a foot in the ocean was enough. If Bryce wasn't working, I could see him out there, teasing children, enticing them to put their feet in while their parents watched.

He proved to be a constant fixture, though, eating two or three burgers before stripping off and diving in. He'd disappear for several minutes and then stand up, froth around his waist and legs, his arms swinging, striding towards shore, like an Arctic Poseidon. I would wait for him on the beach. Every time he'd walk up, water streaming off him in sheets, and without touching me, he'd kiss me, deeply, leaving my lips icy cold, salted, and burning for him as he went inside to change. All winter he tried to woo me to go with him.

I resisted.

Tonight's his last chance, but he's not getting lucky.

In fact, I even warned him when he casually hung my suit up on the back peg by the kitchen, "Not getting lucky."

Right now, I'm in the kitchen dealing with Cory. Laurel's back in school and Cory's on a badly needed spring break. His new teacher should be better educated about how to handle children like Cory. Too many shiny surfaces in the classroom, too much pressure to answer questions, too little flexibility coupled with too much management, has left him with some behavioral issues we're all working through.

At this moment, it's headbanging and I don't know what's set him off. It doesn't matter at the moment.

I've tried all of Laurel's tricks: using an even tone of voice, ignoring the behavior, offering a duration of time for it to stop. I'm afraid he's going to hurt himself.

Bryce comes tripping down the stairs, shoots a glance at Cory face down on the floor, and steps over him to get to me. His whisper sends a shiver down my arm. Just his breath in my ear can make goosebumps rise.

"I got this." He finishes with a kiss on my cheek.

Sitting on the floor, right next to Cory and careful not to touch him, he just starts repeating the sentence: "Cory, Aunt Chloe is going to swim tonight. Cory, Aunt Chloe is going to swim tonight."

Each time he says it, I offer lots of head shaking and arm waving, clearly delivering "no's" both mouthed and physical to this statement. But when Cory suddenly looks up, my hands drop, I reorganize my face, and I smile.

"Really?" he says. "You going to swim. Out there?" He points.

My glance flits to Bryce for a moment. "Y-Yes."

It's as if a switch flipped, and he sits right up. The only clue to his meltdown is the large red mark on his forehead.

"Can I watch? Can I come?"

"Right now, I need help with the fire," says Bryce.