Page 69 of Shift the Tide

Kiera turned to Maggie, nudging her knee lightly. “Seriously, though, how are you feeling?”

Maggie exhaled slowly, staring out at the parking lot. “I don’t know. It’s all weird. It doesn’t feel real yet.”

No one had a good response. Because what could they say? Itwasweird. And awful. And none of them could fix it, or change it, or make it better.

Instead, they sat there, pressed together on the steps, their quiet presence doing more than words could. Pete pulled a granola bar from her pocket and handed it to Maggie without comment. Maggie rolled her eyes but took it anyway.

“You guys missed a spot,” Maggie said calmly, pointing to her side.

Kiera pulled her Sharpie back out of her bag and pulled the cap off with her teeth, reaching to color directly on Maggie’s dress while she was wearing it.

“This is one of the stupidest things we’ve ever done, and that’s really saying something.” Maggie was the first to laugh, then Kiera, and then the rest joined in.

And for the first time all day, they weren’t drowning in grief. They were just friends,sitting on a church step, cracking jokes, finding solace in each other’s company.

CHAPTER 21

Kiera

Izzy and Kierasat side by side at a picnic table tucked into the back patio of a coffee shop just off South Congress, the afternoon light keeping everything just a little on the warm side of comfortable. Izzy’s iced matcha was sweating into a ring on the wood; Kiera’s black coffee had already gone lukewarm.

They’d stolen a moment while Maggie still had plenty of family around the day after the funeral. Danica and Pete had left that morning, a whirlwind of a trip before Danica’s next 36-hour shift started that evening.

A legal pad sat between them, half-filled with Izzy’s looping handwriting and a smattering of post-its that Kiera had meticulously color-coded by theme.

Kiera liked the quiet buzz of the place — the low hum of conversation, the faint clink of dishes behind the counter. But mostly, she liked sitting here with Izzy, completely unhurried. It reminded her of the staff lounges she used to hide in between classes — except this time, someone actually wanted her opinion.

Izzy tapped her pen against her mouth, staring at the page. “So we’ve got guest speakers, resume workshops, and mock interviews. That’s solid. But it still feels a little... flat. We need something with more impact.”

Kiera glanced at the notes. “What about a science module?” she offered. “Something hands-on — a mini STEM challenge that builds over a few weeks. They’d get collaboration, time management, trial and error — it sneaks the life skills in without making it feel like school.”

Izzy turned to her, eyes bright. “See? This is exactly why I asked you. You know how to make this make sense to kids. I’ve got the dream, but you’ve got the structure.”

Kiera’s face warmed, and she looked down at the pad. “I can definitely do structure.”

“And I know these kids,” Izzy went on, her voice softening. “I don’t want to throw a generic playbook at them. I want to make something real — and I want your help to do it right.”

Kiera looked over at her, surprised by the sincerity in Izzy’s voice. “I want that too. Honestly, it feels good to be useful again.”

Izzy smiled and scribbledSTEM Project Arconto the pad. “You are. In, like, a wildly impressive way.”

Kiera let out a quiet laugh. “You’re the big-picture thinker. I just know how to build the scaffolding to hold it up.”

Izzy leaned her elbow on the table and bumped Kiera’s shoulder. “Scaffolding is underrated. Let’s build something that holds.”

They bent back over the notes, arms brushing occasionally as they worked, both of them leaning in without realizing it. Kiera didn’t say what she was thinking — that this, all of it, felt like more than just curriculum planning. It felt like momentum. Like belonging.

Like maybe this was the beginning of something neither of them had words for yet.

Silence filled the house.Not just the absence of voices, but the kind of deep, settling quiet that only came after days of relentless noise — hushed conversations, dishes being washed, and children laughing. Now, with most of the guests gone and the rest asleep, the heavy weight of grief settled back over the space.

Kiera moved carefully through the dim hallway, her socks barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. The guest room door was slightly ajar, just enough for her to see the faint glow of a bedside lamp and the rise and fall of Izzy’s breathing beneath the blankets.

She should go back to her own room. She knew that. But she hesitated, lingering in the doorway, her fingers wrapping around the edge of the frame.

Tomorrow, she’d be leaving, and she didn’t know when she’d see Izzy next.

Taking a quiet breath, she slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind her. Izzy was lying on her side, her back to the door, one arm tucked under her pillow. The blanket had slipped down slightly, exposing the line of her shoulder, the soft curve of her back.

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