Page 47 of The Beach Trap

“I’m not a beginner,” I say, biting off my words. Granddad taught me to use a miter saw when I was eleven years old. The coping is new to me, but I can figure it out with a little help.

Kavin rolls his eyes. “You want the numbers of some finish carpenters in the area? We have a list at the front desk. Probably better to leave something like that to the pros, sweetie.”

And then he’s gone and I’m seething, with no desire to spend money at this place.

•••

I’m still madwhen I get back to the beach house. Just because I’m a small blond woman doesn’t mean I’m incapable of making a few simple cuts with a saw. It’s ridiculous and sexist and so dismissive.

Anger churns in my chest like shark-infested waters, and when my gaze lands on the sledgehammer Henry dropped off a couple of days ago, I know exactly how I’m going to channel this feeling.

I’m taking the wall down, baby.

Grabbing the sledgehammer, I walk over to the wall between the kitchen and living room. I like the weight of the hammer in my hands, solid and heavy, and I swing it like I swung a bat whenI played softball back in middle school. With a grunt, I slam it into the wall.

There’s a satisfying crunch as the sledgehammer goes through the wall, sending dust and debris flying. Only then do I realize that I’m not wearing any safety gear—I’m in my cutoff shorts and a tank top, with nothing protecting my eyes. I’m too revved up to go upstairs and change clothes, but I do grab a pair of safety goggles and jam them on my face.

Then I swing the sledgehammer again. “This is for you,Kavin, with your stupid noodle hair and your stupid sneering smile.”

Slam.

This hit is even more satisfying than the last, and I swing again, harder.

“And this is for not helping me with the baseboards.”

Slam.

I keep going, settling into a rhythm. Every time I hit the wall, chunks of plaster fly off, hitting the exposed skin on my legs and shoulders. It stings, but I don’t care. I am a powerful woman. A wrecking ball of destruction. Nothing can stop me now.

In a flash, my father’s face fills my mind, and I’m filled with a rage so hot and intense it might boil over.

“This is for making my mother your weekend side piece,” I say, and slam the sledgehammer into the wall. This time I hit a stud, and the wood crunching beneath my blow sends a shock wave through my body. It’s painful, but that only makes me swing harder.

“This is for not coming to her funeral,” I say, louder. Another slam, more flying pieces of wood and plaster.

“For never calling me after she died.”Slam.“For never writing me.”Slam.“For never once reaching out. For ignoring me because it was easier for you. For pretending like I don’t even fucking exist.”

I’m breathing heavily, and hot tears fill my eyes. Angrily, I swipe under the goggles. No time for weakness.

“This is for recognizing me at camp and doing nothing about it,” I shout, slamming again and again and again, letting the wall disintegrate around me. “For looking right at me, saying my name, then getting in the car and driving away. For choosing Kat over me. For choosingyourcomfort over mine, again and again andagain.”

With all my strength I swing that sledgehammer into the wall, but when I pull it back, the hammer gets stuck on a chunk of plaster before coming free. This sends me off-balance and I fall backward, my butt hitting the wood floor and the sledgehammer falling next to me with a solidthump.

“You okay?”

I whip my head around to see Noah standing in the doorway.

I scramble to my feet, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. “I’m fine. Just... doing a little demo.”

Today, Noah is wearing a trucker hat and aviators that look like he bought them at a gas station. Luckily, the beard hasn’t returned to its previously feral state.

Noah takes off his sunglasses. A wrinkle of concern forms between his eyebrows. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Horrified, I realize that my eyes are probably red from crying, my cheeks smeared with dust and tears. I clear my throat and turn away from him.

“How long were you standing there?” I ask, praying he didn’t hear my emotional outburst.

He hesitates. “Um. I walked in when you fell.”

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