Page 94 of Collateral Damage
“Oh, that makes sense. Gotta feed the women,” I joke, though it’s hard to feel happy when I’m so damn spent from crying all night. I’m not bothered by him feeding women, but it stings a little to know I’m one of many, and we didn’t even have sex. “What else is on the menu?”
“Protein pancakes sound okay?”
“No carbs for me. I don’t feel like eating much, if I’m being honest.”
“Eggs? Bacon?”
“Sure, but only if I can make the eggs.” I’m picky as hell about my eggs, and I really need something to do.
I dig through the refrigerator, past the random items left by the crew, locating the carton of eggs. Then I get busy scrambling them so they’re perfectly fluffy.
We sit together to eat when the first of the crew arrives, and if anyone notices I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes, they don’t say a word. Not that I’d care. I was here last night because my world fell apart, not because I was having sex with Cooper.
IwishI had been having sex with Cooper.
My hand stops, and the eggs tumble to the plate. Where the hell did that thought come from?
Coop gives me a sideline glance. “You okay there, Valentine?”
Flustered, I set my fork down. I can’t handle all these emotions anymore. I need to get the fuck out of here. “Sorry, but I gotta get going. I’ll see you on Nantucket.”
Without looking at anybody, I gather my things and hurry from the apartment before anyone can question me about my choices.
Forty
Sybil
Present - Age 27
The next week passes in a strange mix of haze and slow motion. Each moment drags painfully, yet it’s also as if the days have evaporated. Nothing feels real—like I’m living someone else’s story—but I’m not. This is my life now. These events are mine to live through.
Arden isn’t here, and Dad is dead. Things will never ever be the same.
We try to hold on to normalcy as a family. We share meals, wander through shops, visit the beach, watch movies, and sleep in as long as we can. These are the little joys of being on the island—things we once treasured. But the absence lingers, heavy and impossible to ignore. We aren’t whole anymore.
It feels surreal… being on this island, a place saturated with Dad. The new house itself is almost a stranger. We barely had time to fill it with memories of our own. It was just last summer we stayed here for the first time. Two weeks of sunshine and exploration, only to have it shattered by the boating accident.
By the end of that trip, Dad was gone.
What haunts me most are the fragmented memories from that day. They come in flashes—sharp images that cut deep and blurry gaps in time. I remember the accident. I remember Cooper on the boat, his right leg mangled beyond recognition. The blood. The screaming. The gut-wrenching panic.
I don’t remember the last time I saw Dad.
I had called for him, my voice raw with desperation. I remember searching the water, scanning every ripple and shadow. He wasn’t there. Then came the police, the paramedics, the search and rescue teams.
Still, no Dad.
Each time I revisit these memories, it’s like dissecting a wound that refuses to heal, asking myself over and over what I could have done differently, how I could have changed the outcome. Then there’s the nagging unease—the faint but persistent feeling I’ve forgotten something critical, something hidden beneath the bloody waters of that day.
My therapist says I might never remember everything. My brain might be protecting me, locking the trauma in some unlit corner of my mind.
I know she’s right.
Maybe it’s better this way.
“There’s another delivery,” Hayes announces.
It’s mid-morning, and we’ve been lounging around watching television when the doorbell rings. Hayes answers it, returning with a robin egg colored cake box.
