Page 50 of Fire Island
“Not very well.”
He chuckles. “Some live-in caregiver, hey.”
I would take offense, but he has a point. “I’m usually writing, not doing... this.” I look around the house as if something more sensible to say will present itself. Nothing does.
“Well, I’ll cook, you clean. Deal?”
I can’t help the smile that blooms. “Deal.”
“Anything you can’t eat I should know about?” He places the mug on the island counter.
“Nope, all good.”
“Good, we don’t do fussy here.”
“I know,” I say, thinking back to the first days I arrived on Fire Island.
I know.
Like I’ve been here before.
Crap.
“I mean, I guessed that would be the case.”
“Okay...” he drawls, giving me a strange, confused look.
Shit. Iris is going to kill me. I can survive this McCreary. Not sure about the other one, though.
“I have words to write.” I scurry from the house and bust through the shack door in a flurry of self-deprecation. “Dammit. I will not screw this up.”
There is far too much at stake.
Too much.
I’ve never been so happy to see Firefly as I am this morning. Em waves from the cabin as the trawler closes in on the jetty. I stand beside Cal, waiting for the boat to slow enough that we can board. Cal has a scan scheduled today, and I have time to kill with Iris. Hopefully she won’t murder me for the many slipups I feel I’ve had in a mere seven days of being on the island with her brother.
“Hey, Miss Evie.” Em wraps me in a hug, and I can’t help but return the gesture.
Callum clears his throat behind us, and Emmett releases me, saying, “You want a hug too, bud?”
“Fuck off, Bradford.”
Em chuckles and we board the boat. I sit on the bench seat the way I did on the way out here. Em starts Firefly up as Cal moves to stand by the console. “Handing over control today?” he asks.
“Sure, she’s all yours.”
Emmett turns back and sits with me as Cal powers the old girl up and sends her out over the blue water. Hands on the wheel, the rumble of the engine under our feet, he looks good in his element. The rock of the boat as she charges over the chop sinks into my soul. It’s so good to have the dynamic somewhat recovered.
But it’s not back to normal by any means.
“How’s things?” Em asks, not taking his focus off his friend.
“So far, so good. No developments yet.” I hope he gets my meaning, because I can’t say it outright.
“He’ll come back, Evie. I know he will.”
I smile, but it’s sad. Wistful, like the type of smile you give when someone is sorry for your loss. It doesn’t feel very dissimilar, despite the man in front of us being alive and mostly well.
