Page 200 of Secrets Along the Shore
I reached the shore and stepped out, the water biting cold around my ankles. I pulled the boat far enough to keep it from drifting and climbed the gentle slope to the back of the house. My eyes scanned the windows—searching for movement. A flicker. A face. Anything.
But nothing showed anyone was home.
I waited.
One second. Two. A minute. My heart beat at a dangerous pace. I could feel the organ hitting my rib cage. A breeze passed through the trees, rustling the branches overhead like whispers, and I forced the moment to calm me and clear my vision.
Then—I saw it.
A slight movement. A curtain shifting in the second-floor window. I didn’t see a face, but someone was there. Watching.
I took a breath and approached the deck, my footsteps careful on the worn planks. Every step felt like a dare. A plea. A memory trying to become real again.
I stopped at the top to see the door was ajar. Wide enough to be an invitation.
Or a trap.
I froze, breath held. I didn’t know what waited beyond the threshold. But I had the sense, the eerie certainty, that someone had been waiting for me to come all along.
“Becca?” I signed the name in the air as I called it out, more from habit than hope.
I gently pushed the door the rest of the way open with ease.
Too easy.
The foyer yawned before me, dim and still. The house smelled of old wood and lavender. Faded memories. Stale grief. The wallpaper, yellowed and peeling at the corners, looked older than I remembered it. And smaller now, the way places from childhood often do.
“Hello?” I called out—controlled and firm.
I stepped inside, waiting for Becca to reveal herself to answer my call. If she said anything, I wouldn’t know.
So I called out again. “It’s Scarlett. Can you come?”
The floorboards shifted beneath my feet. I was sure they creaked in their oldness, announcing my presence as well. My eyes scanned the living room. The furniture had been draped in blankets, the way people do when they need to get more time out of a worn piece. A large fireplace sat at the center wall, blackened with ash, looking unused for years. Dust shimmered in the air.
I took a cautious step toward the hallway leading deeper into the house.
Then, a movement.
I turned, staring to my right. Someone was on the stairs. I peered into the shadows.
“Becca?” I tried again, louder.
My gaze fell to the staircase. The same one I remembered sitting on, two girls giggling beside me, brushing damp hair from their faces after sneaking out to swim.
A wave of emotion crashed into me—grief, confusion, longing. For what we had and what we lost.
The sight of bare feet appeared at the top of the stairs, slow, measured, coming down.
I stepped back instinctively, spine hitting the wall as an olderversion of Becca appeared. Taller than I remembered. Her dark hair tied back, silver now at the temples. Her face was thinner, eyes sharp and guarded. But it was her.
And her dulled gaze locked on me like a pin on a map.
She stopped at the bottom step. Neither of us spoke for a long moment.
Then her mouth moved.
“You came.”
