Page 14 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
Waves rumbled and smacked forcefully against the ship’s hull. Battering it.Weakeningit. How many lickings could a boat like this take before it stopped ticking? Before the wood folded beneath the sea’s might?
Sweat trickled down my back.
What would happen if this ship sank? Were there lifeboats on board? How many? And would they stand a chance against the sea’s behemoth white-capped mountains? Or the monster who dwelled in its depths?
My belly gave another bubbly grumble. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting to breathe around the mounting nausea. The panic. But Icouldn’t.
I was a child again, battling the sea’s malicious grip and watching the shore drift farther, and farther, and farther away. Knowing that no matter how hard I paddled, how viciously I fought, the ocean had me, and it didn’t much like relinquishing its victims.
Terror clawed at my insides.
Breathe. You’re okay.
My lungs sputtered.
That was a long time ago.
You’re not a kid anymore.
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
The sound of my phone in my pocket sent me rocketing clear off the bench. I squawked when my bum thumped back down.
A couple walking by stopped and stared at me. They were my age, give or take. Maybe a few years older—already on the downhill slide to the big four-oh.
I smiled at them—shakily.The man returned it, tucking his chin into a slight nod, sympathy emanating from him. The woman looked down her nose at me like I was a pile of riffraff.
Which, to be fair, Ifeltlike riffraff, wearing my comfy jeans, which were a little (lot) on the baggy side and a little (lot) threadbare around the cuffs and waist. My puffer jacket was the mostgorgeousshade of shimmering lilac, but it was a full size too big for me. (The smaller sizes had all beenboringcolors).
Jackson called this my purple Michelin Man coat. He wasn’t wrong. But I sure loved the color.
Combine my outfit with my red curls, windblown into a tizzy puff, along with the pallid and sickly complexion my skin was likely boasting, and…Yeah. I didn’t blame the woman for looking at me like that.
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
“Shoot.” I jumped again when my cell gave another angry rattle. “I thought you were supposed to stop workingout here.”
My phone had one bar. One measly bar, a little nick at the top corner. And it was determined to use that last breath of life to tormentme.
Notifications flooded the screen, papering themselves over the background image of Jackson and me on the day we moved into our house. Emails. From work.
Andy asked if I could review work orders before I got to the island. Mr. Hollingdale at VitalTech copied and pasted thesame message and punched the Send button every hour with the subject line:Please advise status.
Several notifications that parts had shipped—notfor the VitalTech order.Unfortunately.But for another hot job we had meandering through the plant. I forwarded those to Jessa.
Company BS emails—y’know, the “happy birthdays”where people had to hit Reply All and clutter everyone’s inbox.
More emails from Andy, and texts from him too.
Andy:Pippi…please…these orders have to go ASAP. Jessa doesn’t know the account.
Andy:I need you to look at them. We can’t afford another fuck up.
Andy:????
Andy:You’re not on the island yet. The ferry doesn’t get there until 4:00 p.m. local time. Please review these work orders.
I sighed.
