coming of winter. The air was brisk, the scent of the sea strong as the sun peeked from behind thick, billowing clouds. Farther west, out to sea, a fog bank seemed to hover, as if waiting for a starting bell or some other indication to roll inland. For now, though, the day was clear, the sunlight warm against her skin despite the breath of autumn.
Once in the tiny burg of Monroe, she found her way to the marina and passed boats where fishermen were sorting their catches or cleaning their hulls or fiddling with the engines of their moored crafts.
Moored near the end of one pier was the Holy Terror, a walkaround-type fishing boat. Butch Johansen was seated at the helm of his small craft, perusing a newspaper. A ratty baseball cap hid the fact that he was prematurely bald, and a cigarette dangled from his lips. He wore a down vest over a sweatshirt, jeans that had seen better days, and half a week’s growth of dark beard.
He glanced up as Ava’s shadow fell across him.
Squinting against the sun and smoke from his slowly burning filter tip, he said, “Hey, little sister!” a name he’d tagged her with years ago when she had followed her brother and his best friend along the sheep and deer trails of the island. Most of the time they’d tried to ditch her; most of the time they’d failed. “What the hell are you doin’? I heard you half drowned last night after you went in for a quick little midnight dip.”
“Is that what you heard?” She would have bristled, but this was Butch, Kelvin’s best friend, someone she’d known for as long as she could remember. He was forever teasing her, and he found the fact that so many people she knew thought she was crazy somewhat amusing.
“Close enough.”
“Bad news travels fast.”
“In a town this size, any news travels at the speed of light.”
“Speaking of which, think you could streak me across the bay?”
“Hot date?”
“I’m a married woman, remember.”
Butch tossed his cigarette into the water. “If that’s what you call it.” When she was about to protest, he lifted a hand to stop her, then added, “Okay, okay, I was outta line. It’s just that Wyatt and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.”
“Is there anyone you do? See eye-to-eye with, that is?”
His thick eyebrows converged beneath the frayed edges of his baseball cap. “Guess not. At least not since Kelvin.” Untying the lines holding the Holy Terror against the dock, he added, “Your brother was one of a kind.”
She felt a pang of regret. “Yeah, I know.” Kelvin’s death was difficult to think about, a painful wound that had never quite healed. Though it had been over four years since that horrid night, it was with them all constantly. Climbing aboard, she watched as Butch twisted his cap so that the bill pointed down his back, slid a pair of sunglasses over his nose, then started the engine. “You still miss him.”
“Just every damned day. That’s all.”
She sat on one of the plastic seats as he maneuvered the boat away from the other crafts nestled in this little marina. She missed her brother, too. Soul deep sometimes, though the night he died was partially lost in her mind, her brain not accepting the horror of it all, though she’d been with him . . .
The mouth of the bay was tricky to navigate, as it was guarded by seven black rocks visible only in low tide but lurking under the surface when the tide was in. Treacherous and sharp, they’d been named the Hydra by her great-great-grandfather, and she always shuddered as they passed, for upon those hidden rocks, her brother had died.
Refusing to stare into the gray depths of the sea, she wrapped her arms around her torso. For his part, Butch didn’t so much as glance in her direction as they passed the only dark tip currently visible, a stony protrusion thick with barnacles and starfish.
Once in the open water, Butch let the engine out. Churning a heavy wake, the little boat cut through the dark waters where a stiff, salty breeze was whipping up whitecaps, and seagulls soared in the clear blue skies.
Her spirits lifted as soon as she stepped ashore on the dock in Anchorville. It was afternoon now, the sun sinking lower in the western sky, but she spied the boat Wyatt had used earlier tied to its mooring. A sleek inboard cruiser, it boasted a galley and sleeping