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“Here.” She thrusts the package towards me. “I got it for you a while ago as a going away present.”

I take the object which is undoubtedly a book by the feel of it. Unwrapping it immediately, because I have to know what she thought to get me. I expect something useful like a guidebook, or something traditional likeMoby Dick. What she gives me is far more meaningful. A beautiful copy ofThe Man and The Seaby Ernest Hemingway. Oddly enough I know this story. It’s a tale of an old man who is so determined to catch a massive marlin, that he is out at sea for three days before capturing it only to have it eaten by sharks, returning home with nothing but its bones.

A tale of reaching beyond your means and being too stubborn to accept the truth, only to return home empty handed in the end. I’m sure there are other interpretations of the work, somereligious, but the obvious symbolism is there in the story itself. Her meaning to me.

I look back up at Bambi, who’s nearly frowning down at the book in my hands, unable to look me in the eye.

“Thank you,” I say, and because I can’t leave her like this, not with everything we said before. I pull her to my chest, wrapping my arms tight around her and burying my face in her shoulder inhaling her rose scent.

She doesn’t immediately respond, but when I don’t pull away, she tentatively wraps her arms around me and squeezes tight. She may be angry with me and won’t come with me, but even she can’t let me go without this.

“I’ll miss you, Bambi. And I do love you.” I whisper the words in her ear and pull away before she can respond.

I don’t want to hear her refusal or argument. I just want her to know she was wrong about me. It’s probably a dick move, but I can’t change it now.

A chorus of goodbye’s calls out as I pull away from the dock, the barest glimmer of a sunrise on the horizon. I wave as I sail away, but I’m only looking at one person on that dock. The one that holds my heart and my misery. The woman I’ll never have again but am grateful I had for a little while.

Chapter 12: Raelyn

Does it require a tarp?

Winter is most definitely here. Snow falls steadily outside, and the roads are practically empty. Only a few locals pass by bundled up against the weather. We’ve had a few customers in the store today, stocking up on books for the upcoming storm front coming in this weekend. There won’t be anyone out if they don’t have to be. All the boats have docked and a few of the businesses have closed up for the winter, or at least the majority of it. Places like the tourist gift shops and information center don’t strum up much business in the off season.

It's been nearly five weeks since Warren left and I’ve thought of him every minute of each day. Especially the last words he said to me before getting on his boat and sailing away.

I do love you.

I’ve shamefully pondered those words and their meaning. First, taking them at face value, then picking them apart with a fine-toothed comb. Maybe he just meant it in a friendly way, like how I love Izzy. Or maybe he meant it like he loves me like family. Although I’m pretty sure family doesn’t have sex with each other. At least not anymore. Then I circled all the way back to the beginning. He loves me romantically. He wanted to be with me and asked me to go with him. But in the end, he still only thought of himself and chose what’s best for him. Not whatwould be best for us both or took into consideration my life, wants and needs.

He should have known better than to think I would leave Gigi like that. My mood has swung wildly from wanting to cry because I missed him so much to wishing I’d kicked him in the ass when I had the chance. It’s been a rough few weeks and I’ve barely been able to focus on much more than work.

At least with the weather turning, Izzy hasn’t been trying to drag me out to be social. So, I’ve been able to hide in my apartment and between the pages of my books. Wallowing in my own self-pity.

Now I stand with an armful of books, restocking the shelves and organizing everything alphabetically by author. Only able to focus on the titles in front of me. People can never put things back where they found them. There’s a Stephen King novel next to Tessa Bailey. It’s not even in the right genre.

I set down my stack and circle to the horror/thriller section and just as I’m rounding a shelf a wave of nausea hits me like a punch to the gut. I have to drop the book and run to the bathroom, fearing I won’t be able to hold it back long enough to make it to the toilet.

Thankfully I’m able to burst into the single stall bathroom and make it to the toilet before I lose my breakfast all over the floor. This is the third_no fourth_time I’ve thrown up this week. I don’t know what the hell I ate that’s still messing with my stomach, but as soon as I get it out, I feel a million times better.

“Are you okay?” Lauren asks, concerned from the open door to the bathroom. I was in too big a hurry to properly close it apparently.

“Yeah, fine. Just some stomach bug or something I’ve had all week.” I stand and rinse out my mouth at the sink, splashing a handful of cold water over my heated face.

Lauren laughs behind me, but it doesn’t sound mocking or cruel but a little silly and humorous. Does she find my illness humorous? I glare up at her in the mirror to find her leaning against the door frame, smiling softly, eyes fixed on the wall of the bathroom. She finally catches my eye and unhappy expression in the mirror and immediately raises her hands in supplication.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just my sister used that excuse when she was pregnant. It was so obvious what was really wrong with her that we all realized it before she did. Not that you’re pregnant, obviously. It just made me think of her face when she realized what was happening.”

Pregnant? Me? That’s impossible. You have to have sex to get pregnant and I haven’t had any in years.

Except with Warren.

Five weeks ago.

When was the last time I had my period? I can’t remember.

“Do you need some tea or water? Maybe some Pepto?” she offers, completely oblivious to my internal freak out, while I continue to argue with myself over the impossibility of it.

But the more I think about it the more it makes sense.