Page 55 of Kept in the Dark

My hand flexes, and I tighten it into a fist so I do not turn her around. I want to see her face. I do not like this distant tone. “Nicole—”

“I’ll be ready, thanks. Is there enough water left for a shower?”

“A short one,” I allow, mollified. She wants some personal time before facing me. She is feeling vulnerable, perhaps. “I will see you up on deck.”

There is a strange hollow feeling in my chest as I sit in the captain’s chair and take over navigating. I find myself splitting my attention—driving with half my mind and completely attuned to her as she showers and moves through the lower cabin with the other half. The hollow feeling digs deeper when she does not come up to speak to me or keep me company for the final stretch as I dock the boat among the four others. I have grown used to having her nearby. She… eases me.

Perhaps she is still upset. Perhaps I should not have spoken so harshly to her, or kissed her. Perhaps she regrets letting me kiss her.

That thought twists my brow.

I will convince her to explain herself to me in the car.

This marina is much smaller. It is privately owned by a man living in a trailer nearby, to whom I pay cash for the rental of my space. Usingthe spotlight to illuminate the shore, I tie us off at the portion of broken cement with nailed-in tires that is mine, and the boat bounces around as the wake I created catches us, lapping at the shore. I hear Nicole stumble and fall against something, and I nearly climb back into the boat to check on her, but then she appears on the top deck.

She looks very unwell, and her arms and legs shake as she climbs down the stairs, refusing my offered hand.

“No more boats,” I say, hoping she will feel some comfort in knowing that.

Her silent nod is emphatic enough to convince me that this is the source of her discomfort.

All she carries is what she had with her when she arrived—a stained golden dress and a small purse, gripped tightly. I can see that she has changed into a fresh set of my sweatpants and T-shirt. A pair of my thick socks serve to protect her feet from the ground of washed away gravel and sand, which I know is littered with bottle caps and broken glass and other unpleasant things that it is far too dark to see.

“Do you want me to carry you to the car?”

Her head whips up, and she appears alarmed by the offer instead of pleased. “What?”

I believe she heard me, so I just wait for her to catch up with what I said.

She shakes her head. “Y-you can’t. I’m too heavy.”

My lips purse. “I assure you, Nicole, you are not.”

She winces. I frown. She sees it and drops her gaze.

Wrong. Something is wrong. She seems so on edge.

“No, thanks. I’m… I’ll be fine. I’d rather walk and get used to being back on land again for a minute.”

“Very well,” I say, keeping my eyes on her.

We will have plenty of time to talk while we drive, and perhaps once I explain everything, she will… well, it will not calm her, but it may help continue to build the bridge of trust between us. I hold out my arm to indicate she should go first, and steer us towards an old sedan parked half into the tall, weedy grass that encroaches on the cleared parking area.

It is an old car, covered in a fine layer of dust and salt. One tire appears flat from the divot I dug underneath, and the rust and faded, flaking tan paint make it appear abandoned. The shape is boxy, common in older cars, and I much prefer it to the newer models. The key fob battery died long ago, so I must physically insert the key into the trunk to pop it. Once it is open, I toss my bag inside.

I keep her in my periphery, aware of every shaky breath and jerk of her head as she responds to the sounds of the night around us.

So jumpy. So anxious.

Wrong.

“Nicole—”

I hear it then. A police siren a few miles away. That in itself would not be so odd, but it is the dead of night, and this area is very remote. There is only one other car in the parking lot.

But when I meet her wide, teary eyes, I see it. Terror. Guilt. Without meaning to, she displays a tell when she clutches her small purse more tightly.

“What did you do?” I roar.