Page 50 of Until the Storm Breaks

“Morning, girl.” I scratch behind her ears. “Want to go find Calvin?”

She wags in response, already heading for the door.

I pull on jeans and the first sweater I find, let Laila out for aquick bathroom break, then follow the sound of hammering toward the main house. The morning is gray and cool, clouds heavy over the Sound.

I find him in the sunroom, but something’s wrong. He’s not working with his usual steady rhythm. Instead, he’s attacking the boards with hard, angry strikes that make the whole frame shake.

“Hi,” I say from the doorway of the sunroom.

He turns and when he sees me, his expression shifts through several things at once. Happiness, maybe. And something else that looks like dread.

“Maren.” He sets the hammer down, wipes his hands on his jeans. “The book, did you?—”

“Calvin, they’re perfect.” The words come out in a rush. “The Shaw edition, the notebook, the pen. I don’t even know what to say except thank you. It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given me.”

He looks at me with such tenderness that my breath catches. “You deserved something beautiful.”

We stand there in the half-finished room, morning light coming through the gaps in the walls, and I want to cross the space between us. Want to touch his face, tell him what this means. But his whole body is strung tight, braced for something.

“Maren, I need to tell you something.”

My stomach drops. “What’s wrong?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s about your cabin. The sale.” His voice is rough. “I talked to Dominic yesterday. The buyers want the whole property clear. The understanding you had with Susan about staying no matter what... they won’t honor it.”

I stand there trying to process this. “But Susan promised. We had an agreement. Whatever happened with the estate, my cabin would be safe.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been here ten years.” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. I sound like a kid whining about fairness, as if the world cares what Susan promised me.

“I know.” He looks miserable.

The anger builds slowly, spreading through my body. Not at Calvin, who clearly hates having to tell me this. But at Dominic for keeping this secret. At buyers who don’t care about the lives they’re disrupting.

“When?” I ask.

“After the memorial. You’ll get notice, but not long.”

My mind races through the reality of this. The rental market here is basically nonexistent. The few places that come up are priced for Seattle people working remotely, not locals working service jobs.

“I’ll figure this out,” Calvin says, stepping toward me. “I’ll fight this, Maren. I’ll?—”

“This isn’t your fight.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I mean it to. “Calvin, I’ve been taking care of myself since I was seventeen. I don’t need you to save me.”

Something flashes across his face, hurt maybe, but he covers it quickly. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“I know.” I soften because Idoknow. He wants to help, wants to fix this, wants to be the guy who makes everything okay. But he’s leaving soon, back to his real life, and I’ll still be here dealing with whatever solution he patches together. “I know you want to help. But this is my life, my problem to solve.”

“Maren—”

“Thank you for the book,” I say, already backing toward the door because if I stay, I might cry or scream or let him make promises we both know he can’t keep. “They’re perfect. You’re—”I stop because finishing that sentence would reveal too much. “I need to go.”

I leave before he can respond, Laila trotting behind me, confused by our sudden departure. The morning is still cool and gray, but I can see breaks in the clouds toward the west, hints of blue that promise the sun will burn through later. At least the weather might improve, even if everything else is falling apart.