Page 57 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

Angie fiddled with her thumbs as she sat in the almost uncomfortably plush chair in a disconcertingly calming room across from the older woman dressed in elegant, if faded, linen and no adornment save a simple gold wedding band on her deeply tanned, wrinkled hands.

Her short gray hair curled stylishly in a roguish way that probably got her lots of action wherever it was women her age went for action although the wedding band suggested she was past her bar days.

Or maybe not. Angie never made assumptions.

This woman’s generation had practiced free love, after all.

“Angela.”

“Hmm?” She snapped her eyes back to the woman’s calm brown ones.

“We were discussing how it felt to share that burden,” the therapist prompted. “Where did you go just now?”

“I was admiring your outfit,” Angie answered truthfully. “And thinking about assumptions.”

“Assumptions?”

She shrugged. This was her fourth session, and she was nowhere near used to the gentle probing that seemed to be this woman’s style, or the way she let any of Angie’s attempts to turn the conversation away from herself slide off her shoulders. It was infuriating. And professional. Angie hated it.

“People are complicated. Assumptions are dangerous.”

“I agree. Have you had any encounters with dangerous assumptions? You mentioned on your intake form some family struggles.”

“I never assume someone is safe.” She gave the woman an honest answer. One honest answer a session was enough to justify the cost of these visits to her insurance company, right?

The therapist, Vera, jotted down some notes, though her eyes remained on Angie.

“How do you determine if someone is safe? Stevie, your girlfriend, makes you feel safe. How long did it take you to trust her?”

“Stevie’s different.”

Vera waited. This was another of her strategies, and while Angie could wait her out, she was paying a copay for these visits. She wasn’t unreasonable.

“She’s . . .”

Vera took pity on her floundering. “How does Stevie compare to Lana?”

“She doesn’t. There isn’t a comparison. I never trusted Lana. Not like I trust Stevie. Lana wasn’t a partner, she was . . . doesn’t matter. Stevie cares about me. I know she wants me to be happy, and she knows how to talk to me.” And how to get Angie to talk, much like Vera.

“Have you told her that you love her yet?”

Angie regretted bringing that up in session two.

“No. Not yet.”

“That was one of the goals we set last week,” Vera reminded her kindly. “But it isn’t something to rush. Are you still worried it will trigger your flight response?”

Angie shrugged. Vera waited. Angie contemplated the soft glow of the lamps and the seascapes on the walls.

There were three small paintings behind Vera’s desk of lobster buoys done in expressive paint strokes that should have been kitschy, but weren’t.

If she stared at them long enough, perhaps this conversation would end on its own.

“Angela? Is there another reason? Do you think she feels more strongly than you—”

“No.” Angie cut Vera off. “It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

“Superstition.” Angie didn’t look up to see if Vera raised an eyebrow, and continued staring at the lobster buoys. “It’s stupid, but I feel like the minute I let myself be fully happy and comfortable, something bad is going to happen.”

“The other shoe,” said Vera. At Angie’s confused silence, she elaborated. “The feeling that the other shoe could drop at any minute even when there is no evidence of any such shoe.”

“I have a closet full of other shoes.”

Vera smiled at Angie’s dark pronouncement.

“You strike me as a young woman who has worked hard on her own to better herself as best she can. Sometimes when we want to change, we don’t realize that over time we have.

It is our conception of ourself that no longer matches the reality, not the other way around.

Accepting vulnerability isn’t easy for most people, and you’ve had more reason than most to distrust complacency.

This doesn’t sound complacent. It sounds like the beginning of a marvelous new chapter as long as you remember that you are the one writing it. ”

“Isn’t that the problem?” asked Angie.

“Not if you give yourself a little more agency. Stevie trusts you, and it sounds like she knows you well. Do you doubt her judgment?”

“Yes,” she said because she couldn’t merely agree with this woman, and because Stevie had a blind spot where Angie was concerned.

“Consider trusting her. Do you have a plan for how you might bring it up?”

She had a thousand, and none felt right. “When it feels right?”

“Under what circumstances has it felt right previously, but for other reasons you were not ready?”

Every other minute?

“Why don’t you think about that for your homework. You don’t have to express your feelings to Stevie if you’re not ready. Instead, try and identify the types of moments you feel love for her most strongly.” Vera paused. “And the financial stress? Your roof? How is that going?”

“My friend Ivy offered to pay for it. I said no.”

“How did that offer of help make you feel?”

“Uncomfortable. She offered to float me a loan if this one doesn’t work out, but I’d feel . . .”

“Supported?”

“Indebted.”

“Before you go too far down that track, Angela, remember that many people have family safety nets they can fall back on. You don’t have that with your biological family, but you do have your chosen family. Does Ivy strike you as the sort of friend who would hold this over you?”

“No.” In fact, Ivy had said something similar, which was irritating. “But it makes me uncomfortable. At least if I can’t pay back a bank I don’t lose a friend.”

“But you do feel more comfortable accepting help from Stevie now.”

“Yes.”

“Does she know how big a step that is for you?”

“She would if I could tell her I loved her like a normal person.”

Vera stared at her, disapproval over Angie’s word choice evident in the moue of her mouth.

She let it go, however, which was somehow more infuriating than being called out, because it implied Vera knew Angie was well aware of the fallacy.

She rather wished Vera would underestimate her intelligence, instead of the other way around.

Personal growth hurt .

Stevie held Olive’s lead line loosely in her hand, the rising tide of cricket song ushering in the sunset.

The shadows of the apple trees reached toward the house, young apples green on their branches and dusky purple shadows on the undersides of the leaves.

Angie lay on Olive’s back, head balanced on her rump, staring at the bleeding sky.

It wasn’t a particularly safe thing to do, but Olive spooked rarely, and Stevie knew the allure of creature comfort promised by a horse’s warm back.

Olive browsed the orchard grass with enthusiasm, perfectly content.

“The sky’s so clear.” Angie’s voice was drowsy with contentment.

Light limned her profile, setting a thin ripple of flame across her brow and down the loose fall of her hair.

Stevie’s heart overflowed its banks in a joy so fierce it hurt.

This quiet moment. This was all she’d ever wanted. This. Her. Angie.

“Nice sunset.” An understatement, but Angie would forgive her. It was a nice sunset, more than nice. Perfect. She wished every day could end like this.

“Yeah.” A half smile curved Angie’s lips. She turned her head to appraise Stevie. “We could stargaze later.”

“Yeah, we—holy shit, Ange!” With a hushed voice, she pointed toward the sky.

Overhead in the purpling blue, light burned across the firmament.

She imagined she could hear the hiss of atmosphere curdling around the astral body’s entry, flame lighting up the dark as the meteor struck high and fast above them.

She watched its passage into darkness, green flame flickering and fading.

Angie sat up on Olive’s back, eyes wide with wonder. “I’ve never seen something like that before.”

“Must be a meteor. Aren’t there showers in August?”

“It isn’t August.”

“Still, that was insane.” She rubbed the horse beneath her mane, feeling the heat of Olive’s body and the pleasant scrape of coarse hair against her knuckles.

“Do you wish on meteors? Aren’t they essentially shooting stars?” Angie’s toe bumped her elbow gently.

“If wishes were fishes the sea would be full. That’s what my mom always says.”

“Starfish. Tell her she’s right.”

Stevie laughed. “I never thought of that. Ten-year-old me is so upset right now. I could have used that comeback so many times.”

“I give you full permission to use it any time in the future. Maybe next time I meet your mom.”

That would have to happen soon: the introduction of Angie to her family not as her best friend, but as her girlfriend. None of them would be surprised, least of all her mother. She grinned at the thought of her brothers’ inevitable ribbing.

“What’s that about?” Angie leaned down to touch the corner of Stevie’s mouth.

“Starfishes.”

A bird called out one last fleeting chorus as Angie slid off Olive in a smooth dismount. Olive didn’t flinch. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Stevie took in Angie’s sudden insecurity in the shift of her posture and the tightening of her shoulders. “You okay?”

“The sky is falling, but yeah. Um.”

Stevie waited, a strange, wild excitement brewing in her lungs. Something had changed with the passing of the meteor, something ineffable and imminent.

“I don’t need a wish,” Angie said finally.

“Angela Rhodes seizes her own destiny in defiance of astrology,” Stevie intoned. Her whole body thrummed with her speeding pulse, and she loosely wound her fingers through Angie’s, smelling apples on the breeze.

“Close your eyes.”

Stevie closed her eyes. “Um, why?”

Angie took an audibly deep breath, punctuated by the rip and tear of Olive’s teeth on the grass and the soughing of the wind through the branches.

Angie’s lips landed lightly on each of Stevie’s eyelids, then the tip of her nose, her forehead, cheeks, and chin—everywhere but her lips.

Those, Angie touched with a finger, silencing further questions.

“I just wanted to look at you.”

Stevie opened her eyes. Color flushed Angie’s cheeks, red against the gold of her skin in the dying light. Why was she blushing?

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Stevie . . .”

“Yes?” Angie’s waist curved under the hand Stevie rested just above her hip, stroking the soft skin beneath her T-shirt.

She kept her expression loose and easy, waiting for whatever Angie was struggling to say.

She wasn’t afraid this time. Angie would get the words out eventually, whatever they were, and they would deal with them together.

“Fuck this.” Angie pulled a pen out from behind her ear, plucked Stevie’s hand from her hip, and scribbled something across her palm. It tickled. Raising an eyebrow, Stevie opened her fingers to see what Angie had written, and the breath left her body in a rush of apple-scented air.

I love you.

“It’s true.” Angie bit the corner of her lip and worried the delicate skin, which was Stevie’s job. “I do.”

“I know.” Would it be excessive to turn the words on her palm into a stick and poke tattoo?

Probably. She could at least take a picture of it as long as it didn’t smudge before she got a chance.

The roar of her heart burned her ears, and she thought again of the meteor burning up on impact, bright enough to emblazon the backs of her eyelids.

Angie’s words burned through her just as surely.

She searched Angie’s anxious face. “I know it’s hard for you to say out loud. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I want to. I’m just—it doesn’t feel adequate. Everyone says it all the time.”

“It’ll sound differently coming from you.” Stevie held her breath and glanced at her hand. “It reads differently.”

“Every time I think I’m done being a coward something else reminds me.” Angie’s anxiety turned to a scowl, and Stevie put her arms around her, dropping the lead line entirely. Olive wouldn’t go far. “You deserve—”

Angie cut herself off, and Stevie praised her. “Good girl. We don’t self-deprecate anymore, remember?”

“Hmm.” Still, Angie smiled. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“You need your eyes checked.”

“We don’t self-deprecate anymore,” Angie teased. She tucked a strand of Stevie’s hair behind her ear. “Stephanie.”

“Angela.”

Angie’s inhale was sharp and swift. “I do. I do love you. I—”

Stevie squeezed Angie around the waist and picked her up, causing Olive to snort and step away and Angie to squeal in surprise.

She tumbled them both into the cooling grass, landing on top of Angie as planned.

Placing her elbows on either side of Angie’s head, framing her face, she said, “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“I didn’t catch it. One more time?”

“Ass.” Angie’s laughter bubbled up between them, pure and liquid gold. “I love you, Stevie. There.”

“That was hard, wasn’t it?” Stevie smoothed a lock of Angie’s hair between her fingers as she spoke. She didn’t add You know what else is hard? because she sensed Angie wasn’t quite done.

“You know . . .” Angie trailed off and wriggled more firmly beneath Stevie, hooking their legs together, “. . . it actually wasn’t.”

“I could show you something hard,” said Stevie, because she didn’t have the ability to resist a bad joke after all.

“See? That’s why. How could I not love someone with such impeccable taste?”

“It’s not possible. You really stood no chance. Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“I love you too, Angela.”