Aquarian E-Book

Jan Coffey

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 310

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

   A Girl…A Guy…   Killian knows all about vampires and aliens. They're not real. But when a handsome swimmer climbs into her storm-tossed boat an hour from her summer destination, the worlds of fantasy and reality suddenly collide…    An Island of Mystery…   Cuttylea Island has no mall, no social scene, and no action. But it does have a mysterious stone tower, ageless islanders, and a secret as astonishing as a mermaid's tale…   An Ancient Curse…   Before the summer is through, Killian will find the truth of her family's past…and be forced to choose between love and destiny.  

Leseprobe

Aquarian

Jan Coffey

withMay McGoldrick

Book Duo Creative

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Edition Note

Author’s Note

Preview of TROPICAL KISS

About the Author

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

In the event that you enjoy Aquarian, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the authors. Thanks!

Aquarian © 2012 by Nikoo and James A. McGoldrick

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Book Duo Creative LLC.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

1

There is…mystery about this sea, whose gently awful

stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath.

—Herman Melville

Off the Coast of Massachusetts

June 2012

No cell phone service. No cable TV. No mall. No bars. No party scene. No Internet. No Facebook. No traffic to throw yourself in front of.

“What,” Killian muttered, “am I getting myself into?”

Looking around in every direction from the small motor launch, she could see nothing. Darkness covered the Atlantic like the wing of some enormous black bird. No moon, no stars, no welcoming ray from any lighthouse or passing ship. Only an occasional lightning flash lit the invisible horizon before being instantly snuffed out.

The damp wind was cold. Killian pulled her Green Mountain Academy sweatshirt more tightly around her. She’d graduated only two weeks ago, but it felt like forever. She stared up at the silent old man at the wheel of the boat. In the darkness he was little more than a hunched silhouette, a pipe clenched in his teeth.

“How long before we reach Cuttylea Island?” she called out to him.

Thomas Eliot turned and looked back at her. Killian couldn’t see his eyes but saw his hand dip into his jacket pocket. He stuffed something into the pipe. With practiced skill he produced a lighter from somewhere. He lit the pipe again, revealing the deep lines of his weathered face.

“How long?” he replied finally. The end of the pipe glowed as he puffed. The smell of the tobacco whipped by her, mingling with the briny scent of the sea and fish and old bait. “An hour. Tops.”

Everything that Killian feared was conspiring against her tonight. Night. Water. The distant lightning threatening ominously. She stared into the darkness to where ocean and sky ground together, producing those muffled flashes of light. The storm was approaching. She hated electrical storms at any time. The thought of being caught in one—out on the open sea in this ancient floating coffin—held no appeal for her.

She shivered. What disturbed her most were the memories that went along with the storms. So many nights she’d spent at her mother’s hospital bedside, looking out the sixth-floor window at Boston’s city lights. Lightning had illuminated the skyline the night Killian had been told nothing more could be done for Ama’s cancer. Rain from a thunderstorm had been pelting the windows when she’d died a week later.

That was four years ago. She couldn’t change the past. What she had to think about was now. This summer. Come fall, she had no boarding school in Vermont to go back to. There was no college waiting for her, either. She hadn’t applied to any.

Restless, Killian looked back at the wake left by the boat’s engine.

A real ferry traveled between Hyannis and Cuttylea Island twice a week. The website said the crossing took three hours, one way. Killian hadn’t been able to get to Cape Cod for the trip out to the island on either of those days. So here she was, plowing through the increasingly heavy seas of the dark Atlantic. On a boat no bigger than a pickup truck.

She heard the rumble of thunder over the steady roar of the boat’s engines. Killian shivered again. She slid her butt along the wooden bench, moving closer to cockpit of the boat. Stretching up, she glanced ahead. The single headlight on the bow barely illuminated anything in their path. The dim light rising and dropping as the boat pitched forward into the growing swells did nothing to quell the uneasiness in her stomach.

“Do you think the storm will catch us before we reach the island?”

Thomas cocked his head and relit the pipe. Killian already knew there was no point in repeating the question. The old man wasn’t much of a talker. Half of the questions Killian asked had gone unanswered.

Lightning suddenly lit the choppy, rolling sea. Almost immediately, thunder exploded around them like a sledge hammer on an empty drum. The boat vibrated from the concussion. Killian dove inside the backpack between her feet, frantically dragging out her iPod and earpieces. Plugging herself in, she was stunned when no sound came out. The screen was lit, but no music. She turned the device off and on and watched as the screen came back to life. Still nothing. Killian tore the earpieces away and stuffed everything back in her bag.

She was shivering uncontrollably now. Here it was, the first week in June, but she was freezing. Reaching back into the bag, she pulled out a windbreaker. It belonged to her father. She’d snatched it at the last minute on her way out of the house.

Some of the literature she’d printed out about Cuttylea Island came out with the jacket, flying free in the sharp wind. Dropping the garment, she grabbed for the loose pages. They were gone, sweeping over the stern and fluttering like falling snow into the dark sea. Killian stared after them. Picking up the windbreaker, she yanked it over her head. She could smell her father in it. She welcomed the added warmth.

Killian had still been at school a month ago when the invitation came. It was from her mother’s great aunt, Hannah Winthrop. The note had asked her to come and spend the summer working on Cuttylea. At the time, Killian equated the offer with death by boredom. Three weeks later, reality reared its ugly head. She graduated and had to move back home.

Killian knew she wouldn’t fit into her father’s picture-perfect New England family. The new wife, the two-point-two kids, the dog, and the white picket fence. It was the family Rick had all-too-quickly constructed after her mother died. The picture didn’t include her. From her first week in Middlebury, she’d felt like a weed in the suburban flower patch.

So Hannah’s offer had begun to sound very attractive.

The rising and plunging of the boat was getting to Killian. At the top of each wave, her stomach lifted and hung in mid-air as the bow dipped and then dropped with a bang onto the next wave. Killian panicked. She hadn’t told Thomas that she didn’t know how to swim. She looked around. Not a lifejacket in sight.

Suddenly, the boat rocked as the driver cut the speed.

“What’s wrong?”

Without a word, the old man swung the wheel and gunned the engine. The boat carved a sharp arc, forcing Killian to grip the side to keep from sliding off the bench.

As they came around, Thomas was peering just ahead and then over the side. Killian turned in her seat, looking down into the water.

Then he cut the engines and the boat stopped.

Her great aunt trusted this man. She’d sent him to Hyannis to get her. Or at least this was what Thomas had told Killian on the dock. Her mind now started questioning even that. She peered over the side, following his gaze.

Suddenly, a hand shot up from the dark waters. Before she could move, it was gripping the edge. Their fingers touched.

Killian gasped aloud and sprang backward. But there was nowhere to go. She tripped over her pack, landing hard against the bench running along the other side.

Her heart raced. The hand had been warm. Dead bodies don’t reach up out of the water.

The boat rocked sharply. When she straightened and turned around, Killian was astounded to see a young man, a head taller than Thomas, standing in the boat. Her legs gave up and she sank down onto the bench. The old man had draped a blanket over the swimmer’s shoulders.

His eyes were fixed on her. Killian felt her face flush hot under his steady gaze. Then the newcomer ducked down into the cabin space in the bow.

Thomas moved back behind the wheel and revved up the engines. The boat leapt forward, cutting through the waves.

“Who…who is that?”

“That’s Perth,” Thomas said over his shoulder. He pulled the pipe from between his teeth and banged out the contents on the side of the boat. “He’s training to swim the channel.”

“In this weather?”

The old man cranked the wheel, turning the boat at full speed. Killian clutched the bench to keep from sliding into the sea.

For the first time, she noticed that it had begun to rain.

2

Swimming the channel.

Names jumped at her. Cross Rip Channel. Muskeget Channel. Great Rip Channel. Killian couldn’t remember which of them went with what island off Cape Cod, but she recalled reading about inter-island swim competitions.

What kind of idiot would be out swimming in a storm like this?

A handsome one, that’s for sure.

She peered toward the door of the cabin where Perth had disappeared. She’d taken her suitcase down there earlier. The space hadn’t been tall enough for her to stand in. Crammed with boat gear and fishing stuff, it smelled dank and fishy. She couldn’t wait to come back into the open air.

Killian saw him emerge. As he came through the doorway, their gazes locked for a brief moment, and she felt a sudden jolt. Instinct told her to back away. Handsome or not, there was an intense, almost predatory look in the way he was sizing her up.

The blanket was gone. Perth was wearing a plain dark tee-shirt that was too small for him. An old pair of shorts. She wondered if the clothes belonged to Thomas. His feet were bare. Standing next to the old man, Perth seemed unaffected by the rain and the cold bite of the wind.

Thomas leaned toward him and whispered. “She’s the one.”

Killian was surprised at the words.

Perth made no reply. He moved easily on the bouncing boat and sat down on the bench across from her. Suddenly, Killian felt crowded. His long legs stretched out, filling the space. She had nowhere to look but into his face, half-hidden in the darkness. What she could see were chiseled features, a straight nose, a strong chin. She couldn’t guess his age. His hair was dark and on the long side. The wind was whipping it about his face. Her gaze moved downward. The shirt was stretched across the muscles of a broad chest. He made Michael Phelps look scrawny.

The boat hit the sea with an extra hard slap. Killian’s forgotten backpack bounced down the deck. She grabbed for it. Perth put out a foot to stop the slide. She accidentally touched his leg before getting hold of the bag.

Strong and muscular legs, amazing chest, warm skin, a handsome face. He was all raw power. She felt flustered just noticing his body. She blamed it on spending the last four years at an all-girl boarding school. Killian yanked the bag between her feet. She forced her gaze back to his face without pausing anywhere along the way.

He was still staring.

“Hi, I’m Killian,” she shouted. “I can’t believe you were swimming in this.”

Before she could finish, a clap of thunder exploded practically in her head, causing her to jump. The boat’s pitch and roll were becoming more severe. She looked over her shoulder as a branching bolt of lightning streaked down, burying its tips in the sea not far away. Another thunderous blast immediately followed the light show. The storm was almost on top of them.

Killian felt insignificant as nature slapped the boat every which way. She had no control over what was going to happen to them.

“I don’t know how to swim,” she called out over the noise of the storm.

Perth gave no sign that he’d heard her, but Thomas turned and motioned to Killian. “Life vests are in the storage space under your seat.”

She scrambled to her feet, trying to keep her balance. She opened the compartment and offered the first vest to Thomas. He never turned, but waved a dismissive hand, letting her know he didn’t need one.

The boat suddenly became airborne for a couple of seconds. It smashed down on the water with enough force to throw Killian across the narrow deck. She landed against Perth. Strong hands grabbed her by the waist and helped her to right herself. She held out the life vest to him. He tossed it back into the bin.

“Okay, drown. Both of you,” she said. Moving unsteadily, she hauled the life vest out again. In a moment, she was pulling the straps tight.

Two shirts, a heavy sweatshirt, windbreaker, the life vest. Killian felt as big as a Goodyear blimp. But it didn’t matter. They were going to die. The waves around them loomed high over the boat. She struggled to close the storage bin. Perth reached around her leg and closed it. She sat down, her hands searching for something to hold on to. Seawater broke over the side and smacked Killian across the back, drenching her and sending her sliding down the bench and onto the deck.

There was no point in trying to get back to her seat. The boat was hitting one wave after another, and they were airborne between the collisions. She huddled in the corner against the fishing gear.

The next dive through the air was hell. Killian felt her stomach lurch. She grabbed a bait bucket. The smell of dead fish finished the job. Her stomach emptied.

But that was only the beginning. The world as she knew it was coming to an end. She couldn’t stop heaving. Sharp cramps, nausea, the helplessness of being thrown around the deck actually made drowning sound like a death she could live with.

The storm was getting stronger, the sea rougher, her stomach more determined to punish her. She couldn’t stop shivering. Each time the boat rose and landed, she struggled to stay put. Killian wrapped her arms around the foul bait bucket, dreading the next wave.

A large hand took hold of her wrist. Strong fingers slipped beneath the cuff of the windbreaker and sweatshirt, touching her skin. Shock, pleasure, comfort, an assortment of sensations rushed through her, all having to do with the realization that she wasn’t alone. Someone was taking care of her. Perth had slid down the bench and was leaning over.

“Feel free to throw me overboard.”

Her weak attempt at humor didn’t register with him. His fingers remained locked around her wrist. He didn’t pull her up onto the bench. He didn’t say anything to calm her nerves. But there was something about the touch. A feeling of warmth from his fingers slowly seeped into her. Her stomach’s violent protests eased. Thoughts of impending death disappeared. Even her fear lessened. She let go of the bucket.

Killian struggled to come up with a rational explanation.

“Pressure points?” she managed to ask. “I’ve read about that for motion sickness.”

Killian pushed herself away from the bucket and fishing gear. She leaned back against the bench Perth was sitting on. The storm wasn’t letting up. She peered at the waves and the lightning. She was no longer afraid.

“Hypnotism, maybe,” she muttered. “Better than Dramamine. You could make a lot of money bottling this stuff.”

The howl of the wind was her answer.

She chuckled absently, amused by her own talkativeness. She looked at her wrist, caught in his grip. His skin was darker than hers. She studied the line of his knuckles. She felt the pressure of his thumb. He seemed to control her pulse, the very beating of her heart.

Killian rested her shoulder against his knee. She suddenly felt tired, drowsy. Nothing bothered her. She had no fears. She leaned her head against his leg and closed her eyes.

Killian was swimming, so she knew it must be a dream. She was miles offshore. She wasn’t afraid. Stroke after stroke, she pulled herself smoothly, powerfully through the sea. The water was warm, caressing her body. She could hear music. Strange music. She felt free. She was in search of something. Someone.

“Perth.” Killian opened her eyes, uncertain if she called his name aloud or in her sleep. The sky was dark. It was raining. But the waters were calm. She looked across the way and saw lights from the shore. They were in a harbor.

The edge of the bench was digging into her back. She was soaked to the bone. She stretched and weakly hauled herself onto the bench. Thomas was steering the boat toward a dock near a cluster of small houses. Looking back, she saw flashes of lightning beyond a line of rocks that formed a breakwater.

“Cuttylea Island,” Thomas said aloud. “We’re home.”

Killian peered past him into the darkness of the cabin. No one was there.

Perth was gone.

3

“And where have you been all my life?” Hannah Winthrop put her cup of tea down next to the sink. She took Killian into her arms. “It’s not right for someone as young as you to have gone through so much.”

Killian ignored the lump in her chest. She wasn’t going to revisit the past again. Not tonight. She was just thankful for being here now.

Hannah was standing beside an old green golf cart at the dock when Thomas tied his boat up. She showed more enthusiasm at seeing her than any of Killian’s other relatives—including her father or his parents—ever showed.

From what Killian could tell, the island boasted only two paved roads. One ran along the edge of the harbor and the other ran uphill from the dock. Almost at the top, the road split into several branches. One was a dirt lane leading to the wood-shingled cottage where Hannah lived. The island had no streetlights. No cars that she could see. No one was out walking when they tied up at the dock.

Once in the house, Hannah ordered Killian to take a hot shower and change. And by the time she stood at the top of the stairs, pulling her wet hair back in a ponytail, the smell that greeted Killian made her think she might actually eat something.

A cup of clam chowder, homemade oatmeal cookies, and hot chocolate convinced her. Sitting together at the kitchen table, Hannah went on about how happy she was to have Killian here and how this reminded her of the summers that Ama had spent on the island as a teenager.

“Thank you for making me feel so welcome, Aunt Hannah,” Killian said now, pulling out of the embrace.

“Don’t start with any Aunt Hannah. I’m just Hannah.”

Killian smiled. As she dried the dishes, she listened to the rain and the howling wind battering against the walls. The storm had finally reached the island. She was glad to be inside, safe and warm.

“My mother always talked about the summers she spent here.”

“Yes. Yes, those were special days,” Hannah said. She took the clean dishes from Killian and stacked them on the shelf. “But you’ll soon find out for yourself that coming here is like stepping back in time. Not much has changed since the last time Ama was here.”

And the same could be said of Hannah. She had seen many pictures of the old woman with teenaged Ama. Gray hair. Wrinkled, sun-kissed skin. She’d looked so full of life in the photos. She looked the same way now.

“Why was it that my mother never brought me here?”

Hannah always sent birthday and Christmas cards and homemade presents. But Killian only met Hannah twice before. Both instances were crystal clear in her mind. The first time was when her mother was hospitalized for a week after an early cancer treatment in Boston. The second time was at her funeral three years later.

Hannah shook her head sadly. “She went where your father wanted to go, lived where he chose, vacationed where he decided. Life on the island can be a jolt for workaholics. I don’t think Rick could have lasted a day just doing nothing here.”

That was still true. He had his new wife, his new children, his dog, but he didn’t spend enough time with them. Killian still remembered that in four years of boarding school, he’d not once shown up for a Parent’s Weekend.

Killian looked around the cozy kitchen. Everything had its place. Glass front cupboards with plates and bowls and glasses. Mugs dangling from hooks. On a shelf, a creamer and sugar set decorated with the hand-painted figure of a little mermaid. An old-fashioned clock on the wall.

One large room and one small one that opened off the kitchen made up the entire downstairs. The front door of the house was clearly never used and was blocked by furniture in the living room. Beneath the kitchen, a small cellar had shelves filled with bottles of jam and pickles. Upstairs, two bedrooms were separated by a bathroom with a claw-footed tub.

“I can’t wait for you to show me around the island,” Killian said happily.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll do just that. Now wait. Are you one of those young people whose morning is really the middle of the afternoon?”

“I can sleep in with the best of them,” she said honestly. “But not when I’m at school, working, or having a life. I can get up anytime you start your day.”

Hannah chuckled. “I’m not that cruel, honey. How about if we aim at midday sometime, or whenever you roll out of bed? I talked to Elena at the inn. She doesn’t expect you to start at the job until the day after tomorrow.”

Killian saw this as her cue to ask about Perth. Thomas had said nothing more on the boat after she’d found the swimmer missing, and it had felt awkward asking Hannah about it earlier. She leaned against the fridge.

“On the boat ride over…” Killian stopped, hearing footsteps outside. Someone was at the kitchen door.

“You were saying?” Hannah encouraged.

There was a knock.

“This must be Perth. I asked him this morning to stop by tonight. That boy never passes up an invitation for my cookies.”

Panic, embarrassment, the sudden flip in her stomach were totally confusing. Killian had been ready to ask about him a moment before. But now, as her great aunt reached for the door, she had to fight the urge to run upstairs and hide.

Killian glanced down at her clothes. She was dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Pink ones from a breast cancer rally, at that. Her black hair was tied up in a ponytail. No makeup. And when she’d checked in the mirror upstairs, her normally pale skin still had a greenish tinge from the boat ride over. There were dark circles under her eyes. In the best of circumstances, she was far from being a beauty. She was definitely making no fashion statement tonight.

The kitchen door swung open. He stepped in, bringing with him the smell of night and the storm.

Killian wedged herself against the side of the fridge. Perth leaned down and pecked Hannah on the cheek.

“Smells great in here.”

He had a deep voice, too. Killian realized she shouldn’t have expected anything less. He was a perfect specimen. He was wearing different shorts and a clean tee-shirt, but still had bare feet. His back was to her and she admired his broad shoulders and height. The rain had speckled his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Hannah, do you mind if I get my plate of cookies to go? Walt needs me tonight.”

“Of course you can, hon. But not before I introduce you to my grandniece.” Hannah stepped past him, and his attention swung around to Killian.

Butterflies dancing in the stomach. Heartbeat racing. Going soft in the knees. Her skin burning. And she had an almost overwhelming desire to run away.

His gaze met hers with the same intensity that she felt on the boat. It was the look of the wolf silently sizing up its next meal.

She forgot how to speak.

“Killian Ama Fitch,” Hannah said cheerfully, obviously unaware of the tension in the kitchen. “She’ll be staying with me for the summer and working at the inn, doing whatever Elena wants her to do.”

“We met on Thomas’s boat,” Perth said in a low voice. “She doesn’t have her sea legs. She also doesn’t know how to swim.”

He made it sound like not liking water was a cardinal sin, Killian thought.

“Well, that’s something that you can help her out with.” Hannah turned to Killian. “Perth swims competitively and gives classes to some of the summer folks who vacation on the island.”

“We’ll see,” he said, turning abruptly to the older woman. “I have to go.”

“I know. I know. Here’s your plate of cookies. You tell Walt that I’ll stop by and check on him tomorrow.”

Killian, rooted in the same spot, watched the two chat and move toward the door. She couldn’t understand the reason for his obvious coolness. He could have at least tried to be civil.

Hannah closed the door behind him and turned to Killian. “Perth and his father live next door. Walt is a paraplegic and a widower. He brought the boy to the island after his wife died in the same accident that put him in the wheelchair. They both can be gruff and bossy at times. But they’re good people.”

Killian had no doubt the last couple of sentences were for her benefit. She’d met and dealt with plenty of brusque people in her life. The real problem was that she’d never before been so tongue-tied and wobbly at the sight of any boy.

Hannah patted her on the arm. “He’s slow to warm up to new faces. Perth’s a little older, but you two are close enough in age that I’m betting you’ll find a few things you have in common. You’re going to get along just fine. You’ll see.”

Killian already knew what she would have to do for them to ‘get along just fine.’ She would avoid him and spare herself any further embarrassment.

4

Killian lifted herself on one elbow and looked out the window next to the bed. With the sun just above the distant horizon, the sight was breathtaking.

Undulating hills of green grass sloped down to a horseshoe shaped harbor. A half dozen cottages were visible from her vantage point, as well as a few more houses crowded around the town dock. A small lighthouse sat on a stone breakwater by the entrance of the harbor.

Because of Hannah’s welcome, Killian had a different view of what her summer here would be like. She already decided that she’d work hard and make some money. She might even indulge in her one hobby, painting. She’d always been a loner. Now that she was here, she realized this place would fit her personality like a glove.

She looked over at the bedside clock. It was only 5:45. She couldn’t remember ever waking up this early without an alarm. But sleeping last night had been a challenge. She’d drifted in and out of strange dreams. There were noises all around her. The thunder rolling away into the distance, the slap of the water breaking over sand and rocks, music, the urgent whispers of people. Footsteps. Lots of footsteps. She couldn’t hush the sounds in her head.

Killian stretched and tried to open the bedside window, but she couldn’t get it done lying down. Climbing out of bed, she pulled it open. The window slid up easily.

No screen. The clean sea air washed over her.

Killian leaned out and filled her lungs. From this view she saw four other cottages lined the narrow dirt lane that Hannah’s house sat on. Of different sizes and shapes, they all sported the same gray, weather-beaten shingles. Spaced far enough apart to offer privacy, not one cottage obstructed the ocean view of any other.

She looked off the other way. Only one house was visible before the lane disappeared into the woods. The handicap ramp leading to the door at the side of the house told her the cottage must belong to Perth and his father.

Perth. She pulled her head back in. She didn’t want to start thinking about him this early in the morning.

The bedroom was small and the angles of the roof cut into her headroom. A bed, a dresser, a small table next to the bed, and an old rocking chair were the only furnishings. An antique patchwork quilt was hanging on the wall next to the bed. An oval braided rug covered most of the wide planks of wood flooring. A wooden chest containing extra blankets sat at the foot of her bed. Killian guessed that little if anything had changed from the days when her mother summered here.

Killian’s open suitcase sat on the floor, taking up most of the space on the rug. She’d put a few of her clothes in the dresser last night.

She opened the narrow closet door now and looked inside. Beyond the short bar for hanging clothes, the storage space went far back under the eaves. Killian peered at the neatly stacked boxes deep in the gloom. She wondered if Hannah had anything of her mother’s.

These days, Killian was desperate to find things belonging to Ama. At her father’s house she’d been told bluntly not to ask questions or even bring her name up. It might upset Susan, the new wife. No pictures of Ama or anything of hers remained in that house. Killian’s father acted as if no other woman had ever existed in his life before Susan.

Killian hated that. Her mother’s memory had been pushed like a worn shirt to the back of a drawer.

She still kept one photo album. She cherished it, along with the handful of pictures that she’d taken to boarding school with her. All that was left of Ama seemed to exist in those photos.

The morning air blowing in was cool on her skin. Pulling on a sweatshirt, she took her clothes out of the suitcase and laid them on the bed. She knelt down again. A towel protected the treasures beneath. She took out the frames one by one and started arranging them on the dresser and the small bedside table.

The distant murmur of voices coming from outside drew Killian to the window. She looked out. There was no one in sight.

Time…

Alone…

Killian…

This wasn’t her imagination. She was hearing voices. She stared at the empty lane and the grass glistening with last night’s rain.

And then she saw the first people coming along the lane from the line of the trees. Others followed, emerging from the shadows of the woods into the early morning light.

Considering the early hour, she was surprised by the numbers. Forty? Fifty? As far as she could tell, this could have been almost everyone on the island. Their ages seemed to range in from middle-aged to ancient. She recognized Thomas, the man who’d ferried her out. Then she spotted Hannah pushing a man in a wheelchair. The two of them turned in at the ramp next door. Perth’s father, Walt.

Even from her place at the window, Killian sensed that the mood of the approaching group was quite somber. There was no sign of Perth. She watched as her great aunt stood for a few moments, talking to Walt.

She backed away from the window, watching the group pass by.

A sunrise service? A group meditation? Some Tai Chi session? Maybe this was what people did early in the morning on an island where the sidewalks were rolled up at sunset. That is, if they had sidewalks.

Killian quickly put away the rest of her belongings. Now that she knew Hannah was up, she was eager to get a head start on the day. Picking up her iPod, she threw it into one of the drawers. She’d checked it again last night. Dead.

As she hung clothes in the closet, Killian thought how strange it was not to be checking email or Facebook. Not to be texting. That was all part of her everyday morning routine. Killian had already checked her phone. There was no cell service.

Operating at the other end of technological spectrum, Hannah didn’t even have an old-fashioned landline phone. She told Killian last night the summer crowd had ways of getting service for their computers and cell phones, but she didn’t understand any of it.

Back in Hyannis, Killian had called her father and told him she was at the Cape and taking a boat over. He’d asked her to call him in a week’s time to report on how she was doing. This was the usual extent of their communication. Once a week reporting, no matter where she was or what she was doing. She hung up his windbreaker on a hook by the door where she could see it every day.

Killian was showered, dressed, and ready to face the day in less than an hour. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee and bacon drew her straight to the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, closed her eyes for a second, and inhaled deeply before letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Breakfast. My favorite meal of the day.”

“Good,” Hannah said, looking over her shoulder from the stove. “That makes two of you.”

“Two?”

“Two. Have a seat, honey.” She waved a spatula toward the table.

Killian fought the urge to step back.

Perth was standing by the table with forks and knives in his hands. He paused and glanced at her. The same aloof expression she’d seen last night. She tried to imagine him looking different than he did. Beady little pig eyes or a crooked, broken nose or a huge zit in the middle of his forehead. Anything to lessen the fact that he looked this good so early in the morning. Impossible. It didn’t seem to matter. Perth was just plain hot, in a very discomforting kind of way.

Her gaze narrowed. He was also like the proverbial bad penny. He kept turning up. She walked past him to Hannah and kissed the old woman’s cheek.

“Can I help you with breakfast?”

“You can start some toast,” Hannah replied, motioning toward the counter.

Killian waited for Perth to finish taking plates out of the cabinet above the toaster. His broad shoulders filled the space in the kitchen. He even smelled good. She forced her attention back to Hannah. “So, did you have a nice walk this morning?”

“Walk?” She hesitated for only an instant. “Oh, I haven’t been out today. Perth tells me it’s a nice day.”

Killian paused, surprised and unsure how to respond to the denial. She stared at Hannah’s back. She couldn’t imagine why the older woman would lie to her about something so unimportant.

“I…”

Killian stopped, feeling Perth’s eyes on her.

“I must have been dreaming,” she said, pushing past him to the toaster.

“You were pretty tired last night,” her great aunt said brightly.

Killian put bread into the toaster and watched the wires grow red. She hadn’t been dreaming. Old people did forget things. She remembered the last time she’d gone with her father to see her grandmother. She couldn’t even remember Killian’s name. As soon as the toast popped up, she put in two more slices of bread.