Emmajean chuckled. “These days every woman is trying to look younger and prettier than the gal next to her. You and I may be getting older, but at least we’re aging with dignity.”

“Is that what this is?” Violet glanced sideways at her friend.

The two women sat in comfortable silence. A dove flew to the feeder hanging from the eaves, picked at a seed, then flew off again. Down by the water, the dock lights clicked on in the falling dark, throwing out wavy beams in every direction.

“I bet that river holds a lot of secrets,” Emmajean said.

Violet’s pulse throbbed in her fingertips and inside her elbows. “What makes you say that?”

Emmajean pushed her hair back off her forehead. “When I was growing up, people always talked about how pirates used to roam around here. Out in the Gulf, through the pass, and all up and down this river. Sometimes I think about what all might be at the bottom of that water. Old ships, treasure chests. Maybe jewels.”

While Emmajean stared at the river, envisioning gold coins and rubies, Violet heard the high-pitched whine of a boat motor as if it were happening right now. Saw the boat taking shape through the misty fog. Felt those fingers, rough and hard, against her neck. She absently rubbed her thumb across the scar on her wrist.

“Violet?”

Emmajean’s voice cut through the memories, and Violet fought her way back to the present. “Hmm?”

Emmajean’s eyes were soft, concerned. “I asked if you think there’s any treasure in the river.”

Violet drained the remaining champagne in her glass, her lips puckering at the now-flat effervescence. “I think anything buried in that water deserves to stay right where it is.”

* * *

That night, Violet had the dream again. She was on the dock, waiting. Anger simmered inside her like a soup pot left on a hot eye. She was no stranger to anger, but this was something altogether different. This sensation had shape, taste, heat. And her guilt was a bitter root through it all.

At least she’s safe. The bruises might have been shining even in the dim lamplight, the edges already beginning to darken, but inside the house, all was safe. Violet would make sure of that.

With shaking fingers she caressed the simple gold bracelet around her wrist, the delicate lines engraved on it. She lifted her chin to face the dark sky, hidden behind thick fog, and thought of the man who’d given it to her. He was so kind, so good. He had no idea the volume of hatred that lived inside her right this minute.

She ran her fingers around the edge of the bracelet over and over like a prayer, until the tinny drone of an outboard Evinrude made its way up the river toward the dock where she stood. Her heartbeat thudded again in her ears, and she clasped her hands together to stop the nervous tremors.

Then with a whoosh of air in her face, like a great flap of wings, Violet awoke in a tangle of damp bedsheets. She flung them back and nearly gasped with relief when the breeze from the ceiling fan hit her legs. She lay there a moment, then rose and opened the window an inch and returned to bed.