But the way Trudy’s gaze remained focused on Violet’s wrist, her eyes brimming with unease, made Violet wonder if Trudy somehow knew how it had gotten there.

Trudy’s mouth tightened and she reached for her pen and notepad. You’ve been such a good sister to me.

Violet stared at the uncharacteristically tender note, then squeezed Trudy’s hand. “You’ve been good to me, too, Trudy. We’re a good team.”

Trudy shook her head firmly and started to write again, and with a calmness she certainly didn’t feel, Violet placed her hand gently on Trudy’s. “It’s okay. I’m your sister and I love you. That’s all that matters.” She took the pad from Trudy and tore off the page. “Now, how about some toast?”

She knew Trudy was staring at her as she walked to the kitchen, but she couldn’t help it. Once upon a time she’d craved a chance to talk about that night, about all that had happened, all they’d both done, but she’d long ago accepted that for Trudy to move on—for both of them to—they had to leave it all in the past. And now, just the smallest reminder of it had caused Violet’s heart to race and dampness to prickle under her arms.

An image of fish bones—winking in the sunlight, lying brazenly on the back step—rippled through her mind, but she mentally brushed them away, out of sight.

When she reached the kitchen, she crumpled the note into a ball and dropped it in the trash can.

* * *

The rain trickled to a stop in time for their survey, and when Violet emerged from the shadow between the two condo towers, she saw Frank already waiting for her down on the sand. Dark clouds still clustered here and there, but a bright line of sunlight shimmered several miles offshore, promising a sun-flooded day to come.

“Hello,” she called as she approached. She didn’t want to catch him off guard. But instead of startling, he turned slowly, a shy half smile already on his face.

“Good morning.” He planted his cane in the sand and took a few steps toward her. “Glad the rain tapered off.”

She nodded. “I thought we might have to push until tomorrow, but the day seems to be cooperating.”

He readied his clipboard and tipped his head down the beach. “Shall we?”

They fell into step beside each other, moving slowly, pausing often, each making their own notes on paper. Occasionally one would question or comment—“Northern tern, you think?” or “Tricolor heron, haven’t seen one of those in a while”—but for the most part, they walked in comfortable silence, and she was glad. She needed the time and space to collect herself. To allow the rhythm of the waves and the ordinary calls and chirps of the shore birds to settle the disquiet inside her.

She breathed in deep, willing the salty-fresh air into every yawning cavity inside her, every space that longed to be filled, and she remembered how it used to be. After that first night at the bar with Frank, the two of them had begun bird-watching together. And it was in those quiet hours that Violet had dared to imagine a future with him. The image of it shimmered at the edges of her mind, like a mirage she feared would dry up the closer she got to it.