The flotilla lineup starts here with the big, fancy yachts—the ones I would have been on, had I gotten that magazine internship and been helping out during Regatta Week. Levi Summers’s yacht is probably the first in line, and if I looked hard enough, I might even spot Adrian on crutches. But I don’t look, because I don’t care about him. He’s a mosquito to me now.

The lamps along the Harborwalk dim. A cheer goes up. A loudspeaker announces something in a faraway voice. And like a game of dominos being played with lightning bugs, thousands of white lights suddenly ripple on across the darkness—a wave of fairy lights from stern to bow, deck to deck. It’s shockingly pretty, and the delighted roar of the crowd behind me goes all the way through my spine.

The yachts get smaller. I slow down and begin looking at every boat in line, searching for the Karrases. What boat would they take out? The Nimble Narwhal, I assume. Problem is, all the fishing boats look pretty much the same when they’re covered in white lights. I squint into the brightness, heart pounding, trying to catch my breath. And then—

A siren-like noise cuts through the twilight, and the crowd roars behind me again.

The torches have been lit. The flotilla begins moving.

Slowly, at first—just the big yachts up front.

But as I desperately look for the Karrases, I get more and more panicky. Maybe they aren’t here. Maybe they’re skipping it. It’s only the biggest event of the summer—I should know where he is. And I would know it, if I’d only trusted Lucky when he’d asked me to!

Then—

Right there.

The Narwhal. I do see it.

I see it chugging away from the Harborwalk, three boats from the end of the line.

Already in the flotilla.

Already gone.

I’m too late.

Chapter 25

END OF THE LINE: Red graffiti spray-painted over the private property sign posted at the southern end of the Harborwalk. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

Chapter 25

And I know it’s not rational, but it felt as if that was my last chance to fix things with Lucky, that watching the Narwhal getting smaller and smaller as it headed off with the other boats in the flotilla was like watching him sailing away to the other end of the world and not just to the other end of the harbor.

Like the universe was trying to tell me to quit.

To give up.

Accept defeat and move on.