He left the station just in time to see McKenzie Palmer ride off with Charlie Pope—a perfect match in his mind. He thought back to the night at the bar when it became glaringly clear to him that he was not meant to stay and hang out with McKenzie or her friend. It was nice of them to include him, but the second the music started, he found himself on the dance floor itching to go home. Around them, he felt old and boring. Or maybe they felt young and obnoxious?

In the end, he’d left early but put a bug in McKenzie’s ear that Charlie might be more the kind of guy she was looking for. She’d done that annoying pout thing with her lips that young girls seemed to do, but it had zero effect on him. He wasn’t interested.

“Well, I still need to interview you for my article,” she’d said.

“Fine,” he said. “That I can do.”

“You’re missing out.” She shimmied off.

He silently agreed. He was missing out. But not with McKenzie. At that point, a relationship with Louisa was nothing but a fantasy.

Last week, McKenzie’s three-part blog series on Nantucket’s finest Coasties was published, and Louisa pointed out that Charlie’s photo was the big one at the top. Cody could not have cared less—he was just thankful the regatta had been successful and they’d been able to present the Wirth family with a nice-size check, though they’d all hoped they were contributing to Jackson’s recovery—not his funeral. In the end, they’d fostered goodwill in the community and genuinely helped someone in need. That had seemed to appease the master chief, for now anyway. Maybe that meant Cody could get back to doing what he loved—training the guys, saving lives, leading a crew.

He walked up Maggie’s front steps, knocked on the door, then let himself in, thinking it was nice that he’d begun to make peace with Nantucket.

“Hello?” he called out into the silence, but there was no response. He followed the blue light of the television into the living room. “Maggie?”

She sat in an armchair, avocado-green-and-yellow afghan on her lap, staring at the muted television. She was so still, for a second Cody thought she was dead.

Then she coughed. She reached for a glass of water on the table beside her, and he rushed over and picked it up, placing it in her outstretched hand. “Here you go.”

She drank slowly, then handed the glass back to him. “You’re a good boy, Daniel.”

He sat down next to her. “It’s Cody, Mags. Remember?”

Her eyes lit for a brief moment, like the flicker of a candle that quickly went out. “Cody. That’s what I meant.”