“No!” she cried out and dipped her hand in the icy water, grabbing at only liquid as she searched for the key. Desperation and panic mixed with the freezing air and sea. She found nothing inside herself of courage or sustenance as she stumbled back onto the sand. She was a coward—only cowards ran away. She wrapped her arms around her middle, attempted to find a way out, a solution, and found she was unable to command anything of herself but shame.

She grabbed the chain Nick had given her. It snapped, gave way and she threw the chain and cross—evidence of her sin—to the sands she’d wanted to save, to the island whose salvation she had convinced herself was a decent reason to bring them back together.

She looked up to the black bowl of sky and spied the full moon—bloated and high above her, half-hidden behind a cloud-distended sky. This time she found the moon she thought she’d lost, and she swore that amid the owl’s call and the frog’s marsh-song, she heard it mocking her with its obvious resplendent presence, saying, “I’ve always been here.” And now she followed it.

The clouds separated to impart the full light of the moon, and she never looked away as she followed. She vaguely sensed the brush of cordgrass, the sinking squish of mud and then the hard crack of shells. She ignored the cold, the harsh path, and the fear kept at bay by the light that led her through thick underbrush. She followed the moon until a cloud diluted its beacon and allowed her to stop, rest—just for one minute.

Piercing morning sunlight sliced through Nick’s eyelids and he rolled onto his side, not wanting to wake up and face another day without Amy.

Amy.

He shot straight up, fell to his side in the tangle of sleeping bag, confused, clothes half on. He glanced around the room as quickly as he could with his eyes still bleary, his thoughts sluggish. She was gone. He stumbled to his feet. Where was she? How the hell had he slept through her getting up? He hadn’t slept soundly in almost thirty years, and he had to pick now, with Amy sprawled across his body. And yet he knew why he had finally, blessedly fallen into this sleep—because she’d been there, across him, on him.

He groaned, tripped as he tried to pull on his jeans, fell onto the floor, sending a searing pain through his hip. “Damn, damn.”

He yanked on his shirt and sneakers and began to call her name. He looked down—her clothes and boots were gone; the other flashlight was gone. He yanked on his coat and moaned.